by Stella Riley
At the sign of the Ragged Staff, Jonas was busy elsewhere and Rachel, with her baby to care for, no longer demeaned herself by working in the shop. This was fortunate because, after one look at Samuel, Lucy said brightly, ‘But I know you, don’t I? And I thought you belonged to the garrison.’
Withdrawing his gaze from Tom Mayhew’s still face, Samuel said calmly, ‘Do I look like a Cavalier?’
The blue eyes appraised his dark coat and in-between length hair.
‘Well, no. But you don’t look like a Puritan either. Are you one?’
He grinned. ‘Of a sort. What are you?’
‘She’s a lady,’ snapped Mistress Swan. ‘And we’ll have less of your sauce, young man!’
‘Oh Jenny!’ Lucy laughed and then, smiling at Samuel, said, ‘My name is Lucy Gilbert. I’m betrothed to Captain Edward Frost and I want material for my wedding dress.’
Samuel bowed politely, one eye on Mistress Swan.
‘I’m Sam Radford and this is my sister, Abby. She is better suited than I to show you what we have.’
Lucy turned blithely to Abigail.
‘I’d like silk but I’m not sure I can afford it just now. And I don’t know what colour it should be.’
‘Blue,’ said Abigail simply. ‘And I think we have just the thing. Are you to be married soon?’
‘I hope so. It depends on when Ned gets back. Oh!’ Lucy stared admiringly at the length of cornflower watered taffeta that Abigail produced for her inspection. ‘That’s beautiful! How clever of you. Jenny – what do you think?’
‘Very nice,’ said Mistress Swan briskly. ‘But I don’t know who you’ll get to make it up, Miss Lucy. I wouldn’t dare cut it and that’s a fact!’
‘Yes. It would be awful if it were spoiled,’ sighed Lucy. And then, brightening, ‘Abby – I may call you Abby, may I not? Do you know of someone who might sew for me?’
Abigail hesitated and said diffidently, ‘Well, I could do it myself, if you wish. I’m not a professional seamstress but I occasionally make for Mistress Cope of Hanwell and the Maxwell ladies at Thorne Ash.’
‘But that’s splendid!’ cried Lucy. ‘Will you measure me now?’
Mesmerised by the tidal wave, Abigail nodded.
‘If you will step upstairs to my bedchamber?’
‘Thank you. Tom – you won’t mind waiting?’
Ensign Mayhew opened his mouth for the first time.
‘Not in the least – but not all day. I’m on duty at noon.’
When the ladies had gone into the house, Samuel fixed Tom with a level stare and said, ‘Well? What is it you want to say?’
‘How do you know I want to say anything?’
‘Because you’ve got disapproval written all over you. Why?’
‘Guess,’ snapped Tom. And then, heatedly, ‘I’m disappointed in you. I thought that, of all the people in this bloody town, you were honest.’
‘Ah.’ Samuel drew a long breath. ‘And I’m not?’
‘You know you’re not, damn it! You’re in league with that bitch of a redhead and you’re carrying reports from her to Sam Luke.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Not yet – but I shall. As for you, if it wasn’t for the fact that you half-warned me about her, I’d have already had you taken on suspicion.’
‘I see.’ Samuel paused and then said distantly, ‘If I told you I’ve severed my connections with the lady, would you believe me?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tom warily. ‘Why should I?’
‘Because I suspect her of waging a personal war on Justin Ambrose. And although he and I have our differences, I wouldn’t use her methods on my worst enemy.’
Tom examined him thoughtfully.
‘Did you send that letter?’
‘Not yet. But I’d need a very convincing reason indeed before handing it over to you,’ came the blunt reply. ‘We’re at war. Remember?’
‘Yes. My loyalties are perfectly clear. What sort of reason?’
‘Proof that she’s doing what I think she’s doing. Find that and I’ll give you proof that she’s also a spy.’
‘On condition, I suppose, that I preserve your incognito.’
‘No,’ said Samuel coldly. ‘On condition that you don’t expect any further help from me. Because you certainly won’t get it.’
*
Jonas was not pleased to learn that his sister was making a wedding gown for Lieutenant Frost’s bride. In fact, it was not until Samuel had the wit to point out that the expensive blue taffeta might otherwise have languished profitlessly on the shelf like its despised red counterpart, that he was brought to give ungracious permission for the work to proceed.
