A Splendid Defiance

by Stella Riley

  Her lips brushed his cheek in the most fleeting of caresses. Then, sliding to the ground and, pulling her hand free of his, she said huskily, ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Abby – wait.’ He reached out towards her. ‘Don’t go like this.’

  But gathering her cloak in both hands, she was already running towards the town, half-blinded by the tears she didn’t want him to see.

  *

  She arrived home later than she had intended to find Jonas’ cart already in the yard. She smoothed her hair as best she could, prayed that neither he nor Rachel was in the parlour and slipped quietly into the kitchen. Betty looked up from her cooking pots and surveyed her with round eyes but did not speak. Abigail crossed to the parlour door, listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, opened it and passed through. Then she came to an abrupt halt.

  They were all there, waiting in utter silence. Alice sat in her usual corner, her eyes strained and anxious and her hands twisting nervously in her lap, while Rachel faced her with an expression of smug anticipation from the other side of the hearth. Flushed with anger, his mouth set in a mulish line, Samuel leaned against the carved dresser. And, dominating the room, Jonas stood motionless before the mantelpiece, his hands clasped behind him and his face white with suppressed fury.

  Abigail looked round at them all and felt her stomach cleave to her ribs.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  It was Jonas who spoke and his voice crackled in the charged atmosphere of the room. Abigail felt the chill of incipient danger and began to shake.

  ‘I went for a walk.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The other s-side of Bridge Bar.’

  ‘And were you alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Slowly, Jonas crossed to stand in front of her.

  ‘So you went for a walk alone. That’s all?’

  ‘Yes, Jonas.’

  For a moment he continued to stare at her out of oddly gleaming eyes. Then he lifted his arm and struck her savagely across her mouth, the force of the blow sufficient to send her reeling back against the door. ‘You lying, brazen slut!’ Alice and Samuel cried out in protest but he did not even glance at them. ‘Do you think I don’t know that you’ve spent the afternoon lying with your lover?’

  Abigail’s head was ringing and the imprint of his hand lay stark against the pallor of her skin. She said shakily, ‘I have no lover.’

  ‘Spare us your lies,’ said Rachel acidly. ‘It’s too late for them. You were seen.’

  ‘Seen?’ whispered Abigail warily.

  ‘Yes, seen!’ Jonas wrenched her cloak from her and dragged her back into the centre of the room. Fragments of leaf clung to the hem of her gown and her hair was escaping from her cap. ‘Seen by Barbara Atkins, riding shamelessly along the road in the embrace of your Malignant lover. Are you going to deny it?’

  She shivered and said the only thing that was not a lie.

  ‘He is not my lover.’

  Alice made a small, stifled sound and said, ‘It’s true, then? You were with Captain Ambrose?’

  Abigail’s mind was still paralysed with misery and shock. She swallowed and said painfully, ‘Yes. It’s true. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You will be.’ Jonas’ fingers bit into her arm. ‘You will be. How long has this lascivious relationship been going on?’

  ‘It isn’t like that. Please —’

  ‘How long?’ He shook her until her teeth rattled.

  ‘Since July,’ she gasped. ‘But —’

  ‘Four months?’ he shouted, incredulously. ‘You have been creeping off to fornicate with that God-cursed bastard for four months?’

  ‘No. It’s true that I have been meeting him but there has never been anything … he has never … I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.’

  ‘Do you seriously expect us to believe that?’ demanded Rachel.

  ‘Let her speak,’ snapped Samuel. ‘Apart from the fact that Abby is not a liar, I shouldn’t think the Captain would be stupid enough to seduce her.’

  ‘And what would you know of it?’ sneered Jonas. ‘He would do it out of malice. Not, I imagine, that it was made very difficult for him. It seems that our sister is a born harlot.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Abigail was shaking from head to foot. ‘I know it was improper of me to meet him but it isn’t as you think. I would never have … and nor would he ask me to.’

  ‘Be silent! You soil this house with your presence and our ears with your lies. Were it not that your disgrace would fall upon the entire family, I would gladly see you whipped through the streets at the cart’s tail. As it is, however, my duty is clearly to save our name and deal with you myself.’

