Lark (Sally Watson Family Tree Series)

by Sally Watson

  The door behind her opened. Lark stood perfectly still except for waving her dust cloth a little, just in case it was a Roundhead, who might wonder what she was doing there. But she knew it wasn’t a Roundhead. It was James. There was a certain feeling in the air when James was near.

  “Lark?” said James anxiously.

  Lark turned around with her back against the edge of the casement and looked at him pathetically. Her eyes were very round and shadowed, and James felt guilty and responsible.

  “Are you still feeling ill, Lark?” he asked. “You shouldn’t try to work if you are. Lark, I’ve been looking for the friends in Shrewsbury who were going to take you to mother and father, remember? Or at least I was going to ask them, but they aren’t here.”

  “Then they can’t take me,” concluded Lark hopefully.

  James shook his head. “But I do think you’ll be perfectly safe here with Doll, and—”

  “No!” Lark stamped her foot. “I won’t! I won’t stay here!”

  “But Lark,” exclaimed the bewildered James. “You agreed—”

  “I did not!” Lark snapped. “I didn’t say I’d stay with Doll; I hate her! And you didn’t say a single word about going off to battle and getting yourself killed, or I wouldn’t have agreed to anything!”

  She stopped and turned her back on him, for a sudden intuition had warned her that this was the wrong sort of thing to say. One didn’t ask men not to go off into danger, because the silly geese would then decide that this was the very thing they absolutely had to do, in order to prove their courage or something. But it was very difficult to think of any other arguments.

  “That wasn’t what we agreed at all,” she muttered finally.

  James stared at her obdurate back, greatly astonished. He didn’t know what was wrong with her. His sweet and reasonable Lark was suddenly being about as sweetly reasonable as a dog fight. Come to think about it, was Lark such a sweetly reasonable child? James thought about it for a second or two, and concluded that she was not. At least, she was not when anything opposed her quiet determination to have her own way. Then she usually became sweetly unreasonable, and the reason she was now being so horrid was that for once being sweetly unreasonable had not worked.

  James looked at her with less affection than he had ever felt for her, and wondered rather darkly how much the redoubtable grandmother had contributed to Lark’s personality.

  “What is the matter with you, Lark?” he demanded with considerable annoyance. Then he stifled his annoyance and tried to remember her extreme youth and make allowances. “Surely you understand that I want to do the best thing I can for you—but I have my loyalty to the King, don’t forget. We both do.”

  Lark made a rude sound into the casement, but so faintly that James took it for the beginnings of sense, and was encouraged.

  “You know I wouldn’t choose to leave you behind,” he went on earnestly but—at the moment—not altogether truthfully. “It’s a matter of honor, Lark. Did you ever read the poem of Richard Lovelace that came out just a couple of years ago? He’s a Royalist poet, you know, and the poem is called ‘To Lucasta: Going to the Wars’; and the last lines go, ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, lov’d I not honor more.’ Don’t you think that’s true of good friends like us, too?” He paused, looking very fatherly and feeling that he had put his case very well indeed.

  “Fffft!” said Lark loudly, and this time the rudeness was unmistakable.

  James gaped, and then reddened. He heroically restrained himself from boxing her ears. “You’re behaving like a baby,” he said coldly.

  Lark whirled around to confront him with fury. There was something in his last remark that stung very deeply, and her cheeks turned pink and her round chin quivered with outrage. “You!” she cried. “You! You’re acting like a baby yourself! You’re worse; you’re acting just like a man!”

  James blinked. Those last words should have been a compliment, but the tone made it very clear that they were not.

  “You think you’re so clever and reasonable,” fumed Lark, getting into the spirit of the thing. “You talk about being scientific and logical, and then you turn around and start being perfectly stupid, and you haven’t even got enough sense to notice it!”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded James, affronted by this slight to his intelligence.

