Exile's Return

by Alison Stuart

  She heard Turner’s boots on the stairs and let out a heartfelt sigh as Daniel closed the door.

  ‘You did well,’ he said, turning to her.

  Agnes shivered. ‘He scares me more than Ashby.’

  He crossed the floor to her and for a long moment they stood facing each other. The weeks in an autumnal England, and his illness, had faded his tan, but the dark stubble on his chin and the scar on his cheek only served to make him look more exotic, more piratical, as Henry would have said.

  She longed for him to touch her, to fold her in his arms and tell her all would be well, but she had set the barriers between them and there they would remain.

  ‘I’m not a conspirator,’ she said. ‘I just want my children and my home. Should we leave a message for Jonathan and Kit?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘They know where to go. I think we can trust them to find their way. Now, I’d better be a good manservant and go and organise the horses. I shall see you downstairs … madam.’ He gave her a low bow, and picking up Agnes’s travelling satchel, Daniel left the room.

  Gathering up her cloak and hat, Agnes took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown.

  ***

  Was it possible for Charvaley to remain so completely unchanged?

  It had only been three months since she had left, hurrying to reach London, as James had sent news that his captors had indicated that he would die. She remembered every moment of that hellish journey with two miserable, fretful children. She had left with no thought except for James and no expectation that she would not be returning.

  Then it had been late summer; now the chill winds of autumn lifted the edges of her cloak as they rode under the gatehouse into the well-maintained courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the residence and on the fourth by a high wall that led out into the gardens that had been James’s pride and joy.

  Agnes did not recognise the servant who helped her dismount from the black gelding and she looked at him curiously. The major domo of the Charvaley Castle staff had been a cheerful, round-faced man, not this dour, unsmiling minion.

  ‘Where’s Gibbs?’ she asked Turner.

  Turner shrugged. ‘The Colonel preferred to have people he knew around him and brought his own people from Broughton.’

  Agnes stared at him, thinking of the elderly but loyal Charvaley staff who had served the family. A small, nagging doubt insinuated itself into her mind. She had imagined returning back to joyful acclaim from the staff and servants. Not this cold reception from people she did not know.

  What had become of them? Had Tobias cast them out to make their own way in advance of winter?

  ‘He has replaced them all?’ she asked.

  ‘Not all,’ Turner replied.

  Leah Turner waited at the massive oak door, dressed in a gown of a sombre russet colour with plain collar and cuffs unrelieved by lace or embroidery, her hands clasped in front of her, the keys of the house hanging from a heavy ring at her waist. At the sight of Agnes, the woman’s lips compressed with disapproval so as to be nothing more than a slit in her face.

  ‘What is she doing here?’ she demanded of her brother. ‘The Colonel gave orders … ’

  Turner held up his hand. ‘Peace, Leah. She is here to await the return of the Colonel.’

  ‘You could have sent me word to expect a visitor,’ Leah complained.

  ‘I do not intend to inconvenience you, Mistress Turner. I have come to see Colonel Ashby – and the children,’ Agnes said, collecting up the too-long skirts of Nell Longley’s riding gown.

  ‘You are not welcome here,’ Leah Turner said.

  ‘Sister,’ Septimus Turner spoke. ‘Mistress Fletcher has good reason to see the Colonel and we must accommodate her until he returns. Please extend her the courtesy of a guest.’

  Inwardly Agnes seethed. A guest? In her own home?

  She picked up her skirts and mounted the steps but Leah Turner did not move, remaining an immovable obstacle to the entrance.

  ‘It will not be possible to see the children,’ Leah Turner said. ‘Not while the Colonel is in London. Our orders are quite explicit on that subject.’

  Agnes studied the woman through narrowed eyes. She had to be careful which battles she picked, and however much it grieved her to be so close to the children, for the time being this might be one she would have to concede.

  ‘It has been a long, tiring journey,’ she said. ‘Be so good as to conduct me to my room, Mistress Turner.’

  Leah’s mouth twitched. ‘As we were not expecting guests, there is no bed made up, but if you care to follow me. You … ’ she addressed Daniel, ‘see to the horses.’

  The woman turned and proceeded into the house.

