"So, Nell, tell me about your wonderful Giles and his uses?"
Nell laid down her frame and a look of wistful longing crossed her face. “Oh Giles ... He and Jonathan were of the same age and inseparable friends. I loved Giles ever since I was very young. Happily for me our families agreed we would be a good match and we were betrothed when I was thirteen, just before the war.” Her face saddened. “We were married five years later and in a few months he was in exile in France for his part in the second war."
Kate did a mental calculation. “So in all your years of marriage, how much time have you spent together?"
Nell hesitated. “Six months."
Just long enough to conceive a child, Kate thought.
Both women looked up as Ann ran across the garden towards them with cries of “Mama! Mama!"
"Has he ever seen Ann?” Kate ventured.
Nell shook her head.
"Where has Tom gone, Nan?” Kate asked as the child reached them.
Ann ignored the question. “Tommy gave me this,” she said, opening a slightly grubby paw to show them the sweetmeat Tom had used to bribe her with.
"Look at that hand!” scolded her mother. “Mistress Ann, you had best come with me and have a good wash."
Picking up her work, she took her little imp by the offending hand and marched her firmly towards the house.
* * * *
Deprived of his usual playmates, it had not taken the gregarious Tom long to become friendly with young Peter Knowles. The boys were of the same age, but Peter had a flair for devilment that Tom, used to being the leader among his cousins, found new and intriguing and it had been Peter who introduced Tom to slingshots.
Tom's accuracy with the slingshot still required a great deal more practice and the two boys found a convenient perch in the large oak beside the main Kidderminster road, about one hundred yards from the gate to Seven Ways. Here they could take pot shots at the birds they had lured with crumbs on the ground.
As Tom took aim, Peter looked up.
"There's an ‘orse coming,” he said.
"Just one shot,” Tom squinted and pulled the shot back—even as he released it, he winced, seeing with absolute clarity what would occur. The rider had come upon them too fast and Tom's wayward shot skewed sideways, hitting the horse on the chest.
The animal screamed and reared, its forelegs pawing the air. It took a masterly rider to maintain his seat under the circumstances and the boys watched, frozen in horror as the cursing rider brought the plunging beast back under control. The horse eventually stood still, its skin quivering while the man slid from the saddle and threw an arm over the neck of the handsome grey mare, talking softly into her twitching ear.
Peter did not wait to feel the wrath of the rider. He leaped nimbly from the tree and disappeared like a hare into the woods. Tom followed but landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle. He gave a sharp cry and tried to stand but fell back to the ground where he huddled, holding his foot.
The rider, having placated his horse, turned towards the boy, looming over him, a tall, menacing figure in dark clothes with a wide brimmed hat casting his face into shadow. Tom shrank back against the oak, trying not to cry. He braced himself, expecting, and indeed deserving, a sound telling off, if not a threat to haul him before the magistrate or a thorough cuffing around the ears.
"I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “I didn't mean any harm."
"At least you're honest enough to admit your fault, boy."
The stranger spoke well, a gentleman, Tom decided, and to his surprise the stranger's mouth twisted into a smile.
"Well, fortunately no real harm was done. My horse just got a bad fright and my neck is still in one piece. Next time try setting up some old jars on a wall and leave the birds and horses in peace."
"I will, sir. Thank you, sir."
Tom waited while the rider turned back to his horse, gathering the reins to mount, before trying to pull himself up and execute a dignified exit. The sharp pain made him cry out and fresh tears start in his eyes. He slid back down the tree trunk again.
The rider swung around. “Did you hurt yourself, lad?"
"My ankle...” Tom said.
"Let's have a look,” the man said and, leading the horse, walked back to the boy.
Tom gingerly removed his shoe and stocking and the man crouched down and gently picked up the injured foot.
"Can you wiggle your toes?"
Tom grimaced and succeeded in producing some movement. The man looked up at him and despite the shadow cast by the hat, Tom sensed he was smiling.
"A sprain, no more,” he said and gently pulled the stocking back over the foot. “Now, young sir, perhaps I should get you home before you get into any more mischief. Where do you live?"
