A Splendid Defiance

by Stella Riley

  Justin sighed faintly. ‘No. I suppose not. But I’d give a lot to know if there’s something approaching on the Oxford road that’s sent their main force scurrying off towards Warwick.’

  ‘So would I,’ grinned Will. ‘So send out your scouts again and then find something to eat if you can. It could be a long day.’

  It wasn’t. Shortly before eight o’clock, sounds of firing were heard from no more than half a mile away and, soon after that, Justin’s men brought word that a body of eight hundred Parliamentarian Horse was retreating in disorder towards the village of Hanwell, that the remaining Foot from the town was following them and that all were being hotly pursued by four regiments of Royalist cavalry.

  ‘Whose?’ demanded Sir William. ‘The Oxford Horse?’

  ‘Yes. Also those of my Lords Wilmot and Brainford.’

  The dark eyes widened. ‘But they were with the King. My God! His Majesty has sent his own troops to relieve us.’ And then, ‘You said four regiments?’

  Justin smiled.

  ‘Yes. The other belongs to my Lord Northampton. Big brother to the rescue.’

  ‘James?’ A faint flush touched Will’s hollow and unshaven cheeks. ‘And about bloody time, too. I just hope he’s brought some beer.’

  The last scene in the drama was played out shortly before noon when Colonel Gage led the Queen’s Own Regiment of Foot through the streets of Banbury to the south gate of the Castle where Sir William and his officers waited on the drawbridge. Although they had all washed, shaved and changed into the least shabby of their attire, they presented an undoubtedly scarecrow appearance but Colonel Gage affected not to notice it and his salute expressed only profound respect.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said clearly, ‘I have the honour to report that the siege is raised and the enemy in full retreat. God preserve His Majesty!’

  ~ * ~

  EIGHT

  ‘Missus – oh, missus! Whatever are we going to do?’ With her cap sadly awry and a smear of mud on one cheek, Betty confronted the Radford ladies. ‘It were an accident for sure but I don’t know how to tell you!’

  ‘The cat’s been at the meat safe,’ thought Alice, rising resignedly from her chair.

  It was a little over a week since the Royalist relief force had withdrawn and she and Rachel had been home for three days. Three days of scrubbing and polishing in an attempt to set the house to rights again; three days of bearing with Jonas’ profound ill-humour and a period of almost continuous anti-Royalist disturbance in the town. And now, to cap it all, hysterics in the kitchen.

  ‘Calm down, Betty, and tell us properly. What is it?’

  ‘It’s Master Sam, Missus. He’s been took! There was trouble in the Market Place and I got knocked down so Master Sam, he goes to pick me up afore I gets trampled on. Then somebody hit him, so he hit ‘em back and then there was soldiers arresting everybody – and they took Master Sam!’

  The blood drained from Alice’s skin and she sank back into her chair. Equally pale, Abigail threw her sewing aside to kneel beside her mother, saying rapidly, ‘It’s all right. It’s a mistake. They’ll have thought he was part of the apprentice riots but they’ll soon release him.’

  ‘But they’ll put him in a dungeon!’ wailed Betty.

  ‘Then perhaps the experience will teach him a valuable lesson,’ said Rachel, whom pregnancy had softened not at all. ‘If he had kept away as he was told, he would be safe at home now.’

  Abigail stared at her.

  ‘How can you be so callous? You know he’s done nothing wrong – and, with the fever barely off him, he can’t last a night in a damp cell without being ill again.’

  ‘He should have thought of that before,’ replied Rachel coldly. ‘I can’t see the Malignants bothering to make exceptions – or even enquiries – or believing him innocent if they do. Not if he was actually caught participating in a vulgar brawl.’

  ‘What was that?’ Jonas had entered in time to hear the latter part of this speech. ‘Samuel has been fighting?’

  ‘Yes,’ said his wife composedly. ‘In the Market Place, amongst all those stupid apprentices and farm-boys.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ said Abigail. ‘He was only trying to stop Betty getting hurt.’

  ‘That makes no difference.’ Rachel shrugged and looked up at Jonas. ‘Samuel was arrested, of course … and Abigail appears to feel that he should be got out. No doubt she would like you to go down to the Castle and beg for his release.’

