A Far Horizon

by Brenda Rickman Vantrease

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, neither denying the truth of her last remark nor affirming it. He just looked at her with an inscrutable expression. Had she overplayed it? ‘You may report that I am well,’ he said finally, not smiling.

  ‘Mary says you are a famous poet. Are you writing?’

  ‘No. No poetry. I have been busy with … other things.’

  ‘Well, I can quite understand if this horrible war has chased inspiration away. It provides no fit environment for a great poet.’

  He smiled at that.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘having accomplished my mission, I must say good Sabbath to you, sir. I shall write to Mary and tell her that her husband is well. She will be greatly relieved, as am I. Thank you for seeing me,’ she said, standing up.

  He stood up too, bowing slightly. ‘Feel free to come again. Sunday afternoons are sometimes …’ for a moment she thought he was going to say lonely, but he finished with, ‘… very quiet.’

  She departed Mr Milton’s threshold with a troubled conscience but a sense of accomplishment. A light mist was gathering. It would turn into a drizzle before nightfall. She looked down the street at where the maypole stood deserted, the color of its ribbons melting in the damp. There would be no dancing this Sabbath afternoon, nor bonfires tonight, even if Parliament had not prohibited them. The London of her girlhood was gone, and she realized that it was probably never coming back.

  UNEXPECTED VISITORS

  They are indeed our pillar fires. Seen as we goe. They are that citie’s shining spires.

  Stephen Marshall’s sermon at John Pym’s funeral

  Mid-May 1644

  On the day that the Very Reverend Mr Stephen Marshall came to pay a pastoral call, Lucy Hay was gazing out the tall windows in the salon but not seeing the sun-dappled lawn or the first flush of color from the roses around the garden fountain. Shrouded in the mists of her own misery, she paid no notice of the rugged, plain cleric with the thick shoulders and commanding presence striding up to her door. Lucy saw nothing except the long string of empty days she imagined lay before her.

  The salon had been restored to its former state shortly after the children left for Oxford, but it had not and would not – for the foreseeable future, if ever – return to its former usefulness. No courtiers in proud plumage, no music, no tinkling laughter. No sound of Elizabeth’s officious scolding or Henry’s bouncing balls and raucous squeals either. It had been five months since John’s funeral. If she had to be honest, she would admit it was not so much his presence she missed, for that had long been scarce, but the fact of him, the expectation of his coming. With no husband, no lover, no child to ease her into old age, and all her friends either dead or exiled, Lucy had never felt so alone in her life.

  Carter coughed discreetly, arousing her from her torpor.

  ‘It is a lovely day; perhaps my lady would like to take a turn around the grounds,’ he suggested, as he cleared the remains of her half-eaten breakfast. ‘But first there is a gentleman to see you, a Reverend Marshall. Shall I send him away?’

  ‘Stephen Marshall? No, he preached Mr Pym’s funeral. I will see him.’

  Lucy smoothed her hair with her hands, wishing she had a cap under which to hide her unkempt curls, bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, then looked down at her simple skirt. She should have at least put on an overskirt, but she had so few visitors now. For propriety’s sake, she laced her bodice to the top – after all, this visitor was the most acclaimed Puritan preacher in England. Carter ushered him in. The Very Reverend Mr Marshall not so much entered the room as inhabited it. ‘How kind of you to call,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Your presence honors Syon House.’

  ‘The honor is mine, Lady Carlisle,’ he said, brushing her proffered hand with the briefest touch of his lips. ‘I came to see how you are doing since the loss of your dear friend, and dare to harbor a hope that I may offer some small comfort to you.’

  ‘Carter, bring us something cool from the cellar. Cider?’ she asked, looking at her guest.

  ‘Thank you, no. I cannot tarry. I just came to beg your forgiveness for not extending sympathy sooner. Because of the press of ceremony at the funeral, we had no opportunity to speak privately. I have been away with the troops, but I am called back to speak at Westminster this afternoon. I return to the field on the morrow.’

