Perdita’s heart swelled and she remembered why she had agreed to marry this good, decent man. She knelt up and laying her hands on his knees, she kissed him on the forehead. Simon groaned and, with his good hand, pulled her on to his lap, wrapping his arms around her, his breath coming in shuddering gulps as if emotion had completely overwrought him.
‘They have stopped saying the thing will be done by Christmas,’ he said at last. ‘It’s no little rebellion and now the King has missed his chance to regain London. I doubt there will be such an opportunity again.’
‘And you, Simon?’
‘Well, sweetest, I am committed now to see this thing through.’
‘And us? Our wedding date?’
She knew the answer even before he spoke. ‘I won’t risk leaving you a widow to mourn at my grave side. Let us wait and see this thing through a few more months.’
She cupped his face in her hands and said fiercely, ‘Simon, I would rather be a widow mourning at your graveside who has known some happy times with her husband than to mourn and wonder what might have been.’
He disengaged her, setting her back on her feet, taking her hands in his, he smiled.
‘We’ll see what the New Year brings, Perdita, but now is not the right time.’
Chapter 6
The Battle of Stratford
25 February 1643
‘I really don’t think you should go to Stratford,’ Joan protested from her bed. ‘It isn’t safe.’
‘Nonsense,’ Perdita said. ‘Stratford is garrisoned for the king, and I encountered no difficulties last time I went there.’ She laid a hand over Joan’s crooked fingers, the joints swollen and hot from the rheumatic fever that had plagued the woman since her youth. ‘We have no more laudanum and I am not going to let you suffer like this.’
Ignoring Joan’s protests, Perdita, riding pillion behind Ludovic, set out on the five-mile ride to Stratford. They were less than a mile from the town when a crash like thunder caused the horse to shy, nearly dislodging Perdita. She twisted her hands into Ludovic’s belt and righted herself.
‘Is that guns?’ she asked.
‘Yes, mistress. We should turn back.’
‘No. I must get the laudanum,’ Perdita said. ‘Ride on into town. The garrison’s probably just practising with their artillery.’
The guns boomed again. Ludovic didn’t move.
‘Ludovic, go on, please.’
The manservant’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent shrug of acquiescence and he urged the skittish horse forward.
As they approached Clopton bridge, another report of cannon fire sent the horse into a lather and it went down on its haunches, fighting the bit.
‘Look, mistress,’ Ludovic pointed at the town where smoke rose above the roofs. ‘That’s not target practice. There’s fighting in the town. We need to find shelter before we become caught.’
Even as he spoke, yells and the report of musket fire came from the far side of the town. The melee grew louder, and as they crossed the bridge a tide of men appeared, running down Bridge Street towards them.
Ludovic dismounted and lifted Perdita down. Leading the horse, he pushed against the panicked soldiers. A couple of men, their eyes wide with fear, tried to grab the horse’s bridle but Ludovic fought off their hands with his riding crop.
The doors of the townhouses were firmly bolted and the windows shuttered, and no one responded to Ludovic’s knocking. They had no choice but to press on and find some sort of shelter. He led them into a narrow laneway between two houses near the Market Hall. He pulled a pistol from a holster on the saddle and holding the terrified horse, he placed himself between Perdita and the street.
Perdita flattened herself against the wall. Around his arm she could see the fleeing men, pursued by horsemen wearing orange sashes, and the source of the conflict became clear. The king’s men were being routed from the town.
The fighting around the Market Hall grew fierce as the royalists within the buildings made one last stand. The horse broke free of Ludovic and took off into the street. Ludovic cursed and pushed Perdita down to the ground as musket balls whizzed over their heads, striking chips from the stone work above them.
Perdita crouched against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible, her elbows pressed to her sides to stop the uncontrollable shaking. Part of her wanted to jump to her feet and run as far as she could reach, but she knew if she even tried to stand, her legs would fail her.
