The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  “Your mother approves?” Helena felt the first spark of hope.

  “Oh yes.” Amy’s face lightened. “Mother Ffoyle has always liked me, but she dared not speak up for me.”

  Helena remembered the loaded looks Samuel and Meghan exchanged during her stay at Ideswell, which told of lively disagreements between them about offering shelter to the Woulfes after the rebellion. Helena suspected those heavy glances had been resurrected when they discovered what Elias and Amy had done.

  “But you are married, and there is to be a child.” Helena tried to sound encouraging.

  Two enraptured faces greeted her words, but then Amy looked crestfallen again. “I have yet to buy childbirth linens in preparation; there was no time at Exeter. And of course I should have a winding sheet…”

  Elias gripped both her hands in his. “You are young and strong Amy, do not speak of dying. This child will be born healthy and you shall be safe, I am sure of it.”

  Helena suppressed a shiver. Childbirth was a perilous business for both infant and mother. It was common for even the healthiest women to greet news of a new life with the chance it might end her own.

  “I am well prepared,” Amy said. “I have some saffron in my baggage.”

  “Saffron?” Helena frowned, confused.

  “An infusion taken moderately during the pregnancy that facilitates birth.” Amy smiled. “Mistress Hannah Woolley recommends it in her household manual. Her advice is invaluable.”

  Helena would have liked to question Amy more on the subject of Mistress Woolley, but at that moment the carriage door flew open and a flurry of icy snowflakes swirled into the cosy interior.

  “What is going on out here?” Samuel stood glowering at them from under his black wig. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Helena’s hand, pulling her bodily onto the road. “Come inside, Helena. You’ll catch a chill from this foul air.”

  Without a word to his son or daughter-in-law, he slammed the door shut again, ordering the coachman huddling on the box to drive off. “Be at the warehouse at eight tomorrow,” he called.

  Helena’s last glimpse of Amy was a white face peering out from under the leather flap before the carriage turned the corner, the wheels cutting lines in the fresh snow.

  * * *

  Chilled to the bone in just her woolen day gown below a thin shawl, Helena offered no resistance as Samuel propelled her into the Devereux’s private salon, where a fire crackled and hissed in the hearth. Helena hurried toward the welcoming flames, rubbing her stiff hands together to get the blood flowing.

  Samuel had discarded his cloak in the hall and sat on the chaise, his feet splayed out in front of him, both elbows resting on his knees.

  Tense seconds stretched, while Helena prayed he was not about to attempt to ally her against Elias. She turned and faced him, her chin lifted in defiance. “Elias told me what he has done, Master Ffoyle. However, I’m sure he intends to atone for his disobedience.” His jaws clenched as he ground his teeth. A bad sign for him.

  “Huh, I cannot help feeling he has taken this action to repay me for forbidding him from joining Monmouth.”

  “You were proved right about the rebellion, Samuel,” she said, though it cost her to admit. “But for him to marry purely to spite you isn’t in his character. From what I have seen he truly loves Amy, and…”

  He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Helena, I will not discuss Elias with you. He is my problem, and I will deal with him. Nor is he the sole reason I am here.” He paused and inhaled slowly. “There is someone else who wishes to see you.” He rose, strode to the door and swung it open. “He arrived on the post coach this afternoon, but agreed to wait until my arrival before speaking with you.”

  Helena’s breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting second she thought he might be… then her stomach settled again as the familiar figure of Tobias Lumm stepped into the room.

  Helena stared. “Lumm? Wh-what brings you to the City?” Strangely, in his expensive long coat and wide brimmed hat he didn’t look out of place any more than Samuel did.

  Looking handsome and totally at ease with himself, Tobias appeared almost amused by her discomfort, then exchanged a loaded look with Samuel, who gave a slow nod.

  The fact struck Helena then that these two were friends. It made no sense. When did such a thing happen? If there was news of her family, which was surely the only reason he would want to see her, Samuel alone could have brought it.

