"You mean am I here on the King's Commission to gather support for his cause? You know the answer to that question, Grandfather."
The old man sighed. “Where you go, inevitably trouble follows. And is there the support the King expects?"
Jonathan threw back his head. “What do you think, Grandfather? Can you spare any coin for the King's cause? I think not. You're no different from any other man who followed Charles’ father."
"So the cause is doomed before it has even begun?"
Jonathan said nothing. He looked at his grandfather and their eyes met in perfect understanding.
"So why did you send for me?” Jonathan changed the subject.
"I'm dying. I wanted to see you again."
"You've been dying for the last three years,” Jonathan observed.
"The time has come for decisions. Have you met the boy?” Francis asked.
Unable to take the stuffiness of the room any more, Jonathan stood up and walked over to one of the windows and opened it, breathing in the fresh air. In the garden, Kate Ashley had returned to the weeds. He watched her for a moment. Thick, honey-coloured hair tumbled down her slender back from beneath the brim of a battered straw hat. She had pushed the sleeves of the old blue gown up and her brown arms moved with strength and determination as she tackled the worst of the milkweed and thistles.
He remembered the look of incredulity that had crossed the pretty, freckled face and the concern in her grey eyes when she had realised the identity of her son's rescuer. He wondered if she even suspected why Sir Francis had brought her to Seven Ways.
"Jonathan!” His grandfather rapped the cane on the floor “Did you hear me?"
Jonathan turned back to face the old man again. “I have met young Thomas Ashley,” he said, “and I commend you on finding the solution to your dilemma."
If his grandfather heard the irony in his voice, he gave no sign.
"I like the boy,” Sir Francis said, a note of petulance in his voice. “He has the Thornton spirit."
"And what is the Thornton spirit, Grandfather?” Jonathan turned back to the window again. “If you mean using a slingshot and scaring horses then I would have to agree with you. He could have killed me."
Francis’ laugh was a hoarse, dry sound.
"Did he, by God? Lucky for him that you are the horseman you are.” The old man's tone was suddenly serious. “I see a lot of you in him."
"Well, God help him,” Jonathan leaned against the window casement and crossed his legs at the ankles. “He's nine years old, Grandfather. Do they know the burden you intend to leave them?"
"Them?"
"It is his mother who will have to carry the burden until the boy is of age."
"Ah, his mother.” Sir Francis smiled. “What a fortunate woman his mother turned out to be. I couldn't have asked for better than the widow of a respected Parliamentary officer, an acquaintance of Sir Thomas Fairfax no less, and a thoroughly sensible young woman too. She's had the running of her husband's estates since Ashley died."
"And she is a woman who has a right to know what you intend,” Jonathan said, the exasperation evident in his voice.
"Of course she does, and I think you should tell her,” the old man said.
Jonathan straightened. “Me?"
"Well it most closely affects you and,” the old man said with a smile, “you have a better way with women than ever I had."
Jonathan turned back to the window and sought out the distant figure in the blue gown. He saw again the clear, level gaze of her grey eyes and wondered if Thomas did not so much owe his spirit to the Thorntons as to his mother.
"There is no alternative, Jon. You know that."
"No,” Jonathan said slowly. “No, there isn't. Very well, I'll speak with her tonight."
The old man sat back in his chair, satisfied. “Good. I am glad we had the chance to have this talk. Leave me now, boy. If we are to kill the fatted calf for your return tonight I had best get some rest."
Three
Kate looked down at the bed where Ellen had laid out the new dove-grey, satin gown, made especially for this visit but as yet unworn.
"Well, if you ask me, it seems strange that they thought best to say naught to you about him,” Ellen commented as she helped Kate step into the petticoat
"I've no doubt they had their reasons, Ellen,” Kate said.
"Have you seen him, Ellen?” Tom sat on the edge of Kate's bed, kicking his heels.
Kate noticed with surprise that for once her son was clean and passably tidy. That this feat had been accomplished without prompting from Ellen or herself was quite unheard of.
