Exile's Return

by Alison Stuart

  Through the roaring in his ears he heard Kit’s laconic drawl, tinged with the edge of his French accent. ‘Mon dieu, Ashby, you have not mellowed with age. You may as well tell us what you plan to do with us. I have no great desire to prolong this interview longer than necessary.’

  ‘I command you in the name of the King to release us,’ Jonathan Thornton said, his voice carrying up into the blackened rafters above them.

  ‘The King?’ Ashby replied. ‘There is no king here. I see only five miscreants who will be dead before the sun crosses midday.’

  Jonathan’s gaze flicked to Turner. ‘The days of this regime are numbered,’ he said. ‘The King will return and at such time everything claimed by the Committee of Safety or whoever it is who claims jurisdiction in London will return to its lawful and rightful owner. This is not the time or the place to dispute the authority of the rightful King of England or his servants and agents.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Ashby demanded. ‘I know the others but you are a stranger to me.’

  Jonathan straightened. ‘Sir Jonathan Thornton, one time Colonel of the King’s Lifeguard,’ he said. ‘I can assure you that when the King sits once more upon his throne, the fate of those standing before you today will be of some interest to him. You have crimes enough to answer for without adding the murders of innocent people to your list.’

  ‘What crimes?’ Ashby sneered.

  Daniel struggled to his feet, holding his ribs as he struggled for breath.

  ‘The death of Margaret Truscott and the cold-blooded murder of my father, Thomas Lovell, to name but two,’ he said. ‘I would wager there are others.’

  He looked up at Ashby, seeing the twitch of a muscle in Ashby’s jaw that betrayed the man’s uncertainty. ‘I have waited for ten years to look you in the eye and make that accusation, Ashby.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Thomas Lovell took up arms against the forces of Parliament. He refused to surrender when called upon to do so. An example had to be set. It was war, Thornton. You know how things were.’ Ashby licked his lips.

  Glancing at Jonathan, Daniel saw no emotion in the man’s lean face. Jonathan Thornton was not a man to cross.

  ‘Yes,’ Jonathan said at last. ‘I know how things were. I saw innocent men die for nothing more than wearing the wrong uniform. That does not make it right.’

  Ashby dismissed Jonathan’s words with a wave of his hand. ‘Enough talk, Thornton. Do you have my gold?’

  Jonathan shook his head. ‘No.’

  Ashby frowned. ‘No? I saw the hiding place, Thornton. Something had been there until very recently.’

  ‘And you have no proof that it was there when we went looking for it,’ Jonathan said. ‘You can hardly accuse us of stealing something that was not there in the first place.’

  Ashby frowned. ‘This is wordplay,’ he said. ‘You are thieves, all of you.’

  ‘And hanging us will not give you what you want,’ Jonathan said.

  ‘But it will give me the satisfaction of seeing you all dead,’ Ashby responded. ‘I’ve had enough of this. Turner, see the prisoners escorted to the courtyard. We will hang them from the walls.’

  Turner stepped forward. He caught the eye of his burly sergeant. ‘All you men are dismissed. Return to your quarters and await further orders.’

  Ashby stared at his captain. ‘What? That’s not what I ordered. Back here, all of you.’

  But Turner’s men continued to tramp toward the door of the Great Hall without a backward glance.

  ‘Turner. Enough of this nonsense. Summon your men back, now.’

  Turner did not move. His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh and he looked up past Ashby’s shoulder to the windows with their panes of coloured glass.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  Ashby’s eyes widened. ‘No? What do you mean, no?’

  Turner returned his gaze to Ashby. ‘I meant no.’

  ‘I will have you tried for mutiny,’ Ashby raged at Turner.

  Turner shook his head. ‘I don’t think you will. Thornton is right – it is time for a king to rule once more in England. I am taking my men and riding north to join General Monck. I received word from a friend who is with him that he is moving on London. The end is coming.’

  ‘Monck? A traitor?’ Ashby stared at his captain.

