By The Sword

by Alison Stuart

  "I would be delighted, Colonel,” Kate said as he stood aside to let her pass.

  She swept past him, with Jacob trailing in her wake. Their horses waited on the gravelled forecourt of the handsome Elizabethan house. Nell's house, Kate thought sadly, looking up at the mullioned windows.

  She hoped Jacob didn't notice her hand shake as she took the reins of her horse from him.

  "Did you mean what you said about Sir Jonathan?” Jacob asked boldly as they rode away.

  Her words had gone against the impression he'd gleaned from servants’ gossip but then he paid no heed to gossip. She gave him an odd look, but he did not know her well enough to recognize its meaning.

  "No, Jacob, of course I did not mean what I said. I have met Sir Jonathan and I have a high regard for him,” she said and smiled with more confidence than she felt. “I think the interview went well, don't you? I have certainly left him with something to ponder and I doubt our tenants will be harassed again."

  Jacob looked at her shrewdly and said nothing. Kate smiled to herself and thought how Jonathan would have enjoyed being a witness to that interview. She had learned a great deal from him in their short acquaintance.

  In some ways the next interview was going to be more trying, and Kate's heart sank as they turned into the yard of the Barlow's farm. It had all the look of neglect she had expected. She caught Jacob's sharp eyes on her, waiting for her reaction.

  Susan Barlow waited by the door, her hands twisting in a not-too-clean apron. She was a thin, harried woman, who could have passed for twice her age. As Jacob helped Kate dismount, Susan smoothed the crumpled folds of the apron and curtsied to Kate.

  "You're welcome, my lady,” she said.

  Kate opened her mouth to correct her as to her correct mode of address but decided better of it.

  "Would you care for some refreshment, my lady?” Susan held open the door of her house.

  It took a few minutes for Kate's eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom of the kitchen. Like the farm it bore the imperceptible signs of neglect, dust and cobwebs where there should be none. By the fire a man sat, staring at nothing in particular. As Kate watched he would twitch and jerk and unintelligible sounds would come out.

  Susan followed her gaze and laughed nervously. “Don't you mind my Jem, my lady. He don't mean no harm.” She paused, looking sadly at the man. “He's not been quite right since the war."

  My husband is dead, thought Kate with a shudder, but that is nothing compared with this living death.

  Susan indicated a chair at the table, and Kate sat while Susan busied herself with some broth and freshly baked bread.

  A tall, lanky boy of about fifteen stomped in from outside. “What's to eat, Ma?” he demanded.

  "Now, Sam, mind your manners! My lady and Master Howell have come to visit,” Susan said awkwardly.

  The boy whipped off his hat and apologized. Kate smiled at him and he took a seat at the other end of the table, ostensibly concentrating on his food but occasionally casting Kate furtive looks.

  Brushing the last crumbs from her skirt, Kate folded her hands on the table. “Mistress Barlow,” she began. “You must know why we have come."

  The woman looked at her unhappily. “Aye, my lady. It's about the rent. It's just with only the boy and me—” she cast a glance in the direction of her husband “—we just can't seem to make ends meet."

  "Have you no one else to help?” Kate asked.

  She shook her head. “I've put five children in their graves, my lady, and my brother was lost in the war. I've no one but Sam and my girl Essie, who works up at the hall."

  Kate stood up and wandered unhappily around the room, looking for inspiration. She stopped to inspect the work on a loom that stood beneath the window. She had been the daughter of a clothier and knew enough of the art to recognize quality.

  "Did you weave this?” she asked Susan.

  "Aye, my lady. I do a bit of weaving for the extra money it brings in."

  "It's good work,” Kate observed. She looked at Jacob, thoughtfully biting her lip. “Jacob, is there a vacant cottage in the village?"

  Jacob scratched his head. “Aye. Old widow Read's place. It needs a mite of fixing up though."

  Kate looked back at Susan, seeing the small glimmer of hope beginning to flicker in the woman's eyes.

  "Mistress Barlow, it is plain that you cannot cope with the farm and the responsibility of caring for your husband. I have no choice but to turn you out of the farm, but if I were to offer you the cottage instead, as a grace and favour for the service your husband did for the Thorntons, you could work full time on your weaving and earn an income doing what you're good at. Would that be acceptable to you?"

  The woman's face broke into wreaths of smiles and she grabbed her son's hand. “Oh, my lady, would you do that for me?"

  Jacob cleared his throat. “I know Master Knowles has need of a good boy, if young Sam would be interested?"

  With Susan Barlow's effusive gratitude ringing in her ears, Kate left the sad little farm. “Have we anyone to put into the farm?” she asked Jacob.

  Jacob thought a minute then nodded slowly. “Aye, Jeremiah Knowles’ eldest boy has just taken a wife. They're an honest, hard working family. They'll soon put the farm to rights.” He paused a long while, before clearing his throat and saying gruffly, “You've done well, Mistress Ashley."

  Kate allowed herself a small, self-congratulatory smile. She could understand any reticence on the part of the tenants and villagers. Not only was she a foreigner but a “Roundhead” as well, but if she had won Jacob Howell over, general acceptance of herself and Thomas would follow.