  “You said yourself that those Scots—the Covenanters that have the King—are even worse than the English Roundheads,” said Lark, jutting her chin out at him. “You did; I heard you. And you said that they make King Charles do what they say, and that they want to rule England instead of Cromwell doing it, only they’ll be even worse—and now you’re all ready to go help them do it just because they have the King. And if they win things will be worse than ever, and you’ll probably be dead besides, and I think you’re being perfectly stupid!”

  She stopped, a little astonished at herself. She hadn’t really known that she thought those things before she heard herself saying them, but she was rather pleased with how much sense it made.

  James stared at her in a kind of horror. This was an aspect of matters that he had never allowed himself to notice, and now that Lark had dragged it out and waved it in front of him, he simply didn’t feel that he could cope with it at all. This was not surprising, for older and wiser men than he were finding it too much for them. Where did Royalist loyalty lie in all of this tangle?

  James pushed the impossible question aside and proceeded to behave like a normal human being by turning all of his distress into anger, and then directing the anger toward the person who brought the whole thing to his attention.

  “I’m afraid,” he observed bitingly, “that you have lived too long with the Roundheads, Lark. Or perhaps you’re just too young to have any notion of loyalty, although I should have thought your grandmother or someone would have taught it to you. Never mind, perhaps it’s just as well. I expect you’ll get along, no matter who wins. But in the meantime, I’m afraid you’ll just have to stay with Doll for a while whether you like it or not, because there isn’t any other place for you to go . . . unless, of course, you ask the Roundhead garrison at the castle to take care of you.”

  Lark, so terribly hurt by this that she really felt about to die of heartbreak, somehow kept her eyes dry and her chin up. “Oh, yes there is!” she retorted. “I can go to my sister in Scotland. And I don’t need you, either.” She stalked to the door, and just as she reached it, turned for one last word.

  “I hope,” she said distinctly, “that when Lucasta read that poem she slapped Mr. Lovelace’s face for him.”

  She was gone, leaving James in a state of shock. Lark’s inescapable logic rang in his ears, and he was not a person who could ignore such a question once he was aware of it. If he fought for King Charles, he was helping a worse tyranny than Cromwell—but what other choice did he have? He certainly couldn’t help Cromwell against his king. And he couldn’t just ignore the whole thing.

  He put his face in his hands, trying to think. What was right? Or was there only a choice of wrongs? Perhaps Lark . . .

  James suddenly dropped his hands and lifted his head with a new and more urgent sense of shock. What had Lark said? Go to Scotland? James leaped to his feet. It hadn’t penetrated at the moment, but there was no doubt whatever that she would try to do exactly that.

  He raced out of the chamber, along the narrow corridor, and down two flights of stairs to the kitchen where Doll was working. “Where’s Lark?” he demanded.

  Doll looked surprised. “I don’t know; isn’t she upstairs?”

  “Oh, ’steeth!” James moaned. “She’s done it; I knew she had!” He stood perfectly still for an instant, strongly tempted to let her go to Scotland, and be done with her once and for all. As if he hadn’t enough problems on his mind right now without having to go rescue Lark—again!—from the consequences of her own willfulness!

  Then his inconveniently strong sense of responsibility arose within him, remin
ding him that she was, for all her mulishness, a very small and helpless young person. Moreover, it added pointedly, it wasn’t always James who did the rescuing.

  James tightened his lips and started for the front door.

  Doll, moving with surprising speed, stood in front of him. “What is it?” she demanded. “Where are you going?”

  “Lark’s started off for Scotland!” snapped James. “I’ve got to stop her and bring her back!” He tried to go around the massive bulk of the cook, but Doll, simply not taking in the bit of nonsense about Scotland, moved in front of him again.

  “Are you going to forget your duty for a spoiled wretch of a girl?” she demanded accusingly. “Your king needs you!”

  James groaned aloud, and then most unfairly took his anger out on Doll. “I haven’t forgotten my duty to anyone!” he blazed furiously. “I’ll decide what my duty is, and I’ll remember it, and I’ll do it the best I can, and I don’t need you or any other bird-witted female to tell me what it is! Now, get out of my way!”

