'We heard he had raised the Royal Standard at Nottingham last month,' Lysbeth said, 'but how can he make war on Parliament? Does he mean to march to London and capture Parliament or something?'
'I suppose so,' Tom replied, 'but the King's mind is so devious no one knows his plans. It is feared he may bring foreign troops to subdue the Parliament. That is something Englishmen would never forgive.'
'Parliament is in London, though. Why are we troubled with the King's troops here?'
'The King has not found much support as yet,' Tom informed her. 'He chose a bad time to call for support.'
'Why?'
'It is harvest time, you simpleton. Men are not going to leave the harvest simply to foregather at Nottingham and await His Majesty's instructions.'
'Of course. Why did he not think of that?'
'The courtiers do not seem to consider such things as we do in the country,' Tom said, 'but the King has been riding round to gather support, and many of his officers are scouring the country to collect men, and also provisions.'
'Including our sheep!' interrupted Lysbeth angrily.
'Yes, including your sheep.'
'We did receive recompense in the end,' she told him, her idea of fairness forcing her to give this information.
'Oh, yes,' Tom replied grudgingly. 'You received recompense. The Royalists want your support. They have obtained Arthur's, have they not, despite their high-handed actions?'
'Yes, but he – Sir James Howard – was a friend of Arthur's in any event.'
'Think you they will continue to pay recompense when money gets short, and when the people they take provisions from are too poor to resist?'
'You think they would do that?'
'I see this Royalist has persuaded you he is acting fairly,' Tom said, almost sneering.
'No, no,' Lysbeth objected quickly, 'I am not persuaded of that. I see he was trying to persuade my father and Arthur to support the King, to join him. Think you they will truly rob, and from the poorer people in a little while?'
'I think it certain.' Tom looked worried. 'If the King does not receive a vast amount of support quickly, and obtain money from somewhere, then he will have little alternative if he wishes to continue the war.'
'It is fearsome,' Lysbeth cried out. 'What can we do about it, Tom?'
He looked worried. 'I know not what we can do. I do not like what the King is doing, but I hesitate to join the rebellion against him. 'Tis a difficult decision, but if matters get any worse, that is what I shall do.'
'You would really fight for Parliament? Oh, Tom!'
'Would you have me fight for the King, or stay here meekly at home?' Tom asked her.
'N – no. I don't know. Oh, Tom, 'tis a plaguey difficult thing to decide.'
He gave a shout of laughter. 'You had best not let your mother hear you use such language. Come, enough of such serious talk. That is for the future to decide. Now let's ride up into the hills.'
With a somewhat abstracted air, Lysbeth smiled and agreed. He helped her on to her pony and they rode for a long time over the hills and moors, talking of lighter and pleasanter things. Lysbeth had known Tom Bridges all her life. He was but four years older than she, and they frequently spent days together, often joined by Arthur, who was a few years older than Tom.
*
Many times after this, Lysbeth would meet Tom and they would ride together, discussing the latest news about the war. They heard several reports of local farmers or cottagers who had been robbed by the Royalist troops. Tom insisted it was robbery, and though Lysbeth discovered some of the farmers had been given payment, she was beginning to feel this made up little for the indignity and inconvenience of having their crops and their animals taken away by force. They did their best to help the people thus afflicted, and Lysbeth persuaded her father to give some of his crops and animals to those who had been left with nothing, and she rode around the countryside offering help and sympathy wherever she met the need for it.
Soon after Christmas, Tom had made his decision, and he came over one afternoon to tell Lysbeth.
She received him in the parlour, and after a servant had brought wine, he began pacing about the room.
'Tom, what ails you? Sit down,' she commanded.
Instead of obeying her, he came over to where she sat, and looked down at her. He was a tall youth, slim built, with large, dark, brooding eyes. These regarded her seriously.
'I have decided to fight against the King,' he blurted out. ' 'Twas not an easy decision to make, but I must. I wished to go after the battle at Edge Hill in October, but my father bade me wait. Now, however, he sees there will be no quick end to the war, and so he has agreed. I am leaving tomorrow. Will you wish me well?'