  As the days passed, it became obvious that she had underestimated the weariness of the Seven Ways tenantry. They had lived with penury and uncertainty for so long that Kate's coming was, perhaps, a relief. Of course, Jacob assured her, they would have preferred to see Jonathan take his rightful place, but they had known that were that to happen the land would be immediately sequestered and some crony of Colonel Price's assume the position.

  Given a choice between that possibility and a boy of good Thornton blood, loyalty to Kate and Tom seemed assured. Respect still had to be won, but Kate's fair treatment of the Barlows was well received and Susan Barlow became Kate's staunchest defender to any doubters remaining in the village.

  The full impact of Kate's influence came at the first market at Kidderminster following her arrival. For the first time in what seemed years, the Seven Ways tenantry received full price for their stock. Colonel Price passed the new Mistress of Seven Ways as meek as a lamb, doffing his hat and bowing. For the time being anyway, he was not willing to earn the enmity of a personal friend of the Fairfaxes.

  The months began to roll into each other as Kate grew in confidence and asserted control over the estate. There always seemed to be some new problem, some knot to unravel, and some plausible reason to stay on a few more weeks.

  Conscious of her promise to her sister, Kate wrote to Suzanne and told her that while she still planned to return to Yorkshire before winter, she could see no way to come earlier as there was too much to see to before she would be content to leave Seven Ways in Jacob's capable hands.

  Ten

  The summer drifted into a fine, hot August, and Jacob sought Kate out to discuss the matter of the harvest with her. The crops were ready and it seemed foolish not to make the most of the fine weather. To Nell's horror, Kate insisted that every member of the household assist with the harvest.

  "Kate, I simply can't,” Nell protested. “It will ruin my hands."

  Kate looked at her unsympathetically. “I'm sorry, Nell,” she said. “Everyone is to help, and that includes us."

  Dressed in an old gown of Kate's and a wide-brimmed hat, Nell made a grudging appearance the next morning. She looked gloomily at the summer sun, already fierce and promising a warm day.

  "This will be death to my complexion,” she complained. “Are you sure I can't help with the foo
d?"

  "No,” said Kate firmly, “that is a job for the old and infirm. We need every able-bodied person out here if we are to get the harvest in while the weather is fine."

  Trailing sulkily after the rest of the party, Nell's appearance at the first field created some amusement among the tenants and villagers who had gathered to help. Nell smiled as prettily as she could, and casting a last, despairing look at Kate's implacable face, she followed the reapers into the field.

  They were working the fields closest to the hall, the sun high and hot. Kate and Nell followed the reapers, gathering the straw into stoops. Kate straightened and eased her aching back. Nell had stopped work and sat in the shade of a tree, fanning her face with her hat. After two days of harvest, her hands were raw from handling the coarse straw and her face and arms were pink from the sun.

  The other workers had also paused for a break and a drink from the jugs of small ale that had been brought out from the kitchens. Young Sam Barlow stood a little way off, chatting to Master Knowles’ pretty daughter.

  He suddenly broke off and turned to Kate, his eyes wide. “Troopers, Mistress. Yon!"

  There was a murmur of disquiet from the other tenants and workers. Troopers were an unpleasant memory from the past and meant only one thing: trouble. Kate stood up and squinted into the sun. Sam's sharp eyes were not wrong. Coming up the lane towards the house was a body of about fifteen horsemen.

  Nell came up beside her, her face puckered with concern. “Is it Price?” she asked.

  Kate shook her head. “They're not Price's troops” she said. “I've never seen such a raggle taggle collection."

  She drew a sharp breath as she recognised a familiar grey horse at the head of the troop.

  "Nell!” she whispered breathlessly, “I believe it may be Jonathan."

  Nell clutched at her arm but neither woman moved as the troops stopped in the forecourt, and old Joseph came out of the house to meet them. She saw Jonathan lean down from his horse to talk to the steward then look towards the fields. He turned his horse, and he and another rider broke away, cantering towards the field where they waited.

  Nell paled. “Oh no! It's Giles.” She looked accusingly at Kate then down at her dusty skirts and her ruined hands. “Oh, Kate, how could you! This is not how I imagined greeting my husband after four years,” she wailed.

  Kate tried hard not to smile as she walked forward to greet the riders, a surprisingly reticent Nell trailing in her wake. Both men were dressed in well-worn buff coats and red sashes. Jonathan wore the familiar, low crowned beaver hat pulled well down as always. Giles’ more fashionable tall, crowned hat sported a jaunty red feather.

  Jonathan drew rein and Kate placed her hand lightly on Amber's bridle.

  "Sir Jonathan,” she said, conscious of the eyes of the tenantry on her back, “what brings you to Seven Ways?"

  Jonathan bowed from the saddle. He looked tired and thin, but she caught the familiar sparkle in his eye and her heart leaped in response.

  "Mistress Ashley, please pardon this intrusion,” he said. “We were hoping for some provisions and a bed for the night for some weary soldiers."

  She looked across to the troopers, waiting patiently in the hot sun.

  "Of course,” she said. “Tell your men they can rest in the barn. With plenty of new hay they should be able to make themselves comfortable."

