Lucy’s first thought was that it was Nedham; that he’d wanted reassurance that she was all right. She flushed angrily. Couldn’t he see that a visit would only make things worse?
‘Did he say who he was, sweet?’ asked Mary.
‘Aye,’ agreed Faith. ‘He said he was Mr Hudson, but it wasn’t true. He had both eyes and both hands.’
‘What did he look like?’ asked Lucy suspiciously. ‘Was he short and dark?’ Faith had met Nedham once, but only briefly, and it had been a long time ago.
‘Nay! He was very tall, a handsome gentleman in a fine coat! He had a beautiful bay mare, and his servant stood holding her when he came to the door!’ Faith liked horses. ‘He asked did you lodge here, and I said aye, but you were out; and I fetched Da from the printworks, and they went off to The Whalebone together. Then they came back here, without the lovely mare, and Da told me there was to be a bull-baiting at Moorfields, and he and the gentleman were going to see it.’
Lucy abruptly remembered how Jamie had wanted her to go to Lincolnshire. Maybe the visitor really was a Mr Hudson. ‘Did he look anything like my Jamie?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Nay!’ said Faith, as though Lucy were being very stupid. ‘He had both eyes!’
‘Is he your Jamie’s kinsman?’ asked Mary.
‘He might be,’ said Lucy, feeling a bit sick. She felt utterly unprepared to meet any of Jamie’s family, especially now that she’d lost her business. If anyone had asked, she would have said she hoped for help from them; but she found the prospect accepting their help now, when her business had failed and she stood gaping like a silly fool, excruciating.
‘I hope there’s no trouble at the bull-baiting!’ Mary exclaimed worriedly.
Bull- and bear-baiting had been banned in London since the outbreak of the war, but clandestine meetings still took place, their times and locations passed by word of mouth among those who fancied the sport. If the word came to someone in authority, the meetings were likely to broken up by the Watch. Lucy had always found the sport cruel, but Richard Overton loved it, and would chase rumours of a bull-baiting clear across London. She hoped, with Mary, that there was no trouble, and also that Mr Hudson – if the stranger really was a Mr Hudson – actually liked bull-baiting, and wasn’t going along just to be polite.
She needn’t have worried. Dick Overton, his guest, and his guest’s servant, returned to the house at dusk, loud and laughing, smelling of beer and tobacco. ‘And here’s our Lucy!’ Dick told the visitors as they piled in through the door. ‘Lucy, this is your brother, Mr Robert Hudson!’
Lucy curtsied respectfully, staring at Robert Hudson in fascination. His face showed her what Jamie must have looked like, before the pistol. The jaw was a little heavier, and the nose a bit broader, but the family resemblence was unmistakable. It was painfully poignant to see Jamie as a handsome man.
Robert stared back; he seemed surprised. ‘Mistress . . . Mrs Lucy,’ he managed at last. ‘You’re well met.’
‘Where’s Mary?’ Dick asked, glancing round the kitchen.
‘Still at the printworks,’ Lucy said, ‘finishing the run.’
‘I’ll fetch her home,’ said Dick, and went off to do that.
‘Mr . . . Mr Hudson,’ said Lucy, after an awkward silence. ‘Pray be seated. I trust you will sup with us tonight?’ She’d spent the afternoon preparing the meal.
Robert took a seat on the kitchen bench. His servant looked around uncomfortably, then went to stand by the wall, his hat between his hands. In a wealthy household, his master would have been seated in the drawing room and he could have taken his ease in the kitchen.
‘Mr Overton has indeed bidden me to supper,’ Robert told her uncertainly. ‘He’s welcomed me very kindly, and seems a good fellow.’
‘The Overtons are the kindest friends anyone might have,’ Lucy said warmly. ‘I thank God for them every day.’
‘I’ve a letter for you,’ Robert announced, and began to look for it in his coat pockets.
Her breath caught. ‘From Jamie? You’ve seen him? How does he do?’
‘Very ill, by my reckoning!’ said Robert, with disapproval. ‘Thin as a starved whippet, and very low in spirits. He’s been ill with a flux, it seems. Jenkin, where’s the letter?’
‘Back at the inn, sir,’ replied the servant. ‘I thought it would be safer there than at the bull-baiting.’
