The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  “Why is that?” Helena asked, liking Master Evelyn immediately.

  “He was distressed to hear of King Charles’s deathbed conversion to Catholicism, albeit it was only a rumour.” Celia”s voice dropped conspiratorially. “Though to be anti-Papist is hardly news. It applies to almost everyone in this room.” She gave a derisive laugh. “As for his attire, he’s in mourning for two daughters he lost this year from the smallpox.”

  “Two daughters? Oh, how sad for him.” Helena felt immediate sympathy, his loss reminding her of her own.

  Celia sighed. “Mary, the elder, was a lovely creature. She was to have been one of the Queen’s ladies.”

  Helena watched William hail some friends on the other side of the hall.

  “Evelyn’s a nice old soul,” he whispered, his breath warm on her face. “Though quite a dry stick. I’ll offer the compliments of the season when I have consumed a deal more wine.” he dropped a swift kiss on her hand, and she stared at the tiny creases in front of his ear. “I beg your indulgence, Mistress Woulfe.” His wig brushed her cheek and sent a frisson down her back. She watched him walk away, her face flushing, and distracted enough that she had to ask Celia to repeat her question.

  “…I asked, would you like me to introduce you?”

  “To Master Evelyn?” Helena frowned, trying to recover her composure. “No, I don’t think…”

  However, at that moment, the man himself glanced in their direction. “Ah. The elder of Master Devereux’s delightful daughters,” he called out, beckoning with a feminine hand. “The pride of Lambtons. How are you, my dear?” He made an ostentatious flourish.

  “I am well, sir. Do allow me to present Helena Woulfe, Master Evelyn. Helena, Master John Evelyn.”

  The elderly courtier bowed over Helena’s hand. “My good friend Robert has spoken of you, my dear, but he skimped disgracefully on the details.” His hooded eyes sparkled with amusement.

  Helena’s surprise must have shown on her face, for he added, “London is a village, Mistress Woulfe, everything is known here.” Still moving languorously, he waved a hand in a small circle as if to include her in the conversation. “We were discussing the worsening plight of the Huguenots, since King Louis revoked the Edict of Nantes.” He gazed around at the small crowd of enthralled onlookers. “Abhorring the fact that Protestant churches are being demolished all over France, and that whole families are being imprisoned, and libraries burnt.”

  “I, too have heard of it, sir,” Helena said, watching Alyce sidle up to Evelyn and flutter her eyelashes.

  “The persecution is barbaric, but the London Gazette remains silent on the subject. All intelligence comes to me by my friends or through letters; such a strange state of affairs, I find, for what is still a Protestant Country. Should we not all be up in arms on behalf of our French neighbours?” He held his slender hands palm upwards as if inviting her opinion.

  Alyce spoke instead, her fan flapping. “Now we have a Catholic King and Queen, do you anticipate such persecution will cross the Channel, Master Evelyn?”

  Celia glared at her mother, and two elderly ladies gasped in horror, leaning on their companions for support, while the gentlemen murmured darkly.

  “Protestantism in France is not the same as Anglicanism, my dear.” Evelyn placed a finger to his cheek as he considered the question. “Huguenots follow the beliefs of John Calvin, who states God has willed the majority of men to eternal damnation.”

  “…which some of them richly deserve,” Robert interjected, creating a ripple of nervous laughter through the small circle.

  Helena glanced sideways to see William walk by, an attractive red-haired woman on his arm, but his gaze held Helena’s. Embarrassed he had caught her looking at him, she turned away quickly.

  “Master Calvin thought so, too.” Evelyn gestured to a passing server to bring him a glass of wine. “However, they do not discover if they have lived righteous enough lives to become God’s elect, until they die.”

  “What would be the purpose of living a virtuous life, if it avails us nothing?” Alyce sniffed. “A thankless religion, to my mind.”

  “Catholic doctrine states a priest can grant direct entry to Heaven, and has the ear of God.” Helena said, summoning her courage. “Little wonder then the French king has made Calvinism illegal, when such doctrine strips his church of its power.”

