Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall

by Height of Folly

  unalloyed happiness.

  Suzette took half an hour to dress her and another half hour to do her hair. All the time Ruth kept looking in to have this or that adjusted in her own dress and to assess Deborah critically.

  “Bride’s headdresses are often tall but I suppose you didn’t want that. You need more flowers in your hair, then. I worry that in some lights the dress looks more green than blue. And you know green is unlucky. It will bring rain on the wedding if nothing worse.”

  “Well, my eyes are neither green nor blue but in between.” “I suppose you’ll do. I shall wear pink when I’m married to Stephen, perhaps a deeper pink than this. This is too pale to set off my golden hair.”

  Deborah smiled. Ruth had begun lately to refer to her hair as golden when it was no more than a browner shade of fair. Stephen had written a sonnet to her golden hair and blue eyes. Frederick, she reflected, has written nothing to my flaxen locks but then we are middle-aged. She regarded herself in the cheval mirror. I am no longer a scarecrow. I look stately, a floral goddess.

  “Is it time we went downstairs?”

  At the foot of the stairs she found Lady Branford holding a jewel-encrusted box.

  “You look splendid, Deb. Wear this for the dear old earl’s sake. His wife wore it on their wedding and it matches the ring Fred has given you.”

  Deborah looked into the box. It was a diamond necklace. When it was fastened round her she thought, I have at least a thousand pounds dangling round my neck. How does that make me feel?

  The Italian mirror that adorned the central archway showed her the effect.

  Oh dear, its beauty shows off my plainness, she thought. Diamonds should set off a face of perfection. She sighed. Of course I must wear it. She embraced her mother-in-law to be and her father walking in the door that moment from inspecting the carriage arrangements exclaimed, “My Deb, you are a queen!”

  His eyes were immediately brimming with tears.

  At the church Frederick, with John at his side – had they shaken hands yet she wondered – were just as resplendent. Frederick’s coat was royal blue, embossed with the repaired gold knots around the hem. His waistcoat was ivory worked with a pattern of gold threads. His shirt cuffs turned back over the jacket sleeves bulged with lace. How will he eat his dinner without soiling them, she wondered.

  John was in purple and silver. He looked pale and tense. His hair was brushed over the bruise but Frederick’s chin showed a slight discoloration from John’s blow. Can we put on a show of a happy united family, she asked herself as her father handed her from the carriage.

  The crowds round the church cheered her appearance. I never supposed I was much loved in Nether Horden, she thought. It just shows what dressing-up and a bit of ceremony can do. All this was pleasant and reassuring but it was when her father took her arm and led her into the church and symbolically handed her over to Lord Branford that it came upon her that she had been at this very point all those years ago. Then it was a place of horror but she had believed she was about to be made a wife. The words were spoken and she had thrilled at the thought that the huge man at her side was her husband.

  Now it was a bright March day in the church of her childhood with her family and friends surrounding her and it was really going to happen. There was no trickery, the words were being spoken again but this time from the English prayer book. All was open, honest and transparent. Frederick was agreeing to worship her with his body and she was agreeing to love, honour and obey him. They would hold together till death parted them.

  They were pronounced man and wife. It had happened, nothing could undo it, nothing could mar it in any way. The surge of happiness that went through her nearly unbalanced her.

  And then from outside came the sound of marching feet and the clang of weapons and shouts and squeals from the crowds who had not been able to squeeze into the church. She and Frederick exchanged a look of shock and bewilderment.

  A red-coated officer appeared at the church door. Everyone turned and stared in alarm. John’s face was ashen. The parson went forward to meet the officer.

  “What is the meaning of this? You are interrupting a wedding service.”

  “Captain Lawrence at your service, Reverend. We want to see Sir Daniel Horden to find out if he knows the whereabouts of his son John who was involved in the late rebellion. We believe he has escaped to France. He has a French wife. The ports are being watched.”

  The officer’s voice rang clear through the church. Deborah tried not to look at John’s face. She held tight to Frederick’s hand and could sense his body quivering like hers.

