by Stella Riley
‘Not stupid,’ replied Alice slowly. ‘A little dangerous, perhaps.’
‘But Jonas need not know anything about it,’ urged Abigail, misunderstanding. And then, taking Alice’s hand, ‘Mother, help me. Please.’
Alice looked back into beseeching dark eyes and sighed.
‘Very well. We’d best make up a basket.’
*
By the time Ned Frost met the two younger Radfords crossing the outer ward under escort, he was sufficiently concerned by Justin’s unnatural lassitude to be glad of any possibility, however remote, of rousing him from it. Consequently, he greeted them warmly, dismissed their attendant guard and took them inside, talking all the time.
‘It’s very good of you to come. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. They’ll have told you he’s awake again? Physically, he’s not in bad shape. It could have been a lot worse. Just a couple of cracked ribs and those shocking burns on his hands – but all that will mend in time. What’s worrying me is that he doesn’t seem to care about anything any more. It’s not like him.’ He paused at the top of the stairs. ‘Here we are. Will you excuse me for a moment while I make sure he’s not asleep or anything?’
Alone on the landing with his sister, Samuel said, ‘Shall I come in with you or would you rather go alone?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t the faintest idea of what to say to him. He’s going to think I’m mad. But you don’t —’ She broke off as the door opened and then stared speechlessly at the lovely red-haired woman who preceded Captain Frost through it.
‘Dear me,’ said Anne, looking first at Abigail and then at Samuel. ‘What a surprise. And do you both wish to visit the Captain?’
Samuel glanced fleetingly at Abigail and then said decisively, ‘No. Just my sister.’
‘I see,’ came the amused reply. Anne directed an appraising glance at Samuel and then bestowed a dazzling smile on him. ‘Then perhaps you’ll join me in a walk on the ramparts while she does so? I need some fresh air and you can tell me all about the town.’
Ned stared at her. ‘But —’
She laughed at him. ‘And why not? He’ll be perfectly safe with me and I am sure you are busy. And you, my dear,’ she said carelessly to Abigail, ‘may go in. He’s wide awake and quite decent. I shall get my cloak. Come, Mr Radford.’
Dazed and thoroughly unnerved, Abigail pushed open the door and went in, desperately clutching her basket.
He was in bed, propped up by several pillows and, although he might have been decent by some people’s standards, he was not so by hers for his torso was bare except for the bandaging around his ribs. She flushed and said stupidly, ‘Who is that lady?’
‘My nurse,’ said Justin, indifferently. ‘Didn’t Ned introduce you?’
‘No.’ She shut the door and advanced on him a little way. His hands were also bandaged and lay with helpless stillness at his sides. ‘How are you?’
‘Still breathing.’
She looked into silvery eyes empty of expression and shivered.
‘Well, that’s good isn’t it?’
‘That would depend on your point of view.’
Shock evaporated her embarrassment and she crossed to the bed.
‘I brought a few things for you. Nothing much … just some calves-foot jelly and a pie of my mother’s and – and —’ She stopped abruptly and set the basket ungently on the floor. ‘Please don’t look like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘As if … as if you wished you’d died.’ Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You don’t, do you?’
He shrugged slightly and his breath caught as the pain hit him.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
She did not reply and something in her gaze finally succeeded in piercing his detachment. He gave her a smile which did not reach his eyes and continued lightly, ‘And then again, why should I? Don’t get carried away, my child. I’m well enough. Unlike you – since you seem to spend your life in imminent danger of incurring the wrath of Jonas.’
‘He won’t know. And Sam is with me – at least, he’s with your nurse at the moment.’ She paused, watching him frown. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’
‘Where are they?’
‘On the ramparts, I think.’
‘Well, that should be safe enough. She can hardly seduce him and I see no reason why she should push him off.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He leaned back, looking at her from beneath half-closed lids. ‘Merely my rather warped sense of humour. What did you say you had in that basket?’
‘Calves-foot jelly, a mutton pie, a bottle of cherry cordial and something of Mother’s for your hands,’ she recited, still staring. ‘Why should she do either?’
