by Leah Fleming
‘You look more upholstered than my sisters in the Holy Brethren, Mistress Salt. Just like a preacher’s wife. Why such plainness?’ Nazareth looked up, shocked at his comments.
‘Do you not forget that I am a widow and a mother? Have I not an example to set, sire?’ That should put him in his place.
‘But you are not yet thirty, madam. Surely there are years ahead for another life to begin?’
‘No! Not after that episode of shameful weakness. I have to take care of my reputation. It’s all I have left.’
‘Then have no fear from me. The watch dog child who guards your door and bed will see you remain unsullied…’ There was a silence so awkward that neither of them looked up again. Words of apology floated like a mist upon the air.
‘You look so burdened, woman, so down at heel since last we met. What ails you?’ The Captain leant forward to touch her hand and Nazareth jumped back on her stool.
‘I know not. Some women’s troubles. Come the spring, the warmer weather and sunshine, I will be renewed.’ She could never tell him what she had done but his obvious concern touched some rawness within her and she found herself weeping.
‘Oh, Mistress Nazareth, how I would love to take you in my arms and kiss that troubled brow… Do not look so afeared. I have neither the stamina nor the inclination, being so crippled in the leg. What was so wrong with our union that it was conducted only by stealth on midnight stairs? Did you not find my wooing to your satisfaction?’ Micah’s eyes pierced into her very soul.
‘I beg you, sire, no more of this talk. I have forsworn your bed and company. It is not fitting for a widow…’
‘’Tis not befitting for a proud Salt, however stripped of lands and fancy titles, to be courted by a humble Bagshott, however successful be their ventures! My great-grandfather built this place which now shelters us all and now Bagshotts could buy and sell it many times over but you see gentility only in a name, not a deed. Is that why we are enemies still?
‘Give me but a chance and I will lay siege to your cold Royalist heart and batter down your cruel resolve like this stinking poultice sears my poor leg.’
‘And I shall repel all your salvoes and grenados until the last trump!’
‘You are heartless, mistress.’ Micah bowed in mock salute.
‘And you, sire, are a wicked master to ill treat me so…’
Nazareth saw how ridiculous were these mutual threats and verbal fencings, point on point. How could she too not laugh at this dalliance, dangerous as it was? While he was wounded he was safe enough, but once restored to full vigour… in truth she knew not how she would withstand his attacks again. Her heart was not in the matter. Yet the memory of her terrible crime should stiffen her defences against temptation.
Then after a week of convalescence he was gone, scarce able to ride his horse but commanded back to the Cathedral city to support the final onslaught on the garrison. Against all the odds the King’s men had held out thus far. Guns roared across the valley and from the high ridge they could see smoke rising as the beleaguered city walls crumbled. Humans there were reduced to skeletons eating vermin or buried in their hundreds under courtyards. The poor horses had been released to the enemy to save them further suffering. The great spire of the Cathedral had crashed down into the nave, crushing those still sheltering inside.
Terrible tales of suffering and endurance made Nazareth face her own worries with humility and resignation. She had watched the Captain’s departure with a heavy heart. He’d promised to return with new plantings for her garden wheel which was growing well.
They had stood side by side, watching the spears of green poking up out of the red earth. Soon there would be a circle of tulips, a circle of flame to admire. She could have told him then what she had known for months. Soon she would give birth to a child and it was far too late for any second remedy. She had seen the evidence in the bowl so how could a second child now grow in her womb if not by witchcraft or the Will of God? The potion she had swallowed was some foul substance of false trickery, cheating her senses, lulling her fears until it was far too late to change the course of events.
How could she have fooled herself into believing her prayers had been answered at the well? God was not mocked. Oh, no! He would have the final judgement in this matter. But what of Lucilla? How would she cope with such treachery? She must be sent to Letty on some pretext of contagion and danger in the village. Lucie would protest and scream but the little madam could now walk and run when it suited her, constantly following the Captain into the shadows. Nazareth knew her daughter would never accept Micah in Beavis’s place, at his hearth or in his bed.