  ‘I know the way to my own bedchamber,’ Agnes said.

  She received no response, and her heart sank as the woman turned right instead of left at the top of the stairs, leading her toward the old part of the castle, to a badly lit, cold room with heavy stone walls, only partly relieved by a couple of heavy tapestries and a small half tester bed.

  No fire burned in the fireplace and the room smelled musty and damp. Protest would be pointless. It was not unreasonable to have expected her not to be returning to Charvaley. No doubt the pleasant, airy bedchamber that had been hers for the past eight years had been reassigned.

  Leah Turner pointed at the wooden chest at the end of the bed.

  ‘That is yours, I believe. Your belongings were set aside should you send for them,’ she said. ‘I will have the bed made up and a fire lit.’

  Agnes removed her hat and gloves, setting them on the chest.

  ‘Mistress Turner, Leah, I would like to see the children.’ She repeated the request in a soft, placatory tone. A woman appealing to a woman.

  Leah’s face betrayed no emotion. ‘I will send food and drink for you and water to refresh yourself. Good day, Mistress Fletcher.’

  Agnes sank down on the edge of the bed and pulled at the strings of her cloak. What had she expected? To be welcomed back with open arms?

  She looked at the heavy, iron studded door and rose to her feet. To hell with Leah Turner – she would see the children. She opened the door, only to find one of Turner’s soldiers lounging against the far wall. He straightened on seeing her.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

  The man whipped off his hat and shuffled his feet. ‘Trooper Brown, ma’am.’

  ‘Am I under armed guard?’ she enquired.

  The man frowned and scratched his chin. ‘My orders are to see you get a good rest,’ he said, ‘And to take you to Mistress Turner or the Captain when they sends for you.’

  ‘Am I not permitted the opportunity to stretch my legs?’

  ‘Not in my orders, ma’am,’ the man said almost apologetically.

  Her heart sank. She’d not come home, she had walked into virtual, if not actual, imprisonment, subject to the whims of the Colonel or Captain Turner, and stood little chance of either seeing the children or investigating the hiding place for the gold while she remained trapped in this room. She wondered how on Earth she would even get a message to Daniel.

  Agnes retired back into the chamber and stood for a long moment looking at the heavy chest, the only item of furniture she had brought from her childhood home. She knelt down beside it, running her hands over the smooth wood, now black with age. With her finger, she traced the familiar figures of David and Goliath on the lid. No need to look in her belongings for the key. The old lock had been prised open.

  With a heavy sigh, she opened the lid and found her possessions had been thrown in with no order or respect. The only thing she treasured, a Bible box that had belonged to her father, sat at the top of the pile. She it lifted out, noting with distress that, like the chest, the lock had been prised open. Had they been looking for something that may have given them the clue to the gold, she wondered?

  Mercifully, it looked as if everything within the box remained intact, albeit bearing the evidence of having been distu
rbed. Letters from her father and brother, her father’s Bible, and the sorts of trinkets and mementos a young girl collects in her lifetime, ribbons and broken bits of jewellery of no value. She lifted them out one by one, a sense of violation washing over her. These were her special, private things, and the thought of Ashby or Turner or one of his rough soldiers handling them made her feel quite ill. She carefully repacked the box, adding The Faerie Queen to the contents, and set it on the small table, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room.

  She sank down into the chair beside the table and looked around the grim room. Perhaps it had been a terrible mistake coming here. Even knowing Daniel was also within the castle walls, and Kit and Jonathan not far away, she felt very alone and very afraid, not so much for herself but for the children. She laid her head on her arms, sinking into a miasma of misery.

  A tentative knock at the door brought her back to the present, and hastily wiping any tell-tale tears from her eyes, she rose to her feet. At her bidding a maid entered the room carrying a tray. The scent of still warm, freshly baked bread rose from beneath the cloth and Agnes’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

  ‘Welcome home, Mistress Fletcher.’

  ‘Sarah!’ The sight of Sarah’s Truscott’s broad, smiling face cheered her. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around the girl.

  ‘It’s so good to see a familiar face. I thought the Colonel had replaced all the staff,’ she said, watching as Sarah set the tray down on the table.