Tom wiped the back of his hand across his nose.
"I'm staying with my great-grandfather at Seven Ways Hall, sir."
The stranger sat back on his heels. “Your great-grandfather? You mean Sir Francis Thornton?"
"You know him?"
"I...” The stranger paused, then continued in a puzzled tone “...know him well. What's your name, lad?"
Tom sniffed. “Thomas Ashley, sir."
"Thomas Ashley? Indeed,” the man said thoughtfully. “Well, Thomas Ashley, give me your hand and I will put you on my horse's back and take you back to Seven Ways as that is where I am bound."
"What's your horse's name?” Tom patted the grey mare appreciatively. “She's very fine."
"Her name's Amber."
The man lifted the boy up onto the cropper of the saddle and swung up behind him. Tom wanted to ask who the man was and how he came to know his grandfather, but the stranger had fallen silent.
They had turned the corner of the drive where the hall suddenly sprang into view.
"My mother's working in the garden,” Tom said, turning to face his rescuer then added, fearfully, “Please don't tell her what I did. She doesn't like me playing with slingshots."
The man looked up at him gravely. “Very well,” he said. “It will be our secret, Thomas Ashley."
* * * *
Kate wiped her face on the sleeve of her gown and set to attack the weeds with such a vengeance that she didn't notice the stranger coming across the lawn towards her until she heard a cry of, “Mother!"
She sat back on her heels and looked up to see Tom, wearing a wide-brimmed hat several sizes too large for him, perched high on the shoulders of a tall, dark-haired man dressed in dusty clothes. Despite the weight on his shoulders, the man strode easily across the garden towards her.
The man swung Tom down and carried him over to the oak tree, setting him down in the shade. He retrieved his hat from the boy's head and slapped it against his breeches, producing a cloud of dust.
Kate scrambled to her feet, hurriedly poking strands of hair back under her hat, and rushed over to her son. She knelt down next to the boy, inspecting his grubby, woebegone face.
"Thomas! What have you been doing?” she scolded. “Are you all right?
"I hurt my ankle a bit, Mother,” Tom said in a very small and, to Kate's ears, slightly guilty voice. “But he—” he pointed at the man “—says it's only a sprain."
"And how did you hurt your ankle?” Kate rose to her feet and crossed her arms.
The man spoke. “He had a fall, Mistress Ashley. It's only a slight sprain. Nothing broken."
"And how pray did that happen?” she asked suspiciously.
"He fell out of a tree.” Again the stranger answered for the boy, adding, “I happened to be passing by and came upon him."
Kate looked at the man then back at her son, suspecting a conspiracy. Tom submitted as his mother carried out her own inspection on the ankle, confirming the diagnosis.
"It doesn't look too bad,” she pronounced. “Can you walk?"
With her help, Tom got to his feet and with much grimacing put his weight on his injured foot and limped around the tree.
"It feels much better already,” he sa
id.
Kate studied her son, through narrowed, disbelieving eyes.
"Well, it seems that your guardian angel was watching over you once more, young man. You're lucky you didn't break your neck ... falling out of the tree."
She turned to the boy's rescuer who leaned against the tree, regarding them both with amusement.
"Thank you for returning my son to me, sir,” she said politely. “I am sorry if you were put to any trouble. I am sure we could find you some refreshment up at the house."
"No trouble.” The man's eyes twinkled. “I am expected for supper, I believe."
"Expected?"
He straightened. “Ah, apparently not by you, it would seem. I must apologize, Mistress Ashley, for not introducing myself before.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “I am your kinsman, Jonathan Thornton."
Kate gave a sharp intake of breath. “I'm sorry, sir. You did say, Jonathan Thornton?"
He swept her a low courtly bow. “Your servant, ma'am."
A pair of bright hazel eyes met hers as he straightened. Even if he had not told her his name she should have guessed this man was a Thornton. In fact he could have been Tom's father. They shared the same light, graceful build, the same dark brown hair and the same hazel eyes. His family had been right. The likeness even between man and boy was extraordinary.