"Only in passing, Master Thomas,” Ellen laced Kate's bodice. “The servants seem might taken with him. Loyal lot in this house."
"And so they should be,” Kate said. “I would expect no less of my own servants.” She gave her maid a sidelong glance.
Ellen's lips twitched.
"Ellen, did I tell you that the King knighted him after he took Horley Bridge with—"
"—only five men. I think you mentioned that, Thomas,” Kate interrupted impatiently.
"You seem very well informed about your cousin, Master Tom.” Ellen observed.
"Oh, Grandfather's told me all about him. Do you know he stole a horse and rode away to join Prince Rupert and carried letters for the King when he was in prison? He's very brave and clever."
"Indeed. Foolhardy may seem a better word,” Kate remarked more to herself than to Tom. “Ellen, take Tom to his bed chamber and see if you can find a clean collar!"
Tom pulled a face. “I washed my face!” he protested.
"Go!” Kate commanded. “I'll finish my hair, Ellen."
As Ellen and a grumbling Tom left the room, Nell drifted in through the open door. Dressed in a gown of blue satin that set off the blue of her eyes, Nell wore her happiness like a bright, shining halo.
She held out her right arm to Kate. “See what Giles has sent me,” she said.
Kate stooped to admire the exquisite, filigree gold bracelet that graced the young woman's slender wrist.
"It's quite lovely,” she agreed.
Nell touched the bracelet. “Giles is so thoughtful,” she said with a wistful sigh.
Kate said nothing. She wondered how Giles Longley could afford such expensive presents while his wife lacked the means to purchase her embroidery silks or a new gown. It had not escaped her notice that for all its lustre, Nell's gown was sadly outmoded and worn at the hem.
"Oh! Do stand up. Is that a new gown?” Nell circled Kate, admiring her gown. “Are the waists really worn that low?” she asked, putting her hands to her own, old-fashioned bodice.
"I doubt my tailor in York is quite at the centre of fashion but he assured me this was the latest style,” Kate said with a smile.
"You always wear such sombre colours, Kate,” Nell commented. “You look as if you are in mourning."
"I am,” Kate replied, resuming her seat in front of the mirror. “David Ashley has only been dead six months and since Richard's death I have not had the heart for bright gowns."
Nell dismissed her long-dead cousin with a wave of her hand, “You can't mourn forever, Kate. I think a gown of this colour...” She held out her blue skirts. “...or a warm peach colour would become you very well."
Nell seated herself on the edge of Kate's bed and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, trying to tuck its fraying ends away out of sight while Kate cursed her recalcitrant hair that steadfastly refused to stay where it was put.
"I'm sorry if I misled you about Jonathan,” Nell said at last. “In truth I hadn't expected him to turn up while you were here, not when we haven't seen him in at least two years."
"So why is here?” Kate asked.
"Let me do that!” Nell rose to her feet and took the comb from Kate's hand. “I think Grandfather sent for him,” she said, twisting a handful of Kate's hair and pinning it firmly. “Grandfather is dying and seems determined to put his affairs in o
rder.” She stuck some hairpins in her mouth and tugged at the wayward locks. “You must understand the terrible risk Jonathan takes in just being in England, let alone at Seven Ways."
"What risk?"
Nell's hand stilled and she met her friend's eyes in the mirror. “If he's caught, Kate, they will hang him."
"Why? What has he done that is so much worse than others like him?” Kate twisted on her stool to look at Nell.
Nell shrugged. “He can tell you better than I.” Her eyes pleaded anxiously with her. “You wouldn't betray him would you, Kate?"
"Of course not,” Kate said. “And it pains me that you should think that I would. I have told both you and your brother, I hold no candle for either King or Parliament."
"He was a terrible trial when he was younger. There were terrible rows, but I suppose he was only eighteen when he defied Father and stole one of Grandfather's horses to join Prince Rupert when the war began. Oh and then there were the girls...” Nell sighed. “Broken hearts everywhere. He was a complete scapegrace."