‘Run and fetch it, there’s a good fellow!’
Jenkin bobbed his head and set off.
The thought of Jamie ‘thin as a starved whippet and very low in spirits’ was painful. ‘Poor Jamie!’ she cried anxiously. ‘But he’s getting better? Colonel Rainsborough said he was getting better!’
‘You knew he was ill?’
‘Colonel Rainsborough wrote me last week about another matter, a complaint I had made, and said that I was not to fear, that Jamie had been ill but was getting better. I’ve writ to him, but he’s not answered.’
Robert frowned. ‘Another matter? This would be that fellow Barker, that Jamie says tried to abduct you?’
‘He told you of it? Aye, about that. Colonel Rainsborough wrote, very kindly, to let me know how it had turned out. You say Jamie had a flux? Is he getting better? I’ve had no word from him for weeks!’
Robert looked at her a moment, then gave a snort of amusement, as though at some private joke. ‘He said he was much recovered. What did Colonel Rainsborough say?’
‘That Lieutenant Barker had confessed the deed, and claimed it was naught but a jest.’
Robert frowned. ‘When I saw Jamie, he knew nothing of this.’
Lucy hesitated. ‘Perhaps his friends thought it unwise to tell him while he was ill. You may see the letter, sir, if you wish.’
She went up to her room and fetched it. When she came down, the Overtons had still not returned. She suspected that Mary was telling Dick all about the disastrous dinner at The Sun, and the couple were agreeing their strategy with Mabbot. She gave Robert Hudson Rainsborough’s letter; he read it over, then, scowling, read it again. ‘It’s clear why the colonel would want this kept from Jamie!’ he said, slapping it down on the kitchen table. ‘Barker’s ’scaped any worse penalty than his master’s displeasure! Was it naught but a jest?’
Lucy hesitated, then answered honestly. ‘No. Lieutenant Barker meant me harm. When I took alarm and ran away . . . he would have acted differently, if he’d truly been in jest – laughed, or called out to me not to fear, or some such thing. Instead he flew into a rage, chased after me and tried to take me away by force. But what he truly intended, none will ever know. I took no harm, and am content with that.’
‘I thank God that you were so wise!’ said Robert, scowling. ‘Wiser than I was, I fear, for I’d met him and thought him an honest man.’ He sighed. ‘Jamie said that you took horse and rode to Colchester, to see if what he’d told you was true.’
She flushed. ‘Aye. I thought Jamie might be dying, and that . . . that he might die believing me faithless, because Barker would tell him I’d refused to come. But it was a mistake; I should have writ a letter.’
‘Jamie said he’d quarrelled with you over your company on the road,’ Robert acknowledged. ‘And I’ve never seen a man so sick about anything as he about that quarrel.’
She looked at him sharply, and her brother-in-law smiled. ‘It’s in his letter, I’m sure,’ he promised. ‘Lord, is that such good news? My brother is a lucky man.’
Buoyed by the knowledge that Jamie was sorry, she felt able to confront a delicate subject head on. ‘I am very glad, sir, that you should think so,’ she told him. ‘Jamie has spoken of you in his letters, and I know that he loves you well and dearly wishes to remain your friend. I should be very sorry indeed if his marrying me caused a breach between you.’
‘That is fairly said,’ Robert told her approvingly. ‘If we go on as we’ve begun, sister, I see no reason for there to be any breach at all.’
The Overtons returned from the printworks, Dick
frowning, Mary cheerful, and the conversation became more general. It emerged that Robert and his servant were lodging at The Whalebone, not far away. Lucy wondered if they knew that it was a Leveller meeting place. She was trying to think how to ask this tactfully, when all such thoughts went out of her mind: Jenkin returned from the inn with Jamie’s letter. Lucy took it aside to read at once.
My verie deere,
I am most hartily sorrie that I should ever have been such a Foole as to quarrell with my deerest Friend, and I muche regret the hastie Wordes that greeved you. I have such firm truste in youre Honoure and Faith that I am sure you could passe thro Babel unstained, but I was Jalous. I was angrie, too, because you went to another for Help, and yet in Truth I know that it was I, not you, who deserved the Censure, for I have given you no Help from the daye we were wed. I beg you, forgive one that has been a Foole, but yet loves you with all his harte.