  Sarah scowled. ‘Most of ‘em. Leastways those that had any position. The likes o’ me he don’t care about.’

  ‘I’m pleased to see you. How is Old Peg?’

  ‘Auntie is not as strong as she should be,’ Sarah frowned. The girl was Peg’s great-niece, her only living relative. ‘But she’ll be cheered to know you are back where you belong.’

  ‘I am only visiting, Sarah,’

  Sarah glanced at the door. ‘Why’ve they set a man on t’ door?’

  ‘To make sure I don’t go wondering off in search of the children.’ Agnes laid a hand on the girl’s arm and said in a lowered voice, ‘Tell me, Sarah, are they well?’

  A shadow crossed the girl’s face and her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘By all reports, but no one sees ‘em outside of Mistress Turner and Hannah the nursery maid.’

  Agnes frowned. ‘They never leave the nursery?’

  ‘Not since they’ve been back from London, but the weather’s been foul and there’s always the chance of a small one catching a chill. Don’t fret yourself, Mistress Fletcher. They’ll be fine, just you see.’

  Agnes regarded the girl’s open, friendly face. Just because she was the great-niece of the woman she had sent Daniel and the others to did not mean she was an ally.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get to see ‘em in time, Mistress Fletcher. Now you eat up, while I make up the bed,’ Sarah said. ‘If you don’t mind me sayin’, you look a mite peaky. I’ll get that lazy sod outside to see to the fire.’

  A grumbling Trooper Brown soon had a fire burning on the hearth while the girl briskly dressed the bed. Agnes ate the more-than-adequate repast of bread, jam, and cheese washed down with a familiar small ale. At least some things hadn’t changed.

  Sarah regarded the empty platters. ‘You must’ve been hungry.’

  ‘Where’s my manservant, Lucas?’ Agnes enquired, conscious that Brown could probably hear every word.

  A slight colour stained Sarah’s cheeks. ‘He’s your manservant, is he? Last I saw he was in the kitchen being fed up by the kitchen hand. She seemed to think he needed feeding up, to judge by the food on his plate. I must say, he’s got all the girls atwitter and he’s barely had time to take off his boots.’

  Agnes forced a smile. ‘He’s trouble, that one,’ she said. ‘But I could hardly ride through England alone and he seemed a good, strong lad.’

  ‘Aye, he’s that, right enough,’ Sarah agreed, rather too readily, Agnes thought. ‘I’ll leave ye now. If ye need anything, get ‘im out there to earn his bed and board,’ Sarah jerked her head at the door behind which Trooper Brown had retired.

  ‘Can you tell Lucas to come and fetch my boots? They need cleaning.’

  Sarah held out her hand. ‘I’ll take ‘em for ye.’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I need to speak sternly with Lucas. I can’t have him flirting with every maidservant in the castle.’

  Sarah closed the door behind her, and Agnes caught a glimpse of Trooper Brown picking his teeth. She could do nothing while he stood by the door with his orders. Subject to the whims of Leah Turner and her brother, Agnes lay down on the bed. Whatever restrictions she had to endure, she would do so for the children. She would be good and biddable to whatever Tobias and the hateful Leah wanted. Her fingers tightened on the chain of her locket. She would do whatever it took just to be with the children again.

  ***

  ‘Are you Lucas? Your mistress summons you.’

  Daniel looked up from the bowl of excellent stew that the pretty kitchen maid had set before him. The same girl leaned on the table, watching him as he ate. It took some effort to keep his eyes on the stew and not on the creamy white breasts that spilled from the girl’s tightly laced bodice. In another time and place he would not have hesitated to follow the path down which the girl clearly wished to lead him.

  The interruption came as a relief and he rose to his feet, knocking the stool over in his haste.

  ‘My mistress?’

  The maid frowned. ‘Aye, Mistress Fletcher. Says you are to come and collect her boots for cleaning.’

  ‘Thank you for the food … err … Ellie,’ he addressed the kitchen maid, who rose languidly to her feet, with ill-disguised disappointment written in her downturned mouth.

  He turned back to Sarah. ‘Where will I find my mistress?’

  She frowned. ‘They’ve put her in the old part o’ the house,’ she said.