  “This is quite an alehouse.” Lumm removed his hat, tapping it gently against his thigh as he gazed around appreciatively. “The room Master Devereux gave me is a virtual palace.”

  “Lambtons is no ordinary alehouse.” She gave the standard response without thinking. “Your visit is unexpected, Lumm, though you are welcome all the same.”

  He set his hat onto a side table, tugged off his gloves and flung them into it, each movement masculine and deliberate.

  Samuel made to leave. “I will see you later, my dear.”

  Helena started after him, but Lumm called her back. “He has left us alone for a reason, Mistress.”

  She froze as the door clicked shut, halted by his tone.

  Lumm sat down on the chaise Samuel had recently vacated, relaxing into the upholstery as if he belonged there. He indicated the empty space beside him. “Please, sit. There’s something I need to say to you.”

  Helena was tempted to remind him a gentleman did not sit in a lady’s presence, but the time for trivial niceties appeared to have passed. Still uneasy, she did as he asked, watching as he brought a small square packet from the pocket of his long coat and held it out.

  The sight of familiar handwriting on the upper side set her heart racing. “It appears to be a letter…” she said, making no attempt to take it from him. “…that must have lost its way, judging by the condition it is in.” At the same time her breath caught and a shiver ran through her veins. It cannot be.

  He held her gaze. “Addressed to Lady Elizabeth. Had not the messenger the foresight to ask at The Ship for the location of Loxsbeare, it may have ended up in Lord Blandness hands. As it was-” He shrugged, placing the letter in her hand.

  “Y-you’re living at your father’s inn now?” Helena stared at the packet in her hand. He nodded. “I could never serve Blanden. Not after what he did to Sir Jonathan.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty,” she whispered, blinking back tears at the sight of her mother’s name in looping, brownish script. The writing blurred as she stared at it, an urge snatch the page and devour the contents was strong. Yet still she could not bring herself to take it.

  “Read it, Mistress Helena.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  She lifted the letter slowly, as if she expected the paper to burst into flames, weighing it in her hands. The parchment was hard, brittle and cracked in places along the folds, and slightly greasy to the touch; the clumsy seal broken.

  She did not hear the click of the door, but sensing she was alone, the only sound in the room the crackle and hiss of the fire, Helena began to read.

  Chapter 17

  September 3rd 1685

  The Hague

  Dear Mother

  This is the first occasion I have had both the resources and inclination to write of the events of these last weeks. I am impatient to assure you that I am alive and well, but would I had more welcome news, for surely everyone at home must know the fate of our expedition.

  Our hopes were so high that day we left for Taunton, but before I venture into the worst of it, I must tell you there will always be one light, that shines through my darkest memories, and that is Monmouth. He was everything I remembered from my youth, and more. No one could have been prouder than myself on that day he was proclaimed King at Taunton's market cross, or surer that the course we had chosen was right.

  All too soon did it turn to hopelessness and despair, although the early signs were there, when the squires of the West did not come as they had promised. Those who
gathered under our banner were faithful and determined men, though there was barely a real soldier among them.

  At first, it was a true adventure, a test of our spirit and resolve, when even the weather turned against us, for after the drought of early summer, we faced days of heavy rain, with mud to our knees and our clothes forever sodden. With no proper tents, we slept in the open, with diminishing supplies, so more often than not we went hungry.

  Copies of King James” pardon were handed out amongst the men by kin and clergy, after which the desertions began. We cursed those for slipping away in the night, but I hold no bitterness in my heart for their wish of family and hearth. I longed for it every day myself.

  The Royal Army closed in, and we were no longer welcome where we had marched in triumph just days before. Warned off by the town authorities, we dodged troopers through hedge and village, as they hunted us like rabbits.

  I was assigned to Lord Gray’s Horse under Captain Jones when Monmouth decided to launch a surprise attack on Feversham’s men. A man named Godfrey was to guide us across the moor at night, but still we got lost in the mizzle.

