Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

  “They may, but they will not find him, for he will be in the Devil’s Tower. It is ideal. People don’t go near it. The undergrowth is so thick round it that it is forgotten except by those who know it is there.”

  “Then let us start immediately.”

  We told everyone we met that Kirkwell had been summoned up north on urgent business.

  The Devil’s Tower was indeed the ideal hiding place. It was in a remote part of the estate, and no one who had not heard of it would suspect it was there. Perhaps a century or so ago people might have talked of it and avoided going there, but the legend had become forgotten with time and it was only those who had an intimate knowledge of the land who were aware of its existence.

  So to the Devil’s Tower went Kirkwell. We took blankets and food for him and planned how one of us would visit him once a day, and when Oates’s men had gone he would come back as though from his long journey north, and maybe we should not be troubled again by Titus Oates.

  Three days after Kirkwell had settled into the Devil’s Tower, Titus Oates’s men arrived. They stayed at the inn, as they had before. The neighborhood was tense with anxiety. People cast down their eyes and hardly dared look at one another.

  Many were questioned. The men came to the Dower House. They questioned Christobel and wanted to know when she had last seen her brother.

  Carrie and I listened outside the door. We were in a state of terror.

  Christobel was brave, but very frightened—not for herself, I knew, but for Kirkwell.

  They also questioned Carrie. She did not know that we had been aware of the men’s coming some days before they arrived; nor did she know where Kirkwell was hiding, so she could not be trapped into betrayal.

  They questioned me as well.

  “Do you know the man Kirkwell Carew?” they asked.

  I said I did.

  “When did you last see him?”

  I told them it was the day before he left for the North.

  “Did he go in a hurry?”

  I looked puzzled. I did not think he went in a hurry, but he had told us only the day before that he had to go. He was not very pleased, because he was in the middle of restoring one of the houses on the estate, but he said he had better go and get it over with. The repairs would have to wait for his return.

  “Did he say when he would return?”

  “I think it was when his work up there was finished.”

  They did not pursue their questions. I had made myself look young and I behaved like a child. I think they accepted me as such.

  It was a time of terrible anxiety. Kirkwell’s whereabouts were a secret shared by Christobel, James, Luke and myself. Perhaps I should include my father, for, although he remained aloof from the matter, he was after all the one who had suggested that Kirkwell should go and where to.

  I shall never forget that time. We took it in turns to visit Kirkwell, just in case one of us should by some remote chance be seen going to the same place too often.

  I remember now the eeriness of the place and the fear I felt when approaching it, which was not all due to the danger of the mission.

  I made my way through the undergrowth. It was not easy. Branches of shrubs caught at my cloak. I had the feeling that they were trying to hold me back and imprison me. It was quite uncanny. I suppose a kind of aura of horror grows about a place in which something terrible has happened. As I battled my way through the shrubs, I could not stop thinking of the young girl who had been “wayward”—I supposed that meant she had an illicit lover—and had had this dreadful punishment inflicted on her. What was it like, I wondered, to be put into a cavity and have the wall built up around you, leaving you shut in…alone, without air, without food, to await death?

  And something equally terrible could happen to Kirkwell if he were discovered.

  I shivered. The world was a fearful place when people could be walled up and left to die and men like Titus Oates could bring death and misery to thousands of people.

  Kirkwell was waiting eagerly to greet me.

  He put his arms round me and stroked my face, as though to assure himself that I was real.

  “Oh, Kate, little Kate…they shouldn’t have let you come.”

  “Of course I came. Christobel, Luke and James…they come when they can.”

  “You are only a little girl: Oh, Kate,” he said, “can you believe this? Here I am, running away. Why did I not stop and face that devil?”

  “Because it would be foolish of you to do so.”

  “I did not kill that man.”

  “That makes no difference if Titus Oates says you did, and he could. We have to face that, Kirkwell. He does not hesitate to lie. Oh, Kirkwell, you will be safe here. Nobody comes here.”

  He put out a rug over the broken tiles of the floor, and we sat on it, our backs to the brick wall, which was covered with lichen in places.

  “I have good friends. My sister…you, and the others. What is happening?”

  “The men are here, as you know.”

  “Yes, they are questioning people. They are asking where I am.

  “It was good that you left before it was known that they were on the way. No one can say that you have left because of them.”

  “But they are asking about me. They have doubtless decided that they are taking me as their victim.”

  “We are not going to allow that.”

  “Oh, Kate, my stalwart protector! I cannot tell you what it means to me to see you here. It was due to you, was it not, that I am here?”

  “It was due to my father.”

  “Yes, it seems to me that he too is my friend.” He put his arm about me. “We have become very special friends, have we not, Kate?”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “From the first time I saw you, there was something about you that made you different from other people.”

  “Was there? They say I am old for my years.”

  “That may be so. Kate, grow up quickly, will you?”

  “I suppose I am subject to time, like everyone else.”

  He kissed me lightly on the tip of my nose.