  Abigail met her brother’s smouldering stare stoically.

  ‘Please, Jonas – would you? Sam’s still far from well. He has such a dreadful cough.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he thundered. ‘I go and plead with recusant scum? I’d sooner see him dead at my feet.’

  ‘If you don’t go, you probably will,’ retorted Abigail, for whom three months of responsibility and having to deal with strangers on a daily basis had done more than she yet realised. Alarmed by her own recknessness, she added placatingly, ‘But you needn’t plead. It’s just a matter of explaining.’

  ‘Explaining what? That my brother is an idle young fool who spends his time where he has no business to be? That he was not creating a political disturbance – merely a private one? Perhaps you would like me to perjure my immortal soul by congratulating those sons of Satan on their continued presence in this town?’

  ‘No. Of course not. I only —’

  ‘She only wants to see Sam brought out of that place as quickly as possible,’ finished Alice. ‘And so do I. He has been very ill, Jonas. Surely it isn’t too much to ask?’

  Jonas put a visible curb on his temper.

  ‘Unfortunately, it is. If Samuel has been imprisoned, it is because it is God’s will and I cannot interfere with that. To do so would be a double offence – both in doubting His purpose and in abandoning my principles to ask favours of His enemies.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘No. I have heard enough,’ he snapped. His glance fell on Betty. ‘You, girl – go about your duties. It is past five o’clock and I would like my dinner.’

  A strange and alarming sensation crept over Abigail and she clenched one hand hard over the other as it rose like a steadily expanding bubble in her chest. As the door closed behind Betty, she heard herself say, ‘How can you be so selfish? Sam is in prison – and all you care about is your stomach. That’s not Christian – it’s just selfish!’

  Three voices spoke her name, in fury, shock and fear – but Abigail heeded none of them.

  ‘It isn’t principle, Jonas – or even respect for God’s will. You’re just furious because the Castle didn’t fall and you won’t help Sam because you’re too proud and stubborn to humiliate yourself by asking a small favour.’ She snatched her cloak from behind the door. ‘Well, I’m not. I’m used to being insulted and sneered at and told how useless I am – so I haven’t any pride worth saving.’

  ‘Go to your room!’ ordered Jonas, dangerously flushed. ‘I will not tolerate such insolence and will deal with you when you have recovered your senses. Go to your room, I say. Abigail! Where do you think you’re going?’

  She finished tying the strings of her cloak with fingers that shook only a little.

  ‘I’m going to get Sam and I shan’t come back till I have. Enjoy your dinner.’

  And she was gone before he could stop her.

  Outside, the freezing November wind took her breath away and she held her cloak tightly against it. It was dark but lamps hung outside most of the houses and she darted along, unafraid, borne up by a dimly recognised wave of pure anger. It was her first sight of the devastation in the Market Place that brought her to a halt. Almost every house seemed to have suffered some kind of damage … windows shattered, chimneys blown off, walls pitted by musket fire or demolished by cannon. On the north side of the square, the entire row of buildings nearest to the Castle had been reduced to no more than a heap of charred and blackened timbers. She had been told, of course - but nothing had pre
pared her for the eerie menace of the deserted ruins and she picked her way through them with a fast-beating heart before running full pelt for the Castle.

  ‘Halt! Who goes there?’

  The sentry’s challenge startled her and administered the final prick to that comforting bubble of anger. Abigail opened her mouth and found that her teeth were chattering.

  ‘I want to see C-Captain Ambrose.’

  The guards examined her wonderingly.

  ‘Now then, Mistress,’ said one of them, kindly. ‘A respectable lass like you has got no business wandering about on her own in the dark. You go on home and come back tomorrow morning.’

  ‘No,’ said Abigail stoutly. ‘I have to see him now.’

  ‘What is it, Sergeant?’ The voice of the duty officer came, disembodied through the gloom and the guards stepped back, saluting.

  ‘It’s a young woman to see Captain Ambrose, sir.’

  Abigail looked up into a pleasant, mobile face framed with curling, fair hair.

  ‘Please! I don’t mind waiting - but I must see him tonight.’