A massive explosion came from within the Market Hall, raining Cotswold stone, tiles and dust down on the two huddled figures. Perdita raised her head, her ears ringing, her lungs filling with dust. Great holes had been blown in the walls and fire blazed through the old hall. She could hear screams and through the smoke she could see men running from the building.
The explosion seemed to shatter the last of the resistance and the street began to clear, the orange-sashed horsemen slowing to a walk as they rounded up the surrendering royalists. Ludovic helped Perdita to her feet and she shook out her cloak and skirts, bits of stone and plaster falling to the cobbles.
A shadow darkened the entrance to their hiding place.
‘You down there, come out at once.’ A parliamentary officer on a bay horse sat looking down at them, his hand on his sword hilt, his face shadowed by the iron grille of his heavy pot helmet.
‘We’re not soldiers,’ Perdita coughed. Her mouth had dried with fear and the clogging dust around them.
The soldier raised his hand from the sword and pushed the grille of his helmet back.
‘Mistress Gray. Ludovic. What in God’s name are you doing here, this day of all days?’ Adam Coulter demanded. Perdita shook her head, trying to dispel the ringing in her ears. Adam’s voice sounded as if it came from a long way away.
‘Captain Coulter, thank the Lord.’ Her knees buckled with the relief of seeing a familiar face and she had to steady herself against the wall as the world around her began to sway. ‘I had to get laudanum for Joan. She’s not well.’
He swung down from his horse and looping the reins around his arm, put out his gauntleted hand to draw Perdita into the light. ‘Your timing could have been better. Lord Brooke has just driven the royalists from the town.’ His brows furrowed and he peered at her. ‘Mistress Gray, you’re hurt. You’ve blood on your face.’
Perdita put her hand to her face, the shaking fingers coming away sticky with blood, mingled with dust. ‘Oh, you’re right.’
The world began to roar and spin around her. She dimly heard Adam’s voice calling for Ludovic before Stratford disappeared into a roaring abyss.
It had been a lovely dream of her first Christmas with the Clifford family at Preswood before the war. Geoffrey had still been alive and there had been singing and a yule log blazing in the hearth. Now the bright, cheerful fire faded and Perdita became aware of low voices around her.
‘There now, she’s coming around. I said it wasn’t bad.’
She recognised the voice of the apothecary and opened her eyes, grimacing at the bright light. Adam Coulter’s face, tense with concern, peered down at her.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘A piece of stone must have hit your head,’ Adam said. ‘It’s only a glancing blow but head wounds bleed like the devil.’
Perdita put tentative fingers to her head to encounter a bandage over a thick wad of padding at her hairline over her forehead.
‘Ow. It hurts now,’ she said. ‘It didn’t before.’
‘Of course it hurts,’ said the apothecary. ‘You’ll have quite a headache for a couple of days.’
Perdita tried to sit up but Adam’s hand on her shoulder restrained her. ‘You lie still.’
‘But I’ve got to get Joan’s laudanum and get home before dark.’
‘Ludovic’s dealt with that. God’s death, Mistress Gray, what were you thinking? You shouldn’t be riding around the countryside.’
‘I wasn’t riding around the countryside. I was o
n my usual business,’ Perdita protested. ‘No one told me there was going to be a battle in Stratford today of all days.’
‘Remind me to consult you next time.’ Adam smiled and his fingers brushed the bandage above her ear.
She wished he smiled more often. In the curl of his lips and the sparkle in the light grey eyes, she could see a passing resemblance to his brother, Robin. But where Robin still had the prettiness of youth, the hard planes of Adam’s high cheekbones and strong aquiline nose marked him as a man who carried authority, a man she would trust without question. She imagined that he must be a good officer. She’d seen it in his men’s eyes the day after Edgehill.
‘You must have things to do,’ Perdita said. ‘I’ll be just fine in a couple of minutes.’
Adam shrugged. ‘Things are taking care of themselves. That’s what sergeants are for.’
Perdita glanced at the window where a lowering sky presaged snow.
‘I’ve got to get back to Preswood.’
‘You are going nowhere,’ the apothecary said.