  “It is strange here, is it not? Do you know the story? Those of us whose families have always lived in the neighborhood are familiar with it. It happened in this tower. I have not thought of it for years, but I remember it now as I lie here, particularly at night, when I hear the sounds of all the wild creatures who live around here. I hear a fox now and then…creatures creeping through the undergrowth…the cries of birds. They sound strange in the night. One grows a little fanciful at night in such a place.”

  “Do you think of that poor girl who is said to have been walled up here?”

  “Sometimes…and it makes me think of what would happen to me if Oates’s men were to discover that I am here. Sometimes I think I hear them making their way through the undergrowth…but it is always some animal. I suppose I am expecting them to come.”

  “They will not! They will not! We are so careful; and they cannot say that you went away to escape them, because people here believe that you went before you knew they were coming.

  “And you, little Kate, what if they knew you were visiting me…bringing me food?”

  “They will not know.”

  “You are taking a risk. I shall never forget you took this risk for me, Kate.”

  “And so are James and Christobel and the others.”

  “I shall remember you more, Kate.”

  “Soon they will go away. Then you will return from the North, your business settled, and life will go back to what it was before all this started.”

  “Oh, Kate, will it ever be the same again? I lie here and think of my father, and I think of their coming here. They would find me guilty, not only because I hid myself, but because they were determined to. I shall never really be free while Titus Oates lives, Kate.”

  “Kirkwell, it is not like you to be so despairing.”

  “No. Blame this place. It seems so remote from the wo
rld.”

  “That is why it is such a good hiding place. They will never find you here.”

  “How long shall I be a prisoner here?”

  “Until the men have gone.”

  “Kate, I want you to know that I love you dearly.”

  “Oh, Kirkwell, I love you too. I love you and Christobel. She has been like a sister to me.”

  “I am glad,” he said. “If I come through this…and when you have grown up a little…”

  “Yes, Kirkwell, what then?”

  “Then you and I will talk more of this.”

  After I had left him I thought of what he had said. I believed he was telling me that he loved me. I might have been young, but, as they always said, I was advanced for my years. I knew that he was telling me that one day, if we continued to feel as we did now, we might be married.

  I must have shown that I cared for him. My father had seen it.

  Was it for this reason that he had mentioned the Devil’s Tower? Was it done for me?

  Tension was growing. More people were questioned (and no one felt safe. I had a strong feeling that if Kirkwell had been here he would have been accused, however completely he could have proved his innocence. And if they had determined to make him their scapegoat and did not go, for how long could he stay in the tower?

  Each day either Christobel, James or myself would go to the Devil’s Tower with provisions: we grew increasingly afraid that someone would notice us.

  Oates’s men were becoming impatient, and with each passing day the danger grew closer. Everyone in the place lived in fear that in desperation they would select someone—anyone: it would not matter to them, as long as they had their culprit.

  The matter was resolved in an unexpected manner.

  Farmer Blake, of Fifty Acres Farm, was discovered by his ploughman in one of his barns. He had hanged himself from the rafters and people were talking of nothing else.

  The night before he died, he had gone to the rector and made a confession. The rector was so startled by these revelations that he thought it his duty to write them down so that he could assure himself that he had heard them correctly and could then consider what action he should take.

  Farmer Blake, it appeared, had, one year before, married Betty Drew, the daughter of one of his cowmen. Betty was a handsome, plump young woman and she had a merry way with her, whereas Farmer Blake’s wife had been an invalid confined to her bed for the previous five years. Farmer Blake confessed that he had lusted after Betty while his wife still lived and had married her in indecent haste three months after his wife’s death, which was doubtless why the Lord had seen fit to punish him.

  One day, when he had had to be away on business at Nether Stowey, he had told Betty that he would be home at about six of the clock, and added: “You can never be sure, and I reckon I’ll be lucky if I am back by seven.”

  However, Farmer Blake’s business was concluded with far more speed than he had anticipated, with the result that by five o’clock he was on his way home to the farmhouse, thinking to give Betty a pleasant surprise. Passing along to the farmhouse, he had heard whispering voices coming from one of the barns. He thought it was some children playing there, and that was something he would not have. He opened the door and went in. He could not believe what he saw. There was Betty, and with her Isaac Napp, together caught in the act of adultery.

  So lost in their sin were they that they were unaware that Farmer Blake had opened the door of the barn. He was amazed that his wife could behave so, and with this man who had professed to be in the service of the Lord, purging the world of Catholicism. Farmer Blake thought his legs would not carry him, but they did, out of the barn where he stood for a while, bewildered, unable to grasp the fact that his new wife was a wanton, and not what he had blindly supposed her to be.

  He found himself back in the farmhouse. His anger was hot and he began to plan vengeance. It was not Betty he hated so much: she was a young girl, led astray, he convinced himself, by the Devil masquerading as a man of the Lord.

  He was so distressed he did not know what to do, so he did nothing. He said nothing to anyone…not even to Betty who, when she found him at home, showed no sign of guilt and was just as usual.