He sighed, closing his eyes.
‘God! Will I never learn? All right. She won’t do the second till she’s been baulked in her attempts to do the first. Satisfied?’
‘No. I don’t understand. Who is she?’
‘Her name is Anne Rhodes and she is what Jonas would call a harlot,’ he snapped, a sharp furrow beginning to crease his brow. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t understand that.’
‘Oh. No.’ She eyed him uncertainly. ‘How do you know?’
‘How do you think?’
‘Oh,’ said Abigail again, wishing she had not asked.
His eyes remained closed, allowing her time to notice the carved pallor of his face, the scattering of burn marks on his chest and the places where the long, walnut hair had been badly singed. The line between his brows deepened and something tightened in her throat. She asked diffidently, ‘Do your ribs hurt?’
‘Not unless I laugh. And I expect you’ve noticed that I’m showing commendable restraint in that department.’
‘Oh – stop it!’ Suddenly, she was unable to bear it. ‘Since you can’t possibly care what I think, there’s no need to put on a performance.’
The grey eyes opened slowly. They were hazy with pain but remotely smiling.
‘And what do you think, Abigail Radford?’
‘I think,’ she began impulsively… and then, changing her mind, ‘I think I’d like to look at your hands. May I?’
He gave a brief, humourless laugh.
‘Help yourself. I can’t stop you. And you’re quite right, of course. They hurt like hell.’
Setting aside her cloak, Abigail sat on the side of the bed and started the painstaking business of unwrapping his left hand. She said grimly, ‘I believe you. These bandages are far too tight.’ Then, when the last, reeking pads fell away, she froze – a tiny sound rising unbidden in her throat. ‘What has that – that woman been doing?’
‘Punishing me, I suspect.’ Justin examined the cream-clogged mess of his torn and blistered palm with absent interest. ‘Doesn’t look very good, does it?’
Swallowing her rage and sickness, Abigail circumnavigated the bed to repeat the procedure with his other hand. ‘Punishing you for what?’
‘Retreating in good order. Hell hath no fury —’ His entire body tensed as she removed the last covering, his right hand – inevitably – looking a good deal worse than his left, ‘—and all that.’
Too consumed with wrathful disbelief that anyone could deliberately inflict this kind of pain out of spite, Abigail did not entirely catch his meaning. Instead, she stood up and said briskly, ‘I want two bowls of water, one warm and one cold. Where will I get them?’
‘Downstairs,’ he said laconically. ‘But I wouldn’t bother, if I were you. They’ll either heal or they won’t. And though I appreciate your concern, I really don’t need a good Samaritan.’
Abigail threw her cuffs on top of her cloak, rolled up her sleeves and faced him purposefully.
‘You need something. But nobody asked you, did they?’
And she stalked from the room.
A little later, she returned followed by Captain Frost carrying the water.
‘Heavens … it’s a procession of ministering angels,’ observed Justin vaguely. �
��But I’d rather have brandy, you know.’
Abigail ignored him. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Put them by the bed, please.’
Justin tutted. ‘Don’t insult him, darling. He’s a Captain now.’
‘Shut up,’ said Ned. He looked at Abigail. ‘Is there anything else that I can do?’
‘Not in here. But take a look at Captain Ambrose’s hands before you go … and make sure that Mistress Rhodes is kept away from them in future.’
‘Shame on you, Abby,’ reproved Justin. ‘What a thing to say! And it’s too late, anyway. Much too late.’
‘That’s enough!’ snapped Ned. ‘Look, Mistress Abigail – are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’
She shook her head. ‘No. The annoying remarks are all for your benefit. But thank you, anyway.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said. And left.
Having washed her hands, Abigail advanced on the bed and sat down without looking at its occupant. Then, dipping a pad in the warm water, she began the ugly business of cleaning Mistress Rhodes’ sticky ointment from the lacerated palms.
It took a long time to do both hands and, fully occupied with controlling his breathing, Justin made no more attempts at flippant conversation. But the silence was raw and destructive, so, to spare them both, Abigail filled it with a mechanical account of the previous day’s cataclysm. Only when it was over did she permit herself to look at his face. It was entirely without colour and lines of strain were etched about his tightly-compressed mouth but his eyes, though frowning, were open.
