by Stella Riley
There was a startled pause and then Anne Rhodes smiled, her gaze resting for one seemingly intimate second on each face in turn.
‘You are all so kind. I cannot believe my good fortune. But please don’t let me intrude upon your work. I know – all England knows – what loyal and courageous service you give His Majesty and I would hate to feel myself in the way of it. Indeed, if there is anything I may to do help, I hope you will not hesitate to ask.’
There was a murmur of graceful acknowledgement into which – aware of just how often the lady’s eyes had rested on him during the meal – Justin said pleasantly, ‘A generous offer and one worth remembering. But you must not encourage us to take advantage of you, Mistress.’
Considering slate-blue eyes met gleaming grey ones.
‘Are you likely to, Captain?’
‘Given the right circumstances, all things are possible,’ came the deceptively innocent reply. ‘And I am convinced that you have many natural talents which will be revealed when you know us better.’
Ned’s jaw dropped and Hugh choked on a morsel of beef. Mistress Rhodes reached for her wine glass and directed a slow smile full into Captain Ambrose’s face.
‘You’re all so understanding that I feel I know you already. And it is true that I am held to be skilled in certain matters.’
Justin smiled back. ‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘And what are your skills?’ asked Will, gently breaking the thread.
The glowing auburn head was tilted slightly, exposing the rounded column of a creamy throat.
‘The arts of healing, sir. I have some knowledge and much experience in the use of herbs and other such remedies.’
Exchanging a swift glance with Hugh, Will said, ‘Are you familiar with the new fever – the one people call the influenza?’
‘I have seen it. You have a particular reason for asking?’
‘Very much so. Since the siege was raised, it’s gone through the ranks like an epidemic and three men have already died of it.’
She nodded. ‘Have you others you consider at risk?’
‘Several. So if there is anything you feel you can do, I shall be most grateful to you.’
Something stirred in the beautiful face and then was gone.
‘I’ll do my best. Fortunately, however lightly I travel, I never stir without the most essential of my powders and cordials. I’d sooner leave my fripperies behind.’ She shrugged, smiling. ‘Indeed, on this occasion I had to. One can carry so little on horseback.’
Later, when she had gone with Sir William to visit the influenza victims, Captain Vaughan said plaintively, ‘Ned … what do you think Justin has that we don’t? He’s no better-off than you, no better-dressed than me - and certainly no better-looking than either of us. So what is it?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Ned eyed Justin respectfully and said, ‘I’m beginning to believe what they say about you. You certainly favour the direct approach, don’t you?’
‘I wanted to find out something,’ replied Justin absently.
‘We know what you wanted, you dog – and I’ve the distinct impression that you’re likely to get it!’ Ned paused and then, when no response was forthcoming, said, ‘You’re very quiet. Indulging in pleasant anticipation, no doubt?’
‘Not particularly.’ Justin gazed enigmatically at his hands. ‘I was wondering exactly the same thing that Hugh was wondering; and whether our sultry windfall really does know any miraculous herbal cures. And I was thinking that, if my instincts are correct, we may be in for an interesting few weeks.’
*
Three days later, the snow came.
Captain Ambrose went into the town amidst large, swirling flakes in order to line his empty pockets with the sale of a set of silver buttons which were his only possession of any value. He indulged Mr Atkins, the goldsmith, with twenty minutes of cheerful barter and Mistress Barbara, the goldsmith’s daughter, with the same amount of discreet flirtation, then he struck a bargain and left. Half an hour later, he had taken a horse from the stables and was riding to Bodicote with specifications of certain equipment needed for the Castle repairs.
The snow began to settle. His mind occupied with the probable effect of bad weather on the west wall, Justin did not immediately notice the cloaked and hooded figure trudging along the road ahead of him and, by the time he did, the sound of hoof-beats had made it turn to look back so that he was able, without difficulty, to recognise the face within the hood.
‘Mistress Radford? What the devil are you doing out here on a day like this?’
Abigail brushed a snowflake from her nose and some of the tension drained from her face.
‘I don’t mind the snow.’