Tom's eyes widened. “Jonathan? You're Jonathan? Did you really take Horley Bridge with only five men?"
Jonathan looked puzzled then laughed. “What tales has my grandfather been telling you?” He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. “Horley Bridge was a long, long time ago, Tom. Now, if you are up to it, how about you limp up to the house and tell my sister that I have arrived."
"And Ellen must put some salve on your ankle,” Kate said. “Go, Tom. Sir Francis will be anxious to know that your cousin is home."
Tom's face fell. “But I want to talk to Jonathan—Colonel Thornton—” he corrected himself.
"There'll be plenty of time later,” Jonathan said. He bowed to his young cousin. “It is a great pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Thomas Ashley."
The boy flushed and despite his injured foot, took off like a jackrabbit.
Kate turned back to Jonathan Thornton.
He smiled. “You look somewhat surprised to meet me, Mistress Ashley?"
"I apologize, if I appear a little startled,” she said “I had been led to believe you were dead."
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?"
"Well it's not as if I had been told you were dead,” Kate conceded, thinking about the few times Jonathan's name had arisen over the last weeks. “Your sister and your grandfather left me with the impression that you were."
Jonathan shrugged. “Well, you can hardly blame them for being cautious, Mistress Ashley. The Ashley family took Parliament's side in the late conflict, and as I am no friend of Parliament, perhaps they felt it prudent to keep my continuing good health as one of the darker family secrets."
Behind the bantering tone, Kate detected a shade of real bitterness.
"I suppose they couldn't be sure I could be trusted,” she said in a small, hurt voice.
Jonathan's hazel eyes scanned her face, “So can you be trusted, Mistress Ashley?"
Kate straightened her back. “I have told your sister that I hold no candle for either party, Master Thornton. Indeed it would be an abuse of your family's hospitality were I to go running to the authorities. I can be trusted."
He rewarded her with an easy smile that lit his face. She felt his eyes scan her face and sweep down her body. She self-consciously dusted her hands on her skirts and tried to restore her wayward hair to some order.
"I'm afraid you have caught me at a disadvantage,” she said. “I'm not normally so dishevelled."
He smiled. “And neither am I,” he said. “Having been nearly thrown from my horse, I am somewhat discomposed myself."
"What did Tom do?"
"Slingshots and horses are not a good combination, Mistress Ashley, but—” he held up a hand “—it was not done deliberately, and I think Tom got as much of a fright as my poor horse."
"He has a penchant for trouble!” Kate said.
"Ah,” Jonathan said. “Then he must be a Thornton. We seem to attract trouble."
"In what way?"
"Well perhaps not all of us,” Jonathan conceded. “My brother Ned was a paragon of virtue. You have only one child?"
Kate nodded. “I was left a widow after Marston Moor and have not remarried."
"Marston Moor? Richard died at Marston Moor?” Jonathan Thornton stiffened.
"Shortly after,” Kate said.
"I'm sorry. I'd not heard..."
"It was six years ago,” Kate began, but the sound of Nell calling her brother's name from the door to the house alerted them both.
"I'm afraid, Mistress Ashley..."
"Kate."
He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. “Kate. Nell will be anxious for news of Giles, and my grandfather will no doubt want to see me."
"Are you staying long?"
"Just tonight."
Kate smiled. “Then I shall see you at supper."
He gave her a low courtly bow. “Until supper, cousin ... Kate."
She leaned against the reassuring trunk of the oak tree and watched him stride across the lawn toward the house, idly flicking his leg with the hat. He moved with a casual grace and an air of authority that she had not encountered in anyone before. For once supper would be a meal worth looking forward to.
* * * *
Nell, abandoning all pretence of manners, all but flew at Jonathan as he reached the terrace. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Jonathan, darling Jonathan. It's so wonderful to see you,” Nell enthused. “What did Giles say? How is he?"
Gently he disengaged himself from his sister's passionate embrace. “Giles is well and I have letters and packets aplenty for you and the lass."
