The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  “I have proof,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Ffoyle paid virtually nothing for those houses and the warehouse. Nor is there any bill of sale for the sheep, or your mother’s jewels.”

  Helena had to stop her hand from instinctively touching her mother’s pearl necklace.

  “I do have a solution for you, my dear,” he went on, his unctuous voice repulsing her even more.

  “What sort of solution?”

  “How else does a young woman get herself out of financial straits? Why by marrying, of course.”

  “Which in your case is out of the question.” Helena almost laughed. “If my memory serves, Lady Maude is very much alive. As for me, I’m…” she broke off, Guy’s name on the tip of her tongue, but bit it back in time.

  “There is of course that obstacle.” He pressed a finger to his cheek as if considering. “However, there is nothing to prevent me taking a Mistress.”

  “You cannot be suggesting…” her voice failed in both disbelief and anger. One look in his eyes showed he was indeed serious.

  She gave the hallway a frantic look, but they were virtually alone, apart from Lubbock, whom she knew lurked in the shadows. But could he hear their conversation? She doubted he could hear the conversation above the hubbub of the dining rooms. Even so, he would only intervene if she was physically in danger. Or if she screamed.

  Blanden shrugged. “Why ever not? You could even return to Exeter. I could install you in a house in the city.” He waved his cane in the air. “Not at Loxsbeare, which would be quite impossible, of course. The situation is not without merit, if you consider you would benefit again from all the things you once enjoyed.”

  “Except my soul,” Helena murmured, clenching her fists.

  “I think you’ll find your soul will survive, my dear.” He leaned closer, his warm breath on her cheek. “In return, I might be prevailed upon to withdraw my petition. You may keep the warehouses and the other property. Your charms would adequately compensate me for those.”

  Helena closed her eyes, fighting an urge to claw her fingernails down his cheeks. She even conjured the lines of ragged skin and blood welling into the scratches, accompanied by colourful insults that would have shocked her father. Her tongue thickened in her mouth and she couldn’t speak. After all this man had done to her family, now he insulted her in the worst way any man could offend a woman.

  “Hmm.” He tapped her cheek lightly with his cane. “Think about it, my dear. I’ll return in due course for your answer. Though I feel we both know what it will be. After all, you wouldn’t want to impoverish your brothers, not to mention remain destitute for the rest of your life, would you? Or perhaps Devereux would let you be a serving wench in his tavern.”

  He wheeled round and strode for the door, pausing on the threshold with that now familiar smirk. Good day to you, Mistress Woulfe. I have so enjoyed my visit, which I shall repeat quite soon.”

  At the click of the lock, Helena’s knees gave way in earnest, and she collapsed onto the stair, her blood throbbing in her head while bile rose in her throat.

  Chapter 24

  Helena retreated to her room, and paced the floor, shifting from fury, to repugnance and then back to hatred. She dwelled for a while on revenge too, but knew she would not achieve that unless she foiled Blandness disgusting scheme. Though how she could do so, and keep possession of whatever she and her brothers had left, was beyond her.

  There must be a way. If only her father would come back. He would never have allowed her to be so treated so. He would have killed Blanden first. But then, Father had no idea that he would be betrayed by someone he had considered a friend.

  She had barely finished cursing the man, let alone worked out a solution, when Lubbock knocked discreetly at her door to tell her that Guy Palmer had arrived.

  “I’ll be down in a moment, thank you, Lubbock.” She groaned inwardly, wondering how she could possibly act normally in his presence, when their very future together could be threatened.

  She tidied her hair and slapped her cheeks lightly to give them colour. Her lips were red and slightly swollen, the result of her having constantly bitten them in the interval since Blandness departure.

  “I didn’t expect you to call today,” was Helena’s unenthusiastic greeting when she met Guy in the hall, only reaching to give him a peck on the cheek as an afterthought.

  “I have news which I simply couldn’t wait to bring you.” He brandished a sheet of stained parchment that looked as if it had travelled a long way. “My Uncle Arthur has written, congratulating us on our marriage.”

