A Splendid Defiance

by Stella Riley

  ‘I’m not shrewish at all!’ she snapped, horribly aware that, for the first time in her life, she sounded it. ‘If you must know, it’s just – it’s just that you would never have said it to Bab, would you?’

  ‘Said what, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘That she was like Jonas and the people who write Mercurius Britannicus.’

  There was a long, enigmatic silence. Finally, Justin said, ‘No. I wouldn’t. But then, I don’t say anything at all to Bab except the sort of superficial nonsense which is all she either expects or understands. I indulge her, that’s all. And since I’m beginning to wonder why… I suspect I’m about to stop doing so.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Abigail, weakly. ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t. How can you when I don’t myself?’ He paused, listening to the church clock chiming the hour and then, a swift smile transforming his face, he said, ‘I’m late. Do you think you might make it worthwhile by saying that I’m forgiven?’

  The stone in her chest melted.

  ‘You’re forgiven,’ she said simply. ‘Of course you are.’

  *

  Captain Ambrose’s arrival back at the Castle coincided with that of a small party of Horse from Oxford. In the midst of them, like a wren among hawks, was a brown-haired girl in a threadbare and decidedly dirty cloak who was allowing her horse to fidget whilst she inspected the courtyard.

  ‘Captain Ambrose! It is Captain Ambrose, isn’t it?’

  Justin looked up into a pair of bright blue eyes and acknowledged his identity with a slight bow.

  ‘I thought so.’ She beamed at him. ‘Ned described you very accurately. I’m Lucy Gilbert.’

  Not unnaturally, it was the last thing he expected to hear and, tearing his fascinated gaze away from her, Justin looked enquiringly at the well-dressed young officer on her right. The fellow eyed him with cheerful understanding and said, ‘She is, you know. That cloak hides a multitude of sins.’

  Lucy chuckled. ‘I borrowed it from Firework Lil. It’s my disguise. I came with the baggage-train.’

  ‘Amidst all the other baggages,’ remarked her escort. And then, to Justin, ‘I’m Frank Gilbert, her cousin. And I apologise for everything about her. I’m especially sorry for landing Ned with the responsibility of getting her back to Oxford, but —’

  ‘I’m not going back to Oxford,’ said Lucy, with calm finality. ‘I’m tired of being treated like a child.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t behave like one,’ said Justin mildly. ‘Tell me – does Ned expect you?’

  She tilted a mutinous chin. ‘No. But he’ll be glad I came.’

  ‘I doubt it. Take a look at your audience, Mistress Gilbert. In ten minutes from now, there won’t be a man in the garrison who doesn’t know why you came or how.’

  Lucy cast a dubious glance at the groups of interested, grinning faces and then turned, with dignity, back to Justin.

  ‘Perhaps. But it isn’t for you to criticise my conduct. Please help me down.’

  Reluctant amusement bracketing his mouth, he did as she asked. Then, before he could speak, she gave a startled squeak and was running like a hare across the courtyard.

  ‘Ned! Ned! Oh – Ned!’

  Captain Frost froze in his tracks.

  ‘Lucy?’ he said incredulously. And then she was in his arms, laughing and crying at once. ‘Lucy, you madcap! What – how on earth did you get here?’

  Drawing Frank Gilbert with him in Lucy’s wake, Justin said, ‘Ned – for heaven’s sake, take her inside.’

  ‘What?’ Ned glanced vaguely about him and came quickly to his senses. ‘Oh God! What do they think we are – travelling mummers?’

  The officers’ common-room was mercifully deserted and, having taken the time to kiss his betrothed, Ned greeted her cousin with an accusing, ‘How did she get here? You never let her bully you into bringing her?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. The first I knew of it was when we got to Chipping Norton and, by then, there was no alternative but to bring her with me here. I’ve letters for Sir William and I could scarcely leave her, could I?’

  ‘Chipping Norton?’ echoed Ned blankly.

  Frank nodded. ‘Yes. She got that far in the tail of the army.’

  ‘She what?’ Captain Frost wheeled furiously on Lucy. ‘Of all the mad, stupid pranks – careering across the country with the biggest collection of doxies in the kingdom! You must be out of your mind!’