  Master Evelyn’s admiring stare joined several others, who seemed less than impressed that a woman had dared to venture an opinion. Aware of the close scrutiny of those around her, Helena dared not turn her head to see if William was among them.

  The conversation was noisily broken by a group of performers who turned summersaults and threw painted wooden hoops into the air. Cries of delight replaced bemused stares when one held a flaming wand, and appeared to swallow it.

  When the jugglers dispersed to entertain another group, Helena found herself isolated at the side of the room beside Mr Evelyn.

  He inclined his head, one hand cupped beneath his chin. “I knew Monmouth quite well you know, my dear. I thought him a lovely person, handsome, and of an easy nature. That he should be so debauched and greedy as to allow himself seduced by crafty knaves was his tragedy, when he had so much already.” With a final low bow, he moved off into the crowd.

  Helena rose from her returning curtsey with her gaze on his retreating back, murmuring, “he was the craftiest knave of them all.”

  Chapter 16

  Dinner was served in the largest of the dining halls; it sparkled with light from a thousand candles. The Devereuxs and their guests listened attentively to William recount his tour of far-off countries, with their impressive architecture, bad roads, intractable foreigners, and unbearably hot weather.

  When the time came, Henry was given the honour of making the first cut to the Christmas cake, with a flourish amid loud clapping. He was so handsome in a new suit and with a flattering wig in his natural hair colour. Helena looked at the young girls who gathered round him to receive the first slices. She examined each face, but Mary Ann Newman’s was not among them.

  On discovering the pea in her slice, Helena’s instinct was to remain silent. However, Celia spotted the damning item on her plate, and loudly declared her to be Queen of the Revels. The announcement was greeted with roaring applause.

  Helena reluctantly took her place on the decorated chair, her throne, while William clapped with enthusiasm. When the “King” proved to be John Evelyn, he pleaded his age and constitution as being inadequate to the position, so William, amid loud catcalls and suggestive laughter, stepped forward and begged to be Helena’s champion.

  “I have never been Queen of Revels.” Helena whispered. “What do I do?”

  “Simply follow my lead.” William’s broad wink made Helena’s cheeks flame even hotter.

  The evening grew more raucous as time went on, with the performance of outrageous tasks meted out by the “King” and “Queen”. Four serving men carried Helena round the room on a makeshift litter. Celia had to polish the buckles on Helena’s shoes, then a simpering young woman, whom Phebe insisted was the mistress of someone important at Court, followed William around the room with his gloves on a silver tray.

  As dawn light crept through windows rimed with a crisp frost, Lambtons emptied of revellers, who lurched out to waiting carriages and sedans into a street that echoed to drunken greetings and compliments of the Season.

  Alyce surveyed with dismay the discarded wine glasses, ribbons and food leftovers on every surface.

  “Leave it for the servants to clear up in the morning,” Robert said, dismissing the yawning serving staff to their beds. “It is no more than the mark of a successful Twelfth Night!” he announced happily.

  Drooping with exhaustion, Helena was about to follow their example, when William appeared at her shoulder. “Allow me to escort you to your chamber, Mistress Woulfe.” His words slurred into near incomprehension.

  Inwardly thrilled, Helena doubted he could see her pr
operly, with such unfocussed eyes.

  “The bottom of the stairs would be quite adequate, sir,” She replied, her hand held out toward him, palm downwards.

  “Ah, too forward? Do forgive me.” William took her hand in his and turned it over, planting a lingering, yet firm kiss on her palm.

  The effort to remain upright became too much and he staggered to one side, caught by a hovering footman who twirled him around and supported him up the stairs. When they finally reached top, William waved an unsteady arm in farewell and blew her a dramatic kiss over his shoulder.

  “William is so amusing.” Celia laughed, tucking her arm through Helena’s.

  Helena didn’t reply, bemused to discover she felt the warm imprint of his kiss on her hand all the way up to her room.

  * * *

  Leaden skies gave way to snow, which swirled into doorways and drifted down the wider chimneys. Venturing beyond the firesides was an unwelcome ordeal.