'But surely, Tom,' Lysbeth smiled at him. 'Of course I wish you well. But what is it?'
He leant over her. 'I regret Arthur and I will be on opposing sides.'
'Oh, how terrible if you were to meet in a battle!'
'I do not expect that is likely,' Tom reassured her. 'I am staying in Lancashire, and I believe Arthur has joined the King at Oxford.'
'Yes. But you might still meet. Oh, how horrible it all is!'
'A civil war is always so,' Tom replied sombrely. 'There are many families here in Lancashire that are divided.'
Lysbeth looked at him sadly.
'Aye,' he said heavily. 'I know of at least three families where sons have joined opposing sides, and one where the father has joined the King and the son Parliament.'
'That is fearsome,' breathed Lysbeth. 'It is bad enough to have friends on different sides. I am thankful at least my family is not split.'
'It is not, yet,' Tom said slowly, with emphasis.
She looked up at him quickly, with an anxious query in her eyes.
'You mean – my father? What do you mean, Tom?'
He smiled at her suddenly. 'Do not worry. I do not mean your present family.'
Lysbeth looked even more puzzled.
'Confound it, I should not have said anything.' Tom turned away and went to look out of the window.
'Said what?' Lysbeth persisted. 'Tom, if you know ought about my family, you must tell me, please!'
'It is nothing, yet,' Tom replied, still looking out of the window. 'Merely that some day, I had hoped – but let it be, I am confused.'
Lysbeth began to ask more questions, but suddenly the set of his shoulders warned her not to press too far. With difficulty she began to talk of other things, and, greatly relieved, Tom soon turned to face her and thankfully followed her lead.
*
That year spring came early, and Lysbeth heard frequent reports of what was happening in various parts of the country. Early in March, Arthur came to visit his family, bringing news of the Queen's arrival in York, and the welcome she had received there after her long absence in Holland. In Lancashire itself, bands of Cavaliers under Lord Derby were becoming more urgent in their demands for contributions to the war. The countryfolk were terrified, and Lysbeth grew more and more angry at every tale she heard. When Tom came to visit her, which he did fairly frequently, he sympathised with her anger, and was able to comfort her somewhat by hints that measures were being taken against the Cavaliers. He would say no more, but a few weeks after one of his visits they heard that a group of landowners had gathered at Rochdale under Ralph Assheton, the Member of Parliament for Lancashire, and had roundly defeated Derby. Derby himself escaped, but his band of ruffianly Cavaliers were dispersed, and Lysbeth fervently hoped that they had ceased plaguing the county.
Lysbeth was taking a passionate interest in the progress of the war, demanding news from everyone who might have some. When Arthur made his infrequent visits home, she argued fiercely about the King's misdeeds. To her chagrin Arthur, who had previously, despite the difference in their ages, been very close to her, treated her arguments with disdain, telling her that she was but a child and a female one at that.
'What do you know about it?' he asked laughingly on one occasion.
'How can you understand?'
'I may understand as well as you do,' Lysbeth retorted. 'Just because I am a girl does not mean I have not the wit to understand.'
'I fear no one has the wit to understand,' her father put in gloomily. 'It is not so clear cut as either you or Arthur maintain.'
Lysbeth began to repeat the arguments she had learned from Tom, but Arthur brusquely told her to leave the affairs of men to them, and to occupy herself with household affairs. This infuriated her, and she flounced haughtily out of the room.
'Why is my dear little sister so hot for the Parliamentarians?' Arthur queried laughingly of his father.
Sir Francis smiled ruefully. 'I fear it is the influence of young Tom Bridges,' he answered. 'Lysbeth saw a great deal of him in the few weeks before he joined the Parliament army. The experience she had with your friend Sir James Howard turned her against the Royalists.'
'H'm. A pity. Tom Bridges?' murmured Arthur thoughtfully. 'Does his father support Parliament?'