‘That’s hardly the point. You shouldn’t be out alone and on foot in weather like this,’ said Justin impatiently. His eyes narrowed a little. ‘But you mind something, don’t you? What is it? You’re not absent without leave again?’
She shook her head and managed a nervous smile.
‘No. I’m going to Barnes’ forge to collect a new spindle for the winding-jack and take Mistress Barnes some samples of linen.’
‘Oh.’ He stared at her in mild exasperation. ‘Then, since I’m bound for the forge too, I suppose you’d better come with me.’
It was scarcely a gracious offer but it brought a flood of gratitude and relief into Abigail’s face.
‘Can I? Thank you!’
Captain Ambrose raised sardonic brows.
‘This is obviously my lucky day,’ he remarked. ‘Come. Give me your hand.’
It was Abigail’s turn to stare for, stupidly, it had not occurred to her that he meant her to actually ride with him. And that, suddenly, was not all. Even coatless and dishevelled, the Captain had been an object of awed fascination; but sitting easily on his horse, with a short cavalry cloak dropping gracefully from his shoulders and the long, walnut hair glistening with snow and damply curling, he was quite alarmingly attractive.
‘Your hand,’ he repeated imperatively. ‘Mistress Radford, I wish – just once – you could do something without dithering. My horse is taking cold. What’s the matter? Don’t you want to come?’
‘Oh yes. I do. But —’
‘Then hurry up! Before we’re up to our necks in bloody snow.’
His tone was one that sixty motley horsemen knew and obeyed instantly. Abigail reacted even quicker. Her hand was received in a firm clasp and she was drawn effortlessly from the ground to arrive in terrifying proximity before him on the saddle. The horse moved forward.
‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
‘No,’ she whispered. An arm lay casually around her waist and her left shoulder was pressed against his chest. It was shockingly improper and utterly confusing. She felt thoroughly abandoned. ‘No.’
Unholy amusement bracketed Justin’s mouth but he merely asked what Jonas’ reaction had been to her successful rescue of Samuel.
‘He was … angry,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘With Samuel for getting himself into trouble – or you for getting him out of it?’
‘Both. But a little more with me because I defied him.’
Something in her voice gave Justin pause and he said quietly, ‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing very terrible. He shouted a lot, of course.’
‘And?’
Abigail sighed. ‘He locked me in my room for a couple of days. I didn’t mind. It was worth it to have Sam home.’
Captain Ambrose wondered if Jonas Radford was as big a coward as he clearly was a bully and reflected that it might be enjoyable to find out. He said a trifle grimly, ‘Samuel is fortunate in his sister.’
‘Oh no. He would do as much for me, you know – and often has done.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. And how is Samuel? Still quoting Free-born John by the yard, no doubt? Alas, poor Parliament – how art thou betrayed - and so on?’
It was a quotation from the latest illicit pamphlet which S
amuel had been distributing secretly around Banbury. Abigail tensed and said hastily, ‘That may not have been Mr Lilburne’s work. It had no name on it.’
‘The lack of a name,’ observed the Captain crisply, ‘does not necessarily make a thing anonymous. Even if its anti-Presbyterian and pro-Cromwell sentiments didn’t shout Lilburne, its coherence certainly would.’ He paused. ‘If your brother is involved in that direction, he’d do well to take care. Lilburne’s always been an embarrassment to the King and he’s become one to a goodly proportion of the Parliament. The rest – Cromwell and the so-called Independents – will probably follow suit soon enough when they find that even they can’t live up to such radical ideas. And, if the wolves gather, they’ll take his acolytes as well.’
‘Thank you,’ said Abigail, hollowly. ‘But Sam isn’t – he wouldn’t – I don’t think he has —’
‘No? Then I humbly beg his pardon,’ mocked Justin, plainly disbelieving. ‘But if he’s wise, he won’t let Jonas find out what he isn’t doing – or the heavens will fall.’ Although she didn’t say anything, he felt the slight shudder that ran through her. ‘But if he isn’t busy with politics, why isn’t Sam walking to Bodicote instead of you? Come to that, why walk at all? You must have a cart or something?’