Yr. Jamie
The impending loss of her press faded into insignificance. She remembered Jamie’s grim silence on the road after their quarrel, and suddenly she saw that all that anger had been directed at himself. That was her Jamie: determined always to protect his friends and utterly dismayed that he’d not merely failed to do so, but had lashed out and hurt her.
He was still the man she’d fallen in love with; she still had his love and trust. It again became possible to imagine a happy future, Jamie home from the war, a forge and a press, and everything joyful. She kissed the letter, then looked up to see Robert Hudson watching her with a grin. She grinned back.
Eleven
Deerest Friend,
Your Brother gave me your sweet Letter, which broght me such Joye that nothing cd content me more, I am alle smiles. I am verie sorry that I greeved you, and much repent going to N. for help. Nothing cd make me Happier than to be Friends with you again. Major W. may write you; there was an angrie meeting betwixt us, for he heared I had Appointed to meet N. and mistook me, but he knows now that I met N. onlie to repaye the monie for the Journay, viz £1 3s, so that I shd not be in his Dett; and I broght Mary with me. My Cozens Cotman loaned me the £1 3s; I thoght to repaye them when I hadde solde the Press, which Alas I must, for Mrs Alkin’s newsbook failed, but yr Brother has kindly taken that Cost upon himself, and offers besides to paye my Rent until I have Worke again. I hope, tho, to find Worke soone, and not trouble him; and Mary has sayed that I may lodge with them rent or no. Never fear, I will never again print for N. nor have aught to do with him. I went to him onlie to borrow a Horse. I have never loved anie man but you.
I pray God you are recovered from your illnesse, and that this crewel Warre is soon ended, so that you can return to yr loving
Lucy
Jamie finished reading the letter, then touched the paper where Lucy’s hand had rested. I have never loved any man but you. He looked up into his brother’s expectant grin.
‘You’ll not kiss it?’ asked Robert, pretending surprise. ‘She kissed yours.’
They were in the headquarters of Fort Rainsborough. Rob had made a detour on his journey back to Lincolnshire to deliver the letter. He’d met Jamie at the regiment’s forge, but it had been too noisy there to talk, and anyway he needed a pass from the colonel to continue on his way. They were sitting at the table in the headquarters’ main room, waiting for the colonel to return from a meeting of the general staff.
‘Thank you, Rob,’ Jamie said quietly.
‘It’s no doing of mine, I promise you! I told you you’d be forgiven at the first kind word, but I was much mistaken. She’d forgiven you with no word at all. She adores you, brother. God knows why.’
God knew why, indeed; Jamie certainly didn’t. He looked again at the signature, the dashed L and the slanting y, imagining the pen in her small ink-stained fingers. The surge of desire was so painful he had to set the letter down, blinking at tears. She was in London, far away, and he was here in Colchester among the damned.
‘She looked to be in health,’ Robert went on briskly, ‘and happily lodged. I’m much easier in my own mind, having met her friends.’ He grinned again. ‘I’d feared that they were mad levelling Puritans, but Dick Overton’s a fine fellow!’
Jamie looked up in confusion. To the authorities, Dick Overton was the very epitome of a ‘mad Leveller’, and a heretic to boot.
‘I’d scarce met him,’ Robert continued happily, ‘when in comes a friend of his, saying, “Dick! There’s to be a bull-baiting over in Moorfields!” and at once he cries, “Mr Hudson, I can offer you some sport!” So off we went, very merrily. The first bull-baiting I’ve seen these seven years, and a monstrous fine one. There were two dogs killed, brave beasts! Mr Overton was the best of company, a very witty, learned, good-natured gentleman, and as kind a host as any man could wish. His wife, though, seems a sober, decent creature, and she and your Lucy are fast friends.’
Robert presumedly didn’t know that Mary Overton had spent time in Bridewell, locked up among the whores. Jamie had no intention of telling him.
‘She was not at all what I expected, your Lucy,’ Rob went on. ‘I’d imagined some proud beauty, accustomed to courtly flattery.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Jamie, startled out of his misery.
Rob shrugged. ‘You’d praised her beauty and said she had many admirers. The fellow you mentioned that she refused – would he be the landlord of The Whalebone?’
‘Aye,’ said Jamie, surprised again. ‘Ned Trebet.’