  ‘A much-needed respite, I am sure,’ she said, indicating that he should sit beside her. ‘It must be hard duty, comforting the dying on the battlefield.’

  How incongruous he looked among the graceful chairs, almost comical with his great hulking manliness. But there had been nothing comical about the way he had looked in the pulpit at Westminster. With his expressive face and booming voice, he had commanded the attention of every creature he addressed. It would be no wonder if the spiders in their shadowy corners ceased their spinning to listen.

  ‘I assure you, sir, your words at John’s funeral gave me solace. I remember especially the part where you talked about great men as our “pillar fires.” It reminded me of how the Israelites followed a pillar of fire at night.’

  A wide grin spread across his face. ‘As it was intended to do. I do appreciate congregants who bring a knowledge of Scripture with them. It not only makes the sermon easier on the ears, but shorter. I don’t have to explain every allusion if the hearers are grounded in the Word.’ He added, rolling his large eyes: ‘Some of those Puritan preachers do drone on and on. The mind can only absorb what the posterior can endure.’

  She laughed aloud at this very un-reverend-like observation.

  He smiled and said, ‘Laughter is good medicine.’

  ‘It does feel good,’ she admitted. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I was glad when I heard you were going to preach John’s funeral sermon. I think John would have been very pleased and honored by your tribute. I heard you preach once at Cole’s Abbey in Aldersgate. John was there too. I encountered him at a gathering sometime later and we talked about how you drew your listeners in with your personality and humor,’ she said.

  It was not really a lie. They had indeed had that conversation, though it had been at a very private gathering.

  In gentle acknowledgement of her compliment he only nodded, then said, ‘Is there anything I can do for you? Some service – spiritual or practical – that I may render?’

  ‘You are very kind. I am not lacking for any creature comforts, though I will admit my friend’s passing has left a hole in my heart. I think in some way John was also a casualty of this awful, endless war. He worked ceaselessly, dragging his body down, scarcely sleeping or eating, almost obsessed with the need to control the King’s usurpation of Parliament’s power. But I suppose there are few on either side whose fortunes and fate have not been altered by the war.’

  ‘Some worse than others. We must all pray for peace and be open to peace, but not at any cost. A peace not honestly gained is no peace at all.’

  ‘What must we pray for then? Victory? Do you not think both sides are praying for that? If Holy God is father to all, then how does He decide between his children?’

  ‘Justice, perhaps. The child that is least wrong and will do the least harm to His creation. God takes a long view.’ He shrugged his giant shoulders and added, ‘His children not so much. But the Scriptures teach us that we must pray for forgiveness of our transgressions and that we must pray for our enemies.’

  ‘Do you have enemies, Reverend Marshall?’

  ‘We all have those who we think, rightly or wrongly, wish us ill and would act on those wishes. We call them enemies.’

  ‘Do you think the King is your enemy?’

  ‘If he prohibits or restricts me from preaching God’s word as I perceive it, yes. But I wish Charles Stuart the man no harm. I bear him no hatred.’

  ‘What about Archbishop Laud? Is he your enemy?’

  ‘Ah the prayer book, the forced liturgy.’ He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. ‘I think William Laud is an enem
y of God’s true church, a tool used by Satan, and that is a very tragic outcome for any human being, but I have no authority heavenly or otherwise to condemn him. Yes, I do pray for him. I will work to have him removed from his position of authority over the Ecclesia, but I have great compassion for him. I believe he has chosen wrongly and will ultimately bear the consequences. We must always pray that God’s will be done in our lives, whatever happens to England. Christ’s Kingdom is not of this world.’

  ‘Reverend Marshall, do you think God has a “will,” a divine plan for each of us?’

  ‘I do. A path clearly marked, if we choose to follow it.’

  She hesitated, thinking about the choices she had made. But what choices had she really had? What choices would she have going forward? She wanted to ask him more, but he stood up, a signal the visit was ending. She stood too. He reached out and covered both her hands with his large ones. ‘May I pray for you before I go, Lady Carlisle?’