He said, ‘Well done. What happens now?’
‘Rest for a moment,’ said Abigail, as white as he and shaking with the effort required to continue hurting him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being as careful as I can but —’
‘I know.’ He looked at her with mild curiosity. ‘Why did you come? Out of gratitude?’
‘I don’t know. Partly, perhaps. Bab Atkins said you nearly died.’ And then, because something inside her shied away from other things Bab had said, she added thoughtlessly, ‘I suppose I wanted to see for myself that you weren’t going to.’
‘I see. Forgive me for asking but … would that matter?’
‘Yes.’ Seeing a need to change the subject, Abigail picked up the bowl of cold water and held it steady on his knees. ‘I want you to put your hands in this and keep them there. It will hurt.’
The instant of immersion completely stopped his breath. Finally, he said raggedly, ‘Talk, will you? It might stop me sullying your ears with a stream of curses.’
So she talked – this time about Samuel’s involvement with John Lilburne and his secret pamphlet-spreading. ‘So you were right, you see. But luckily there were none left for Jonas to find. There, you can take them out now.’
He did so, saying in a threadlike voice, ‘You shouldn’t have told me all that.’
‘I know.’ She set the bowl aside and began, very gently, to dry his hands. ‘But you’d already guessed, hadn’t you? And it was the best I could think of at short notice.’ She paused and sought a new diversion. ‘Where is your dog today?’
‘Out. He doesn’t like redheads.’ He paused and then said, ‘Did you tell Samuel about that fellow Barnes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And Sam’s been collecting the vegetables since then so that I needn’t go there.’
Silence fell as she dusted his palms with her mother’s elder and burdock powder and began to re-bind them loosely in clean wrappings. Then, quite without warning, the floodgates opened and the Captain began to talk so rapidly that the words tumbled over each other in their haste to get out.
‘I lost thirty-seven men. Can you understand that? Thirty-seven out of fifty. I’d been sunk in self-pity for failing to get a promotion and then I went out and allowed my troop to be decimated. I could be court-martialled for that – and I should be. They won’t do it, of course - but I deserve it. Those men were my responsibility and I failed them. And, as if that were not enough to bear, I had Tom Mayhew in here this morning, drowning me in thanks for saving his life when the real truth was that it was the other way about. All I wanted was to incinerate my failures without any further effort and then Tom collapsed and I couldn’t. God watched thirty-seven men die and then wrought a miracle for me. Don’t you find that ironic?’
He stopped as suddenly as he had begun, spots of colour burning in his cheeks. Then, shutting his eyes, he said desperately, ‘Oh hell, I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me … it was inexcusable, all of it. I’m so sorry. I think you should go.’
‘Tell me how you could have saved them.’ Abigail’s face was wet and her arms ached to offer the simplest of comforts. ‘Name one thing you could have done and didn’t. Tell me why it was your fault.’ He remained silent and she said, ‘You see? You did everything you could and it wasn’t enough. But you can’t blame yourself for that. No one is infallible.’
‘You don’t understand,’ he began wearily, opening his eyes on her. And then, on an indrawn breath, ‘My mistake. You do understand. Don’t cry. It’s a waste.’
‘I know. It doesn’t work with you. You told me.’
His mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘No. I know you didn’t.’ She rose and began tidying away the things she had used, her movements neat and graceful. ‘Do you think you could eat some calves-foot jelly?’
‘If you wish.’ He lifted his freshly-bound hands. ‘And if you’re not tired of playing mother.’
She thought as she fed him, spoon by spoon, how humiliating he must find this utter dependence. Then, as he sipped the cherry cordial, she found herself wishing that she could stay.
‘Thank you.’ Justin leaned back and smiled at her with apparent ease. ‘And thank you for sending Ned away. It would have served me right if you hadn’t, but I’m grateful that you did. He’s a good friend but I wouldn’t have wanted him to see … well, let’s just say that the performance might have become rather shoddy.’