‘Ludovic tells me you lost your horse, so he has set out for Preswood on foot with the laudanum, but you are spending the night in Stratford,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll take you home in the morning if you are up to the ride.’
Perdita opened her mouth to protest but even as she tried to rise, the world tipped and swayed.
‘My wife’s made up a bed for you, Mistress Gray,’ the apothecary said.
Before Perdita could protest, Adam had picked her up bodily.
‘Not exactly a feather,’ he grumbled, and laughed as the heat rose in Perdita’s face. ‘That’s better.’
He carried her up the stairs and deposited her on the bed Mistress Clarke had made up.
‘She’ll be fine with me, Captain Coulter.’ Mistress Clarke bobbed a curtsey.
Adam smiled down at Perdita. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
As the door shut behind him, Perdita struggled to sit up.
‘Let me help you, Mistress Gray.’ The goodwife’s quick fingers tugged at the laces of Perdita’s bodice. ‘’Twere madness to come to Stratford today of all days,’ she said.
‘I didn’t know there would be a battle,’ Perdita pointed out, ‘and Joan Clifford is ailing and needed the laudanum.’
‘Aye, well ’tis lucky Captain Coulter found you when he did.’ She tutted as she held up Perdita’s collar, liberally stained with blood. ‘I’ll put that on to soak, and your cuffs too.’
The woman paused in her ministrations and looked around the little room. ‘This was Tobias’ chamber,’ she said. ‘You know he died?’
‘Yes,’ Perdita replied, lying back on the bed. ‘Captain Coulter told me. I’m sorry.’
‘He’s a good man, Captain Coulter,’ Mistress Clarke said. Her mouth tightened but the betraying tears rose in her eyes and trickled down her plump cheeks. She sat down on the bed with a thump and Perdita laid her hand on the woman’s arm.
‘Foolish of me,’ the woman said. ‘Captain Coulter wrote such a lovely letter about how brave Toby had been and how he hadn’t suffered … at the end.’
Remembering Adam Coulter’s bitterness at Tobias’ senseless death, Perdita kept her peace and the woman drew a deep, shuddering breath and rose to her feet, wiping her eyes on her apron.
‘Now you rest. My John has left a draught for you to help you sleep, should you need it.’
But Perdita’s eyes were already closing.
When Adam returned to the apothecary’s house in the morning, he found Perdita up and dressed and partaking of a breakfast of gruel. Beneath the white bandage that circled her head, her face seemed drained of colour and there were dark circles like smudged bruises around her eyes, but she greeted him with a smile that lit her face … and his heart.
‘Are you sure you can be spared? Perdita asked him.
‘I’m sure. I’ve no pillion saddle but I’ve a sturdy horse.’
He lifted her on to the saddle and swung up behind her across the broad withers of Florizel. He looped the reins around her, drawing her in against him. Her slight figure fitted well into the circle of his arms as if she had been made to fit. Only she hadn’t, he reminded himself, she belonged to another man.
As Florizel took his first loping steps, Perdita stiffened, her hand going to the bandage around her head.
‘Are you up to this?’ Adam enquired.
Her shoulders squared. ‘I’ll be fine. There is no need for you to be concerned.’
‘There’s every need. The countryside between here and Banbury is overrun with the rabble from Stratford and they will be undisciplined and lawless.’ He huffed out a sigh. ‘You were lucky, Perdita. Very lucky. When I think about what could have happened.’
She lowered her head, offering him a tantalising view of her elegant neck brushed with dark curls.
‘I know that now, but Joan needed me.’ She laid her head against the heavy leather of his buff coat and closed her eyes. ‘Why did the Market Hall explode like that?’
‘We think they were storing powder there and a spark caught. But enough talk of war, we have an hour in each other’s company. Let’s talk of other matters.’
She glanced up at him. ‘What other matters?’
He mused for a long moment and asked the question he had longed to ask since he had first met her.
‘Tell me how you came to Preswood?’
