Lady of the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  ‘Sir, be reasonable,’ I said. ‘They have small children. It’s raining. We can’t just—’

  ‘Get back inside. I won’t take interference from you.’ Sir Simon pushed me through the front door and slammed it in my face. When I tried to open it I found someone was holding the handle from the other side. I twisted the handle with all my might but it would not budge.

  I ran to the window, but the Diggers were already dispersing. Why? Why weren’t they fighting back? But fighting had never been their way, and the threat of arrest had unmanned them. It made me want to weep, that they should give up so easily. That a man like my stepfather should find it so easy to bully them. I watched Whistler deliberately spit on our front step.

  Below, the repeated bang of the kitchen door. I ran pell-mell down the stairs.

  Margery was in the kitchen throwing a few remaining vegetables into a sack. At my arrival she pulled her apron off the hook.

  ‘Margery, wait—’

  She shoved me away. ‘Don’t you try your oily words with me! We trusted you. Now look what a mess we’re in. Winter, and no roof over our heads and nowhere to go. Seth was right. You’re like all the rest. Don’t give a fig for anyone but yourself.’

  ‘That’s not true! It’s not my fault that—’

  ‘No. Nothing’s ever your fault is it? My Seth would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. Bitch. Now get out of my way.’ She hustled by me and up the stairs.

  A few moments later she marched down. She passed without a word, the bundle of her bedding thrust under her arm, a cloth bag full of clothing slung over her back. She was dragging her youngest boy by the wrist. He was crying, but she yanked him out of the kitchen door.

  A clatter of boots on the stairs and Abi’s little sister, Martha, appeared. ‘Jonty,’ she cried. ‘Wait for me!’

  ‘No,’ I said catching her around the waist, ‘you can’t go with them.’

  ‘Why? I want to play with Jonty.’ She struggled and kicked until a crack on the shin forced me to let go. I followed her to the open door. The Diggers were hurrying down the drive, arms full of their possessions, the men shouldering spades and hoes. They strode away with their heads down, as though they could not get away quick enough, the children tagging behind, hauled away by impatient parents.

  ‘Jonty!’ Martha cried again, running after her friend. ‘Wait for me!’

  Jonty turned to look, but Margery slapped him, and thrust him forwards. She yelled at Martha, ‘Get on home. We don’t want you.’

  Martha’s face crumpled. She stood disconsolate on the driveway, fingers pulling on the corner of her apron.

  I ran to comfort her, but she screamed, ‘Go away!’ at me and ran to the stables. None of the Diggers looked back.

  The sight of their backs filled me with sudden weariness. The dream was over. I’d failed. I sat down at the kitchen table, and pressed my arm against my forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Ralph,’ I whispered.

  Abi came in through the back door, her face white, Martha gathered up onto her hip like a much younger child. ‘Hush now, baby,’ she said. ‘Run upstairs and wash your face, then I’ll play chickens with you.’

  Martha trailed upstairs, heavy-footed.

  Abi turned to me, ‘They’ve gone. What shall we do?’

  ‘Don’t you want to join them?’ The words were bitter.

  ‘Don’t be daft. Your stepfather told me I could stay. I’ll warrant he fears he’ll lose his dinner without a servant in the kitchen. But I can’t keep Martha here; he won’t have it.’

  ‘You could go.’

  ‘Where to? To Elizabeth? She wouldn’t thank me. And I couldn’t bear to go to mother’s cottage,’ she paused, twisting her mouth. ‘Too many bad memories. And I don’t want to leave you here alone with Downall. No. I’ll take Martha back to the vicarage. She had company there. You and I will see this out together.’

  ‘I thought to make the Diggers my friends, but they always saw me as something different. Now they’ll hate me.’ I slumped back into the chair.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Abi said.

  ‘Ralph would be disappointed in me. I’ve let him down.’

  ‘He’ll know you tried.’

  ‘Trying’s not enough! All that work, and they got not a penny for it. No wonder they hate me.’

  ‘They’ll get over it in time, Kate. It’s not in their natures to bear grudges for long.’

  ‘But it’s not fair. I’ll pay them for their work somehow, if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll make them see that I’m on their side.’ I was almost talking to myself.