  ‘They were very kind,’ she offered, suddenly subdued. ‘And I had to do something. No one would bring me and I never see you these days and I thought that, if I came, we could be married.’

  ‘Well, we can’t. Where does your mother think you are?’

  ‘With you. I left a note. I told her I couldn’t bear it any more and – and —’ She stopped and the blue eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Ned … say you’re pleased to see me.’

  ‘I’ve a whole lot to say to you,’ he replied grimly, ‘but that’s no part of it. Come on. We’ll continue this in private.’ And, taking her hand, he hauled her from the room.

  ‘Whew!’ grinned Frank Gilbert. ‘He ought to marry her. He really should. It would be the making of her – not to mention doing the rest of us a favour.’ He met Justin’s enquiring look and added simply, ‘Ned’s the only one who can manage her and always was, even when we were children. But she’d make a first-rate garrison wife for all that. Got the right spirit.’

  ‘She certainly has a good deal of nerve,’ commented Justin, handing him a tankard of ale. ‘You say you’ve letters for Will. Anything we poor back-up boys might find exciting?’

  It was a natural question. Everyone was aware that messengers always knew the contents of their despatches.

  Frank drained his tankard and said laconically, ‘Perhaps. His Majesty wants reinforcements; as many as can be spared. Do you fancy taking a bite out of the rebel’s new army?’

  There was a pause. Then, ‘Why not?’ said Justin. ‘I’ll try anything once.’

  *

  With Sir Tom Fairfax and the New Model Army marching into the West to relieve Taunton, there was no urgency attached to the matter of sending troops to the King. Consequently, it took nearly a week to select and equip the men and make all the necessary arrangements that would leave the garrison functioning as normal. At the end of that time, Lucy was still clinging tenaciously to her right to remain in Banbury.

  ‘I won’t go,’ she told Ned, stubbornly. ‘And if you send me back by force, I’ll run away again. And again and again, if I have to.’

  ‘Stay then,’ replied Ned, at last. ‘But I won’t be here.’

  ‘Not?’ she stared at him blankly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Justin and I are taking fifty men to His Majesty and there’s no saying when we’ll be back. So you might as well go home, hadn’t you?’

  ‘No!’ Lucy stamped her foot and tears began to slide, unheeded, down her face. ‘Why won’t you understand? I’m not a fragile little flower to be cosseted and I’m not so stupid that I’d ever wish to interfere with your duty. But we’ve spent three years snatching an hour together once or twice a month if we’re lucky – and enough is enough! I know you can’t always be in one place but, in future, I intend to remain in the place you come back to and, at the moment, it’s here.’ She paused and added tautly, ‘There’s only one thing you can say that will change my mind – and that’s to tell me that you’ve changed yours. Have you, Ned? Do you want to be free of me?’

  He looked back at her steadily, his face rather pale.

  ‘No. And since you know it perfectly well, I don’t see why you’re asking.’

  ‘So that you can ask yourself,’ came the direct reply. ‘I think it’s time you did.’

  It was a little later in the day when Ned looked helplessly at Captain Ambrose and said, ‘What can I do? We’re off in the morning.’

  ‘Ask Trooper Swan’s widow to look after her and go,’ said Justin placidly. ‘She’ll come to no harm here. And when you come back, we
can celebrate our first garrison wedding.’

  Ned stared. ‘You think I should marry her? Now?’

  ‘Well, of course,’ sighed Justin. ‘You’d be a fool not to.’

  Entering in time to hear this, Hugh Vaughan said grimly, ‘And you can’t send her home now, anyway. Word’s just come in that Fairfax has halted his advance into the West and turned back. He’s marching on Oxford.’

  *

  Justin was laying out his gear in readiness for the morrow when Samuel arrived, escorted by Tom Mayhew and clutching Cruso’s cavalry manual. Justin eyed the book satirically, waved Tom away and said, ‘Is Lilburne planning a counter-coup – or are you merely broadening your horizons?’

  ‘Neither,’ replied Samuel tersely. He glanced at the clutter in the room, ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the equally unexpansive reply. ‘Did you read it?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘And?’