‘We have. But Sam needed it to make a delivery. Of cloth. Jonas is busy in the shop with it being nearly Christmas; Mother is baking and Rachel is – is – isn’t very well just at present.’
Justin had no difficulty in interpreting this and a sudden laugh shook him.
‘Oh dear. But you can always hope it doesn’t take after its parents.’
For a moment, Abigail was startled into silence. Then, with unconscious wistfulness, she said, ‘Don’t you think Rachel is pretty?’
‘Yes – in the same way as icicles, frosted trees and marble statues.’ He glanced down at the little he could see of her face inside the enveloping hood. ‘Cheer up. Hasn’t Jonas told you that beauty is only skin deep?’
‘No. He says it’s a snare of the devil. It leads to wickedness and vanity.’
Justin grinned. ‘If he says the same thing to Rachel, she must find him a charming lover. Or perhaps she was always sour?’
Abigail had never heard anyone speak like this before but, amidst her natural embarrassment, she discovered a dreadful impulse to giggle. She fought it because both it and the Captain’s style of conversation ran counter to everything she had been taught … and she had no idea how to respond to it.
The gates of the forge loomed out of the snow, bringing back all her former fears plus one new one.
‘Please stop here and let me down.’
He reined in with an impatient sigh.
‘Don’t tell me. Jonas mustn’t know. No doubt he’s sooner see you dead in a snow-drift than sullied by my touch.’
‘Yes.’ Abigail slid breathlessly to the ground and looked anxiously up at him. ‘You will follow me in, won’t you?’
‘I will if you make it possible. One can only follow from behind.’
The caustic note had returned to his voice. Abigail gathered her cloak in unsteady fingers and went. The yard was empty but the sound of hammering came from the forge and she trod reluctantly towards it. Inside, the boy, Endurance, worked the bellows while his father’s massive arm rose and fell with rhythmic precision. Then the smith looked up and, straightening, laid down the hammer and advanced on her, rubbing his palms on the stained, leather apron.
‘I’ve come for the spindle,’ said Abigail baldly. ‘Is it ready?’
‘Aye, Mistress. It’s ready.’ His hands continued to move and the pale, lifeless eyes fastened hypnotically on hers. ‘Endurance will fetch it for you.’
The boy left the bellows and vanished like a wraith through a door at the back. The smith circumnavigated till he stood between Abigail and the yard.
‘We haven’t seen you in a fair while, Mistress.’
‘No.’ She resisted the temptation to retreat and fumbled in the pocket of her cloak. ‘Here are the samples your mother asked for. I’m sorry I can’t stay while she chooses but it’s snowing and I’m sure she will understand.’
He ignored the proffered package and moved slowly closer.
‘Now why are you always in such a hurry? It’s not very friendly, is it?’
Abandoning her attempt at bravery, she backed away from him.
‘I’m sorry. Endurance is a long time. Perhaps you should —’
‘You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you? Modest, too. But I like that. A girl should be modest and humble. I don’t know if you’re humble enough, Mistress,’ he sorrowed. ‘Still … I reckon you could be taught.’
She stared at him, understanding nothing save that the expression in his strange, immobile face made her skin crawl. She was at the wall and shelves bit into her back. He took another step and leaned his great hands against the wood on either side of her shoulders. The odour of stale sweat arose and engulfed her.
‘Smith!’ A diamond-hard voice cut through the air and brought Barnes wheeling to face its owner. Holding his horse with one hand, Captain Ambrose rested the other negligently against the doorpost. ‘Are you open for business? Because, if so, I suggest that you reserve your dalliance for another time and a more receptive lady.’
‘God-cursed Malignant!’ rumbled the smith. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘And you mind your tongue!’ snapped Justin. His hand dropped from the door-jamb and both voice and posture suddenly acquired generations of seigneurial ice. ‘Finish your transaction with this lady and be quick about it. I’ve no wish to spend half the day in this draughty pigsty.’