  On a particularly frigid dark afternoon, Samuel Ffoyle’s carriage rolled to a halt on the cobbles outside the inn.

  Helena watched his arrival from the window in Celia”s room. “I did not expect him until Spring. Are not the roads treacherous at this time of year?”

  Celia shrugged. “Maybe he has some important business requiring his attention.”

  “Perhaps.” Frowning, Helena grabbed her shawl and hurried outside as Samuel alighted from the carriage. Tall and imposing as ever in his city peruke, he had the remains of a frown on his face, as if he had been berating some unfortunate commoner.

  “And how many coachmen have you sent off with burning ears today, Master Ffoyle?” Helena teased, throwing her arms around him. Though it was still mid-afternoon, the sky hung low and dark over a street where the only light was from the yellow glow of the inn lamps through the leaded windows.

  A second figure in a wide brimmed hat emerged from the coach.

  “Elias!” Helena gasped. “I had no idea you were coming to London.”

  Tiny white flakes drifted from the black sky and settled onto Elias’s bare head as he bowed over her hand. “It is good to see you, Mistress Woulfe.” His voice sounded forced, his gaze shifting to his father, who seemed reluctant to look at him.

  Helena frowned. What was going on between these two?

  Elias reached back into the carriage, and as Helena blinked snowflakes from her lashes, long, feminine fingers grasped his outstretched hand, followed by the arm and then the head of girl with large light eyes and high delicate cheekbones in an oval face.

  Her presence provoked very different reactions in the two men. Elias solicitously helped her navigate the narrow step, while Samuel set his lips in a firm line and turned away.

  Enveloped in a voluminous traveling cape, the girl’s white cap beneath the turned-back hood lay askew. Strands of pale hair blew across her face in the cold wind, but she held her chin high, her light eyes glittering with defiance, and not a little fear.

  “Th-this is my wife Amy.” Elias stammered an introduction.

  Amy inclined her head in shy acknowledgment, her gaze flickering to her father-in-law, who still avoided her eye.

  “Your wife?” Helena asked, open-mouthed in shock.

  Several unspoken questions invaded her head. Samuel gave a dismissive snort and stomped past them to where Robert waited at the inn door. After a brief exchange, in which Helena heard Samuel ask, “Is he here yet?” the pair disappeared inside.

  “Father is…displeased with us.” Elias addressed the closed door, his jaw set. “Our marriage was something of a surprise.” He gave a tense half smile towards Amy, who stared at the ground.

  “As it is to me, Elias.” Helena took his arm and pulled him toward the inn. “Let us go in,” she urged. “I am freezing out here.”

  Neither he nor Amy moved.

  “Er, we shall not be staying here, Helena.” Elias glanced self-consciously at the footman who held open the carriage door. “Father has insisted we go to the Red Lion in Holborn.”

  “Oh, I see,” Helena mumbled, not at all sure she did. “Then we shall talk here.” She clambered into the carriage and settled herself under the fur rug lying on the seat. Amy climbed in after her and with a last glance back at the inn, Elias followed, slamming the door on the surprised footman.

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mistress Woulfe. I’ve heard so much about you from Elias and my sisters-in-law.”

  “I wish I could express the same sentiments, Amy.” Helena felt awkward. “However, I’m delighted to meet you too.”

  “Father does not approve of our marriage,” Elias said, his voice dull with resentment. “As his firstborn, he thought to choose a wife for me who would bring the greatest benefit to himself.”

  “Elias!” Helena gasped. “That’s unfair, your father-” she paused at the sight of his tense face, thrown into relief from the lights of the inn opposite. Bitterness clouded his eyes and his jaw clenched. “Yet you are married, Elias, so he must have given his consent.”

  “We gave him little choice.” Elias’s bark of laughter sounded hollow.

  “Let me explain, Elias.” Amy covered his hand with hers, silencing him. “I was betrothed to someone else. An arrangement I consented to at the time.”

  “Go on…” Helena nodded in understanding. Hadn’t she faced a similar predicament with Martyn Blanden?

  “Well.” She licked her lips, revealing small even white teeth. “When I met Elias, I realised I could not in all honesty go through with the marriage. My heart would not have been with the other man, and I could never have made him happy.”