  “That’s kind of him.” Helena tucked her arm through his, and drew him into the Devereux’s private parlour. “Is he coming back from wherever he is for the wedding?” She took a seat on the chaise, patting the space beside her in invitation.

  “What?” Guy frowned, as if caught in mid-thought, then quickly recovered himself. “Ah, no, that’s not something I anticipate. He’s somewhere near the Cape of Good Hope as we speak. However, he writes to say he has given us his house as a wedding gift.”

  “House? What house?” Helena sat up straighter. Guy had always lamented his Lincolns Inn lodgings inadequate for a married man, but he had never mentioned a house.

  “He bought it from his cousin Roger, with profits from his Africa Holdings.” Guy slid onto the seat beside her. “The goldmines there are something he once had in common with the house of Stuart.”

  “The King has goldmines in Africa? How interesting.”

  “Not any more, my dear,” Guy said with an indulgent laugh.

  Helena pursed her lips and narrowed her nostrils. She wished he wouldn’t address her like a schoolmaster. He was only a few years older than she. “You mentioned a house,” she said with barely restrained impatience.

  “I did. It’s in King Street, near the Palace Gate.”

  “King-Barbara Palmer’s House?” She gaped. “Lady Castlemaine?”

  “Indeed.” He read aloud from the page in his hand. Uncle says, “…although the lady has not lived there for over twenty five years, the property still retains a certain reputation, and perhaps some of its former energy, also.”“ His throaty laugh conveyed his avid excitement at this unexpected gift.

  “Th-that is indeed very kind.” She chewed her thumbnail absently. “You must add my gratitude when you next write.”

  “It’s a most comfortable house.” Guy folded the page and stuffed it into an inside pocket, then peered intently into her face. “Not large, but well appointed.” He sighed. “My dear, you do seem distracted today. There is nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “What?” Helena dragged her thoughts away from her problems and concentrated on his face. “I’m sorry, do go on. You were telling me about the house.”

  He was such a kind man. Handsome too and so considerate of her feelings. She liked him a great deal, and fervently hoped her feelings would grow after they were married, and got to know one another properly.

  “Indeed yes. King Street leads directly into the White Hall palace yard, though the road is only wide enough for a single carriage so it isn’t too noisy. The Blue Boar Inn stands at one end, the Kings Head at the other, so we are well served with hostelries.”

  Helena could not decide whether this was an advantage or not. At least she would be able or order an “ordinary dinner” delivered at short notice should her housewifely skills not be up to scratch.

  “You seem uncertain, Helena,” Guy frowned, peering at her.

  “Of course I am. I simply….” Unsure whether she should feel thrilled or disappointed, Helena decided not to appear either. “Guy,” she began carefully. “Is your uncle aware of my family - er - circumstances?”

  “My dear Helena, Uncle Arthur is as anti-papist as anyone. Besides, he would never hold a man’s politics against his daughter.” The implication he might do so if she had been a son went unspoken.

  She bridled slightly. “We do not know my father’s fate. Should he return to E
ngland, I intend to welcome him into my, forgive me, our home, unreservedly.”

  “Well y-yes, of course, my dear, that goes without saying,” Guy stammered, apparently taken aback at her vehemence.

  Was his agreement so prompt because Guy did not expect Sir Jonathan Woulfe to ever appear at his door? Did she even have any hope of it herself anymore?

  Guy brought the visit to an abrupt close, possibly because she had had to ask him to repeat himself more than once. “May I flatter myself it is our forthcoming nuptials that occupy you?”

  Helena looked up. “Um – yes. Yes, that must be why I cannot concentrate. There is so much still to organise.”

  “Then I shall not keep you. I heard Robert’s voice out in a hall a moment ago, so I assume he has returned. I shanty stay, but do give him my compliments.”

  The door finally closed on him, and Helena released a heavy sigh, then jumped at the sound of Robert’s voice. “You decided not to tell him then, my dear.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in.” Helena summoned a smile. “Tell him what?”

  “About Lord Blandness visit this afternoon.” He strolled further into the room and hovered beside the fireplace.