  ‘Jonas, please!’ begged Alice. ‘If she says she is untouched, may we not believe her?’

  ‘Are you quite mad? She would say anything. And what other reason can you suggest to explain why a notorious libertine should waste his time on her? For the pleasure of her conversation – or because she is a promiscuous little whore who was willing to give him anything he cared to take?’ His voice trembled with rage. ‘Look at her. She comes to us fresh from the arms of her lover – a man from whom decent people shrink – and she is not even repentant. She has shamed us all before God and, for all we know, she may already be carrying that incestuous devil’s bastard.’

  There was a sudden, appalled silence. Then, with dragging reluctance, Alice said, ‘Abby … you have to tell us. Is what Jonas says possible?’

  Abigail’s eyes widened with hurt. Then the numbness left her brain and her nerves suddenly steadied. She said, ‘No. Justin Ambrose is a gentleman who has never shown me any disrespect. I don’t believe he has ever once thought of making love to me and the only sin I am guilty of is that of meeting him in secret.’ She lifted her chin with a hint of new-found pride. ‘But I had no choice in that, did I? And I don’t regret it. He’s a good man and I’m not ashamed of liking him.’

  ‘You hear her?’ choked Jonas. ‘He is a foul-mouthed, lecherous drunkard, an enemy and a thief – but none of that matters to her. He has sullied her honour and —’

  ‘He has not!’ Abigail tore herself free and faced him defiantly. ‘He’s done no more than talk to me – sometimes with laughter, sometimes in anger but never of love. In short, he’s done something that you will never understand, Jonas. He’s given me kindness and friendship – and he’s a better man than you, for all your pious talk!’

  A vein throbbed in Jonas’ temple and he drew back his arm to hit her again but, before he could do so, Samuel was beside him, grasping his wrist.

  ‘That’s enough, Jonas! Control yourself.’

  It was the last straw. With a violent jerk of his elbow, Jonas sent Samuel crashing back into the dresser amidst a shower of falling pewter and horrified cries from Alice and Rachel.

  ‘Stay out of this,’ he warned, ‘or it will be the worse for you. I’ll have no wanton wickedness in this house and, since all else appears to have failed, I intend to beat it out of her.’

  ‘Jonas, no.’ It was Alice who spoke, her face haggard with misery. ‘If you won’t believe Abby, why not get old Mother Caudle to examine her?’

  He stared lividly at her. ‘And have the whole town know?’

  ‘And end by being proved wrong?’ added Abigail dryly. ‘Of course he won’t call on Mother Caudle. He wants to believe me sinful, so he will. In some perverse way of his own, he’s enjoying this.’

  This time the silence hovered on the brink of cataclysm. From his place by the dresser, Samuel looked at his sister and recognised that, for the first time ever, she had found a way of speaking up for herself. He wondered if that was Justin Ambrose’s doing.

  Finally Jonas moved, his hand closing round Abigail’s wrist like a steel trap. The force of his wrath impeded his breath. He said, ‘If you think to provoke me into disowning you so that you can cast yourself upon your vile lover, you are wasting your time. You are a base abomination in the eyes of the Lord but I shall not evade my d
uty in the battle to save your soul. One thing I can promise you; you will never see your dissolute Captain again. As soon as I am assured that you are not with child by him, I shall get you out of this house and into marriage with the first God-fearing man I can persuade to take you.’ His grip altered and he pulled her to the door. ‘Now come with me and learn repentance.’

  Samuel threw himself into his brother’s path. ‘You can’t do —’

  Jonas knocked him aside with a forearm to the jaw. Samuel’s head snapped back, hitting the dresser and leaving him half-dazed.

  ‘Stay out of my way,’ snarled Jonas. And continued dragging Abigail upstairs.

  Though what followed was both brutal and humiliating, Abigail endured it all in stubborn, hard-held silence. If she had cried out, it might have been over sooner. But not doing so was the only satisfaction she could deny him - and so deny it she did. When he tore the gown from her back and hit her over and over with his broad leather belt, she bit her hand till it bled while her tears soaked into the coverlet of her bed. And finally, his arm aching and his head throbbing with fury, Jonas gave up.