  She nodded, and as he prayed she was comforted by the gentle cadence of his supplication more than his words. And when he had gone she felt better somehow, not less lonely, but it was almost as if his faith had softened her loneliness, like the scent of flowers in a closed room.

  ‘Almost there,’ Edward Hyde said to the two children who sat across from him as the plain, unmarked coach turned into Syon Lane. The young Duke of Gloucester clapped his hands and exclaimed, ‘Won game, Henry won game,’ whereupon he snatched off his beribboned bonnet and threw it at his sister. This time his sister, who was looking out the coach window with wide eyes, did not scold. ‘I see it. I see it,’ she said with rare excitement, ‘I see the house.’

  Edward Hyde saw it too. For the first time since approaching the guarded ramparts surrounding London, he released his nervous grip on the pistol beneath his plain cloak. His eyes, ever watchful of ‘his two young granddaughters,’ turned to gaze upon the house looming in the distance. The first time he had ridden down this lane, he had been relieved of the King’s treasure the courtiers had ‘donated’ at the urging of London’s most celebrated hostess. He remembered the elegant salon, the music, the laughter; so incongruous he had thought even then, poised as they were on the cusp of war.

  Much had changed here now. The canopy bordering Syon Lane shut out the sun with its untended overgrowth. Of course, there would be no gardeners to tend them now. The house looked almost deserted. No coming and going now since the house lay outside the greater London battlements. Even the river traffic was sparse. He looked anxiously at the King’s children. What if Lady Carlisle no longer lived here, or what if she said she could not accept them? Once he heard Parliament forces were preparing to lay siege to the Oxford court, there had been no time to request her consent. His only thought had been to get the children out.

  So far all had gone as planned. Suspicious eyes had not been aroused by the single coachman holding the reins, one of the King’s soldiers in simple disguise but with a long rifle hidden beneath his bench. The two children had been remarkably compliant, taking the perilous journey as a game they had played before. The princess had kept her little brother engaged, even when he protested at the girl’s clothing he was forced to wear for ‘the game.’ As they had approached a patrol of soldiers, Elizabeth had whispered to him, ‘Remember the mouse game, Henry. If we win we will get to stay with Lady Carlisle while Maman and Papa are away. You can play with your toys in the room with the tall windows and we can picnic in the attic.’ Then she had said loudly enough for the lone guard at the checkpoint to hear, ‘Grandfather, why have we stopped?’ A cursory glance inside the coach and the guard waved them through. ‘Well done,’ Hyde had whispered, and smiled as he watched the children exchange satisfied glances.

  As the coach pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to Syon House, a woman’s figure, holding a spade in her hand and shaded by a wide sun hat, bent over a rose bush. When she turned to look at them, he recognized her, even with one hand shading her eyes. ‘Thank the Lord and all the saints,’ he breathed, climbing out of the coach. He turned his back to her and instructed the children. ‘Stay here until you are called. We don’t want to spoil the surprise.’

  Elizabeth nodded her eagerness to conspire. She took Henry’s hand in hers and, when he started to call out, his sister shushed him with a warning finger to her lips.

  As Hyde exited the coach a familiar voice called out. ‘Are you lost? I do not recognize your carriage.’

  He drew closer, removed the tall-crowned Puritan hat as he said, ‘Edward Hyde, my lady.’

  ‘Counselor! Have you also deserted His Majesty for parliamentary causes?’

  He was Chancellor now, but he did not correct her. Slapping the hat against his thigh, he said, ‘This ridiculous thing? This is my disguise.’

  She laughed good-naturedly. ‘It suits you. What occasion brings you to Syon House? News from the Queen? Are we about to be invaded by Royalist troops?’ She was only half-joking, he could see. She let the spade fall to the ground, wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I am afraid you find me ill-prepared to receive visitors. Though you are the second one I have had today, and much welcome.’

  ‘I have two others with me who are very anxious to see you, Lady Carlisle. They have come a long way.’