  “You do not need to convince me, Amy.” Helena said, discomfited by the emotion in their shared glances, knowing she witnessed something too intimate to be shared.

  When she looked back at Helena, Amy’s eyes were soft. “Elias felt the same about me, so we approached my parents to have the betrothal dissolved.”

  “They refused.” Elias’s voice choked with remembered anger. “When we asked Father to intervene, he would not help us. He said a betrothal is as binding as a marriage.”

  “I don’t understand. You must have persuaded him eventually? Or you wouldn’t be here, and married.” Helena studied each of their faces, confused.

  “Not at first, no.” Elias’s voice held derision. “Father decided Amy would be married as arranged, and I would accompany him here to manage his new warehouses. He planned to send me far enough away not to create, well, difficulties. So we did what was necessary to ensure we could be together.”

  “How?” Helena broke off as Amy performed a gesture universally understood, laying a hand gently on her stomach.

  Helena closed her eyes briefly, sighing. “Oh, Elias.”

  His features partly in shadow, Helena could not see his expression, though his sharp exhalation spoke volumes. “What else could we do?”

  “Samuel is a proud man, Elias.” Helena said, aware nothing she could say would make any difference now. “He must have been deeply hurt.”

  “I know that.” Elias’s fist clenched beneath Amy’s delicate hand. “I was angry with him for dismissing us. He treated me like a child.”

  “How can you say that? He did what he had to. Amy was betrothed.”

  “I didn’t think how it would make us look. I could only think of Amy.”

  “Or…you didn’t think of her.” Helena instantly regretted her sharpness. This affair was none of her concern.

  “I should have behaved better.” Amy tucked her arm beneath his. “But the damage was done.”

  Hasty marriages and babies born without benefit of clergy were an accepted part of rural life, of any life. And yet Samuel was the Worshipful Master of Clothmakers, and there was bound to be scandal attached to this union.

  Elias tenderly arranged the fur rug over Amy’s knees, the gesture making Helena feel unaccountably lonely. “Thus, I am still to be banished from Ideswell,” he said. “The consolation being that Amy is here with me as my wife.”r />
  “He won’t forgive you easily Elias,” Helena said. “Or you, Amy.”

  Amy sighed. “Four days confined in a coach and sharing lodgings has been more punishment than you can know.” She closed her eyes, as if at remembered ignominies endured at the hands of her father-in-law. “No matter, it is over now, and when Master Ffoyle returns to Ideswell, we will be alone.”

  “You appear to view your banishment as a wonderful opportunity.”

  “How else should we view it?” Elias shrugged. “I’m to be in sole charge of Father’s serge distribution, its storage and sales in the capital. Yours too, Helena.” he added.

  “Where shall you live?” His enthusiasm was infectious, and the notion of having a friend in London began to appeal.

  “The warehouse is in Freemans Yard, where Father has also purchased a house for us.” His involuntary grimace betrayed his disappointment.

  “Isn’t it a nice house?” Helena imagined he could show more gratitude. “Samuel could have made you live in cramped lodgings near the meat market instead.”

  Elias winced and Amy giggled.

  “It’s near Cornhill and the warehouse district.” Elias went on. “Father made a point of informing me that it’s convenient, but neither elegant nor fashionable. Merchants who deal in woollen goods, millinery, hosiery and the like are located there. Drapers Hall has a garden where Amy can take exercise, which is good for her condition.” He gave Amy another adoring gaze. “And Freemans Yard is almost wholly Dissenter.” Elias laughed. “To plague Father, we could always threaten to attend the Presbyterian Church.” He sniggered at his own joke while Amy flapped her hand.

  “Elias, you know he is determined to shake off his Puritan origins.”

  “Exactly!” Elias said. “Give him some time. He’ll accept us eventually.” He dropped his voice. “He’ll have to.”

  Helena hoped his optimism was not misplaced.

  “Father is not a cruel man.” Elias seemed to read her thoughts. “If I do well here in London, the whole family will benefit, and Mother will be working on him at home.”