By The Sword

by Alison Stuart

  "What could you possibly have known of him?” Kate asked bitterly.

  Jonathan shrugged. “We had some news over the years. Mutual acquaintances—"

  "To answer your question, Richard was no soldier at heart but he fought bravely against the terrible odds in the North. He would have followed Sir Thomas Fairfax into the depths of hell if he had ordered it."

  "Fairfax's men had it hard in those early years,” Jonathan agreed. “Was he with Fairfax that day at Marston Moor?"

  "Of course,” Kate replied, wondering with a growing sense of bitterness if Jonathan had faced his cousin in that awful battle. “Were you there?"

  Jonathan gave a barely perceptible nod. “Fairfax's men were cut to pieces that day but if it is any easier for you, I was on the other flank with Rupert,” he said.

  "What did it matter? You wouldn't have known Richard if you had met on the battlefield that day,” Kate observed.

  He shook his head. “That is the tragedy of a civil war."

  "They brought him home to die,” Kate blurted out the words, hardly aware of the break in her voice. “It was a horrible death."

  She gave a shudder, trying to control the tears that welled at the back of her throat.

  "I am truly sorry,” he whispered and she felt the light touch of a hand on her face. “So many deaths. Too many, Kate. Believe me, it's not always easy to be the survivor. I may not be dead but I have lost all that is important to me. It's a hollow victory over death."

  His words seemed to Kate to be a thought said aloud and should remain just that, a private thought. She cast a sideways glance at his profile, wondering what it must be like to be a fugitive in your own country. To know that one slip meant a hangman's noose.

  Jonathan stretched out his long legs and looked up at the house, glowing serenely in the setting sun. “Nell has enjoyed your company,” he said. “It's a lonely life for her here."

  Kate nodded. “I like your sister. I would like her to come and stay at Barton when she feels she can get away."

  "Thank you. It will be very lonely for her once Sir Francis dies."

  "It's a pity you can't stay longer,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I only bring danger to you all, Kate."

  "What did you do to earn the sentence of death?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I've done a lot of things, Kate. I carried letters for the late King and I killed someone who deserved to die. I'm no saint, Kate Ashley."

  "Apparently not,” she replied dryly. “Were you ever?"

  He shook his head. “I'm sure Nell will apprise you of my wayward youth."

  "And now?” she asked.

  "And now, Kate, we have our last chance to return the country to its lawful King,” he said quietly. “Providing, however, that the King agrees to the Scots’ terms and the English come to the King's support."

  "And will they?"

  "Honestly?” He looked at her, all trace of humour gone from his eyes. “England is tired of war, Kate. Even the King's most ardent supporters are reluctant to commit themselves to what they rightly see as a doomed cause. Like this family.” He waved a hand towards the house. “The price for support of the losing side has been enormous, and few are willing to risk what they have left."

  She sat still, surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “So is that what you're doing in England?” she asked quietly.

  He nodded. “I've been sent to seek out support for the King among his old friends. He has friends aplenty but little of what he needs: arms, men and money."

  Despite the comparative warmth of the evening Kate shivered.

  "So there will be war again,” she said flatly. “More deaths."

  "Yes. You were right, Kate. It all begins again.” He sounded weary.

  "But Sir Francis has not long to live,” Kate said. “Surely it is time to make your peace and come back to England, not fight another war?"

  He sighed deeply, his face grave. “I can't return, Kate, even if I wished to. I told you that I have a price on my head too dear for this family to pay."

  "Others have made their peace with Parliament. It may mean more fines but there's always a way,” Kate said uncertainly, thinking back to half-recalled conversations beside her parlour fire between David Ashley and his friends.

  "No,” he said sharply. “If I return, not only do I risk death or at best imprisonment but all my estate is forfeit."

  "Then who will inherit Seven Ways? Nell?"

  He shook his head. “Not Nell,” he said. “The Longleys are Catholic, Kate."

  Kate stared at him. “Nell is a Catholic?"