  “Whereabouts!” repeated the parson. “John Horden is where you would expect him to be, here at his sister’s wedding. The gentleman in the purple coat.”

  Jeanetta came rushing forward, hiding John from view. “And I am his French wife and there with their nurses are our two babies. John is heir to Horden and why would we be running away to France? We live here at Nether Horden Grange. Take your silly soldiers away from my sister-in-law’s wedding.”

  Deborah, her heart lifting at Jeanetta’s words, saw that her father had stepped forward and now approached the Captain.

  “You asked for me. I am Sir Daniel Wilson Horden. May I ask what reason you can have for saying my son was involved in the late rebellion?”

  Oh father, let it alone, Deborah was praying. The captain looks dashed by Jeanetta’s outburst and might have gone quietly away.

  “Why, sir, forgive me but we were given a list of names by a prisoner who hoped to gain his freedom by betraying others. It is true we have found most of them quietly at home and begin to suspect the man of lying to save his own skin.”

  “And who is this traitor?”

  “He calls himself Edouard le Vent.”

  Now Deborah did send a stabbing look at John to make no sign. His lips were parted but he snapped them shut. Jeanetta poised herself to block the officer’s view of him. Deborah was impressed with her.

  But le Vent, she thought, must have been a Jacobite himself. John let us think he was a government man. He said he had heard his name bandied about. Yes, among Jacobites. He has been in league with him from Rombeau days. Oh the lies he has told us! And that villain with his flamboyant moustache and exaggerated gestures, his teasing grins, he was playing with us all. And John knew it!

  The captain went on, “We believe his real name is plain Edward Brown – an Englishman masquerading as French. He was a nobody who wanted to be somebody in a romantic cause, deceiving the gullible. He liked play-acting but we have blown his cover. He thinks turning informer will save him but I wager he’ll hang anyway. Well, Sir Daniel, I will just apologise to your son.” He stepped nimbly round Daniel and Jeanetta and confronted John. “Master John Horden!”

  Sweat glistened on John’s forehead. The captain looked suddenly round at the local gentry in the pews and the villagers standing round the walls. “You all know this is John Horden?” There was a general sound of affirmation. Isolated voices called out “Known him from a baby!” and “Get your men out of the church” and “The service ain’t over yet.”

  Deborah had a sickening dread that he was about to ask John how well he knew Edouard le Vent but he seemed to make up his mind to leave the matter. Perhaps the fierce looks of the gentlemen farmers and the splendid plumes in their ladies’ hats intimidated him as well as the sheer numbers of people inside and outside the church.

  “I beg your pardon, Master Horden, and you two,” he bowed to the bridal couple, “for disturbing your wedding.”

  The parson had followed him back up the aisle and addressed him severely.

  “Let me tell you, Captain, that far from harbouring villains here in Nether Horden Ihave just had the great honour of marrying the Earl of Branford to our own Mistress Deborah Horden, now the Countess of Branford. It is theirwedding that you have so rudely interrupted.”

  The captain bowed low. “My lord, my lady, forgive me. I was obliged to carry out orders t
o investigate the prisoner’s information. Sir Parson, we will withdraw at once.”

  One of the soldiers lined up behind him was grinning and pointing at the bride and groom. Lady Branford stepped out of her pew and, singling him out, said, “Enjoy your laugh, my man, and I will enjoy a laugh at your big red nose which tells me you drink a deal more than you should.”

  The men turned on their comrade with grins at his expense, the captain glared round at them and called them to attention and marched them out of the church. The congregation could hear the crowd outside jeering them on their way and chatter broke out within the ranks inside. The parson begged for order and quiet for the conclusion of the service. The wedded couple were prayed for and blessed and at the end everyone inside and outside clapped and cheered.

  When would Nether Horden see such another wedding, Deborah asked herself.

  They came out into the sharp spring air and she turned to Frederick. “Are we fast married do you think?”