Nell looped her arm into her brother's as they walked back towards the house. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “We only received your note this morning. You can imagine what a shock it was for me."
"Grandfather sent for me,” Jonathan replied. “Hasn't he discussed it with you?"
Nell shook her head. “He doesn't confide in me. You know that. He has always thought me a scatter-brained addle-pate."
"He thinks it is better, for your own safety, that you don't know when I am around,” Jonathan pointed out.
"Hmmm,” Nell sighed. “I wish he would confide in me more. I suppose I should know better than to ask how long you are staying?"
"Just the night, Nell."
Her face fell.
"You know I dare not risk staying longer, dear sister."
"Well, I shall see that we eat well tonight then. You look as if you need feeding up. You're so thin."
Jonathan laughed. “I manage, Nell. Don't fuss. Now,” he said his face assuming a serious aspect. “I've just met Mistress Ashley. Why didn't you tell her about me? In fact she seemed to be under the impression I was dead."
Nell looked abashed. “I didn't actually tell her you were dead, but it seemed prudent not to say too much about you.” She smiled and slapped her brother's arm. “Of course I never actually expected you to turn up! What is Grandfather doing?"
"She would have found about me sometime, Nell. Let's face it, I am the reason Grandfather summoned her to begin with."
"You?” Light dawned in Nell's eyes. “Oh, of course, the boy."
"I'm guessing, Nell, but I can't think of any other reason Grandfather would have chosen this moment to make peace with the Ashleys."
"It changes everything,” Nell said and added, “I'm sorry, Jonathan."
He squeezed her hand. “Don't be."
She reached out and touched his sleeve. “It is good to see you, Jon, whatever the reason. Grandfather knows you are here. Perhaps you had better go and see him.” She looked at him anxiously. “Don't be shocked by the change in him,
his time is coming fast."
Despite the warmth of the day, a fire blazed brightly and the old man sat beside the hearth swaddled in blankets. Jonathan gasped at the closeness of the room. The old man beamed at his grandson and held out his hand.
"My dear boy! You came."
Jonathan sighed inwardly. Only his grandfather would still call him a boy, a man nigh on thirty and a soldier for nearly ten years. He wondered if Sir Francis still thought of him as the impetuous youth who had stolen one of his best horses and ridden off to war.
"You sent for me, Grandfather,” he observed dryly. “I came."
He sat down opposite his grandfather, trying to hide his shock at the old man's appearance. He opened his mouth to say something but a wave of the hand from the old man cut him short.
"Don't tell me I look well, boy,” Sir Francis said. “I'm not. I'm dying. However, the good Lord in his wisdom is giving me plenty of time to make my peace with Him. He must think my sins worth a good deal of soul-searching.” He ended with a hollow cough. “And you're right, I did send for you. I just didn't expect you quite so soon."
"I have business in England,” Jonathan replied. “The timing was opportune."
The old man looked at him sharply. “Business? I know your sort of business. It only spells trouble."
Jonathan flinched at the reproof in the old man's voice but he had long since abandoned any hope of ever winning his grandfather's approval.
"The King will be landing in Scotland shortly,” he said.
"The King in Scotland?” The old man leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Does this mean war again, boy?"
"Undoubtedly,” Jonathan said, with a candour he reserved for his grandfather. “It's just a question of what terms the King can reach with the Scots. God knows they want the earth and heavens. However, I will say this for Charles, unlike his father, he's not above making agreements for the political expediency, however distasteful."
The old man leaned back in his chair and observed his grandson with bright, shrewd eyes.
"Scotland is some way distant, lad, and Worcestershire is hardly on the route,” he observed dryly. “I take it you are up to your old tricks?"
Jonathan resisted the urge to laugh. His grandfather managed to make everything he did sound like the pranks of a naughty child but Colonel Jonathan Thornton, King's Commissioner, did not indulge in tricks. His business was deadly serious. His natural ability as an actor had made him invaluable to the Royal cause long before the execution of Charles I, when he had carried the coded messages of the imprisoned King to his exiled Queen.
By The Sword Page 3