  He nodded. “She took Giles’ religion when she married him. And even were she not a Catholic, she is not up to such a huge responsibility. Nell is happiest with a needle in her hand and a child at her knee."

  A slow, horrible truth began to dawn on Kate. “There's no one else, is there, except ... Thomas?"

  His silence gave her the answer

  Kate looked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap, then up at Jonathan. She felt anger and resentment rise in her. “That's why he sent for us. All his protestations about making peace with Ashleys had only one end and that was to find an heir for Seven Ways. Tom is only nine years old! Sir Francis will not see out the year. I see it all now!” She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. “You're his lawful heir. This is your responsibility!"

  Jonathan rose to his feet and walked away, running his fingers through his dark hair.

  "Kate,” he said, turning to her. “This is not my decision but it is my doing and there is nothing I can do to change it. If I inherit Seven Ways, it is lost. I still get the title, for what it's worth, and there are some lands in Warwickshire, which are entailed. I will get those ... briefly, but this part of the estate is not entailed and Francis is free to do with it what he likes. Tom is Elizabeth Thornton's grandson. You can't deny him that and you can't deny Francis the right to leave the estate where he feels it will be best served."

  He turned away from her to look at the house, now a dark shadow in the evening gloom. “Ten years ago there was something worth inheriting. I don't blame you for not wanting anything to do with this broken-down ruin of a house and family."

  "Forgive me, Jonathan. I didn't mean to sound so harsh but you know it's not Thomas who will have the responsibility of this house and family, it will be me! There is no one else."

  "Francis knows that, Kate. He has every confidence in you."

  Kate rose to her feet. “Does he really know what he's asking me to do?"

  When Jonathan didn't reply, Kate stared at his back.

  "He's no fool, is he?” she said bitterly, “I'm an Ashley; my son is an Ashley, good Parliamentarian stock. Seven Ways is safe with me. And if the King returns, are we expected to hand the estate back to you, its rightful owner?"

  Jonathan turned to face her. “No. Seven Ways will always be Tom's.” Jonathan placed his hands on her shoulders, his face grave. “If he didn't trust you, Kate, he wouldn't do it, but he does trust you and he likes you, and my grandfather is not a man who gives his love or his trust easily."

  "He's dying, Jonathan. It seems to me he has few options."

  "He's never wrong in his assessment of people, Kate, and for what it's worth, I think he is right about you."

  "A sensible, capable Parliamentarian?” Kate said bitterly.

  "A sensible, capable, intelligent woman, Kate. A worthy guardian for your son."

  She looked up at him. Even in the gloom, he could feel his eyes on her face, willing her to believe in his trust in her. She felt the warmth of his hands resting on her shoulders and for a moment her breath stopped. He was so close she could almost feel his breath on her hair. His presence brought back memories that she had long forgotten and for a fleeting moment, she forgot her anger. She wanted to lay her head against his chest and feel a man's arms around her.

  Instead he released her shoulders and looked up at the darkening sky. “I think it's time we went
in, Kate. I've an early start in the morning."

  They walked in silence through the gathering gloom of the garden. As they approached the house, Kate stopped and turned to him.

  "Do you mind?” she asked.

  "Mind what?"

  "Losing Seven Ways."

  "Kate, I knew long ago that losing Seven Ways was the price to be paid for the trouble I've brought this family. I've no right to complain."

  "No one blames you, surely?"

  He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. “No, they don't,” he said. “But I carry the blame and that's enough."

  "I don't understand...” Kate began but he shook his head.

  "There are things about me you don't need to know, Kate. Leave it at that."

  "Will I see you again?” she asked.

  He smiled. “As my family will tell you, I turn up when least expected. Perhaps I may have cause to come and visit you in Yorkshire. Would I be assured of a safe place in my cousin's house?"

  "A safe place? I think Tom would enjoy the adventure of hiding so dangerous a malignant. He thinks highly of you."

  "And I of him. Now I must go and see my grandfather. I think it will be last time we meet on this earth."

