Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall

by Height of Folly

  “It’s nothing. No, I do not want to sleep now.” He went to the door and looked at the sky. “See, the moon is out again. The squall is past. I would rather stroll here by the harbour.”

  “I too.” The confined space in there with a fire in the hearth repelled her.

  “We will walk in the air,” she told Luigi. “Take care of these people.”

  She saw Will’s scandalised face as she tucked her arm into Frederick’s and stepped outside. Suzette squealed, “My lady!”

  “Stay here and lie down on the table when the kind man brings you a pillow. Try to sleep. Mr Smyth is in charge.”

  She pulled the tavern door to behind them and stepped out briskly. Frederick peered up at her.

  “You are so bold with Will. He frightens me, Mistress Horden.”

  “Pray let us stop this formality. We are nothing but a man and a woman whom God has chosen to save from death. Let us please just be Frederick and Deborah from now on.”

  “I would like that but – to be honest with you – I am mightily in awe of you.”

  A laugh burst from her. “Oh pray don’t be. I was terrified on that ledge.”

  “So was I, but you walked it quite boldly.”

  “And you,” she said with feeling, “managed a trembling Suzette who might so easily have dragged you down.”

  “I feared she would. I prayed. That was all and she came.”

  “Then you are a better person than I. I was too engrossed in myself to pray. I thought only, I must do this to make a good impression on you and on that Will Smyth who resents my company on your travels. I was driven by pride not courage.”

  “You are too honest with yourself.”

  She stood still and faced him. “That’s impossible.” Her shoulders began to shake. “Oh, Frederick, Frederick, I want to laugh. We are alive. Nothing else for the moment matters. Giving thanks, yes, of course. But I want to laugh because your Mr Smyth is so solemn. And here we are telling each other how we felt. It’s happened, it’s over. We are all safe, even the wicked old tramp who was the cause of it. We expected adventures and we’ve had one. I left home for this. There is the moon shining on the water between the two capes of Nero and Verde and it is sobeautiful.”

  He looked too and nodded. “It is indeed.”

  She could see his face turned up to her again. What could she do to reduce the adulation in his eyes? He looked such a little shrimp of a man and in her company that must be how he saw himself. She longed to say, can you not forget I am so tall? Why should inches worry you any more than your earldom bothers me? She took his arm again and they walked on.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was two days before Christmas when John Wilson Horden, riding with his manservant Matt Baker, reached Château Rombeau. Striding in from the stables, travel-weary but aglow with anticipation, he surprised Jeanetta and her mother in the salon. There she was, heavy with child, but jumping up to receive him with shrieks of joy.

  “It’s John, Maman!” Her hands were all over him. “Oh, you have been so long. Your letter that you were on your way came weeks ago.”

  Diana rose from the couch. “It is not weeks, Netta, maybe a fortnight. You shall not start scolding him the minute he’s here,” and she gave John her customary pecks on both cheeks. “The comte only arrived yesterday from court but is in bed with his gout. I shall tell him you are here and you may come up and pay your respects.”

  The moment she left the room John circled his wife’s enlarged waist and whispered, “I have been about the king’s business.”

  “What? King James!”

  “Sh!” He covered her mouth with his hand. “No one must know but plans are afoot.”

  “You won’t go away again?”

  “Not yet. No indeed. I am here for this one’s arrival.” He patted her bulge. “But many pledges are being made to the young king and his time will come. When we return to England there will be much work for me to do.”

  “But I am hoping that when James is King he will make you a Chevalier of France and King Louis will want us to live here.”

  “He might raise me to Baron Horden and I will be expected to run the estate there. Of course I don’t want Father put out of it but he’ll have to come in on the right side. It can all be done in peace, you know, if the country accepts that James has too much support to be resisted.”

  She put up her hands to his face and pulled it down to kiss his lips. Then she breathed at his ear, “I think you’d like just one exciting battle before it’s all settled, wouldn’t you, John? I can never forget how you described that charge down the hill at Killiecrankie. That was when I fell in love with you.”

  John swallowed uncomfortably. He had never told her the whole truth of what happened at the bottom of that hill. Plunging so fast with his sword outstretched he had leapt a fallen body and cleft the face of an enemy soldier – unintentionally. He could still feel the squelch as the body dropped from his sword-point with the head a one-eyed wreck. And his own wound proudly born had come from being thrust to the ground by his friend when a musketeer took aim at him. He had been pierced by the spike from a fallen shield. Only Deborah had been told the true story. The strange thing was that he still longed for the thrill of that moment of joining battle. This time he would not be a boy but a man in command of his actions, a man in command of other men perhaps, a man proving himself a hero in the service of his true king.

  He patted Jeanetta’s rear. “Well, you know they let William in with hardly a fight. James the Second had mismanaged everything. This young prince – I should say king – is a true warrior. He is not much older than I was at Killicrankie and he has been bloodied in action already with Louis’s forces. When he is seen riding into London with a fine army at his back they will welcome him in. How can they want a German prince who knows nothing of England, not even the language, when Anne goes to her Maker? If I am riding in that procession I will be so proud – whether or not we have to fight. Now listen, sweetheart, I must report to your uncle Neury.”