  ‘Then you shall, my dear – and without any delay at all.’ Ned grinned at her, taking in the pale, pointed face and wide dark eyes. Not Justin’s usual type, he decided, but a taking little thing for all that. ‘Croft?’

  The trooper stepped forward. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Take this lady to the officers’ common room and, if Captain Ambrose isn’t there, find him for her.’

  The outer ward was a shambles but Abigail was too preoccupied to spare it more than a passing glance. Treading carefully between lumps of fallen masonry, broken timbers and other assorted debris, she reached the safer ground of the planking laid across the ditch of the inner bailey and followed her escort inside.

  Somewhere nearby, male voices were raised in song.

  ‘Here good fellows I’ll sing you a song

  Sing for the brave and sing for the strong

  To all those living and those who’ve gone …’

  Trooper Croft rapped hard on a nail-studded door and then, on a rousing note of ‘With never a penny of money!’ opened it. Abigail hovered behind him.

  Fixing his eyes on the nearest officer and not without a certain relish, the trooper said, ‘Sorry to disturb you, Captain Vaughan, sir – but there’s a lady to see Captain Ambrose.’

  There was a sudden silence. Then she heard a lilting voice say, ‘A lady, is it? Well, well – I fear she’s come a mite late. The Captain’s been in his bed this hour and more.’

  A burst of laughter followed this remark. Abigail felt her cheeks grow hot but she pushed back her hood and stepped into the light of the doorway, saying, ‘Then he’ll have to get up again. And the officer at the gate told this man to find him for me.’

  This time the silence assumed epic proportions as six pairs of eyes riveted themselves on her small, soberly-clad person and six brains reluctantly reshuffled their ideas. Finally, Hugh Vaughan said winningly, ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress. If Lieutenant Frost has given his word, then the Captain must, of course, be woken. Croft – see to it.’

  An expression of pure horror informed the trooper’s face.

  ‘Me, sir? Now?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hugh’s smile was maliciously understanding. ‘And, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t neglect to mention Lieutenant Frost.’ He waited until Trooper Croft had removed himself and then said, ‘Now, Mistress – will you come to the fire while you wait? Tom – shift your idle carcass and give the lady your seat. As usual, it’s the best in the room.’

  Ensign Mayhew grinned and removed himself to the other side of the hearth with Cornet Bentley and Lieutenant Pulteney. Captains Walrond and Tirwhitt continued abstractedly with their game of cribbage and Abigail found herself handed to a chair while the dark-haired Welshman pressed her to accept a cup of wine.

  ‘Oh – n-no thank you.’ Jonas considered wine to be an invention of the devil. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – to interrupt whatever you were doing.’

  ‘But you haven’t,’ responded Hugh gallantly. ‘Now … do take a little wine. There’s chilly wind tonight and you must be frozen.’

  This was undeniably true. Jonas’ sister banished him from her mind, accepted the cup and took a tiny cautious sip. It tasted rich and smooth and sent warmth immediately flowing through her. She smiled shyly at her host and politely finished it off.

  Hugh’s eyes widened but he said nothing, merely refilling the cup whilst shooting a quelling glance at his junior officers. Then he returned to her, saying, ‘Perhaps you are wondering why Captain Ambrose has taken to his bed at such an unseemly hour?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she protested weakly. ‘Well, not very much.’

  ‘He’s been rather busy, you see,’ smiled Hugh. ‘I doubt he’s had more than five hours’ sleep in the last forty-eight.’

  ‘Oh.’ Guilt temporarily overcame her concern for Samuel. ‘I didn’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have —’

  ‘Not at all,’ he assured her. ‘It’s just that he may be a little … a little less than his usual sparkling self, that’s all.’

  He heard Tom Mayhew choke at the understatement. And then the door opened.

  Heavy-eyed, coatless and far from immaculate, Justin leaned against the door-jamb and directed an irritable grey stare at Captain Vaughan.

  ‘Well? If this is Ned’s idea of a joke, I’ll break his sodding neck.’

  Hugh tutted reprovingly and stepped aside to reveal Abigail.

  ‘This lady wishes to speak with you.’