While Abigail worked lovingly on the gown and dreamed of fashioning a similar one for herself in cherry, Sir Thomas Fairfax lifted the siege of Oxford and led the New Model Army to Stony Stratford. The Royalist army, meanwhile, threw Lucy into a frenzy of excitement by arriving at Daventry and, by June 9th, it was closer still. There were detachments at Brackley and the King came in person to Banbury with a large party of Horse. He did not, however, bring Captain Frost with him and Lucy made her curtsy, bristling with disappointment. Jonas Radford shut the shop for the day, forbade his family to step outside and entertained them with a dissertation on the Fall of Lucifer in which the fallen angel became inextricably muddled with Charles the King.
The second week of June dragged by bringing no sign of the expected confrontation and, on the 10th, Oliver Cromwell transcended his own Self-Denying Ordinance by being appointed Lieutenant-General of the Tenth Horse. Two days later, the New Model was reported to be just south of Northampton while, five miles away at Fawsley Park, the King enjoyed a day’s hunting. Banbury waited beneath a lethargic hush.
It was late on the night of June 14th that the town was woken by pealing bells and galloping messengers shouting that the day had seen a great battle at the village of Naseby in which the King had been utterly defeated. And on the following morning came details of the New Model’s glorious slaughter of the fleeing Royalist army. A horrified pall of silence hung over the Castle and a current of Godly rejoicing shimmered through the town. Lucy Gilbert clung, white-faced with fear, to stout Jenny Swan; Jonas Radford celebrated with jubilant psalms and his mother’s cherry cordial; and Abigail thought of Captain Ambrose and felt sick.
Samuel felt ill that day too, but not because of Naseby. It appeared that, during the previous night, Ensign Tom Mayhew had been inexplicably seized with violent stomach cramps and vomiting. Before dawn, he was dead.
~ * ~
FOURTEEN
‘He’s back! Oh Abby – he’s back!’ Brown hair flying and cheeks pink with delight, Lucy erupted into the shop and came face to face with Jonas. ‘I’m sorry. I expected to find Abigail.’
‘Obviously.’
He was stiff with disapproval but Lucy failed to notice. She smiled sunnily at him and said, ‘You must be her elder brother? I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Lucy Gilbert. Abby is making my wedding gown, you know.’
He inclined his head but said nothing.
‘I’m betrothed to Captain Frost,’ she added, ‘but I don’t think you know him, do you?’
Jonas unsealed his lips and managed an entire sentence.
‘I am happy to say that my acquaintance with the ungodly rabble in the Castle is mercifully small.’
Even Lucy could not mistake the contemptuous distaste with which this was uttered and her eyes widened dangerously.
‘Well, sir – no doubt the happiness is mutual.’
Unable to think of a suitable reply, Jonas subjected her to his most withering stare and stalked furiously away in search of his sister.
When Abigail entered the shop some five minutes later, she was rather pale and her hands, if one looked at them, showed more than a trace of unsteadiness. Lucy saw neither but said impetuously, ‘How disagreeable your brother is! If he’s always like that, I don’t know how you put up with him.’
&nb
sp; Abigail smiled faintly. ‘I think you may have upset him a little.’
‘Nonsense! He was in a foul mood before he even set eyes on me. And if he’s as rude as that to —’ She stopped, shrugging. ‘This is silly. Naturally, you don’t wish to discuss him with me and I have happier things to think of.’
Abigail’s restless fingers were suddenly stilled. ‘Oh?’
Lucy laughed. ‘Yes. Ned’s back. Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Wonderful,’ agreed Abigail, hollowly. ‘And did Cap —?’
‘He arrived late last night, and without a scratch, thank God. But they are all so tired, Abby. Dispirited, too – as if all the heart had gone out of them. It’s awful. I’ve never seen Ned like this. But at least he’s safe.’
‘And Captain Ambrose?’ asked Abigail at last. ‘Is he safe too?’
Lucy stared at her. ‘Captain Ambrose? Do you know him?’
‘A little. Is he —?’
‘My goodness! How did that happen? Your horrid brother must be grinding his teeth into dust.’