‘I had nowhere to go.’ He caught the strain in her voice as if it were almost too much to relate. ‘My husband’s debts had taken all my jointure. His family turned me out.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Samuel Gray. My father sold me to him when I was but sixteen and he a man near sixty.’
The enormity of what she was saying hit Adam like a jolt. A girl of sixteen forced into marriage with a man forty years her senior?
‘Had you no say in the matter?’
She shook her head and flinched, her hand going to the bandage. ‘My dear father beat me and starved me into submission,’ she said. ‘What choice did I have?’
None.
A growing well of anger rose in Adam’s chest. If he were to meet Perdita’s father…
‘And your father could not help you when this husband died?’
‘He had died two years earlier. His business had been sold. I had no other family to turn to except my mother’s kinsman, Geoffrey Clifford. He and Joan offered me a home without condition. Whatever I lacked in love or family, they more than made up for.’
Adam said nothing for a long moment. Joan would always be the one who took in orphaned kittens, stray dogs or injured wildlife — or unhappy children. She would not have hesitated to take in this lost waif and given her the love she needed to heal. Was that why Perdita had agreed to marry Simon? Was it gratitude?
He changed the subject. ‘How did you come to be called Perdita?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A fancy of my mother’s. I looked for the name in the Bible but I couldn’t find it there.’
He laughed. ‘The Bible? You’ll not find it there. Perdita is a character from a play by Shakespeare.’ He glanced behind him at the receding church tower of Holy Trinity. Shakespeare’s burial place, they said.
‘Is it? A play? Truly?’ She twisted to look at him. ‘I’ve not read any of his plays. My father and my husband did not approve of such things. What play is it?’
‘A Winter’s Tale,’ Adam said. ‘Perdita was the daughter of the king and queen. It would mean ‘lost’, if my Latin serves me correctly.’
‘Lost?’ Perdita repeated vaguely. ‘Is that me? Am I lost? It seems that we share something in common.’
His breath caught. ‘What is that?’
‘We have both been lost, have we not?’
He considered that question. ‘But you at least have found where you belong,’ he said. ‘I am still looking.’
He remembered the property in Shropshire the London lawyer had sent him to look at. That had been an illusion, an impossible d
ream. There was nowhere in this benighted kingdom he would probably ever call his own.
She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes. A twinge of panic caused him to put his heels to Florizel to spur the plodding gait of the horse. Surprised by this unwanted attention, Florizel jerked and Perdita’s eyes opened.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Nothing. Florizel must have seen a hedgehog,’ Adam said. ‘Not far now.’
As she drifted off again, he tightened his arms around her, telling himself that he didn’t want to risk her falling from the saddle, but knowing his motives to be something else entirely. She felt right in his arms and he wanted the moment never to end. But even as that traitorous thought crossed his mind, the gates of Preswood loomed ahead of them.
He shook her awake. ‘Home,’ he said.
‘Already?’ She almost sounded disappointed, and as if remembering her manners, asked, ‘Will you stay for a little while?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I have to be back at Warwick as soon as I can.’
‘When will I see you again?’
Did he detect a soft note of longing in her voice or was he imagining it, imposing a wish on her that was not in her heart?
‘I don’t know, Perdita,’ he said in a low, tight voice.
‘Adam Coulter,’ she whispered.
‘Perdita Gray?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s a nice name.’
He pulled himself together. ‘That bang on the head has addled your senses, Mistress Gray.’
‘I haven’t thanked you,’ she said.
‘No thanks are required.’
‘Please stay.’
‘I can’t. God keep you safe.’
She closed her eyes and smiled. ‘You don’t believe in God.’
‘I told you, he doesn’t believe in me.’
Adam was spared from further conversation by the sight of Ludovic waiting at the front door.
‘Ah, Ludovic. Here is your mistress safe and well.’
He lowered Perdita into Ludovic’s waiting arms.
‘Mistress Clifford would see you, sir.’
He nodded and swung off the horse.
And Then Mine Enemy Page 6