She looked up at the tall stranger who had stolen her heart. Poor rootless man, ever obedient to the commands of others. Thank God he knew nothing of her condition. He would wish to make their union public then – or perhaps not. She would never give him the choice.
There would be no midwife at this bastard’s birth. What happened must happen in secret with the help of a chit of a girl. Martha must be sworn to secrecy and be prepared to help in the lying in. Nazareth would be making all the preparations in her own chamber, even her last will and testament, writing to Letty and doing all that was possible to secure some future for this coming child. But not yet… First she must wave goodbye to the soldiers and carry off this awful pretence.
The Circle of Flame
‘Mistress! Please, mistress… bear down no more. Let me send for Goodwife Tipley. She will know what to do next. Help yourself a little, hold back. I know not what to do!’
Martha scurried about the bed in the flickering candlelight. She had seen few birthings but this one was too quick and violent to be normal.
‘Just wash the babe, clean him up. Does he breathe?’
‘Aye, listen. See, he’s gone from purple to pink – a bonny lad. He seems well enough.’ She held up the plump child to the mother, sagging on the pillows, who turned her face from the sight of him.
‘Bathe him and tip the water outside in the night air, not on the fire ashes. We want this boychild to roam abroad as a man should. I have the swaddling bands in the chest, see, to keep his limbs straight and firm… The room is so cold and then so hot… Put him in the cradle and another log on the fire.’
‘I must see to your bed linen. ’Tis so blood-sodden I scarce can mop it up. There’s no after birthings still?’
‘No, not yet. Press on my belly, see if you can shift it. It must be there somewhere…’
But hard as she pressed no after birthings were drawn forth and the mistress grew weary, feverish and flushed with pain. The babe wailed and wailed and young Martha Barnsley was so desperate that she called Gideon to her side. He had hovered outside the door, in awe of the happenings within. Martha shivered with fear and concern. This was no ordinary birthing, being so unexpected and secret with none of the ladies who usually camped in the chamber to see to the lying in and the ceremonies.
How could her mistress bring forth a child so long after the death of Squire Beavis unless there had been some mischief with the handsome Captain of the Horse? Could the soldiers’ ribald jests in the barn about the couple being secret lovers have been right enough? Her lady had sired a son from a Bagshott soldier, son of a city black hat? Surely not!
Martha turned to look again at her sweet mistress who was so fair and had only boxed her maid’s ears thrice. She who had saved the house from ruin by her charm and hospitality. Surely not? But there in the cradle screamed the truth of it all, a darkling child with a fiercesome wail. No runt of the litter but a plump babe who feared he would be left alone in the world as a bastard. Never! One look into those screwed up eyes and tiny mouth and Martha was his slave forever. He must be protected… hidden from view.
‘Gideon,’ she ordered, ‘go to Longhall and batter down the door until someone wakes. Tell them the mistress is ill and close to death, but nothing of the babe yet. Fetch Mistress Letty… at once.’
It would take hours for him to walk
the three miles. All their mules had been requisitioned by the Captain’s men. This would give her time to hide the child in the old quarters, conceal him from prying eyes and gossip. She would have to hide the mess and the blood, all the evidence of a birth as well. Tired as she was she must clear the room and prepare for visitors. The babe could wail unheard through the thick stone wall in the old Priory lodging house but it would not survive long without a nurse to feed it. Who did she know in the village who had given birth these past weeks? Who would keep this terrible secret?
‘Martha! My babe, bring him to me, let me suckle him… Martha!’ Nazareth had hardly the strength to whisper the words, drifting in and out of a deep peace, carried along a gentle river of sleep out towards the estuary and the deep water towards the golden light and Beavis… She was floating above the chamber bobbing as light as a leaf. Only the distant cry of her newborn, a tiny whine of sound, pulled her back down to the bed. ‘My babe… where’s my babe?’
‘Rest, mistress. Hush, he’s safe enough. I have sent for Lucilla and Mistress Letty… you need to rest. Is there ought else I must do?’