‘Jonas doesn’t know,’ came the tense reply. ‘Lucy – will you please stop chattering and tell me if Justin Ambrose is alive or not.’
The blue eyes grew positively round.
‘Alive and well and limping about the Castle from a bullet in his thigh. You care, don’t you?’
Her major fears relieved, Abigail said unevenly, ‘Of course. He’s been very kind to me and to Sam as well. We’re friends.’
‘Are you indeed?’ Lucy grinned. ‘You believe in living dangerously, don’t you?’
‘What? Oh, you mean Jonas.’
‘No. I don’t mean Jonas. Or are you going to tell me you haven’t noticed how attractive the Captain is?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Or that you don’t know of his reputation with women?’
There was a sudden silence. Then, ‘No. I don’t. But I can’t see what that —’
‘I don’t know him very well yet,’ continued Lucy, ‘but I could name at least two girls in Oxford who are mad for him. Only everyone says he’s never serious – so you’d better be careful what you’re about.’
Much to her annoyance, Abigail felt herself flushing.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s not like that. How could it be? And I don’t care how many girls are in love with him. Why should I? He’s a friend and – and I care for him in the same way I care for Sam.’
‘Don’t say that! I should never believe it, you know. The girl who could regard a man like Justin Ambrose as a brother hasn’t been born yet. And, if you ask me —’
‘I didn’t,’ snapped Abigail.
‘ – she never will be,’ Lucy finished calmly. ‘Don’t be cross. I want you to come to my wedding. Will you?’
‘I don’t know,’ began Abigail, startled but pleased. ‘I’d like to but it’s difficult. Jonas —’
‘Is no excuse,’ said Lucy firmly. Then, cunningly, ‘And you’d like to see Captain Ambrose, wouldn’t you?’
Abigail hesitated, acknowledging the truth but reluctant to admit it. As she finally made up her mind to speak, the shop door opened and the words froze on her lips.
Justin stood on the threshold, his shadowed gaze sweeping past Lucy to settle on Abigail. Then, taking care to favour his wounded leg as little as possible, he advanced on her saying lightly, ‘There’s no need to look so shocked. Contrary to whatever you’ve heard, I’m neither a ghost nor a cripple.’
‘I never said you were,’ objected Lucy.
Neither of them paid her any heed. Abigail’s eyes did not leave the Captain’s face and she said, ‘You’re really all right? Your leg …?’
‘Hurts like the devil but will mend fast enough. In which, I am more fortunate than some.’
She nodded slightly. ‘The battle … was it very bad?’
‘About as bad as it could be.’ His expression was bleak as a December sky. ‘Jonas must be jubilant. First Naseby, then the surrender of Leicester and now four thousand Royalist prisoners marched ceremoniously into London by his friend Colonel Fiennes.’
‘Yes.’ Abigail stared bitterly down at her hands. ‘He’s had a good week.’
‘It doesn’t show,’ muttered Lucy, watching them with amused interest.
Justin’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. Stupid, too – since I’ve come to ask you a favour.’ He waited until she looked up again and then said, ‘My shirts are in ribbons and, while I can still afford the necessary cambric, I was hoping I might persuade you to make me a couple of new ones.’
‘Of course.’ The mundane request produced a tingle of entirely irrational pleasure. ‘I’ll be happy to do it. I suppose you need one for the wedding?’
‘Yes. I’m to be groomsman and Lucy won’t like it if I appear half-naked.’
‘I don’t care what you wear so long as you come. And the same applies to Abby and Sam,’ said Lucy positively. ‘Tell her she must come, Captain Ambrose.’
His swift charming smile appeared and he said, ‘No. I can’t do that. But I can tell her that I would be pleased if she did.’ Then, with weary irritation, ‘Oh God.’
‘You!’ spat Jonas, emerging unexpectedly from the house.
‘Quite,’ drawled Justin. ‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’
Ignoring this, Jonas turned on Abigail.
‘How long has he been here?’ He seized her arm. ‘And why didn’t you call me? Have you no sense, no shame? Consorting with —’
‘Leave her alone, Jonas.’ Justin was surprised at how angry he felt but he maintained his light, mocking tone. ‘You should be glad to see me. Or don’t you want the chance to gloat?’