  She had time to notice that, like the others, he looked shockingly fine-drawn and then her breath leaked away beneath his frown. She came to her feet, spilling a little of the wine in the process.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Justin unpleasantly. ‘It’s Mistress Butter-fingers. Take that cup, Hugh – before she throws it at you.’

  A flicker of resentment stirred in Abigail’s breast but she handed the cup dutifully back. Captain Ambrose, meanwhile, detached himself from the doorpost and demanded, with neither courtesy nor grace, to be told what was so cursed urgent that it necessitated dragging him out of bed.

  Abigail’s heart sank and she cast a glance of agonised appeal at Captain Vaughan.

  ‘Well, I … it’s a little difficult … I’d rather not …’

  Hugh responded promptly but with total misunderstanding.

  ‘I imagine that the lady would prefer to speak to you in private. But since Will is coming down to go over the reconnaissance reports with me, it’s a little awkward for us to give over this room to you.’

  Justin regarded him out of eyes that could have quarried stone. Then, on a brief explosion of breath, he said, ‘Oh very well. It’s all one to me so long as it doesn’t take all night. Well, Mistress Radford – are you coming?’

  ‘Coming where?’ asked Abigail, startled.

  ‘To my quarters. If it’s privacy you want, there’s nowhere else in this hen-coop that you’re likely to find it.’

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Abigail heard a pleasing tenor sing, ‘Charge it again, boys – charge it again,’ to the same tune she’d heard before. Then others joined in with ‘Pardonnez moi je vous en prie,’, followed by a full and overly-loud chorus of, ‘As long as you’ve still got some ink in your pen – with never a penny of money!’

  ‘Christ,’ muttered Captain Ambrose, striding away to the stairs and leaving Abigail to follow as best she could. ‘Bloody idiots!’

  Considering that he had left his bed to dress hurriedly and come straight downstairs, the Captain’s room was remarkably tidy. A lot tidier, thought Abigail, with a faintly shocked sideways glance, than he was himself. It was also larger than she had expected, being situated at the top of the south-east turret and reached by means of a narrow spiral stair.

  Despite the cold stone walls, it had a comfortable, lived-in look and its cosiness was epitomised by the spaniel which stirred sleepily on the bright, rag rug before the fire. A row of books sat atop
a large, carved chest and a pair of inlaid pistols hung on either side of the splayed window; there was a blue sash looped over the washstand mirror, a buff leather coat hanging on the back of a second door and the Captain’s sword reposed on the room’s only stool.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ thought Abigail, in sudden panic. ‘Jonas will kill me if he finds out.’

  Justin picked up the sword and deposited it in a corner. Then, turning to pull the bedclothes into some semblance of order, he told her to sit down and demanded again to be informed what she wanted of him.

  Abigail hovered and hesitated.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ exclaimed Justin, dropping irritably upon the bed and regarding her with acute disfavour. ‘Sit down and stop being coy. I’m not in the mood for it.’

  She obeyed him rather quickly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Just come to the point.’

  His tone made this difficult but she did her best.

  ‘It’s my brother. He was arrested in the Market Place this afternoon – but he didn’t do anything. I mean, he wasn’t involved in the fighting in the way that others were. So I came to ask you to please let him come home.’

  Comprehension dawned slowly and the blurred gaze registered astonishment.

  ‘You mean he was taken for rioting? No, no. It’s too good to be true.’

  Abigail stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I don’t find it funny.’

  The dark brows soared and his reply was deliberately blighting.

  ‘My dear child, I’d be amazed if the members of your household found anything funny. Quite apart from your religious persuasion, your appalling brother and his sour-faced wife are enough to kill anyone’s sense of humour. However. If you’ve hauled me out of bed just to ask a favour for Jonas, I can only say that your nerve outstrips your intelligence. To put it bluntly, I don’t care if he rots.’

  Abigail dissected this remarkable speech before brushing it aside.

  ‘What has Jonas to do with it? It isn’t him you’ve got.’ And then, staring at him, ‘Is that what you thought?’

  ‘Not being on intimate terms with your entire family, what else was I to think?’ he asked acidly. ‘Well?’