'I think Mr Bridges tries to remain neutral, as indeed I do myself,' Sir Francis replied. 'But he has permitted Tom to do as he wished. It is a pity neighbours must disagree.'
'Father,' Arthur began, 'do you think – ? I've been wondering. Young Tom was often here, and now that Lysbeth is almost a grown woman – '
Sir Francis looked at him, a glint of amusement in his eyes. 'You had best not let her hear that,' he murmured.
Arthur grinned briefly. 'Fear not, Father, but whatever I say to her, 'tis true, she is almost grown. She is ready for marriage.'
'Aye, we have thought on't,' Sir Francis replied.
'What do you intend for her?' Arthur asked.
'No plans have yet been made.'
'You would not – that is, do you think Tom is showing an interest?'
'It is possible. His father did indeed broach the subject once, a year since. He mentioned that he thought it would be a good match for both of them. They have known each other for long, and they seem good friends.'
'You did not agree, did you, Father? You did not agree? Look at the situation now. It is changed. I had nothing against Tom until he became a rebel, but now 'tis different.'
Sir Francis nodded slowly. 'It is indeed. We must wait on events.'
'You would not permit a marriage with a rebel?' Arthur persisted anxiously.
'I have not seriously considered it. I did think favourably of Tom Bridges. He is young still, and a good man.'
'But not now. Surely you would not allow such a match, now he has shown his favour for the Parliament.'
'I know not what to think,' his father confessed. 'I would have permitted it, even a few months ago. Not immediately, of course. In two or three years. But now I know not what to think.'
'You cannot let her marry a Parliamentarian. Father, there are other possibilities.'
His father raised an enquiring eyebrow, but said nothing.
'You must make efforts to fix a match with one of the King's supporters,' Arthur said. 'Not only is it right, but it might turn her away from this crazy idea of hers of supporting the Parliament.'
'Had you anyone in mind?' Sir Francis asked.
'Well,' Arthur paused. 'Please, Father, do not think I am trying to usurp your position, but in these times things are difficult. What would normally be done cannot now be considered. I have one or two ideas, certainly, but I would prefer not to suggest names yet.'
'Then what do you propose?'
'I would like to bring some of my friends here when possible, simply to introduce them to Lysbeth, and give her a wider selection of friends – or potential suitors.'
Sir Francis nodded, and Arthur continued.
'It is not that I would force her into a match she disliked, but if someone showed a partiality for her, or if she began to like someone, methinks 'twould be better than letting this friendship with Tom Bridges develop.'
'Mayhap you are right,' Sir Francis answered, 'but also it is perhaps premature. She is scarce fifteen. There is time to arrange a marriage for her. Let us hope these wars will not continue for long.'
'Let us indeed hope so. But you will consider my suggestion? And at the same time try to discourage Tom?'
Sir Francis agreed, and Arthur left to rejoin his army in a happier frame of mind about Lysbeth than he had been for some time past.
*
Chapter 4
During the next few months Lysbeth came across many instances where people had had property removed by the Royalists. Sometimes it was paid for, but many times it was not. She did her best to comfort those afflicted, and often was able to persuade her father to help them. Lysbeth took home all the tales she heard of the Royal brutalities, and regaled her father with these at frequent intervals. She could not, however, persuade him to support Parliament's cause. He preferred to continue with his own concerns and the affairs of the nation were of little interest to him if they did not affect Arthur.
So the months passed, and though they had occasional news of the war, little affected them directly. Arthur came home on three short visits, and each time brought a friend with him, but they made little impression on Lysbeth, except for her disgust when Arthur brought Sir James Howard. On that occasion she did her utmost to keep out of his way, resenting at the same time losing the company of Arthur.
One morning, early in April, Lysbeth woke suddenly to the sound of shouts and hammering on the front door. She sprang quickly out of bed and ran to peer out of the window. There on the driveway in front of the house she saw a group of about half a dozen men. By their dress she recognised them as troopers belonging to Parliament's army. What did they want? It was scarcely light.