  He moved toward the door again with a look on his face that caused Doll to move hastily aside. But, far from seeming upset at his rudeness, she stared after him with what almost looked like a satisfied smile.

  11

  The Son of Dr. Thornybramble

  Lark turned left at the corner and started down the hill leading away from the town gate—glancing over her shoulder as she did so to see if James was following her yet. Not that she expected him to do so, she told herself, slowing down a little and shifting her bag on her shoulder. She was, she added to herself, thoughtfully removing herself from his presence so that he could go off and fight his odious old war, and not have to trouble himself about her.

  “Do you know what leeches are?” The question echoed so loudly in her mind that she stopped and looked around for an instant, half expecting to see Doll. Then she started down the hill, more slowly. Was she being a leech? Was she being childish and unreasonable, as James had said? Lark tried very hard to tell herself that she wasn’t any of these disagreeable things, but some innate core of self-honesty raised its head and began nagging at her in a most uncomfortable way.

  She swallowed and slowed down a little. She didn’t much care any more for the notion of going to Scotland alone, anyway—it no longer seemed very practical or even very enjoyable. She slowed down a little more. Perhaps this was, after all, the wrong way to keep James from going off and getting himself killed in battle? Perhaps, instead, she should talk to him, reasonably and convincingly. Perhaps she should even go back now, and say she was sorry? She hated having quarreled with him! It made her feel quite sick, as if she’d eaten something that disagreed with her.

  She stopped in the road, staring at the cobblestones, more than half minded to turn back at once. And then she heard a horridly familiar voice squawk “Elizabeth!” and heavy hands grabbed her arms.

  Lark didn’t need to look up. The hands that held her and the voice in her ears were unmistakably and revoltingly those of Will-of-God!

  “Elizabeth!” he bleated. “What in the name of heaven are you doing here? How did you come? Where’s Mother? How did you get here, Elizabeth?”

  Lark looked up at last, and the expression on her face was the most idiotic she had ever worn. This time it was not an act. She was simply paralyzed. For once her quick-thinking mind was a total blank, and she could not think of any faintly probable reason for anything at all.

  “Elizabeth!” Will shook her. “What is the matter with you? You look fair half-witted! How did you get here, I say?”

  Lark’s mind clicked back into working order at this cue, and she immediately looked as half-witted as possible. “Who are you?” she squeaked. “Let go of me! I don’t know you, and my name isn’t Elizabeth!”

  Will-of-God looked confused but stubborn. Lark realized that she probably couldn’t convince him that she wasn’t herself. But if he believed she had lost her wits . . . “My name’s Lark, and you’re a horrid boy, and I don’t like you at all,” she said with great feeling. “Let go of me.”

  Will-of-God did no such thing. He took a firmer grip, if anything. “Don’t you know me, Elizabeth?” he demanded indignantly, putting his face down near hers so that she could get a better look at it.

  She shuddered and indicated that the sight made her sick. And even beneath her fright, some part of her mind was very much enjoying the chance to let Will-of-God know what she thought of him.

  “Ugh!” she said.

  “Elizabeth! I’m your cousin Will-of-God, remember? I’m going to marry you when you grow up, Elizabeth,” he added, but with a note of uncertainty. He was beginning to think that perhaps it had been a mistake about God willing their marriage—or, more likely, He had changed His mind and was now indicating His disapproval by afflicting her with madness. Or perhaps she was possessed by Satan? Will looked distinctly alarmed.

  Lark perceived this doubt and immediately set about encouraging it. Feeble-mindedness seemed a small price to pay for getting out of marrying Will. “I wouldn’t marry you for anything!” she declared, trying to get away, and making horrible faces at him. “You’re a wicked, horrid, disgusting young man, and the Devil is in you, and I never saw you before in my life.”

  “Elizabeth!” repeated Will-of-God, deeply shocked. He stared at her silently for a moment, trying to decide what on earth to do about her. “I shall have to take you to Captain Dove,” he decided finally. “He’ll put you somewhere safe until Father gets back from Bristol.” And he began walking her back up the hill.