  ‘How? You have no money. Thomas is still missing. Where will you get coin to pay them with?’

  New resolve fired through my veins. ‘I don’t know, but I’ll do it. I’ll prove to them that I’m not like my stepfather – that I’m a Digger at heart.’

  10: House Buyers

  The next day Sir Simon left to look for Thomas in London, and sort out some of his trading affairs. Downall soon replaced the Diggers with dark-dressed men of his own choosing, who saw him as cock of the roost. I overheard one of them saying his brother wouldn’t work for us because the Fanshawes were bad luck and made you work for nothing.

  I knew where that rumour had come from and it hurt. I was still determined to make it up to the Diggers somehow. I couldn’t bear it that Ralph’s friends thought ill of me.

  A week later, Sir Simon sent his servant Venner back to us. With him came a party of well-dressed men from the city; Gawthorpe, a fat merchant tailor, and his two hefty sons. The Gawthorpes were newly wealthy, judging by their fine leather boots and velvet doublets, but rough. They wore heavy white Puritan collars that needed a good wash.

  My mother would have thought them common and coarse, but that was how things were now the wars were over. Aristocratic blood had fled abroad. I did not like the look of them, but then I would not like the look of anyone who wanted to cast me out of my own home, for these were the men who wanted to buy the manor.

  And Sir Simon had deliberately neglected to inform me they were coming.

  I was icy with them, but the father ignored me as Venner took them round the rooms. The sons stared at me morosely, as if I was an unwelcome servant.

  I assured them that all the rooms were draughty, but Gawthorpe took no notice and made encouraging comments about the possible renovation of the dining hall, the parlour and the library. Venner had obviously briefed them about my position beforehand and waxed forth about what a bargain the estate was.

  Venner took them into the study to feed them madeira wine, and presumably secure an offer for the house.

  The sons asked about the hunting.

  ‘Finest deer park in Hertfordshire,’ Venner said. ‘There’s two hundred head in those woods.’

  A lie. Our deer had been taken by the Roundheads in the wars. Sickened, I went out to the stables to feed Blaze some extra oats, and to talk to Cutch.

  ‘They’ll buy,’ I said gloomily.

  ‘What will you do then?’ Cutch shut the stable door on the visitors’ horses and flopped down on a heap of hay.

  ‘My stepfather expects me to go to France. He won’t admit Thomas might be dead. Obviously I don’t want to go.’

  ‘Have you any savings?’

  ‘None. The wars took everything I had. And if I disobey, and refuse to go to France my stepfather has the power to imprison me, or get me transported.’

  ‘He doesn’t know about Ralph though, does he?’

  Our conversation was interrupted by voices in the yard. We pulled the door closed and listened. I pressed my ear to the crack in the door.

  ‘So you’re saying the tenants are trouble?’ The rough-edged voice of Gawthorpe.

  ‘They’re an unruly, unlettered lot,’ I heard Downall say. ‘Hard to manage. Makes it difficult to turn a profit.’

  Cutch and I looked to each other in amazement.

  ‘But the deer park – Venner told me it was the biggest in Hertfordshire.’

&
nbsp; ‘Was,’ Downall said. ‘Before the wars. It’s just a few head of deer now. I think you’ll find all the fences are in need of repair, and the villagers – well, they’re not averse to a spot of poaching.’

  ‘So you’re saying it’s not a good buy?’

  ‘Wouldn’t touch it with a horsewhip, myself,’ Downall said. ‘Roof leaks too.’

  ‘Oh Lord. Sounds bad, father,’ came a younger voice.

  ‘But we’d brought coin as a deposit!’ I heard the splutter in Gawthorpe’s voice. ‘We’d hoped to seal the transaction. Fanshawe told us to talk to the sequestration committee and they would assist with the paperwork. We’ve set aside a week.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you, but…’ Downall let his words hang.

  ‘Damn it,’ Gawthorpe said. ‘We’d thought it a bargain, but it seems we were duped. My thanks, sir, you have saved us a lot of heartache. We owe you a favour.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all.’ Downall’s voice was more than usually ingratiating.

  Cutch raised his eyebrows at me. It was obvious Downall did not want them to buy. But why?