  The dark eyes flicked wide open.

  ‘If you must know, I found it tediously unimaginative. No expertise – just good, old-fashioned common-sense.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Justin cheerfully. ‘But don’t despise it on that account. Common-sense has its uses, you know. And everything can’t be written with steaming emotionalism.’ Lifting one brow, he added, ‘Why do I detect an air of hostility?’

  ‘Because you’re about to deliver another ‘Beware of John Lilburne’ lecture and I’ve heard enough.’ It was a continuous sore point between them; surprisingly, the only one. ‘Abby should never have told you.’

  ‘I didn’t need telling. And if the string-and-clapper arrangement that serves Jonas for a brain was capable of logic, he wouldn’t need telling either.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. You must know I wouldn’t give Jonas the time of day, let alone tell him what you’re up to. It was meant as a warning. And I’ll give you another. Lilburne’s eyes are fixed on Utopia and he delights in solitary opposition – a born martyr, if you like.’ Justin paused, folding his arms. ‘Face nasty reality. Sam. The man whose ideas are wonderful but so far in advance of their time that they can’t be implemented is an embarrassment. The man who adds to that a persuasive tongue and his own brand of integrity is a danger. Whatever the government is after the war, it won’t be able to leave Lilburne loose. It will have too many other problems.’

  Samuel yawned, deliberately provoking. ‘Have you finished?’

  There was a long, chilly silence. Then Justin said gently, ‘You will take that tone with me once too often and I shall forget myself.’

  ‘You mean,’ snapped Samuel, ‘that you’ll forget I’m a cripple?’

  The pale gaze grew unexpectedly icy but Justin curbed his tongue and said merely, ‘If I had meant that, you may believe that I would have said it. I think you had better go.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ Samuel laid the book on the bed and limped to the door. Then, turning back, he said, ‘You might remember that you are not my keeper.’

  Justin smiled slowly.

  ‘No. If I were, you would have a more realistic attitude to life. And better manners.’

  Silently seething, Samuel descended the stairs with more haste than sense and collided violently with a brown-haired girl in blue. Lucy gasped, clutched at him and regained her balance, grasping a button from his coat. Then, when Samuel embarked on an apology, she pressed the button into his hand and said breathlessly, ‘It’s all right. I was running, too. Have you been with Captain Ambrose? Is he in his room?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Samuel, withdrawing from her a little.

  ‘Good!’ She smiled radiantly. ‘I wondered, at first, why Ned likes him so much. Isn’t that silly?’

  ‘Not particularly. He —’

  ‘But now, of course, I know,’ she continued. Gathering up her skirts, she flew on up the stairs, calling a vague ‘Goodbye!’ as she went.

  Samuel blinked and then looked down to find Mistress Rhodes watching him.

  ‘I see you’ve met our little bride-to-be,’ she said lightly. ‘How fortunate. I might have missed you again.’

  ‘Yes.’ He went slowly down to meet her. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘The same.’ She produced the usual sealed packet from the folds of her gown. ‘They are sending men to Charles Stuart. Sir Samuel will want to know.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Samuel took the packet with reluctance.

  ‘Why were you searching Captain Ambrose’s room?’

  ‘Curiosity,’ she shrugged. ‘You must have seen the piece in Britannicus. Wouldn’t you like to know more?’

  ‘No.’ The obvious question hovered on his lips but, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask it, he changed it to another. ‘That girl … is she betrothed to him?’

  ‘To whom? Justin?’ The slate-blue eyes filled with sudden, malicious amusement. ‘Don’t be naïve. She’s to marry Captain Frost. Justin isn’t the marrying kind.’

  ‘I see.’ Coldly, he asked. ‘Is he your lover?’

  This time she laughed, openly mocking.

  ‘No, my gallant conspirator, he is not. We have bedded each other, of course … and both, in our own way, discovered our mistake. In short, we despise each other. Didn’t you know?’

  Something curdled in Samuel’s stomach and, making a curt excuse, he left her. He did not know that the half-closed door he passed at the foot of the stairs belonged to Tom Mayhew – nor, though it was perfectly audible, did he hear it click shut. He was too intent on getting home.