‘I do – but only at your hanging!’ Jonas pushed his sister to the door. ‘Get into the house. I’ll have something to say to you later – turning my premises into a meeting place for every vile Malignant in the town.’
‘Just a moment,’ said Lucy clearly. ‘I came for a fitting.’
‘And I to escort her home afterwards,’ lied Justin smoothly. ‘So the sooner it’s done, the sooner we can leave your hallowed premises.’ He watched Jonas’ hands clench and, reading his thought, said gently, ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. I can be quite rough, you know.’
Jonas drew a long, fulminating breath and then gestured wrathfully to the open door behind him. ‘Abigail! Take this – this person upstairs and be quick about it. You have precisely ten minutes.’
When they had gone, he glanced sneeringly at the Captain and said, ‘I see that you managed to preserve your skin at Naseby.’
Justin shrugged. ‘Most of it, certainly. And at least I was there – which is more than can be said of you. But then, three yards of tongue is little use on a battlefield, is it?’
‘How would you know? They say the King’s officers are chosen for their running speed these days. The higher their rank, the faster they run. How fast are you, Captain?’
‘Fast enough,’ replied Justin, the grey eyes at variance with his laconic tone. ‘And you?’
Jonas recognised the warning and shifted his ground.
‘You realise that you’ve lost the war, of course? The only part of your cause that God has not yet blighted lies far away in Scotland – and it will take more than a renegade nobleman and his accursed Irish savages to save you.’ He produced a pamphlet from his pocket and threw it down on the polished trestle. ‘Charles Stuart should have made peace before his attempts to bring in foreign troops were made public. There’ll be no sympathy for him now.’
Justin stared at the paper, reading and re-reading its title. The King’s Cabinet Opened could mean only one thing; that His Majesty’s private correspondence, lost during the nightmare flight from Naseby, had been made public property by the Parliament.
He looked again at Jonas and said softly, ‘Have you the remotest idea of the harm this could do?’
Jonas smiled coldly.
‘If it harms the King, he has only himself to blame. The honest, righteous men of this k
ingdom have nothing to fear and much, thanks to our stout and Godly new army, to be grateful for.’
‘Then may God take pity on us all,’ said Justin grimly, ‘for you and your kind will have none. You spoke just now of Irish savages. Shall I tell you how your wonderful new army conducted itself after Naseby? It maimed and slaughtered and pillaged its way in pursuit of us to within two miles of Leicester; it gathered a king’s ransom in gold and jewels and left a trail of bloody carnage every step of the way. And these honest, trusty warriors of yours didn’t restrict themselves to massacring His Majesty’s infantry. Oh no. They demonstrated their superior manhood by butchering women as well.’ Pale and infinitely contemptuous, Justin folded his arms. ‘Have you ever witnessed the wanton mutilation of women, Jonas? No? You should have been at Naseby. It was an education. Your God-fearing boys sliced off hands and feet and breasts; they left faces without noses, heads without ears and mouths without tongues. And they and you have called that the Lord’s work.’
‘Whores and Irish recusants,’ rapped Jonas dismissively.
‘They were neither, you ignorant bastard!’ Cold, untrammelled temper flared in Justin’s face. ‘But even if they had been, does that excuse it?’
‘There is no need to excuse it – least of all to a depraved, incestuous libertine such as you.’
‘Isn’t there?’ An unpleasant smile bracketed the hard mouth. ‘You seem to forget that we still hold Banbury.’
Jonas gave a short, grating laugh.
‘If that is a threat, you are wasting your breath. Your time here is on the wane and you know it. There is nothing you can do to me or mine – and I’d like to see you try.’
‘Would you?’ The smile deepened and Justin’s voice grew silky smooth. ‘Then I’ll have to see what I can do, won’t I?’
*
Abigail looked around at the select gathering of wedding guests in the Governor’s quarters and wondered how to ask Samuel to take her home. Outside in the courtyard, where the men were roasting an ox or two and consuming gallons of free ale, the noise had reached its peak. It was becoming decidedly lively inside too, now that the boards had been withdrawn from the wedding-feast – an array of dishes that had left Abigail faintly stunned and made her wonder how many of the pastries and creams owed their existence to Mistress Welchman at the cake shop. But though the food had gone, muscat and canary wines continued to flow freely and the talk, laughter and music was bidding fair to rival the revelry without.