  “But first you must see mon pèreor he will be aggrieved.”

  “What? In my dusty riding clothes?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She took his hand and pranced with him to the stairs. He was overwhelmed with delight at her liveliness. He had feared languor and grumbles at the weight of her burden. This was a Jeanetta so different from the one at Horden. Was it the baby or being with her own people or both? He only knew that he could love her again with his early passion. It was wonderful to have her at his side, looking up into his face with those very arched brows and a mischievous smile.

  Half an hour later he was knocking at the door of the Vicomte de Neury’s study. He knew now to give the correct signal, two sharp taps followed by two lighter ones, and walk straight in, closing the door quickly. The little man was perched on his stool, alert as a magpie in the black coat and breeches he always wore and very white linen. Before his massive desk John thought he looked smaller than ever. His face seemed to grow all to the point of his nose and his head jerked up and down as he began at once in a low hurried voice to probe John with questions.

  John produced a paper from the inside pocket of his riding coat. “Here, sir, this will tell you everything. These are the people le Vent suggested I should try to contact and the forces they could raise.”

  “What! You have travelled with this on your person. Are you mad?”

  “I’m sorry, Vicomte, I can’t memorise all these French names.”

  “But what if you had been taken with them?”

  “Surely your government troops are on the same side. Is there not contact between Saint Germain and Versailles all the time? Does not our King James send his own agent, Colonel Hooke, to your King Louis –”

  The vicomte threw up his hands. He had turned quite pale. “Silence, please. We never name names out loud. I see how little you understand France or HCM.” He whispered this and John realised he meant King Louis, always referred to as His Christian Majesty
. He went on, “Only HCM may authorise activity between S G and V . But you and I know that our windy friend has his suspicions about some of the Scottish lords with whom the colonel you mentioned is negotiating. So our windy friend is doing his own recruiting and when he is sure of complete loyalty in everyone we can combine with the main force when the time is right. So it is sh-sh here just as much as it will be when you get back to England. Do you understand?”

  John nodded solemnly. He felt there was something a little absurd in the vicomte’s whispering of initials in the secrecy of his own office. The château walls were thick and his door solid oak.

  Now he beckoned John even nearer and hissed in his ear, “There are secret Catholics like you in your county of Northumberland, are there not? The colonel you mentioned is at work mainly in Scotland. Northumberland will be your field of activity.”

  John nodded again. “Le Vent told me that.”

  The vicomte put his hand to his lips. “Will you never learn? Our windy friend we call him.”

  John suppressed a grin. This was serious business. “But, sir, I know not how soon I can be back in England. My wife is to give birth and my sister is travelling and may be away for months. I would be expected to wait for her return here.”

  The vicomte tut-tutted. “Nothing can be done in a hurry. Have you forgotten that HCM is engaged in a war? That is surely enough for the present.”

  John felt a little dashed. “Yes, I see, of course.” The action he was looking for might still be years ahead.

  He saw the vicomte was now peering at the paper he had given him. John half expected him to cast it into the mean little fire that burned in his hearth. Instead he gestured that he should move away and, turning his back, fiddled with some levers and knobs and inserted the paper into the depths of the vast desk. He swung round quickly to see if John had been watching him. John pretended to have been poking the fire.

  “Would you like some more coals on, sir?”

  “No, no, no.” He sat down on his stool again. “It will do very well.”

  Everything about him, apart from his linen which John suspected his wife took care of, proclaimed parsimony. The black clothes had a rusty look and the wig was ancient and unfashionable. John wondered, not for the first time, why he was part of this conspiracy. What could he gain for himself or his family?

  “And my friend at S G,” he asked suddenly, rising to his feet and pacing about. “Did he read my letter in front of you? Of course it was in code. Perhaps he hadn’t time to decipher it. But I have heard nothing from him.”

  “Oh yes, sir, he and some friends invited me to have a glass of wine with them and he read the letter and told me to say he took good note of it.”

  The vicomte drew his sparse grey brows together and glowered suspiciously at John from beneath them.

  “That was all he said?”

  “Yes, sir, but he seemed very pleased with the letter.”

  De Neury nodded his head a few times. “Well, we will await our windy friend’s return. You have done well, John. But your sister and that English lord? They know nothing of this?”

  “No, they met le – himhere of course. It is a part of his disguise to proclaim himself openly to people but I have left them believing he is a spy for the English government. They think his task is to interrogate travellers and discover secret Jacobites. They have no idea he is on our side.”

  “Good, good, good.” Then his mouth curled in a leer. “They are travelling together – your sister and this lord? They are betrothed

  – is that the way of it? An odd couple they’ll make to be sure.”

  “They would indeed, sir, but that’s not the way of it. He is a friendly escort, that’s all. It seemed quite proper. His father and our father fought in King Charles the Second’s navy and our grandfathers were friends before that.”

  The vicomte’s brows, which were very active, shot up. “Ah, we need English nobles. Could he not be recruited – this lord?”

  “I doubt it. He seems a peace-loving sort of fellow. Our windy friend didn’t reckon he’d get anywhere with him and my sister’s mighty clever so we’ve got to keep her in the dark.”