  We had no time to ponder it, as their footsteps announced the Gawthorpes’ arrival to collect the horses and carriage. Cutch leapt up to go and turn the horses. I peeped out of the door to see Gawthorpe shake hands with Downall. The two hefty sons clambered into the carriage. Through the open door I saw their big black-bound trunk. I imagined its weight, the sift of coin through my fingers.

  ‘Sir Simon would spit feathers if he knew Downall had lost him the sale,’ Cutch said, when they’d gone.

  ‘Is Downall just intent on making trouble, or is there another reason? I don’t trust him.’

  Cutch sighed. ‘Sooner or later the house will sell. You have to face it.’

  But I was not thinking of that. I was still thinking of the Gawthorpes’ money chest. The thought of the Gawthorpe’s coin had stuck in my mind like a burr sticking to worsted. If I had that trunk, there would be plenty there to pay the Diggers for their work. And the Gawthorpes were rich; they had plenty.

  That night when everyone was asleep, I saddled Blaze and rode out through the village. The Gawthorpes would be at The Crown. There was nowhere else to stay. I rode round the back lane to see that their carriage was still parked there. That trunk full of coin would be upstairs with them now, whilst they snored. I imagined opening it, plunging my wrists into the rattle of gold.

  For a long time I stared up at the inn, ruminating. The moon was a fine sliver, a perfect night for highway thieves. I thought of those other highwaymen, of poor Mrs Binch’s face. Why should those men be the only thieves on the road? There was no sign of them now. Despite his enthusiasm, Jacob Mallinson had not been able to apprehend them. Common sense told me they were probably in another county by now.

  The thought rooted and would not let go. I had turned highway thief once before, and I could do it again.

  All it needed was courage.

  I thought of Ralph, of how much he’d sacrificed for his ideals. I could suffocate under Sir Simon’s ways, or I could take fate into my own hands. Reckless, I pulled on the reins to turn, and with a yell, set my heels to my horse’s flanks.

  *

  Later, in my chamber, I took out a quill and began to write a list of the Diggers who had worked my land. I was so feverish with excitement that my hand shook. I could not sleep. Now the idea had come to me, I was impatient to put it into action. I’d need to find out where the Diggers lodged, and a way of leaving each of them a bag of money where it could be easily found.

  Above all, it felt good to be going against my stepfather’s orders. Since I was twelve years old I had been bartered and bought. But no more. I would make my choice. The Fanshawes thought I needed them, but I needed no one. Ralph was right. Before, my wealth had been a curse, but I’d make this wealth a blessing. The prospect made a frisson of fear trickle up my back.

  The next morning I was up at dawn. My stepfather had left a pair of antiquated flintlocks in the desk drawer of the study. I had seen them when I went for writing paper and quill. After that, I went to the lumber room where they kept hunting weapons. There I took some fish-gutting knives for cutting open purses, flinching at the sight of their sharp edges.

  I took a sack and filled it with practical clothes. I had not many, but I took a pair of Whistler’s rough-weave breeches that had been left behind, and Thomas’s boots from his room. A dark felt hat of my own would hide my hair. I cursed the fact it was so thick and unruly. With my own black wool mourning cloak over my clothes, I would pass for a man.

  I imagined Whistler finding a bag of coin and wondering where it had come from, his broad face creasing up in puzzlement. And then I imagined him finding out later who had left it, and his admiration and distress that he’d doubted me. I would be a secret benefactor, and make Ralph proud of me. I wished he could see me; I ached for him still.

  The Diggers would change their minds about me. When they saw how I had put my life on the line for them, they’d realise I was one of them after all.

  11: An Unwanted Proposal

  Downall arrived for work the next day and took the servants into the study to give them the day’s instructions. It was like when Grice used to be overseer. I was shut out of all the management of my own house. I took matters into my own hands and listened outside the door. I needed to know where everyone would be that evening.

  Yesterday Cutch had been to the farrier in the village. He told me the Gawthorpes had been there just before him with their horses, because they were to leave after supper tonight. Once I heard Downall dismiss the servants, I hurried away and I was halfway down the stairs when Venner called after me, ‘Master wants to see you.’

  ‘Master?’ I filled my voice with as much sarcasm as I could.