  Turner swallowed. ‘In a few months Charles Stuart will once again sit on the throne of this country and there will be a price to pay for those who resisted him, particularly those who participated in the killing of his father. A wise man knows where his allegiances need to lie in times like these and Ashby, your days are numbered.’

  The colour drained from Ashby’s face. ‘You were there too.’

  Turner’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I did not command the guard at the King’s execution. You did.’

  Turner waved a hand at the prisoners. ‘I suggest, if you have any sense left, Ashby, you let these people depart with the children and whatever it was they came here to retrieve.’ He glanced at Jonathan and his lips twitched. ‘If indeed they did find it. I for one see no evidence that they did.’

  ‘Septimus, what are you doing?’ Leah Turner dragged the two children forward to confront her brother.

  Turner shook his head. ‘It is time to return home, Leah. You are not needed here anymore.’

  She glanced at Ashby, ‘But Tobias and I … we had an understanding … ’

  Ashby glanced at her as if noticing her for the first time. His lip curled. ‘An understanding? I think not, Mistress Turner. Why would I want a dried-up old maid such as you?’

  Leah looked from one man to the other. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It was not supposed to be like this. Tobias should be the Earl of Elmhurst, with me by his side.’

  She flung Lizzie to one side, tightening her grip on Henry. From her skirts she drew a knife.

  ‘Sweet Jesu,’ Kit muttered.

  Agnes screamed and lunged forward again, to be caught by Jonathan. ‘She will hurt the child, Agnes. Keep your peace,’ he said.

  A shot rang out in the room, reverberating off the ancient walls and setting a pigeon high in the rafters fluttering in alarm. Septimus Turner fell to his knees, looking up at Tobias Ashby with surprise in his eyes before falling forward.

  From where she huddled on the floor, Lizzie screamed.

  Ashby threw aside his useless pistol and Daniel saw his moment. He took the dais in a couple of leaps, wrestling to free Turner’s sword from its scabbard. Ashby, seeing what he intended, grabbed Henry off Leah. The child struggled in his grip, reaching out for Agnes and screaming her name.

  Ashby slapped the child hard across the face and Henry’s protests died to a quiet whimpering and he stopped struggling.

  Daniel gave Agnes a quick sideways glance. She hung in Jonathan’s arms, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Daniel … Henry … ’ she sobbed.

  Daniel weighed Turner’s sword in his hand. It was an Army issue back sword, an inelegant weapon compared to his own Spanish rapier, but it would do the task.

  ‘Put the child down and face me like a man, Ashby,’ he said. ‘Only a coward would use a child as a shield.’

  Ashby’s gaze flicked around the room. He let Henry fall to the ground and took a step back, drawing his own sword. Daniel could do nothing for either Henry or Elizabeth as Leah once more swooped on both children, even as Kit began to move. She moved away from the two men and the body of her brother, the light from the windows glinting on the honed steel of the knife she held.

  Daniel considered his opponent. Ashby was older and heavier, but he had a better sword and experience on his side. Daniel knew he was not the swordsman his brother had been before his right hand had been crippled, but close quarter fighting on the decks of ships had taught him some interesting manoeuvres.

  Ashby clearly expected him to move first, and when he didn’t the silence hung in the room with an almost palpable presence. A woman’s choked sob echoed around them and Ashby, we
arying of waiting, lunged.

  As he had thought, Ashby had some classical training in swordplay, but it became clear from their initial conversations, the back and forth of swordplay, that Ashby’s technique had been refined on a battlefield with little need for the elegance of the fencing master.

  Sparks flew as the weapons came together, Ashby trying to use his superior size to advantage over his lighter opponent, but Daniel had no trouble disengaging. He just needed to keep Ashby moving until the older man tired.

  He backed Ashby off the dais, his opponent staggering but regaining his feet with surprising agility for a man of his size. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Jonathan, still holding Agnes, move her away, clearing the space on the floor of the Great Hall. He now had the entire room to play with and here his youth came to the fore, forcing Ashby backwards down the hall in a series of thrusts, parries, and ripostes.