  “How did you know?”

  “Lubbock may not always be evident in his person, but he has remarkable ears.”

  “Did-did he hear everything?”

  “He said he was interrupted, but he said something about a petition.”

  Her breath left her in a rush. Hopefully she could keep the worst of Blandness threat from him until she devised her strategy.

  “I see. And no, I didn’t tell Guy. If the petition is successful, I will tell him then.”

  “I cannot imagine Guy would abandon you purely for not bringing him a dowry, Helena. I believe that young man truly loves you.”

  His voice held no censure, only understanding, for which she was grateful.

  “How could I ask him to support not only me, but my two brothers as well? That wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  “Perhaps not, but-”

  “And you, Master Devereux,” she interrupted, rising. “Do you relish having a penniless, unmarriageable ward on your hands indefinitely? No, don’t answer.” She swept out of the room calling over her shoulder, “I don’t want to think about the possibility either.”

  She had reached the hallway when Lubbock stepped in front of her. He paused, coughed and flapped his hands.

  “What is it?” Already irritated, Helena was about to brush past him when he coughed again.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress, but Master Henry is here.”

  Helena gave the empty hallway a swift glance, frowning. “Why sorry, Lubbock? Show him into the salon, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “He’s in the kitchens, Mistress.” Lubbock shuffled his feet. “I’m afraid he is somewhat, well, er, in his cups. He can barely stand and has been sick in the scullery.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, sighing. “Oh dear, not again.” She wiped a hand across her brow. “Can you get him up to my bedchamber?”

  “Of course, Mistress. I’ll get a couple of the serving lads to help.”

  Helena thanked him and turned for the stairs. What was wrong with Henry lately? Of the two of them, he had been the more pragmatic. He had put the horrors of the rebellion behind him, and was making a good life for himself as a capable architect. She had put down the incident at Elias Ffoyle’s as an isolated occasion brought on by too much celebrating. Now it seemed his drinking was becoming a habit.

  * * *

  Samuel and Meghan Ffoyle arrived from Devon with their youngest daughter Deborah, in anticipation of the arrival of their first grandchild.

  “Such good fortune they arrived when they did,” Amy said to Helena on her first day of her up-sitting at the house in Freeman’s Yard. “Because that same night, I barely slept for the dull pull in my abdomen. I didn’t understand the import at first, so sent Elias to fetch his mother.”

  Amy’s fair curls bobbed beneath her cap, her eyes alight with excitement as she talked. “Naturally poor Elias was frantic, what with the house filled with my gossips. Then the Dutch midwife had to endure Father Samuel’s questioning as to her qualifications,” she broke off with a breathless laugh. “Ah, but it is all over now, thank the Lord, and our little Jenet is here at last. The nurse removed the childbed linens this morning, and I am now allowed natural light into the chamber for the first time.”

  Helena perched gingerly on the bed. “And how are you, Amy?”

  “I am perfectly well.” Her stiff tone indicated she had repeated this phrase, often. “Not that anyone will listen. I was permitted a hip bath today, and cannot tell you what a luxury it felt after the poultices and herbal washes the dry nurse brings me. That woman behaves like a constable. Elias has to beg permission to see me, and he pays her wages!”

  Helena sniffed, determined not to endure what she saw as barbaric practices when her turn came. The idea of lying in a darkened room on soiled bed-linens for two weeks after childbirth filled her with dread.

  “And Mother Ffoyle,” Amy went on with mild resentment, “is too occupied with the baby. Her own and mine.” Amy sniffed. Then her face softened. “Have you seen my baby today?”

  “Yours or Mistress Ffoyle’s?”

  “Mine.” Amy’s hand brushed against her breast, and she winced. “Mother and Father Ffoyle have been wonderfully kind, but I’m counting the days when they return to Ideswell.”

  “They mentioned downstairs just now they’re leaving Deborah behind,” Helena warned.

  Amy nodded, the arrangement evidently suited her. “Have you seen my Katherine?” she asked again.