‘Micah, send for Micah… He will take care of things.’
‘No, mistress, ’twould not be right. Captain Micah is departed to the city.’
Nazareth grabbed her arm. ‘His mother will take care of… she gave me rosemary… in remembrance. A flower for my wheel.’
‘What mother? Who is Rosemary?’ The poor lady was now so befuddled as to make no sense, weakened by the loss of all that blood.
‘Not Lucie… no, not here. Keep away!’
‘Have no fear, the child will not see the babe here. He’s safe with me. Have you a name chosen for his baptism, Mistress Nazareth, a name for your son?’
‘God have mercy on us… mercy and penitence. See to him. Have mercy and penitence…’
Nazareth could not withstand the tide’s pull, drifting into sleep again, floating along the river towards the open sea, waves of peace lapping over her head, her face, her lips.
Martha bent her head and wept, crossing herself slowly. The mistress was so deep asleep no mortal would wake her this side of Heaven. There was nothing to do now but clear away the evidence, wait, and then open the casement to let her spirit roam free. It would be morning before the party from Longhall heard the dreadful tidings. What would become of the Newhouse, of Lucilla and little Penitence, for that surely was his given name?
*
As Captain Bagshott rode out of the city on a fine May morning, up the winding narrow lane to Fridewell, he felt light with relief. The siege was over at last, the walls of the close battered to rubble. The feeble garrison had walked out with dignity intact under the white ensign and now the whole of the city was in their hands. He had had enough of warfare and the saddle to last him a lifetime. Now was not the time for burning bridges but for repairing them. He sniffed the blossom on the air, noted the petals strewing a path before him in the dust. He thought of a bridal path and white garlands. Yes, he would leave the army and marry his widow. Make an honest woman of her.
Trotting slowly at first, he began to quicken the pace as he drew nearer to his destination, past the mill and the green and the cottagers going about their chores in the sunlight. He had taken off his armour and was dressed in high boots and fancy breeches, a fine jacket with plain collar, his hair combed and cut shorter, cheeks scraped raw with the knife to make his skin appear smooth. It was a time for celebration.
For the first time in his life he felt a lurch of pleasure to see the old garrison barn, the cobbled yard and L-shaped house. No longer was he burdened with envy and contempt for the Salts. He knew he possessed a little of her heart. It would be enough to start their journey together. Her daughter would have to tag along, sulking and silent, but he would win her over in the end if he gave her enough time and shared her with her mother.
He drew into the yard and dismounted. It was as he’d left it last in March. There was no sign of life about the place, no smoke from the chimney stack, just a cart standing outside the front steps. He turned towards the garden slope to look for the wheel and the circle of tulips. The leaves stood like spears, stiff and upright, but there was no circle of flame, just green tops. Every red tulip head lay on the ground, neatly severed like a head on the execution block. He did not understand and looked back at the house. The face of that wretched child stared back at him then was gone. Who would cut off flower heads before they were over? Who but a sullen, spiteful child? She deserved a beating.
He marched to the foot of the stairs and called loudly, ‘Mistress Nazareth, are you within?’
Footsteps came running down the hallway and a shocked Martha looked at him sadly. ‘Oh, Captain, you are come at last! You have heard our sad news…’
‘What news is this? Where is your mistress?’
Martha bobbed a curtsey. ‘Come inside to the parlour and sit thee down. I fear I have grave tidings for such a lovely day. Come inside and shut the door.’
*
Lucilla sat on the stairs trying to eavesdrop on the whispering below. The ugly beast had returned once again but now there was no faerie queen for him to snatch away. Mother lay in the churchyard under the earth with a garland of yew and rosemary, holly and rue, about her head. Mother would not be coming to live at Longhall. She had fallen sick of the plague and died and now Lucie must pack all her chests and leave her kingdom forever.
Aunt Letty was kind and let her hold their new babe, Arthur, but she’d pleaded to stay at the Newhouse with Martha and Gideon. Longhall was not her home and she hated her cousins, those rough boys. She did not want to pack up and live there.