The pale blue eyes came abruptly to life and the spatulate hands tightened convulsively. Silence – unpleasant, raw and suffocating – stretched between the two men.
‘Your spindle, Mistress Abigail.’
The half-whispered words exploded like a faulty petard as Endurance arose from the gloom at the girl’s side. She gasped.
‘What? Oh yes. Thank you.’ Taking the metal rod, she pressed the package of samples on the boy in its place. ‘Give that to your grandmother. And here’s the money for the spindle.’ Then she was off across the floor. ‘Thank you, Mr Barnes. Good day.’ And, without even glancing at the Captain, she fled.
She was a quarter of a mile down the road when he overtook her and stopped, holding down his hand in silent invitation. She took it without thinking and let him pull her up. She was still shaking.
He said, ‘It’s all right. You’re safe now. I gather what I saw was fairly typical?’
She nodded. ‘Only today I thought he was going to – to touch me.’
Justin did not doubt it. ‘Have you told anyone? Jonas?’
‘No.’ She shivered. ‘I couldn’t. And it wouldn’t help if I did.’
‘Then tell Samuel. No – don’t argue. Just do it and make sure he understands. If it helps, tell him I’ve a feeling that our friend Mr Barnes is a little … unbalanced.’
Abigail turned sharply to stare at him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I say. Now forget it and tell me how you will spend Christmas.’
She continued to gaze searchingly into his face. Snowflakes clung to the tiny curls escaping from her hood and melted against the pale skin of her cheek.
Captain Ambrose smiled ruefully.
‘Don’t do that. It’s temptation and opportunity all in one … and this is my day for playing Galahad.’
His exact meaning escaped her but his smile, in such close proximity, caused her colour to rise and made her turn away to hide it. And that was when she realised something quite astonishing.
This man she barely knew …this impatient and often irascible man, who cursed and blasphemed with alarming frequency, who said things he shouldn’t, saw more than he should and laughed when she least expected it … this man who embodied everything she had been reared to abhor … was completely trustworthy. More … he made her feel safe.
> Instead of answering his question, she asked huskily, ‘Why are you being so kind?’
Somewhat taken aback, Justin said, ‘That’s the second time you’ve accused me of that. I don’t deserve it now any more than I did the first time. I seem to recall saying quite a number of unnecessarily unpleasant things to you at our last encounter.’
Abigail shook her head. ‘You were tired. I understood that.’
‘Stop being so forgiving. I was well on the way to offering you an apology.’
‘I don’t want an apology. I just wanted to say thank you. Again.’
‘Consider it done. Hopefully any small service I have rendered today may make up for my bad manners last time. And now, before this conversation becomes even more convoluted … tell me about Christmas.’
Abigail shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell. We go to church.’
‘And that’s all? No music or festivities of any kind? No gifts?’ She shook her head and Justin said curiously, ‘Don’t you find that rather sad? The traditional pleasures were harmless enough.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced them. Our tradition here has always been to treat it as an ordinary day. I know that, elsewhere, this has only happened since the war began but most of Banbury has been of the Puritan persuasion since long before I was born.’
‘Cakes, ale and zeal? I see. Well, that explains Jonas. The original Banbury Puritan. Do you have a cat – or does he make do with you and Samuel?’ he teased caustically. And then, seeing her blank look, To Banbury came I, oh profane one. And there I saw a Puritan one, a-hanging of his cat on Monday for killing a mouse on Sunday. A gross exaggeration, no doubt?’
Abigail thought about it. And then, with confiding candour, she said, ‘No. Or only a small one. Jonas has very strict notions.’
‘So I’ve gathered.’
‘Yes. I’m a great disappointment to him. I was to Father as well.’
Something flared in the grey eyes and he said, more harshly than he meant, ‘His loss and not yours, I’m sure. But perhaps you are mistaken. Your name, if I remember correctly, means ‘Father rejoiced’.’
This had the astonishing effect of startling Abigail into laughter as she turned to look at him. The dark eyes sparkled and a dimple quivered into being beside her mouth.