  We found the Langmoor, but as the first horses were crossing, a shot warned of our coming, so Captain Jones took us full tilt against Compton’s troopers before the King’s infantry could arrive. We put their Commander out of action straight away. Not bad for a cabinetmaker, wouldn’t you say?

  I could make out lights ahead, and thought they were of the town in the distance. Then an officer shouted they were the tapers for the matchlocks of the Dumbarton’s Scots Brigade. Our infantry fired on them with musket and cannon, killing some of them. I heard later that Churchill made the rebels pay for that indignity.

  A deafening volley of musket fire from Albemarle’s militia terrified the horses. This proved our undoing, for they scattered and turned about, stampeding backwards into our own upcoming infantry. My own horse reared, then a musket shot caught him in the neck and he went down like a felled tree. Gentle Strider, companion of my boyhood, was never meant to be a soldier. I fell with him, injuring my shoulder as I hit the ground, rolling into the path of a dragoon who aimed his musket straight at my face.

  I froze, certain I would be killed, but another horse crashed into his and he was crushed beneath both flailing mounts. I gained my feet again, though the Lord knows how. I scrabbled for my sword as our infantry surged toward the Royal troopers, caught in their forward charge.

  I saw neither my father nor Uncle Ned during that frantic hour when the fighting was at its worst. Then the dawn came, and with it a massive charge by Feversham, through the mist, cutting through what was left of our men. Musket balls screamed past me in waves, shredding men and horses.

  Wade’s boys were driven back to the Langmoor Rhine, and the Taunton Blues fought like demons, though they must have known they stood little chance. Then Oglethorpe’s horsemen thundered over the moor, howling and hacking at any rebels left standing, although there was little sport left for them.

  The boom of the guns and hundreds of hooves battering the ground filled my head, so I could barely gather thought, much less fight. Rage burned in me at the sight of our boys” easy slaughter. Somehow I stopped cowering and ran at the troopers, swinging my sword through red cloth and flesh as they came at me. I carried blood that was not my own on my clothes for days afterwards.

  I did not see the blow that struck me from behind, plunging me into a deep stream, where I lay stunned and soaked by muddy water with some poor drowned wretch beside me. When I came to my senses enough to crawl out, my clothes caked with mud and blood, it was into a field fallen eerily silent.

  I breathed in the acrid stench of powder in the air. It seemed like every one of Monmouth’s boys lay broken on the earth. Unrecognizable heaps of bloody, dirtied clothes, with pallid faces; the ground littered with discarded weapons, bloodied pikes and scythes, boots, coats and hats, all in a mass of corpses, and mangled horses.

  I staggered from their accusing eyes, trying not to see the dead hands clutching wounds, convinced some of them reached for me. I know not how long I crouched beneath hedges up to my waist in stinking water, while King’s men searched the nearby cornfields, shooting or hanging men where they found them.

  It took me two days to reach Lymington, where a fishing boat master bound for Cherbourg took me aboard.

  I would like to think the man enough of a good Protestant to help a distressed rebel, but I fear the villain only sought to relive me of my gold. I let him think he robbed me, but am enough of Edmund Wolfe’s nephew to have kept some back and well hidden. I have already discovered the life of a fugitive is very costly.

  The voyage in heavy seas in such a tiny vessel convinced me it would surely be my last. I doubt I shall go to sea again without serious misgivings, but daily I remind myself I have life at least, when so many do not.

  I am in a poor but Christian lodging here in The Hague, with another Rebel outlaw, an intelligent fellow whose name is Daniel Foe. A splendid companion, who is much saddened at having to leave his young wife in London. I suspect he will not stay here long.

  I have scant news of my officers, although the plotter is here in our company. They say Matthews and Foulkes are still at large, and we heard Lord Grey is preparing to purchase his freedom in exchange for information; but best I don’t dwell on that.

  I have heard no news of Father or my Uncle, but they are without doubt the bravest and best men I know, so I pray God has preserved them.