  “Well, well!” The vicomte sank back down on his hard stool. His bony figure seemed to grate against it but there was no comfortable chair in the room. He gave a ghastly grin in John’s direction and a dismissive wave of his hand. “It will be hard work for us all, but you are doing well.”

  John backed out of the door with a perfunctory bow. As he descended from the Neury wing of the château he could still see the vicomte as a magpie in black and white plumage solemnly secreting bits and pieces into its nest and taking them out to look at from time to time. Does he imagine he is directing operations, John asked himself. He hardly ever leaves the château. At Saint Germain I thought his friends didn’t take him seriously. There was much laughter about him when I presented his letter. I wonder what le Vent thinks of him.

  Any more thoughts on the matter were soon obliterated by the festivities for Christmas and the opening of the new year of 1706. Hostilities were still in abeyance because of the time of year and Château Rombeau knew how to entertain itself with balls, masques, visiting musicians and lavish feasting.

  John feared that Jeanetta was throwing herself into everything with more zest than was wise and shortly afterwards, a little before her expected time, she went into labour. He was instantly banished into the company of men as almost all the women in the château seemed to be involved in the lying-in. Most of them crowded into the very room where his poor darling was suffering.

  He walked out into the gardens in the early morning after a sleepless night though the air was biting with frost. Why will they not leave her with one or two comforters, he asked himself. Her cousin Sophia is the gentlest and quietest. At my sister Ruth’s birth Grandmother Bel and the midwife were the only souls Mother wanted near her. There was little fuss made and within five hours baby Ruth was there and Deb and I were taken in by Father to see her. Mother and the little thing were as serene as day. I recall my surprise that it was a girl because Mother had been so sure it would be a boy. Jeanetta and I expect a boy but what if it’s a girl? We will have to try again and I hope it doesn’t take as long to conceive next time.

  Finding himself near the chapel on the outskirts of the grounds where the local villagers also came to worship he went in and flung himself down before the statue of the virgin. The place was deserted at this early hour, the priest not being inclined to take more than the bare minimum of services especially in winter.

  “Now Our Lady,” he said aloud, “you know what this is all about. You went through it yourself so please spare my Netta any more pain and I won’t care if it is a girl or boy as long as she and the infant are all right. She anyway, for I find I love her again to distraction and she can always have more now she’s managed this far.”

  He stayed on his knees for longer than he had ever done in his life till he was stiff with cold.

  Two hours later Matt found him curled up asleep on the velvetcushioned seat in the Rombeau family pew with the rug from before the altar pulled over him.

  Matt was the same age as John and had begun service as a stable-boy in Horden Hall but here in the hierarchy of Rombeau he had quickly discovered a new status as John’s valet-de-chambre. He pulled the rug off his master and shook him by the shoulder.

  “Master John, wake up and come and see your son. He’s a brave one.”

  “What!” John was on his feet, grabbing Matt’s arm to steady his stiff legs. “What! It’s a boy. You’ve seen him before I have?”

  “Ay, the count carried him down to the assembled company. I’ve been all over hunting for you.”

  “God be praised, but how is my lady wife?”

  “The countess her mother says she is calling for you, so make haste.”

  John rubbed some life into his thighs and set off across the gardens so fast Matt gave up trying to keep up with him.

  The fa
mily came milling out of the salon to congratulate him but he thrust them aside and rushed up the stairs shouting, “Netta, Netta, I am here.”

  More attendants were in the room but melted politely away as he burst in. She was sitting up in bed, her black curls glossy on her shoulders, her face high-coloured and radiant.

  “Where were you? He was born an hour since. Is he not beautiful?”

  John moved to clasp her in his arms but drew back at this.

  “I don’t know. Where is he?” The handsome lace-curtained crib was empty.

  “Why, Father took him to show everyone. And Maman is crowing over Aunt Madeline because Sophia could only produce girls.”

  John laughed and kissed and hugged her. “Are you all right, my precious?”

  “No, I am sore as hell and exhausted but go and bring him back. I want to see you with him. What are we to call him?”

  “He’s to be Nathaniel to please Grandmother Bel and John for me of course.”

  “But my father thinks he must be Jean after him.”

  “It doesn’t matter. John – Jean – it’s the same name. Let me go and get him.”

  He almost tumbled down the stairs but the comte was coming to meet him clasping a small red-faced wailing bundle in his arms.

  John gasped. “Oh God, what’s wrong with him?”

  The comte laughed. “He’s hungry, what do you think? Take him to his mother. I’m not climbing the stairs again with my legs.”

  John eased the bundle from the Count’s arms as if it were delicate porcelain.

  Finding it continued to squirm and emit thin little cries he bounded up the rest of the stairs and laid it on the bed in front of Jeanetta. “Make it stop.”

  “Oh bother. I don’t like that noise either. The nurse has been sent for but is not here yet so I suppose I’ll have to –” she opened her nightgown and approached the baby towards her breast. The effect was instantaneous. His lips closed on her nipple and the little face relaxed.

  John sat down on the bed and chuckled.