She let down her sleeves and replaced her cuffs.
‘Why do you do it?’
‘To keep a balance. And because I find the only thing that matters to me at the moment is not disgracing myself and sparing my friends the kind of maudlin diatribe I inflicted on you just now. It’s not a pretty sight, is it? No, don’t answer that. I’ve suffered enough for one day. And the stupid part is that I actually feel better for it.’
‘Do you?’ Her fingers stilled on the strings of her cloak and she searched his face. ‘Truly?’
‘Truly,’ repeated Justin gravely. ‘And, since I can think of nothing else I might do that will please you, you may tell Samuel that such books as I own are at his disposal.’
Abigail flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you. That’s extremely generous.’
‘On the contrary. It’s the least I can do … for a friend.’ He smiled at her, the swift, leaping smile that Abigail thought she had forgotten and that made him look so different. ‘Or am I taking a lot for granted?’
She shook her head, suddenly shy again.
‘No. Or no more than I did when I came.’
*
In the end, it took more than Abigail Radford to restore Justin to himself again but it was thanks to her that his hands, at least, began to mend.
The final spur came on February 23rd, exactly twenty-four hours after the Uxbridge peace negotiations ended in failure and thus nullified their attendant armistice. Paying a fleeting visit to his brother en route for Newark, the Earl of Northampton was joined, later in the evening, by another regiment. Its commander was a dark, young giant in a scarlet cloak who took the stairs three at a time and entered Captain Ambrose’s room like a cyclone.
‘My God,’ said Justin, struggling to rise. ‘Sir!’
‘Quite,’ said Rupert of the Rhine, pushing him unceremoniously back on to the bed. ‘And now perhaps you’ll tell me what it was you said about Digby that made him send you here and why the devil you didn’t apply to me to get you remove
d. After that, you can explain why you’re lying here like a consumptive milkmaid when you should be up and about.’ He sat down on the stool and grinned sardonically. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’
~ * ~
TWELVE
Samuel accompanied Abigail from the Castle in a mood of unusual abstraction that she, equally busy with her own thoughts, took two days to notice. And when she did notice it, the natural and regrettable conclusion that it was due to red hair and voluptuous white shoulders was not hard to draw. Discreet enquiries produced evasion and more obvious questions, a snub. Finally, Abigail was driven into saying flatly, ‘Captain Ambrose says she’s a harlot.’
Samuel’s eyes remained perfectly impassive.
‘Does he? Well, I expect he’d know. Anything else?’
She stared at him. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
There was a pause. And then, ‘No. I imagine it’s purely coincidental. But who am I to educate him?’
He would say no more. Nor did he give any sign that he was facing the difficult choice between performing a small service for the Parliament and repaying, by inaction, the kindnesses of an enemy. Mistress Rhodes’ slim, white packet lay like a stone in his pocket and he wished that he could bring himself to solve his dilemma by opening it. But he could not and, in the end, forced himself to make a blind decision. Based on the premise that the contents of the letter could not possibly cause Justin Ambrose any personal harm, Samuel did as he had been asked and despatched it, unread, to the garrison at Newport Pagnell and the hands of the Parliamentary Scoutmaster, Sir Samuel Luke.
*
As February drew towards its close and a renewed outbreak of influenza gripped the town, the news from outside showed the scales of the war to be still in the balance. The Parliament’s Scottish allies suffered another ignominious defeat when the Marquis of Montrose crushed the pride and Covenanting might of the Clan Campbell at Inverlochy … but the Parliamentarian forces of Shropshire scored a major success by depriving Prince Rupert of his Welsh recruiting base at Shrewsbury. Meanwhile, having wrangled through January, the Parliament continued its bickering through February. Though the Independent faction’s bid to rid itself of Essex and Manchester continued to hang fire in the House of Lords, another ordinance for military reorganisation had not only been passed but was well on its way to fruition. Designed to do away with the frustrating parochialism of local committees and bodies of men who regularly refused to fight outside their own counties, it laid the foundations for a single, professional force under direct Parliamentary control.