  He took a deep breath as if willing the scent of the garden to remain with him for the long months to come, then took her hand, lifting it to his lips. She felt the light touch on her fingers before he released it, saying, “Farewell, Mistress Ashley. Thank you for your company tonight. Please say goodbye to Tom for me."

  He turned and strode off towards the house, leaving her standing alone in the darkened garden.

  * * * *

  The closeness of the invalid's room swamped Kate. For a moment she was tempted to open the windows and let the mild air in to clear the stuffy room. Instead, resisting the urge to gag, she forced herself to smile at him and set the tray she carried down on the table. If anything, Francis had aged more since she had last seen him and now lay propped up in his bed, wasted and faded like the last of his spring roses.

  He smiled at her, a smile, she noticed for the first time, which seemed an echo of his grandson's easy smile.

  "I was wondering when you would come to see me.” He looked at her with his bright, shrewd eyes. “When are you leaving?"

  "Tomorrow,” Kate said. “While the weather continues fair."

  She picked up the bowl and walked over to his bed. Too weak to feed himself, he allowed Kate to feed him like a small child.

  "My grandson says he told you of my plans for the boy to inherit Seven Ways."

  The old man wasted no time. Whatever the state of his body his mind was still sharp.

  Kate paused in her ministrations. “He did."

  "I hope you don't think to change my mind,” he said sharply. “The papers are drawn and I can now die in peace."

  "I did not presume to think I could change your mind, Sir Francis. I know better than that and I must accept that Thomas is your great-grandson and you have every right to provide for him as you think fit,” she replied with a serenity she did not feel.

  "You're not pleased?"

  There was no point in prevaricating so Kate looked him directly in the eye. “No,” she said. “Why should I be? Neither Thomas nor I need Seven Ways. Thomas is well provided for by his Ashley grandfather. Leaving my son a penniless estate, burdened by fines, is hardly bestowing an honour upon him."

  "You're right of course.” The old man sighed but his faded eyes did not leave Kate's face. “But what else could I have done?"

  "There are always choices!"

  "No!” The old man's hands tightened on the bedclothes. “There were no choices. I'll have no half measures. Dearly though I love my grandson, if he cannot inherit the estate in his own right he'll not have it by other means. It is his folly that has brought Seven Ways to its present state."

  "Nonsense!” Kate declared, suddenly angry. “Surely it is the folly of all of you. You firstly for providing finance to the King's cause and your son for raising a regiment to fight for the King. Jonathan's only folly was to be the one who survived the war to become the family scapegoat."

  To her horror Francis started to laugh. The effort brought on a coughing fit and only after he lay back on his pillow did he look at her and smile.

  "Forgive my laughter, my dear,” he finally said, his face saddened. “You're right, of course. Jonathan is a convenient scapegoat for the family fortunes. In his way, he always has been. He deserves better and he has a good advocate in you.” He looked at her shrewdly. “I'm fully conscious that it is an imposition upon you and an onerous task, but it is seldom that I have met a woman who I felt more capable of the responsibility. I see in you, my dear, the best hope that this family has had for many years.” He paused, catching at his breath. “Ultimately of course it will be your decision as to what becomes of Seven Ways. I'll not fetter that freedom. You're free to sell the estate, although for what little it will fetch, I doubt that you'll see its true value realised. That beggar Price over at Longley Abbey would have it off you for the price of a lamb."

  He coughed again and paused before continuing, “Although my motives may appear purely personal, my primary concern is not so much for what happens to the last of the Thorntons but to the people dependent upon my family, my tenants. Nell tells me you have met some of them and I tell you in all honesty that I owe them a debt greater than that which I owe to this Parliament. It is my responsibility to ensure there is enough to eat for the winter and none of them lack for clothes or shoes. So far I have succeeded in that end but at a terrible cost to my estate and myself. When you make your decision, my dear, think on them."

  Kate sighed and looked at the dying man lying in the bed. She thought of the tenants whose farms she and Nell had visited—the women, the children, the old and the sick—and knew that he was right. Whatever became of the last of the Thorntons, the tenants needed care.