  When I have been presented to his Majesty of Orange, I shall write again, although how long it is before I can return home, I cannot tell. Tales of the savagery meted out to those captured has sickened us all. For York to have murdered his own nephew so callously, then to spread rumors that Monmouth offered to convert in exchange for his life, are beneath contempt.

  Surely the Prince of Orange would not allow this travesty to go unpunished, with the Protestant Church in more danger than ever before? When I return, I hope to be among those of like mind, who would make the Devil of York account for his cruelty.

  I pray you are kept safe, and Helena and Henry also. I long for the day we can be together again.

  Your respectful and loving son

  Aaron Woulfe

  * * *

  The comfortable sitting room at Lambtons faded and Helena was taken back to the courtyard at Loxsbeare, the morning after Sedgemoor. She could still hear Hendry’s anguished protest when dirty water spilled on his shoes.

  Her throat burned as the words were forced from her. Mother, Aaron’s alive. He got away. Then her elation clouded with bitter disappointment that she would never be able to tell her. This was compounded by the fact he had no idea where their father was.

  Unnoticed, Tobias had slipped back into the room, circled the chaise and sat beside her.

  Helena kept her gaze on the page in her hand, her thumbnail picking at a small tear beside her brother’s name.

  “He doesn’t know where Father is.” She looked up into sympathetic eyes, so familiar she gave a choked sob. Then she mentally shook herself and swiped her wet cheek with the back of her hand. What an odd thing. Of course he was familiar. She had known Tobias Lumm for nearly two years now.

  “I know. No one in Exeter has heard from him either, as far as I know.”

  “He wrote this months ago.” She held the pages up between them. “He’ll be wondering why no one has responded. I shall have to tell Aaron about Mother, and Uncle Edmund. He expects…”

  “He expects nothing,” Tobias cut her short. “He’ll be more than grateful that you and Henry are safe and well.”

  “Why are you here, Tobias?” Helena let the pages fall into her lap. “Samuel could have brought this to me. You owe us nothing. You lost your livelihood when Loxsbeare was seized. Why would you want to come all this way for Henry and me?”

  “On the contrary. I owe the Woulfes a great deal. And with your permission, I’m determined to carry it through, and go to The Hague to see Master Aaron on you
r behalf.”

  Every suspicious thought Helena ever had about Tobias rose in her throat, and threatened to choke her for its injustice. To think that he should demonstrate such devotion, when her actions toward him at Loxsbeare had been nothing less than spoiled petulance. Her shoulders slumped and with a silent nod, she gave way to quiet, heartbreaking sobs.

  Tobias gathered her in his arms like a child, the cloth of his coat rubbing her cheek, the smell of damp wool overlaid with leather and warm skin filling her senses. Familiar, masculine smells, which brought with them the painful realization that no one had held her for a long time.

  When her tears subsided, she pulled away, embarrassed at her lack of control in front of a servant - despite that he was no longer in her service.

  He handed her a large kerchief. “If you will give your permission, I wish to go to Holland.”

  She took it gently, sensing their relationship had altered since his arrival. Never a subservient man, he had always treated her insolence towards him with humor and tolerance, an indulgence she didn’t deserve. “Something tells me that you will go anyway.” She gave him a watery smile, acknowledged by his wider one. “His letter only mentions the street and the town. How will you find him. And is it safe?”

  Inexplicably, she did not want Tobias to walk into danger. Rumour said that the king had sent his agents into France and Holland in search of fugitive rebels, who were to be dragged back to England to face trial. Who was to say it wasn’t true?

  “Someone will know where he resides.” As if he read her thoughts added, “I doubt His Majesty has men on the lookout for messages going back and forth to the continent. His scandalous promotion of Catholics into key positions has given him more than enough to cope with at home, without worrying about Aaron Woulfe.”

  “Or Sir Jonathan Woulfe?” She sighed, then brightened. “Maybe there are other rebels in Holland who do know what happened to Father. People Aaron hasn’t yet encountered.”