Again the banging came on the door, and a harsh voice was raised.
'Ho, there! Open! Be ye laggardly in serving the Parliament? Open, I say.'
Lysbeth hastily slipped on a wrap and pushed her feet into soft slippers. She pulled open the door of her room and ran to the top of the staircase. She peered. over to see Matthew, one of the older menservants, standing hesitantly by the door, then she heard her father's voice.
Peering more closely, she saw he was standing in the shadows beyond the circle of light cast by the candelabrum Matthew held.
'Well, Matthew, open the door. Why do you wait?'
'But, Sir Francis, what do they wish?'
'We shall not discover until you open the door,' Sir Francis replied calmly.
'I am afeared, Master,' the old man trembled.
'Do not be concerned. Now open the door before they break it down.'
His warning was timely. The battering had begun again on the door. Matthew reluctantly stepped towards it and drew back the bolts. As he opened the door the trooper who had been battering on it with the butt of his musket almost fell over the threshold. He regained his balance with difficulty, then looked sternly at Matthew, not noticing Sir Francis in the gloom.
'Where is your master? I demand speech with him immediately.'
'What is it you want?' quavered Matthew, courageously attempting to bar the way into the house, but Sir Francis' voice came from behind the trooper, who was already inside the hall.
'You wish to speak with me, Sir?' he said gently, and the trooper spun round to face him.
'You are master here?' he asked peremptorily.
'I am.'
'Good, then you no doubt wish to be of assistance to Parliament. We have a large troop coming to this area later in the day, and we need lodgings for them. I demand you provide what you can.'
'I do not care for such demands,' Sir Francis began mildly.
'Whether you care or not matters nothing,' the trooper almost spat at him.
'I was about to say,' Sir Francis continued, dismissing the interruption with a mild stare of surprise, 'that though I do not like such demands, I am perfectly ready to place some accommodation at your disposal. There is the hayloft over the stables. As many of your troopers as can be accommodated there are welcome to it. We have some room in the stables, some o
f your horses can be put there, the rest can be turned into the paddock. Does that satisfy you?'
The trooper looked at him with some contempt at this ready offer.
'And how many people do you think can be accommodated in a hayloft?' he sneered. ' 'Tis a large troop, and we need good accommodation. We are not grooms or scullions. You will show me over the house.'
'The house?' Sir Francis asked in surprise. 'What mean you, Sir?'
'What I say. I will look over the house and decide how many can be accommodated within. If there is not room for everyone, a few may have to go in the hayloft.'
'We have but a few spare bedrooms,' Sir Francis answered. 'I will show you them, though I do not like your way of asking for them.'
'I speak not of spare bedrooms,' the trooper answered. 'Our need is greater than yours. I am sure you will be able to find lodgings in the village for your family.'
Sir Francis, a mild-mannered man slow to anger, grew curt.
'Explain your meaning!' he said abruptly, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown.
'Does it need any more explaining?' asked the trooper, feigning weariness. 'We need your house, there is not room for you to remain.'
'You cannot do this. I have offered you what is available, which is more than most people would have done after your insolent demands.'
'Do you propose to show me the house?' the trooper went on, ignoring the rebuke.
'I will most certainly not permit you to turn out my family and my servants.' Sir Francis looked at him levelly. 'You may still use the hayloft. Now leave.'
The trooper laughed unpleasantly. 'I will leave, but do not accept the mite you offer. I regret you have seen fit to prevent me from performing my duty to the country. You will repent your folly in opposing me. We return before the day is out.'
He turned abruptly on his heel, and strode out of the house. Without needing any sign from Sir Francis, Matthew flung the door to after him and shot home the bolts.
*
Lysbeth, who had been standing horrified at the top of the stairs during the exchanges, ran hastily down and flung herself on to her father.
'Father, what do they mean? They cannot turn us out! What is happening?'
Civil Conflict Page 3