  *

  The family ritual of evening prayers was half over before Samuel realised that he had given Abigail his coat for mending without first emptying his pockets. All thought of devotions fled and he knelt impatiently through Jonas’ sermon, inwardly deploring his own carelessness. Then, when it came to an end and he attempted to follow Abigail upstairs, Jonas called him back to discuss a trivial error in the order book.

  By the time he finally entered his sister’s room, a single glance was sufficient to inform him that he was too late. The thick, shining fall of her unbound hair pushed back over one shoulder, Abigail sat on the bed with his coat bunched in her lap. Before her, lying starkly white against the blue coverlet, was Mistress Rhodes flamboyantly inscribed packet.

  He closed the door behind him and said casually, ‘Ah – there it is. I was wondering where I’d left it.’

  ‘You left it in your pocket,’ said his sister flatly. ‘It fell out. I take it you didn’t want me to see it?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you? It’s only a letter.’

  ‘To Sir Samuel Luke?’

  Her tone startled him. ‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Everything.’ She pushed his coat aside and stood up. ‘Sir Samuel collects intelligence. And, since this isn’t your writing, I suppose you’ve been given it to pass on to the carrier because the person who wrote it can’t do so themselves. Well?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were at the Castle this afternoon – which only leaves one interpretation, doesn’t it? That someone in the garrison is spying for the Parliament and has involved you as a go-between. And if that’s so, I can only think of one likely candidate. That red-haired harlot.’

  Samuel stared at her coldly.

  ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you’ve got it all worked out.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I do. I wash and dust and sew and, in between, I wonder what madness my brother will indulge in next. This isn’t the first letter, is it?’

  ‘No. But you’re being too dramatic. Anyone would think I was running some kind of risk.’

  ‘And aren’t you? What if you’re caught – or if she is? William Compton could have you hanged. Or do you expect Justin Ambrose to save you?’

  ‘That’s enough, Abby.’ He said it quietly.

  ‘No, it isn’t – not nearly enough.’ Her eyes were bright with fright and anger. ‘He’s lent
you his books and said nothing of your dealings with Lilburne and you’ve used him. Worse still, you may even have had a hand in the cruel rubbish that was in the paper. Or has that possibility not occurred to you?’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes. But it’s highly unlikely. And, anyway, I doubt he let that stuff bother him. He probably laughed.’

  There was a brief silence. Then Abigail said oddly, ‘What a stupidly insensitive thing to say. You sound like Jonas.’

  ‘And you sound like a would-be Royalist. Or are you just dazzled by one of them?’

  ‘No more than you are by Anne Rhodes, I hope,’ she retorted, flushing a little. And then, gesturing jerkily to the letter, ‘Are you going to send that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably. But if it will make you happy, I’ll promise to accept no more. Will that do?’

  She nodded, weak with relief.

  ‘Yes. I don’t think I could face Captain Ambrose if —’

  ‘You won’t have to face him,’ said Samuel curtly. ‘He’s off to join the King in the morning.’

  ‘Is he?’ She stared at him, wide-eyed and very still. ‘For good?’

  ‘How should I know?’ It had been a bad day and Samuel did not feel inclined to be helpful. ‘Ask the harlot. I’m only the errand-boy.’

  *

  The days of May drifted slowly by bringing fragments of news and bushels of rumour. The King was at Droitwich, Market Drayton, Stone, Tutbury. He was marching north to join the miraculously successful Marquis of Montrose; he was marching south to save Oxford from Fairfax. Banbury held its breath in anticipation of another Edgehill. And then came word that a third course had been adopted; that, on May 30th, Prince Rupert had stormed and taken Leicester.

  Encouraged by this development and with high hopes of being a June bride, Lucy went shopping. ‘For goodness only knows when my things can be sent up from Oxford and I can’t and won’t be married in either of the two gowns I brought with me,’ she told Jenny Swan firmly. ‘Take me to a mercer. The best one.’

  Capable Jenny had taken Mistress Lucy’s measure inside five minutes and so she made no attempts at dissuasion. But because she took her duties seriously, she refused to stir a step outside the Castle without a male escort – which was how Tom Mayhew happened to go with them.