  Ashby’s breath started to come in laboured grunts, sweat sheening his forehead. When Ashby tried to counter, Daniel just skipped aside, leaving Ashby thrusting into thin air. Only a few feet now between Ashby’s back and the door to the room. Daniel lunged forward, catching the sleeve of Ashby’s left arm. The man yelped and stumbled backwards, his back coming to rest against the solid wood panelling. A feint to the right and Daniel sent Ashby’s weapon spinning from his hand, the point of his own sword hard up against his neck.

  Everything he had imagined in the long, long years since that day at Eveleigh had come to pass. The death of his father, the fateful events at Worcester, his captivity and torture and even the years aboard a privateer – he had laid them all at the feet of this man.

  Now, as he looked into Ashby’s eyes, he realized how wrong he had been. Yes, Ashby bore the sole responsibility for Thomas Lovell’s death, but everything else? The blame for those events rested on his shoulders alone.

  ‘Get it over with,’ Ashby panted.

  Daniel lowered his sword.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘If I were to kill you, I would be no better than you. You will answer for your crimes in a court of law, not by the spilling of more blood.’

  Ashby straightened, his fingers going to the cut on his neck where Daniel had pressed a little too hard. A trickle of blood stained his pristine white collar.

  He smiled, a nasty, humourless smile. ‘A court of law? I will answer to no one but my God, Lovell.’

  Daniel wrenched the man’s arm around behind his back and, stooping to retrieve Ashby’s sword, turned to face the room. There still remained the problem of Leah Turner.

  ‘Let the children go, Mistress Turner,’ Daniel said.

  Leah shook her head. ‘No. You release the Colonel.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that,’ Daniel said.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Agnes twist in Jonathan’s arms. Jonathan went down on his knees as if he had been felled with a pistol ball. Daniel recognized the manoeuvre and grimaced in sympathy for his friend, but he could do nothing but watch as Agnes flew out of Jonathan’s grip and, with a bloodcurdling scream akin to the war cry of an ancient Celtic warrior, hurled herself bodily at Leah Turner.

  Leah had no time to react. As her grip on Lizzie relaxed, the child sank her teeth into Leah’s hand and the knife fell from her grip. It took both Jonathan and Kit to separate Agnes and Leah. Kit held Agnes by one arm as Agnes continued to glare at Leah Turner. Jonathan had the other woman but all the fight had gone from Leah. She drooped against his arm, her cap gone from her head and her lank ginger hair falling around her face.

  As Agnes’s breathing returned to normal, Kit released her, and she sank to the floor, gathering the two children into her embrace.

  The men visibly relaxed, and Daniel marched his prisoner down to the far end of the hall, depositing him in a chair. Jonathan, still wheezing from his encounter with Agnes’s knee, disposed of Leah in a similar manner. Daniel tossed Jonathan the Colonel’s sword and Kit retrieved Leah Turner’s knife.

  ‘What now?’ Daniel enquired of no one in particular.

  ‘To be honest,’ Jonathan said, ‘I think our best course of action is for us to be quit of this place as soon as possible. Much as I would like to see this bastard hang for his crimes, which now include the murder of his own officer, the paperwork … ’

  ‘Agreed,’ Kit said.

  ‘You’ll let me go?’ Ashby put in.

  ‘Not exactly. If you have any sense you will quit England. Everything Turner said is true. Monck is considering marching on London and if he does, the King’s return is only a matter of time. If you make the mistake of still being in England, Ashby, I will have the greatest pleasure in seeing that charges are brought against you and that you hang.’

  Ashby swallowed. ‘Let me go and I will be on the next boat I can find,’ he said.

  ‘As for you, Mistress Turner?’ Jonathan asked, his tone unnervingly gentle.

  Leah raised her head. ‘I will take Septimus’s body back to our home in Staffordshire,’ she said, turning her head away from Ashby.

  ‘Now, how do we explain to two dozen heavily armed soldiers that their commander is dead?’ Kit enquired.

  Jonathan sighed. ‘I suppose that falls to me.’

  ‘The privileges of rank, Colonel,’ Kit said.

  Henry wriggled out of Agnes’s embrace and ran to Daniel, throwing his arms around his booted leg. Daniel hefted the boy into his arms.