  ‘Mr Downall. He wants you to go in.’

  ‘I’m busy.’ I started to walk away.

  Downall opened the door, and seeing me there, called me in. I stood reluctantly before the desk, whilst he sat, lounging, a pile of paperwork before him.

  ‘Where do you go to?’ He asked. ‘The servants say you rode out last night and were gone many hours.’

  ‘Just riding,’ I said. ‘I like to be out in the air.’

  ‘At night? Perhaps I could accompany you, then, on one of your evening rides.’

  My heart was beating fast in my bodice. ‘I prefer to go alone.’ I turned to go. I did not want this conversation with him. And I felt panic rising. I had a sudden vision of being followed. I must be careful.

  Downall came round from the desk to tower over me. ‘Do you know where Thomas Fanshawe is?’ His question took me by surprise, and it must have showed. ‘You do, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘All I know is that he ran away. When you broke down our door and Copthorne came and tried to hold us all hostage. I don’t know where my husband is now.’

  ‘So he could be dead, for all you know?’

  I looked him in the eye. ‘He could be anywhere. There are so many missing since the wars. Excuse me.’ I tried to step past him but Downall delayed me with an outstretched arm.

  ‘Best to let the past go,’ he said, lifting my chin with one finger, ‘as I have. If your husband is dead, you will be free to marry.’

  ‘It is too early to think of that.’ I backed away.

  ‘Once we know Thomas’s fate, I will be pursuing my suit with your stepfather. He will see the political advantages a match between us will bring.’

  I cringed. The thought filled me with revulsion. Downall was an old man. ‘I could never marry you.’

  ‘Never? I don’t think you will have a choice if it is what Sir Simon commands. And he will command it, I’ll see to that. If Thomas is dead, the lands pass to Sir Simon as the nearest male heir. You would be a burden on your stepfather with no husband. He will own your land and all your wealth. You will be nothing unless you marry. It will be me, or some other of your stepfather’s choosing. But if you wed me, you can stay here, in your
family home.’

  ‘No.’ I thought of Ralph and knew I had to get out of the room before I said something disastrous. ‘I will speak to my stepfather on this matter. Now let me pass.’

  He stood aside, his manner casual, though his voice had an edge. ‘Do that. Sir Simon will think my way, or I will see to it that the sequestration committee take his lands.’

  12: Highwaywoman

  I kept out of Downall’s sight until he left at sunset for his lodgings. I watched his thick neck above his Puritan collar as he trotted away, and breathed a sigh of relief. The night was dark, but I waited until gone seven. I fastened a heavy taffeta skirt over my men’s clothes in case I was seen by the servants. The waistband was uncomfortably tight, and I was a few moments trying to get the strings to meet over the bulk of Whistler’s tweed breeches.

  Above me, the voice of Venner as he gave Abi instructions, and outside, the mournful hoot of an owl. I tiptoed down the stairs, creaked open the side door, then hurried across the yard into the stalls. No sign of Cutch. Probably in the tack room cleaning the saddlery, or mending harness. I was glad, because he might have tried to stop me. I pulled off my heavy taffeta skirt and stuffed it down into an empty barrel. Then I jammed the velveteen hat tight over my hair and tied the cords under my chin. A kerchief completed my disguise.

  I bridled Blaze and he whickered at me as I tiptoed to collect the saddle. In the dark I had to do everything by feel. I tied two sacks either side of the pommel for my spoils. A wave of tiredness washed over me. I hesitated. Had I lost leave of my senses?

  I turned to look at the house. It wasn’t too late to stop this madness. I could turn back, go inside, out of danger, back to the light. Pretend I had never thought of the idea. I held my arms against my belly, hugging myself, uncertain.

  From here the domed towers of the manor were just visible against the even blacker sky. Otherwise the house was just like a splash of ink against black silk. My house. My inheritance. A sharp twinge of regret, a longing, made tears prickle at my lashes. I was homesick, I realised. Not for that – not for Markyate Manor, but for a home I had never really possessed. For all the homes that I had imagined as a child; the farmsteads where a mother laid out the butter and eggs for breakfast, the town houses in winter where visitors were led to a hot fire and given a posset in an ale cup to warm their hands.