  ‘You’d best take me up to her,’ he said. ‘I’d get meself lost in these corridors.’

  Sarah smiled, the gesture lifting her plain features. ‘Aye, it has its secrets, this house. Come with me. I’ll show you.’

  ‘Thank you … ’ Daniel cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Sarah Truscott,’ the girl said, a slight flush colouring her cheeks.

  Truscott? He wondered if she was kin to the woman Agnes placed so much trust in.

  ‘She used to be mistress here, you know,’ Sarah continued as they climbed the servants’ stairs.

  ‘Is that so?’ Daniel said. ‘You were here in the days of the late Earl?’

  She nodded. ‘When the Colonel came they kept me because I’ve skills in the still room.’

  The stairs wound up through the ancient walls of the original castle. As they wended their way upward, Sarah pointed to the doors they passed. ‘Through there is the Great Hall,’ she said. ‘That’s part of the old house and this door,’ she stopped and opened the snug-fitting door, ‘puts you on the gallery. We go this way.’

  They crossed the wide gallery, from which an elegant staircase descended into the entrance hall. Leah Turner waited for them at the head of the stairs.

  As Sarah curtsied, Daniel bowed obsequiously.

  ‘Aren’t you Mistress Fletcher’s man?’ Leah addressed Daniel.

  ‘Dan’l Lucas, ma’am. I do serve Mistress Fletcher.’

  ‘What are you doing up here?’

  ‘My mistress summoned me, ma’am.’

  ‘There is no need for you to attend upon her. Sarah can see to her needs.’

  Daniel regarded the woman. Was she deliberately keeping him apart from Agnes?

  ‘Mistress Sarah has her own responsibilities, ma’am. Mistress Fletcher would think it strange if I abandoned my duties. She’s not a prisoner here.’ The slight note of enquiry in his voice caused Leah Turner to stiffen.

  ‘And where did Mistress Fletcher find you, Lucas?’

  ‘London,
ma’am.’

  Leah opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. She swept past them, her stiff skirts crackling her unspoken disapproval.

  Sarah grabbed his arm and hustled him away through a maze of corridors to another set of ancient stairs leading to a gloomy passage, lit only by thin, high windows. A soldier lounged on a stool outside a door. He looked up at their approach, hauling himself to his feet.

  Outrage surged through Daniel.

  ‘Why is my mistress under guard?’ he whispered to Sarah.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think the Turners want her going anywhere that doesn’t suit ‘em,’ she replied.

  ‘Who are these Turners?’

  ‘He’s captain of the Colonel’s Lifeguard and she’s his sister. The Colonel brought her in to take charge of the poor wee mites. If you ask me,’ Sarah lowered her voice, ‘she’s sweet on the Colonel. I’ll leave you here, Lucas.’

  A wave of revulsion rode over Daniel at the thought of Leah Turner and Tobias Ashby together.

  ‘Who’s this?’ The soldier lurched off his stool to bar Daniel’s way. He stood nearly half a head taller than Daniel, with shoulders that filled the breadth of the narrow space.

  Daniel looked up into the man’s face. ‘I’m the lady’s man. Who are you?’

  He could almost see the information being processed behind the man’s dull eyes. All brawn, he thought. He knew the sort.

  ‘Trooper Brown,’ the man replied. ‘Cap’n Turner set me to look after ‘er.’

  ‘Look after her? Then you’re welcome to clean her boots,’ Daniel replied.

  Brown grinned, revealing a mouth of yellowed, rotting stumps. ‘Ye’re welcome to her boots. She’s a nice lady. Came out to chat to me, she did, asked me if I’d wife and bairns.’ He shook his head. ‘Twenty year in t’army, I told her. Ain’t no time for hearth and home.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Daniel replied. ‘Then you better let me in.’

  ‘Door ain’t locked,’ Brown replied and sank back onto his stool.

  Daniel knocked and Agnes opened it, standing aside as he entered the room. She closed the door behind them and looked up at him. Her lips parted, and he saw the fear in her eyes. Her surroundings, more prison than bed chamber served only to emphasise her vulnerability. She didn’t deserve this treatment.