"And now?” Kate enquired stiffly.
Nell shrugged and resumed her task. “Who's to say? Certainly something happened to him at the end of the war. If Giles knows, he won't tell me. Whatever it was changed him."
"How?"
Nell shrugged. “He became so deadly serious about everything. There was no more fun, no more girls. He played some very dangerous games. It was almost as if he didn't care about the risk he ran. There!” Nell worked the last pin into Kate's hair
Kate rose from the stool and Nell caught her hands.
"I do hope you like him, Kate,” she said earnestly. “Despite everything, he's all that we have and we love him dearly."
Kate smiled in response, “I'm sure I will like him, Nell, and please be assured, your secret is quite safe with me."
* * * *
The table in the Great Hall had been set for supper. Sir Francis took his place in the large oak armchair by the fireplace, his eyes fixed on his grandson who bent low, talking to him.
Jonathan looked around as the two women entered and smiled at Kate, catching her eyes. She curtsied quickly and he bowed to her. A door hastily slammed behind her as Tom, in a clean but crooked collar followed her in. He bowed correctly to his grandfather and to the visitor.
Kate bit her lip, seeing the undisguised worship in her son's eyes. Tom had always felt the lack of someone to idolise. Well-primed by Sir Francis about the daring exploits of his cousin, her son obviously found the reality no disappointment. His Rowe cousins must seem very dull and even his dead father must seem an unsatisfactory hero by comparison to Sir Jonathan Thornton of Horley Bridge.
The standard of the Seven Ways cook, a moody and alcoholic man, could be variable, but for once he excelled—indeed the whole atmosphere of the house seemed to have lifted with Jonathan's presence. Here, in the company of his family, he seemed to relax and proved to be a wonderful raconteur. He held them all in rapt attention with a fund of stories about the court in exile for nearly the entire meal.
As he talked, Kate took the opportunity to study this prodigal son as closely as she dared without appearing rude. Sir Francis had said Jonathan and Richard were much of the same age, which would make him not yet thirty. The dark brown hair, rough cut, barely reached his shoulders, and dressed in a plain suit of well-cut mulberry broadcloth, somewhat crumpled from being stuffed in a saddlebag, he hardly fitted the picture of a dashing cavalier, if indeed he had ever cut that image. The plain, sober cut of his clothes and hair seemed natural rather than a disguise.
His lean, well-proportioned face had lost the prettiness it must have borne in his youth. The intervening years had leant a pleasing maturity that women must find more attractive than boyish good looks, Kate considered. With his lively eyes and quick smile, his face demanded attention and respect. Only in repose did she notice the deepening lines and the shadows about the eyes that spoke of a more complex side to his character than appeared on the surface.
Throughout the meal Sir Francis’ eyes hardly strayed from his wayward grandson. Eventually the exertion of sitting at the table proved too much for the old man. Several times Jonathan had glanced at his grandfather with great concern. Now as Francis was overwhelmed by a coughing fit, Jonathan stood up.
"Come, Grandfather. I'll help you to your room."
Sir Francis waved an apologetic hand at the assembly. “Forgive me, ladies. I will return Jon to you shortly."
Nell fetched Ann, who had been allowed to stay up to see her uncle, and the company adjourned to the terrace to enjoy the last of the glorious day. Jonathan rejoined them after while, sitting beside his sister on the low wall where the women watched Tom throwing a ball to his small cousin.
Jonathan leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. “He doesn't have long, does he?"
Nell shook her head. “I doubt he will live to see you again.” She paused, her fingers playing with the folds of material in her skirt. “Giles writes that the King will be landing in Scotland? Is that true?"
Jonathan nodded.
Kate shivered as if a cool breeze had blown across the garden. She turned to look at him. “Will it all start again?"
Jonathan looked from one woman to the other. “You know the answer to that,” he said.