  The next day Farmer Blake went in pursuit of Isaac Napp. He told Betty he would be late back that evening. That he had to go out to see a builder in Bridgwater who would not be at his place until six of the clock, so he would be leaving at thirty minutes past five and could not say at what hour he would return, but he thought it would be eight before he got back to the house.

  Then he lay in wait. He knew the way Isaac Napp would come. Bordering on the edge of the farm was a copse through which he must pass. He would lead his horse through to the other side on foot, as most people did, taking the way to the farm from there.

  Farmer Blake was waiting in the copse and, creeping up behind Napp, he gave him a blow on the head which felled him.

  “Adulterer!” shouted Farmer Blake.

  The way in which Napp looked at Farmer Blake told him that he knew he had discovered the truth about him. He opened his mouth to protest. Isaac Napp would always find the words to explain that it was all a mistake or something similar. But the farmer had seen with his own eyes and, as he said, the picture of them caught in sin was something he would see for the rest of his life.

  He put his hands about Napp’s neck and pressed and pressed.

  Isaac Napp was a comparatively young man, which Farmer Blake was not. The farmer was not sure that he had killed his victim, and he knew that it was very important that he should, so he dragged him to the stream and laid him face down in the water. And while Betty waited in the barn for her lover, her husband was watching him die.

  Farmer Blake convinced himself for a while that it was no sin to kill such an evil man. It was his just reward for what he had done. And so life went on more or less as usual until he heard that Titus Oates’s men had come to look for the killer.

  Then his conscience began to worry him. Also, he gravely feared that he might have betrayed himself in some way, and he did not want to hang for murder. For this was no ordinary murder. One of Titus Oates’s men had been done to death. What would happen to the man who had been responsible for that?

  Farmer Blake was then very much afraid, but he reckoned that he had had the right to kill a man who had sinned against him as Isaac Napp had, that the Lord would understand more easily than Titus Oates, and he was less afraid of his Maker than of that other. So, after some deliberation, he decided to take his own life.

  All this he told the rector the night before he committed suicide. The rector had told him it was a sin to kill himself; his life was God’s and it was for Him to give it or take it; and had offered to pray with him for guidance.

  Meanwhile the men from London were asking a great many questions and some of those questioned knew Farmer Blake well. The investigation was getting nearer and nearer. Poor Farmer Blake was becoming more and more distraught.

  Apparently he could bear no more. He did not want to listen to what the rector had to say: he did not want to pray for forgiveness and to give himself up, which was surely what he would be told to do. Life had lost its savor. It was not what he had believed it to be. He could not forget the sight of Betty in the barn with Isaac Napp.

  So he went into the barn that night and hanged himself.

  The case was solved. It had to be accepted by all that the murderer of Isaac Napp was Farmer Blake, and his reason for his action was clear to all.

  There was nothing for Oates’s men to do but close the case and go back to London.

  And within a reasonable space of time, so as not to arouse suspicion, Kirkwell returned to Featherston Manor.

  Time was passing, it seemed, at great speed. I was growing up fast and would soon be fifteen—no longer a child.

  Life was pleasant and interesting. I had Christobel, my brother Luke, Kirkwell and James Morton and Sebastian Adams. We were all good friends and, in sp
ite of my youth, I was one of them. We enjoyed being together, and one of the main topics of conversation was politics. The King had an illness which had sent a shiver of apprehension through the country, and the subject of the succession was discussed everywhere with more intensity than usual. Fortunately he recovered: he was seen sauntering in the park, enjoying the company of several women and making witty remarks in his old manner, and the country breathed a sigh of relief. The King would live a few more years and perhaps by then some solution would have been found.

  We all took different sides in our discussions. Luke was in favor of the succession of the Duke of Monmouth. He was the King’s son, Luke insisted, a little defiantly. Poor Luke! Just like the Duke, he longed to be accepted as his father’s son. Monmouth yearned for a kingdom, Luke for Rosslyn Manor and recognition as Lord Rosslyn’s son. It was little wonder that he stood for Monmouth. He said it was because the country would only accept a Protestant King, but I suspected he wanted to say it was the right of bastards to inherit if there were no legitimate sons to come before them.

  Sebastian Adams was for law and order, and the law said that the Duke of York was heir. James Morton was inclined to agree.

  Kirkwell believed that if the Duke of York came to the throne, there would be trouble, as there would be if Monmouth succeeded. He said we should have to wait and see. He wanted what was best for the country, but also that the country should not be involved in civil war.

  And so we talked: and we were all convinced that it was a question for the future, for the King had many years to live, and while he did we could go along in our pleasant, easy way.

  Now and then Christobel and I went to London. We would stay with Maggie, who was delighted to see us. She told me that she was glad I had gone to the Dower House. She missed me, of course, but it was better for me to be there, and when the time came my father, she believed, would do what was right and proper.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Find a husband for me?”

  “Whatever is right and proper,” she insisted.

  I was a little uneasy at the thought, but I put it from my mind. It was a long way off yet, I told myself.