  Will was strong, and there was no use at all fighting him. Lark struggled just as a matter of principle, with no hope of getting loose. And then her heart jumped. A figure appeared from the side street at the top of the hill, and it was James. He was staring at them, and Lark was seized with terror for him. He must not get himself in trouble! How could she warn him?

  James was starting down the hill toward them with a most ominously calm look on his face. Lark twisted around to face Will, and raised her voice. “I don’t care if you do say you’re my cousin!” she shouted. “I say you’re a toad and a dog, and I never saw you before, so a hey nonny nonny to you, too!”

  She turned from the baffled Will toward James, who was now hesitating, clearly trying to figure out the situation before setting about the murder he had in mind. Two other Roundhead soldiers, across the street, turned to watch the scene with great interest, and James realized that he must be astute. He looked at Lark for more clues.

  She obligingly pointed at him. “And you,” she declared, “are a clever brown fox, and I never saw you in my life, either. He—” She jerked her head at Will. “—says I’m his cousin Elizabeth, but I’m not; I’m a lark, and all those other soldiers are boars and weasels, and they bite.”

  She looked at James, hoping that he would get the idea. And James, although still confused, understood very well that Lark was warning him. He looked at the hulking and bucktoothed young man holding her. Cousin, had she said? Things began to clarify a little.

  “She is my cousin,” said Will-of-God, looking at James’s sober garments and assuming that he was a Puritan and therefore a friend. “I can’t think how she got here from back home near Salisbury, but God has clearly smitten her with madness. I suppose it’s because she came from a vile Royalist home, and has never been saved.”

  “Saved, saved, saved,” sang Lark, trying to sound as mad as possible, just to make sure James got the point.

  James got it, and was thinking as hard as he could. This should have been the answer to at least one of his big problems. Let Lark’s own relatives take care of her, which they could quite likely do better than James. They would certainly keep her safe, at the very least, and James was not at all certain he could do that much. To be sure, she would probably be well punished for her naughtiness—but at the moment James was inclined to think that a little punishment was richly deserved, and would probably be of great benefit to her character. Moreover, considering that J
ames did have other pressing obligations, this would certainly be the practical solution all around.

  James’s mind told him all this, but his feelings persisted in being quite irrational and unscientific. He had not the least intention of abandoning Lark to her detestable relations, and although he called himself all kinds of fool, it did not at all change his mind.

  On the other hand, how was he to manage a rescue? The two Puritan soldiers were crossing the road now to see what was happening. And it was quite clear that James could not help Lark by getting himself killed or beaten up or imprisoned. So he looked at Will mildly.

  “What will you do with her?”

  Will looked discouraged. “I’ll have to ask my captain to lock her up until my father gets back, I suppose. Father is Colonel Jeremiah Talbot,” he added, bragging a little. “He’ll take care of everything, and he should be back in a few days now.”

  James considered this. Then he shook his head and made a clucking sound at Will.

  “Very awkward,” he pointed out. “In a few days the Black Boy and his savage Scots will be here, no doubt, and what can you do with a little girl in the middle of a battle?” Will looked more depressed than ever, and James pursued his advantage before the young man could remember his father again. “And in the meantime,” he said, “where will you keep her? Surely not in a garrison of soldiers! That would not be at all fitting for a little maid, even a young and feeble-witted one.”

  “Loud sing cuckoo,” remarked Lark, thankful that James was apparently not going to get himself killed on the spot, and quite sure that he would rescue her by sheer brilliance and scientific logic. She smiled cheerfully. The other two soldiers were now standing behind Will and staring, and Will’s shoulders were drooping.

  “I’ll take her to Captain Dove,” he repeated doggedly.

  Lark looked at him with loathing. “I don’t know if I ought to associate with you,” she said. “Your eyes are too close together, and you have pimples, and I feel quite sure that Satan is in you.”