  Even when she was at last alone, bruised, aching and sick, she stifled her sobs in the pillow in case he was outside the door listening. But her physical pain was nothing compared to the loss of Justin Ambrose and the black demon of dread that was growing in her mind; fear of the one thing that she knew – and that Jonas also knew – she could not bear.

  ‘Please God,’ she whispered desperately. ‘Please don’t let him think of it – don’t let him remember. For if he does, he won’t hesitate … and I would rather be in hell.’

  ~ * ~

  NINETEEN

  Unaware of Abigail’s troubles, Justin set out early on Wednesday on a tax-collecting mission and when he returned at past nine in the evening, he found the Castle stables bursting with strange horses.

  ‘Visitors?’ he asked resignedly of Sergeant Cole.

  ‘The Princes, sir. Prince Maurice arrived this afternoon with twenty or so from Worcester and Prince Rupert’s just come in from Oxford with another eighty.’

  Justin’s gaze quickened.

  ‘Coincidence, Archie? Or a rendezvous?’

  ‘A rondyvoo, sir. They’re dining in Sir William’s quarters and Prince Rupert said you’d to go on up and join ‘em as soon as you arrived.’ The sergeant hesitated and then said, ‘The men say they’ve volunteered to ride with His Highness to the King at Newark, sir.’

  ‘Through eighty miles of enemy country? Bloody hell!’

  ‘Yes, sir. So I was wondering if Sir William might be agreeable to some of us riding along with ‘em. If he was to be asked, sir.’

  ‘Oh you did, did you?’ Justin turned to move away and then, looking back, added, ‘It’s suicide, of course. You realise that?’

  Sergeant Cole exhibited a gap-toothed grin.

  ‘Yes, sir. Do you?’

  For a man whose Royal guests had arrived without warning, Sir William had done remarkably well. The long table was spread with crisp white linen, meat steamed appetisingly on silver platters and canary wine glowed red through sparkling glass. Justin bowed to the princes and, with a murmured word of apology, slid into a vacant seat beside Hugh Vaughan.

  The atmosphere was formal, even a little strained; and if the ride to Newark was fact and not fantasy, it was plain that everyone was taking a good deal of care to avoid discussing it. As if reading his mind, Prince Maurice – a fairer and more stolid version of his brother, whose shy manner was often considered merely sullen – caught Justin’s eye and winked.

  But tongues became gradually loosened as the meal progressed and the evening began to show faint signs of conviviality until, that was, Major Walrond foolishly introduced George Goring’s name into the conversation.

  ‘The last I heard, he was raising fresh levies in the West,’ he remarked. ‘Has anything been heard of them?’

  ‘No – and never will be!’ snorted Maurice. ‘The fellow’s no more than a talking sponge.’

  ‘Shut up,’ growled Rupert softly.

  Maurice was hurt.

  ‘Well, it’s no more than you’ve said yourself,’ he argued. ‘You said he’s forgotten all about the war and only sobers up long enough to pursue his feud with Richard Grenville. Yes – and you said that if steps weren’t taken to protect the Prince of Wales, either Goring or Grenville was quite likely to s —’

  ‘Maurice, shut up!’ snapped Rupert again, this time with force. He had learned, even if his brother had not, that this type of damning honesty did more harm than good; and Goring, incomprehensibly to Rupert, who had neither the time nor the inclination to look for good points beneath the unreliable exterior, was surprisingly popular.

  Belatedly aware of his blunder, Major Walrond made a ham-fisted attempt to repair matters.

  ‘Perhaps Your Highness would favour us with your opinion of Lieutenant-General Cromwell? I believe you met him at Bristol – whereas we have had no opportunity to …’

  Groaning inwardly as the inane words flowed inexorably on, Justin folded his arms and slumped in his chair. Then, chin on chest, he looked along the table at Will Compton and raised one satiric brow.

  Rupert’s mouth had set like a trap and he stared down his high-bridged nose at Charles Walrond for a long moment before saying icily, ‘Cromwell is a good soldier of no particular genius but with an immense capacity for organisation. By the time he’s done, England will have a fine army – but woe betide any who get in his way for he’ll not stomach them. And the fine army will be in the hands of a sanctimonious fanatic who’s afraid to give credit to his enemies. I trust that answers your question?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Indeed!’ enthused the Major. ‘But what I was wondering was how he set about the … er …’

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Hugh. ‘The damned fool’s going to ask him how he lost Bristol.’