  ‘You were very brave, young man,’ he said.

  Henry touched the scar on Daniel’s cheek. ‘Now I know you really are a pirate,’ he said.

  Daniel tightened his grip on the child. ‘Yes, I really am a pirate.’

  He glanced down at Agnes, who smiled up at him. Nothing and nobody would ever separate her from the children again, not if they valued their lives.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 19

  Preston

  30 November 1659

  Daniel leaned against the doorjamb, watching Agnes as she bent over the bed to kiss the two small heads that rested on the bolster. The only light in the room came from a single candle and the warm, reassuring glow of the fire.

  ‘Are they asleep?’ he asked in a low voice.

  She looked up and started as she saw him. ‘How long have you been there?’

  ‘Long enough,’ he said.

  He crossed to the narrow cot shared by the two children and looked at them, all care and trouble now banished from their soft, round faces. Something stirred within him. They were not his children, but as he had held Henry’s small, trembling body in his arms, he knew he would have killed Tobias Ashby and even Leah Turner without a second thought if it meant keeping the children safe.

  Sarah Truscott came into the room, carrying a tray. She set it down on the table. ‘Some broth, mistress. You’ve not eaten all day.’

  Agnes nodded, and picking up the bowl carried it across to the fire. She sat down on the stool as Sarah busied herself tidying up scattered clothing before excusing herself and leaving them alone together.

  Daniel crouched down beside Agnes, poking the fire into life. It gave him something to do, something to keep his hands busy.

  ‘Kit and Jonathan?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘Kit’s asleep. Doctor gave him some sort of draught that knocked him out in minutes. Jonathan’s reading a book.’

  ‘I keep thinking, if Turner hadn’t turned on Ashby we would all be dead,’ Agnes said. ‘Why did he do it?’

  ‘For completely base reasons. Jonathan bribed him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Jonathan let himself be captured and demanded an interview with Turner. He put a business proposition to Turner and the man agreed. I do think Turner could see that there was no future tied to a man like Ashby, or he would not have acquiesced quite so readily.’

  ‘I’m almost sorry he’s dead,’ Agnes said.

  Daniel shrugged. ‘We’re here, we’re safe, we have the gold, and you have the children. Turner’s death was the price we had to pay.’

>   She set the wooden bowl down. ‘You’re right, Daniel. We’re here. What now?’

  Daniel straightened and leaned his hands on the mantle.

  Aboard the Archangel his plans had been quite simple. Return to England, find his brother, seek out Tobias Ashby, kill him, return to Eveleigh, and pick up the threads of his life. The reality had proved more complex. Yes, he had found Kit, but the price Kit had paid for his freedom was more than he could ever repay. Yes, he had found Tobias Ashby, but killing the man in cold blood would have reduced him to Ashby’s level.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Agnes.’

  He turned to look at her. The firelight bathed her in gold and shadows. She had not slept in over twenty-four hours and her eyes seemed lost in dark circles of absolute exhaustion. A meeting of mutual convenience had become so much more. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, but the children had always come first with Agnes, and, rightly, always would.

  He wondered if there was still a small part of Agnes that had room for someone else.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

  ‘I am thinking that is a foolish question that women always ask. A man’s thoughts are very simple.’

  Her mouth quirked into a smile. ‘Food, and … ’ she lowered her eyes, ‘How to get the next woman they meet into bed?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, that’s not what I was thinking. There is only one woman I want to share my bed with.’

  She looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  He had fought a battle, survived imprisonment, torture, and death, and sailed the seas as a French privateer. And yet a fear such as he had never experienced before clutched his heart. He did not want to lose this woman. He just had to find the courage to say a few simple words.

  He cleared his throat. ‘That night at Seven Ways when you came to me … was it because you just felt sorry for me?’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘No. I said that because … ’ she bit her lip, ‘maybe I wanted to push you away. You had found Kit and I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore. It was easier to hurt than be hurt.’ She took a breath. ‘I love you, Daniel. I probably have from the moment you rescued me on that street in London, however base your motives were.’