"So are you going north to join the King?” Nell demanded.
He smiled sardonically. “Of course I am, Nell."
"One day, Jonathan Thornton, you will tempt fate once too often,” his sister remarked. “And Giles ... will Giles be in Scotland?"
When Jonathan nodded, Nell's eyes brightened.
"Then I must give you some letters to take to him."
"Of course."
"Do you suppose...?” Nell began and broke off, looking up at her brother.
Jonathan slipped an arm around her, drawing her close. “Do I suppose Giles will have the time to come south? I don't know, Nell. We have the King's work to do. Write him your letters but don't hope too much."
"Uncle Jon! Story.” Ann was at his knee, her wide blue eyes begging.
"About how you took Horley Bridge!” Tom put in.
Jonathan shook his head. “I will save Horley Bridge for another day, Tom. How about a tale of King Arthur and his knights?"
Tom looked momentarily disappointed but brightened considerably as Jonathan abandoned the women and sat down on the low step, his long legs crossed, with the children before him. For a soldier of fortune who carried the King's Commission on deadly and secret business, the actor who had carried secret letters for the King had a wonderful rapport with children. They stared up at him, their eyes wide, hanging on every word. The women seated together on the wall were as much enthralled in the tale of enchantment and magic as the children.
The story over, howls of disappointment resounded as Tom and Ann were harried off to bed with Nell at their heels, saying she intended to write her letters. Kate stood to follow, knowing propriety demanded she should do so but trying hard to ignore the nagging disappointment of a pleasant evening abruptly curtailed. Jonathan leaned casually against the wall of the house, looking out over the garden.
"Must you go, Mistress Ashley?” His voice halted her at the door.
She turned to face him.
"I have no great desire to leave this perfect evening. Unless you are anxious for your bed, would you do me the honour of walking with me a while?” he said, straightening and turning to face her.
"Put that way how could I refuse?” Kate replied with a smile.
He held out his hand to her. She took it and he helped her down the steps. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the feel of his strong, calloused fingers. She slipped her hand into the inviting crook of his arm, feeling the hardness of the muscles beneath the plain cloth of his jacket that he wore unlaced in the warm evening. In silence they walked into the ruined garden where the smell of the roses lingered on the evening air.
"Sir Francis told me the garden was ruined by
Parliament horses,” Kate said.
"I don't suppose he told you that they were looking for me,” Jonathan said.
"He mentioned something about his scapegrace grandson,” Kate conceded.
"Needless to say they were disappointed, but they took their revenge on the house and the garden as you can see. I am afraid you will have your work cut out trying to restore some order to this jungle."
"I am leaving on Friday,” she said. “I'm afraid the garden will have to wait for another visit."
They were out of sight of the terrace, in what Kate had already identified as the remains of a knot garden. Jonathan guided her to a lichened stone bench against a rose-bowered wall, and they sat down.
"Tell me about ‘home',” Jonathan asked. “From memory it's somewhere near York isn't it?"
"Barton Manor. A few hours’ ride west of York. My sister and her husband live at Barton Hall, which is much grander than the Manor. William has a good fortune in the wool trade."
"And your parents?"
"Both dead. My father was a clothier. All I have left is my sister. I lived with her after my father died."
"And the Ashleys being neighbours, I presume that is how you met my cousin Richard?"
Kate nodded. “Of course. We'd known each other a long time and it was mutually convenient,” she said. “I had a good dowry and Richard fair prospects and—” she looked up at him “—we loved each other."
He smiled in response but there was no laughter in his eyes. “A happy convenience for you both,” he said. “And if it were not for the war, you would be living in wedded bless, surrounded by a brood of children."
Kate looked away, the pain of that simple observation cutting her soul bare.
"I'm sorry, Kate, I didn't mean to remind you of what might have been. I'm the last person who has any right to do that.” His voice was gentle. “I was truly sorry to hear about Richard. From what I knew of him, he didn't seem to be a soldier."
By The Sword Page 4