  “We are fast married.”

  John was the first to come up to them, his face crumpled. He kissed his sister and shook Frederick’s hand. “You heard that? Le Vent turned informer. If that is the character of Jacobites I will swear Father’s oath today to have nothing more to do with them ever again. Was not Jeanetta wonderful?”

  Deborah hugged him, her sweet, silly, persuadable little brother. “She was – if she will now live out all she said.”

  “And did not the officer say he found most of le Vent’s list quietly in their homes? They didn’t march. Were they waiting for me? Will they now be grateful that I never called upon them?”

  “Their wives will I am sure. And are you grateful? To me? To Frederick? And you’ll stay and learn to run Horden?”

  “Yes.” She could see it tore him to say it. He lowered his voice. “Deb, I have to admit it. To bring in King James was the height of my ambition but the mountain of a rising has turned into a mouse. I will never trust the French again but believe me, there never was any play-acting with me.”

  “Was there not? Well, if you can admit that all the deception you were driven to was the height of follyrather than ambition I shall have great hopes of you in the future, John.”

  Frederick took her hand. “Come to the carriage, wife. It waits to take us back to the Hall.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  November 1715 Horden Hall

  Frederick, Earl of Branford, Deborah, his Countess and their three children, Edward, Daniel and Bella, along with May, the Dowager Countess, are at Horden Hall for the funeral of Lady Arabella Wilson Horden. They came at her request so she could see them before she died and now they have the sad duty of following her coffin to the grave of her beloved Nat in Nether Horden churchyard. It is a bitter November day. The Branford children have stayed at the Hall with their tireless nurse, Suzette.

  Lady Eunice Horden uncharacteristically is weeping. “I felt the warmth of her nature the first moment we met. I knew if I married her son she would love me truly.”

  It seems strange to Deborah that her father, Sir Daniel Wilson Horden, is dry-eyed. He has an arm round her shoulders and is murmuring, “She wanted to go once she had seen your latest child. The trial of living in a frail body was too much for her busy soul and I am thankful she is joining my father. They never wanted to be apart.”

  They are looking across the grave as the coffin is lowered. At the other side stands John Wilson Horden, the heir to the Horden estate with his wife Jeanetta and two children Nathaniel Jean, a leggy boy of nine, looking thinner than usual in his black suit and clutching the hand of his little sister, Diana Maria. She is a perfect replica of her mother and grandmother Diana, now dowager Comtesse of Rombeau since the death of Comte Rombeau five years before and the marriage of her eldest son Pierre. Jeanetta and the children do not look sad, only cold.

  Deborah cannot help but see the torment in the face of her brother. It is not for the death of his grandmother though he loved her well but for the solemn promise he made to his father seven years before on the day of her wedding to Frederick. At this moment she knows his heart is with the band of Northumbrian Jacobites under the leadership of the Earl of Derwentwater who raised the standard of James Stuart at Warkworth Castle on October the ninth. He has followed all he could learn of their progress and setbacks day by day. They headed for Newcastle but found it well-prepared. The known Catholics in the town had already been arrested and the militia and train-bands were mustered on Killingworth Moor, a formidable force. The little Jacobite band retreated and linked up with another group on the Scottish border. Together they were now known to be marching into England by the west coast route via Carlisle and hoping to gain more recruits in Lancashire.

  “They have done this without French help,” John had told Deborah before the funeral. “I have lain low all these years as most of my former comrades have but now they have risen and I am held back by my cursed promise. I have had messages calling upon me to come and I was near breaking my word to Father but Netta begged me not to go. She is more timid than she used to be and fears failure. But I believe there is a real chance of success this time. The Earl of Mar has raised a great army in the Highlands. You Branfords who support the House of Hanover may find George the First toppled before you can get home to Hertfordshire.”

  “I applaud Jeanetta for saving you from the height of folly once again,” was all Deborah answered.