And now the enemy was back again. What if the Captain was going to steal the Newhouse, to live in it himself as he did before, sleeping with her mother like a common doxy? How dare he come back to haunt them, to gloat over their misery? She would show him who ruled this kingdom. She was still Queen of the stairs.
*
The Captain sat stunned, head bent as the tears fell. Martha had never seen a grown man cry before, real tears of sorrow and shock. The poor man could hardly believe a word of the lies she was telling him, the same ones she had told the others.
The babe was cradled safely in the lodging, kept out of sight of all but Gideon and her. It had been a struggle at first to feed him but they milked the goat and soaked a rag in its milk and she nursed him so that he sucked on the rag as a teat. Gideon shaped a funnel from a piece of soft calfskin with a hole at the top. The babby soon learned to suck vigorously for its milk. Sometimes she made sloppy sops with honey and soft bread mixed with milk. The bairn supped eagerly. He would thrive and she loved him as her own.
It was a terrible sin to deny his birth but what else could she do? Could she trust this Captain not to shame her mistress? And Miss Lucilla would not understand any of it. The sooner that mardy child was packed up and away from this place, the sooner her sad little heart would be mended. The house was to be tenanted by strangers until such time as the girl grew old enough to claim her inheritance, poor little mite.
Sometimes Martha wondered about the spirits in this house. Were they kindly or evil for there’d been nothing but misery for the Salts since the left wing had been built in Old Sarah’s time.
*
Micah made his way to the churchyard, to the new mound of earth by the east side of the ruined church. Pigeons flapped around the tower and the first of the swallows swooped high above his head.
Oh, Nazareth, this was not how I planned to honour you. Now all I can do is plant these wretched cuttings on top of you in memory of what might have been between us. There’s nothing left but a few beheaded bulbs and these offshoots. How could you fall so ill and die when you battled so hard to keep your home and protect your child? Nazareth, I should have come sooner if I had known…
He stood and bowed his head. Once more he must journey alone, just when he’d thought of joining her life here. He walked slowly back and stood one last time to examine
Nazareth’s house. To one side were the old stone walls of the Priory, to the other the long brick and wood extension.
Black smoke was rising not out of the chimney but the doorway, flames leaping up as far as the top of the stairs. He saw the frightened face of the child peering out from the blackened glass. Martha was screaming, ‘Fire!’ and running for the bucket, Gideon racing down to ring the old warning bell which might summon help from the village.
‘Oh, sire, Miss Lucilla… she’s set fire to the stairs with her boxes. The wood is dry and the drapes have caught the blaze… Lucie… the casement!’
Micah needed no second bidding. ‘Fetch the bucket and go to the pond. Get a chain of buckets from there to here. Throw that one over my head first.’ He tore off his jacket and soaked it in the water, running towards the screaming child.
‘Shift away from the smoke, Lucie!’
‘Peto is here… and the cradle.’ The girl lifted the dog.
‘Oh, God, no! She has the baby! Oh, sire, quick! There’s a bairn in the cradle… you must rescue them!’ screamed Martha.
He peered up. They were trapped by the stairwell, black smoke swirling round. If he could get to them another way… Micah shouted for ladders but none could be found for the soldiers had stolen them on their last forage. Then he saw the fig tree, its wood hard and rung like. If he stretched, he might just be able to do something.
Lucilla was choking on the smoke. She fled to her chamber, shutting the door, but it was dark and scary there so she moved further towards the old house and the connecting door by the linen cupboard. It was locked. She was trapped in her kingdom and did not like it one bit.
Peto was shaking and she clutched him. This was all her doing, the lighting of that circle of fire around all her toys to stop the ugly giant from stealing them. It was silly to play with fire. Had that not been beaten into her many times at the hearth? The candles had spilled on to the rushes and they had caught alight. Now she was trapped and there was no one to rescue her, no one but a frightened maid. Then she saw the face at the casement and drew back.