‘I thought as much!’ exclaimed Rob, with satisfaction. ‘I lodged there – Dick Overton recommended the place, and indeed they made me very comfortable, but the ostler and a serving-maid both warned me not to speak of you to the landlord, because you had stolen his sweetheart.’
‘I did not,’ said Jamie stiffly. ‘I stood aside for Ned, as he asked, and spoke no word of courtship to Lucy until she had refused him.’
‘Very scrupulous of you, I am sure,’ Rob remarked, raising his eyebrows. ‘But tell me, what did Mistress Lucy think of it?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘She forgave me.’
Rob gave a snort of laughter. ‘Clearly she had her eye on you from the start, and Mr Trebet with his fine big thriving tavern was as nought to her. Nay, I thought to meet some playful little cat, always a-grooming and a-preening. Instead, I found a . . . a peregrine.’ He smiled at the conceit. ‘A black-eyed falcon, that will bate and bite if you offend her, and would rather have the air under her wings than sit hooded in comfort and ease. The to-do I had to get her to accept money! “Nay,” says she, “I’ve no need of charity,” “Come,” says I, “’tis duty, not charity, for a man to support his brother’s wife while he is at the wars!” “And what says your father to this duty?” says she. I fear my answer to that was halting, and so straightaway she said she’d take no money that had not Father’s blessing. I shall tell that to the old man, and see what he says to it! At length we determined that I might justly pay the cost of her journey hither when she thought you were a-dying, as an expense even Father would approve. For the rest she would agree to rely upon me only if her own hands failed her.’
‘I fear they already have,’ Jamie said bitterly, ‘but by my fault, not her own. She says here that she must sell her press.’
‘What’s this?’ asked Rob, taken aback.
‘I fear it’s so. Here she says only that the newsbook she had contracted to print failed, but when I saw her she was very troubled that her absence would harm it.’
‘I remember you said so,’ replied Rob, troubled now. ‘And now I recall that there was some talk of this at supper, but she made light of it, so I paid little heed.’
‘It will have been a great loss to her,’ Jamie said heavily. ‘She’d put all her legacy from her uncle into it, and all her savings. She should have married Ned! I’ve brought her nought but loss.’
‘I thought to cheer you up!’ Rob cried in exasperation. ‘I brought you a letter from your wife, who’s as sweet a piece as ever I saw in my life, and all afire with love for you. That
would cheer me, I promise you! Instead you are as gloomy as ever.’ He eyed Jamie suspiciously. ‘Are you fretting over Lieutenant Barker?’
‘Nay,’ said Jamie, quickly. An indignant Philibert Bailey had told him all about Barker’s confession and dismissal, but in his depression and exhaustion the result had seemed only what might be expected.
Robert continued to look suspicious. ‘You’ve no mind to revenge yourself? The man assaulted your wife, my sister, and claimed it was but in jest!’
‘He’s been sent north,’ Jamie said.
Robert frowned. ‘To Cromwell? I’d heard that he’d lost his place there!’
‘Not to Cromwell. To Pontefract, where the castle is besieged – a much less honourable place than that he had.’
‘You made inquiry,’ Rob observed.
‘Only to avoid him. I pledged my word that I’d not seek him out or challenge him. The colonel demanded it, and my wife seconded him.’
Rob grunted. ‘Is that what’s preying upon you?’
‘Nay. I’m sorry, truly!’ Jamie said guiltily. ‘Rob, I know you’ve taken pains on my behalf, and I am deeply grateful! It’s only that this is a foul place, and to be happy here seems an affront.’
Robert frowned. ‘This Army of yours seems in good order!’ he protested. ‘Better than I expected. I was received very civilly.’
‘The Army is in good order,’ Jamie said gloomily. ‘But—’ He stopped; then, pressed by the sheer horror of recent events, went on in a rush, ‘Yesterday some women came out of the city – civilians, that had been trapped there since the siege began. The commanders had expelled them, because they’d been clamouring for the city to surrender. They had children with them, sick, starving children, and they begged our leave to pass through the lines and find shelter in the countryside. They said that in yonder city dead dogs are sold for twelve shillings apiece, and these poor creatures had nothing left to buy even such foul fare as that! We sent them back to Colchester.’
A Corruptible Crown Page 17