  Now she can see in his face that her poor brother is torn apart. She knows how much has changed for him and Jeanetta in the

  past seven years. He has ‘lain low’ as he put it in France as well as in England but the delights of the Château Rombeau have faded. Pierre is master now and their mother Diana is subdued. Pierre barely tolerates his sister’s English husband about the place and his new wife cannot stand the noise of children. The Vicomte de Neury has burnt all the papers from his desk and is now a little mad because he has no exciting games to play. Madeline has succeeded in marrying Sophia’s two daughters to French noblemen of higher rank than John Horden and her triumph and the comte’s death have crushed Diana’s spirit. Sophia is melancholy since her daughters left. The air of bustle and gaiety is lost and its loss has communicated itself to the whole household. Jeanetta cannot feel light-hearted there any more and prefers her own place at Horden.

  She is pale, today, Deborah thinks. She is having a hard time with John. She once told me he was only fun when he was happy and now he is not. She is also shivering as we all are. Do funerals always have to happen in winter? There is no place colder than a graveside.

  The service over they are all thankful to return to the warmth of Horden Hall and a hot dinner.

  Deborah, who knows her father so well, is aware that he is on edge. Something momentous is gripping him and she wonders a little anxiously what it is.

  When they have well fed, and the children have been sent to the library to play games with Suzette he clears his throat and Lady Branford’s chatter dies away.

  “May and Frederick,” he begins, “I wish to make a proposal which I am happy for you to hear although it does not directly concern you.”

  Lady Branford breaks in happily, “Daniel, I loveother people’s business.”

  It is not quite the note of solemnity he is seeking but he presses on. “I look on you both as family and it is a family matter.”

  They compose themselves to listen. Deborah sees from her mother’s face that she knows what is coming.

  “The fact is,” he says “that I am minded to make changes at Horden if John and Jeanetta agree. I would not disturb Mother while she was ill but Eunice and I would like to end our days in the peace and quiet of Nether Horden Grange, further from the coal workings, and because we need less space and attendance than your family, John. We have both passed our three score years and ten and though I will be ready with advise at any time, I believe I should now give the reins into your hands and you should live here as Master.”

  He looks at Deborah who has stirre
d in surprise and some concern. “Why do I propose this, you may wonder. It is entirely because John has kept his word to me, at great cost and heartsearching over the present and still ongoing rebellion. We do not know how it will turn out and people are needlessly dying as we speak for the sake of James Stuart who as far as we are aware has not yet set sail to take his part in it. But even before we know the outcome I wish to show my son that I believe he can and will take charge and fulfil his duty to all for whom Horden is their livelihood. I will not see it but I have faith that he will pass on the baronetcy to young Nathaniel in good standing with the community at large. What do you say, John?”

  Deborah has already seen that Jeanetta is all smiles and is prodding John to make a grateful and gracious reply. He is flushed and tongue-tied for a moment. His mother is nodding at him. He looks up at his father.

  “But I don’t know that I will have any standing at all if King James wins the throne. I will be ostracised in Northumbrian society. I will receive none of the rewards I hoped for as his loyal servant. I alone will be left out.”

  “Nonsense!” Deborah intervenes. “If it ever happens that we exchange George of Hanover for James Stuart, you will be among the vast majority of the population who have nothelped him to the throne and don’t particularly want to see him there. Should you not be happy that you were not hanged in seventeen hundred and eight like that wretched Edward Brown? You would not be here today if Frederick had not dropped the trapdoor on you.”

  “Come, we won’t bring that up,” says her mother. “All our lives have moved on since then. I believe in living in the present moment while making wise plans for the future when necessary. So answer your father, John. I can see Jeanetta’s answer in her face.”

  John draws a deep breath. “Well, Father, I am grateful for one thing. I think it is the first time in my life I have felt that any of the family believed I could do anything at all.”

  “Oh John, is that my fault?” Deborah cries.

  “It’s the way things happened. More my own fault I suppose. But I will accept everything you suggest, Father, and I will work hard and try to leave Horden more prosperous even than you have made it.”