  He turned and motioned for the children, who tumbled out of the coach toward them, Elizabeth holding tightly to Henry’s hand. But if they had forgotten in their excitement the royal decorum, Lucy had not. She offered a deep curtsy as Henry broke free and ran toward her. Elizabeth, suddenly shy, held back until Lucy closed the gap between them, pulling them both into her embrace.

  It was only then that Edward Hyde breathed freely. This was not the behavior of a woman who would refuse to take the children. Officially, they were under Parliament’s control, assigned to the House of Northumberland. Of all the options available, this was the best possible outcome. Parliament would leave them alone here, and they would be loved and safe. For the time being.

  ‘Let us get out of the sun and go in,’ she said, picking up Henry, and exclaiming in mock surprise, ‘Oh I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. What is your name?’ she said, putting him down again and pretending to look puzzled.

  ‘I am Henry,’ he said, indignation pursing his lips into a pout. ‘Pretend game.’ He stuck out his chin instead and pointed to his sister. ‘She made me.’

  ‘And you did a really good job with your disguise, Your Grace. I’ll bet you fooled all those pesky guards.’

  ‘They were very brave,’ Hyde said, tousling the boy’s hair. Away from the court it was easy to see them as just ordinary children. But they were not; they were children of the King. He removed his hand from the royal pate. Whoever’s care they were under had a fearsome responsibility. He would be glad to be rid of it.

  ‘Come,’ Lucy said. ‘Let’s find Carter and tell him to bring some refreshments for us and our guest. You can tell me what fun and adventures you had at Oxford.’

  As the children ran ahead calling Carter’s name, Hyde motioned for the coachman to unload two large trunks. Lucy Hay looked at him and raised one eyebrow, reminding him briefly of the shrewd, much younger woman who was once Henrietta’s favorite.

  ‘Has the Queen tired of them so soon that she would send them back to Parliament’s clutches?’

  ‘The Queen had no choice. She is heavy with child and is in Bath for her lying-in. Parliament has ordered a siege of Oxford. The King and his sons have gone to the battlefield. The Queen says to tell you that in all England the person whose love and loyalty she most relies on is that of Lucy Hay, Countess of Carlisle, and she trusts you to keep her treasures safe.’

  For what seemed like an eternity the countess said nothing, just stared at him as though the very thought was shocking to her. The chancellor had a momentary fear that she might refuse; might say that she had not the resources, or that she could not accept this extra burden. But when the children came running back out and took her hands to drag her into the house, she laughed and followed the
m in. He sent another prayer of thanks heavenward.

  ‘In the salon, my lady?’ Carter asked, trying to avoid dropping the serving tray as Henry ran to the door.

  ‘Yes, please, Carter,’ she said, as Henry stopped abruptly in the doorway and looked around puzzled.

  ‘Henry’s toys?’ He looked troubled.

  ‘I put them away while you were gone. We will get them out soon, I promise. Just like before.’

  Odd, he thought, as he watched her interacting with them, maternal for the courtier he had known and, who it was said, was incapable of bearing children.

  ‘What about my tutor? When is Mistress Makin coming?’

  Lucy hesitated before answering, throwing a beseeching look in his direction, then said, ‘She quit coming while you were away. I am not sure …’

  The girl looked at him too and exclaimed in the commanding voice that royal children must be given as birthright. ‘You must get her back. I need her for my Hebrew and Italian. Nobody in Oxford could teach me.’

  The child looked almost panicked. He had ceased being amazed that such a brilliant mind and strong spirit lived in the girl’s frail body. ‘I will see, Princess, if she can attend you again, but it has become very difficult to travel now. You remember the checkpoints we had to pass through to get here.’

  ‘Why can’t she live here with us?’

  He looked at Lady Carlisle with a questioning lift of his brow.

  ‘It is fine, Mr Hyde. Bathsua Makin may be a scholar, but she is surprisingly good company when she is not buried in her books. I would be glad if you can arrange it. I don’t think Algernon will trouble himself to make it happen. He is away with the navy anyway. It was Mr Pym who arranged for her to come before. I think she will be open to the idea if you ask her. She thought Elizabeth an excellent student.’