  ‘… how he managed to —’

  ‘Charles.’ Sir William spoke quietly. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d make a check on the gate sentries. They’ve become a trifle slack lately.’

  ‘Of course.’ The Major was bewildered. ‘Now?’

  ‘If you please.’ The dark eyes swept round the table. ‘And I’m sure the rest of you have matters requiring your attention – as do Their Highnesses and myself.’ His officers rose amidst a scraping of chairs and Will smiled faintly. ‘I bid you goodnight, gentlemen.’

  It was a full hour before Rupert walked unannounced into Justin’s quarters and said baldly, ‘What a lousy bloody evening. I suppose you’ve heard?’

  ‘That Your Highness is going to Newark? Yes.’

  ‘That My Highness is going to Newark against the King’s express orders,’ corrected Rupert sardonically. ‘I’ve promised myself I’ll put a bullet through Digby. Want to come?’

  ‘Please.’ And then, wryly, ‘I suppose it had to be Newark?’

  ‘Since we no longer hold Carlisle, yes.’ Rupert stood at the window, one long-fingered hand lying clenched hard against the stone sill. ‘I had to give up Bristol. There wasn’t any choice. It was undermanned – and you can’t hold a town when the town’s against you. But I’m a foreigner and, no matter what I do, I’ll never be anything else – so I’m accused of treachery and taking bribes. Eighty thousand yellow boys. It’s a joke! I haven’t fifty pounds in the world.’ He paused, broodingly. ‘I’m disgraced. Finished. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The only ones not busy spitting on my honour now are the damned Roundheads.’

  ‘That’s not true, sir,’ said Justin quietly. ‘You’ve more friends than you realise.’

  Rupert gave a short, mirthless laugh.

  ‘They’d best beware, then. Look at Will Legge – removed from his post as Governor and placed under arrest in case he throws in his lot with me and sells Oxford. It’s a dangerous pastime these days being a friend of mine. For example, this little jaunt to Newark could technically be called mutiny. Any man with ambition and a mind to his career would do well to stay out of it.’


  ‘Yes. I can see that.’ Justin smothered a yawn. ‘What time do we leave?’

  ‘First light.’ Some of the strained harshness evaporated. ‘I’ve Will Compton’s leave to take any twenty that volunteer.’

  Justin nodded. ‘I’ll see to it. And if we get there – what then?’

  ‘I’ll make the King give me a court-martial,’ replied the Prince with grim simplicity. And then, differently, ‘What do you mean – if? With Maurice, you, myself and a hundred or so volunteers, who’s to stop us?’

  ‘Fairfax – Cromwell – the New Model Army?’

  ‘Bogeymen!’ grinned Rupert, snapping dismissive fingers. ‘Speaking of which … isn’t it time you went home and faced up to yours?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Justin gazed absently into the fire. ‘But sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof … so let’s just say I’m going along for the ride.’

  *

  They set off into the grey October dawn expecting to meet with adventure and they were not disappointed. The first trouble came at Burghley where a pistol, aimed at point-blank range into Rupert’s face, reinforced all the myths by refusing to go off. Rupert smiled grimly at its owner and shot him dead.

  By means of night marches and his usual frenetic pace, Rupert kept his little force clear of serious resistance until they reached Belvoir Bridge. There, only twelve miles south of Newark, they ran into three hundred Roundhead cavalry. They made a good account of themselves and might even have emerged victorious had not reinforcements come up and made Rupert take evasive action. Sending the bulk of his troop along the main road to Belvoir Castle, he turned to Justin and said, ‘There’s a cross-country route, isn’t there? I went that way shooting rabbits as a boy – but that’s ten years ago and you’ll know it better than me, since this is your country.’

  There was a pause and then Justin said dryly, ‘It’s ten years for me as well, sir. But I’ll do my best.’

  The memories of childhood are strong and a mere decade is nothing to land which changes little in a century. So Justin led them faultlessly along narrow, winding lanes flanked by tangled thickets of hawthorn and let his mind follow other paths entirely.