  "I am truly sorry, Kate,” Sir Francis said, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper, “that it had to be like this. I have lived nearly eighty years and have few regrets. My greatest sorrow is that I let my daughter go in a fit of petulant anger that cut me off from her family for so long. I speak in all honesty when I say my intention in bringing you here was not just to test young Thomas’ suitability to be my heir, but to make amends for thirty years of my own stupidity."

  Looking into the faded eyes, Kate saw that he spoke the truth. Spontaneously she reached out and took the frail hand lying on the coverlet. There seemed nothing more to be said and she sat with him until he slept.

  Four

  "Is it much further, Mother?"

  Tom's fretful whine set Kate's teeth on edge. She was as tired, wet and muddy as her son and her two servants riding pillion, who plodded faithfully behind her. She didn't need Tom to remind her that England's notoriously fickle weather made travel a nightmare. The rain had set in on the second day after they had left Seven Ways and now three days later they were at the end of their tether.

  Kate ignored her son and stared resolutely into the gathering gloom as her weary horse picked up one hoof then another only to set them down again into the thick, gluey mud of the road. Her sturdy groom, Dickon, who had accompanied them on the journey south, led the miserable party.

  "I see a light ahead.” Dickon's voice took on an edge of encouragement.

  "Pray God it's an inn,” Kate muttered between clenched teeth.

  Her prayer answered, they turned into the lonely travellers’ inn. The lights from the windows beckoned and the prospect of a dry bed and some warm food immediately cheered the party.

  Kate left the horses in Dickon's care and swept with what dignity she could muster in her damp, mud-spattered clothes into the inn.

  "Your best room,” she told the landlord, “and warm water, please."

  At least it was clean, she thought, taking off her gloves and inspecting the room.

  As Ellen fussed over Tom, pulling off his muddy boots and setting them to dry in
front of the pleasant fire, a maid knocked on the door and entered, bearing a bowl and jug of water. “I have a message for thee, madam."

  The girl handed Kate a small square of paper. Kate looked at her questioningly and took the paper. The writing was unfamiliar and the note was short.

  "Mistress Ashley. I would esteem it an honour if you would dine with me tonight. We are, I believe, old acquaintances. Yr servant, J. Miller."

  "Who is this Master Miller?” Kate asked of the girl.

  The girl shrugged. “A traveller like yourself, madam. Arrived not long afore you. Said you would find him in the parlour."

  "For the life of me I can recall no man by the name of Miller,” Kate said, as the girl closed the door behind her.

  "You're surely not going to meet him?” Ellen protested. “It wouldn't be proper."

  Kate shrugged. “Believe me, I want nothing more than a hot meal and a warm bed, Ellen, but I'm curious. I'll present myself and then retire gracefully. Find me some clean petticoats."

  Ellen dug clean petticoats and a bodice from out of the luggage. The skirts were hopelessly crumpled but an improvement on her mud-spattered travelling clothes. Kate straightened her collar in front of the old, smoky mirror and kissed her son, who was too intent on the rabbit pie he had ordered for his dinner to pay her much attention.

  Few travellers braved the road in this weather and apart from a table of men, local to judge by their rough clothes, the parlour seemed quiet. A lone man sat beside the fire, his legs propped on a firedog, spectacles pushed to the end of his long nose, too deeply absorbed by his book to notice her entrance.

  "Master Miller?” Kate peered into the gloom.

  He jumped up from his seat, hastily removing the spectacles. “Mistress Ashley. I'm delighted you could join me."

  She took a breath as her eyes, becoming accustomed to the gloom, recognized the tall figure. “Jon—” she began, but he interrupted.

  "John Miller, indeed the same. I was a friend of your husband's, you may recall? It has been some years I realise but as soon as I saw you arrive I thought I should make myself known. Come and sit by the fire. This weather is the very devil. You would think it mid-winter, not mid-summer."