  “I have, and she is lovely.” Helena lied, sending up a silent wish the pink blob with puffy slits for eyes in the cradle would grow prettier as she grew.

  Apparently satisfied, Amy rested back on her pillows with a sigh. Then her nose wrinkled at the sight of the formidable figure of the dry nurse in the doorframe. “One visitor is quite sufficient on your first day, Mistress.”

  “Fiddlesticks!” Amy sniffed. “I thought I would die of loneliness up here. And there is a wonderful party going on downstairs that I am allowed no part of.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  Helena rose and backed away. “I mustn’t tire you.”

  Leaving Amy to the woman’s ministrations, she descended the stairs into the hall just as the front door was flung wide, revealing Henry. Doffing his hat, he made Meghan a gallant bow, at the same time pausing to tip the link-boy who had stood between the dirty coach wheels and Hendry’s new suit.

  “My dear boy!” Meghan almost knocked him off balance as she pulled him inside. “You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you. Samuel! Henry is here, see how fine he looks.”

  “I could not miss the baptism of my first godchild.” Henry adjusted his coat with a wide grin.

  “I swear sure you have grown a hand span since I saw you last,” Meghan cooed, while Henry endured having his cravat rearranged and a tendril of wayward hair tweaked behind his ear.

  Helena debated whether or not she should tell her brother about Miles Blanden, but decided not to burden him. She would handle the situation alone.

  They joined the rest of the family and neighbours who had come to welcome the new baby in the small but cosy salon of Elias and Amy’s home.

  “I hear you were not best pleased about Amy having a Dutch midwife, Samuel,” Helena said.

  “Licenses!” Samuel scorned. “Granted by the diocesan Bishop, not a doctor at all. And testimonies are sought not from medical practitioners as to the woman’s expertise, but from six honest women who can vouch for their character and moral standing.”

  Helena looked up to where Meghan approached from the kitchens, a harassed look on her face.

  “I hope you aren’t upsetting Helena with talk of the King’s recent visit to Somerset,” she snapped, accusing.

  “I’ve said not a word, Meg,” Samuel scorned. “Though I wonder at the purpose
of such a gruesome pilgrimage,” he murmured “The villagers of Westonzoyland laid planks over the Bussex Rhine, so he could examine the battlefield.”

  “I didn’t know he had gone there.” Helena frowned, summoning the faces of Jane and Gil Fellowes and their comfortable house near Weston church, certain they would not have been a part of such a spectacle; at least not willingly.

  “His Majesty brought Major Wade with him.” Meghan gave a derisive sniff. “He was pardoned in exchange for information, although what that could be…” she broke off as Henry joined them.

  “Wade?” his slightly unfocussed eyes raked them all. “He was Father’s commanding officer.” He drained his glass of wine in one gulp and reached for the nearest jug and poured more.

  “I heard an interesting adjunct to the Rebellion story,” Samuel began, ignoring Helena’s eyebrow gestures in Hendry’s direction. “That man who murdered Heywood Dare. What was his name?”

  “Andrew Fletcher,” Henry said loudly, his eyes unnaturally bright.

  “That’s the man.” Samuel held up a finger. “Monmouth sent him back to the ship Helderenburg for his crime. Fletcher forced the pilot to steer for Spain.” He paused to take a cold pasty from a passing server, studying it before lifting it to his lips.

  “You were saying?” Henry said, slurring his words slightly.

  “Eh?” Samuel looked up, confronted by faces waiting for him to continue. “I’m sorry, what was I saying? Ah yes, the ship wasn’t supposed to go to Spain at all, you know. Heldenburgh was on his way to Carrickfergus to urge a second rising among the Irish Protestants, and to call for Monmouth against the King.”

  “So the Irish never had a chance to join the rising?” Henry reddened, swaying slightly. “That was three weeks before Sedgemoor. If the ship had reached Ireland as planned…”

  Helena placed a restraining hand on his arm. “There’s no point to this, Henry. It’s over and done with.”

  “There might have been a different outcome, but for Fletcher,” Henry snarled.