  "Thank you, Mistress Ashley,” Jonathan said. “It will only be for tonight, you have my word."

  "Ah! So this, I take it, is the incomparable Mistress Ashley, of whom I only hear such fine talk!” Jonathan's companion interposed.

  Jonathan looked around and inclined his head.

  "My apologies,” he said mockingly. “Mistress Katherine Ashley, Giles, Lord Longley."

  Kate curtsied politely.

  From behind her a small voice said, “Hello, Giles."

  "Well bless me!” Giles pushed his hat back. “Here I was thinking that there was an extraordinarily pretty maid, hanging back, and damn me she turns out to be my wife."

  He dismounted easily from his horse and took Nell in his arms, kissing her passionately to the amusement of the onlookers, some of whom cheered and whooped. Kate caught Jonathan's eye but he was public property and their reunion would have to wait. Already his horse had been surrounded by those keen to hear what news he brought.

  Jacob Howell, arriving late on the scene from the other fields, greeted Jonathan warmly. Barely raising his quiet voice, he ordered everyone back to work. The reapers turned reluctantly and trailed back to the fields, whispering amongst themselves.

  Jonathan looked down at Kate. “I must see to my men."

  Turning his horse he cantered gently back to his men, waiting patiently for him. Giles followed on foot, the reins of his horse looped around one arm and his other arm around his wife.

  Kate looked up at Jacob Howell, whose eyes were fixed on the men by the house. His face, as usual, was inscrutable. “Jacob, if you can see this field is finished, and then everyone can take a break."

  He nodded. “Of course, Mistress Ashley. We are nearly done anyway,” he said.

  Kate walked slowly back to the house, composing herself. Her stomach seemed to be doing somersaults and her breath kept catching in her throat. Jonathan had come. Tonight—she felt a breathless sense of anticipation—tonight she would hold him in her arms.

  Jonathan's troopers had dismounted and were seeing to their horses. The impression of military capability proved to be just an illusion. To a man the troopers looked tired and dirty. They wore an assortment of uniforms, carried some decidedly antique weapons and rode every description of nag. However they greeted her politely as she walked past them.

  In the kitchen Kate paused to discuss dinner with her cook. Jonathan had come home. Tonight they would kill the fatted calf. Upstairs there was no sign of any of the Longleys. They had obviously withdrawn to Nell's apartment for some privacy but she found Jonathan in the parlour, seated in one of the large, oak chairs, a draught of ale in his hand provided by the faithful Joseph who hovered at the door with a happy smile on his face.

  Tom sat on a stool at his feet, hanging on every word as Jonathan described the last few miserable months in Scotland and the long march south. Jonathan looked up at her entrance and smiled but she knew her turn had yet to come. Kate leaned against the wall by the door and listened. For now she was content just to observe, take in every detail of his face, still dusty from the road.

  "So where is the King now?” Tom asked.

  "Ten miles away, no more. He expects to enter Worcester tomorrow,” Jonathan said casually, as if such an occurrence was commonplace.

  "Will there be a battle?” Tom asked.

  "Yes,” he replied, “there will be a battle, Tom."

  "Will you win?” The boy's eyes were shining.

  There was the fraction of a hesitation that only Kate, knowing Jonathan so well, would have detected. “God willing,” he said, placing the empty mug down on the table and rising wearily to his feet. “If you will excuse me, Tom. I have some business to discuss with your mother before supper."

  He took Kate by the arm and guided her out of the room, across the hall to the study where he firmly shut the door and locked it behind him. His face gave away nothing but his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter.

  Kate stood defiantly in the middle of the room and crossed her arms. “And what business, pray, do you have to discuss with me that requires the door to be locked?"

  "This business!"

  He drew her into his arms and kissed her with a passion that was only met by her own.

  "Are we doomed forever to meet like this? Hurried kisses behind closed doors?” he whispered when they eventually drew apart sufficiently to gain a breathing space.

  "It seems so."

  Kate held him closer, pressing herself against him. She could not imagine ever letting him go again. The difference in their height put her on a level with his heart and she could feel its firm b
eat against the soft cloth of his shirt. There was so much to say and this might well be their only chance of privacy but reluctantly she laid her hands on his chest and took a step back.

  "What are you really doing here, Jon?” she asked.

  "As you heard me tell Tom, the King entered England with a Scottish army about a month ago. Giles and I have come on ahead to try and raise some support for the cause,” he said and added bitterly, “to little avail. Unless the Welsh can join us at Worcester, this is a battle that will be lost before it even began."

  "How many men do you have?” Kate asked.

  "Barely thirteen thousand to Cromwell's thirty thousand,” Jonathan said grimly.

  "Why Worcester?"

  "It's strategic to Wales and London and well protected by the Severn and the Teme.” He shrugged. “It's as good a place as any."

  He ran a hand through his hair and walked restlessly over to the window. “It's a nightmare, Kate,” he continued. “The Scots are fighting among themselves. Charles’ great childhood friend, the Duke of Buckingham, is behaving like a sulky child because Charles, quite rightly, has refused him supreme command. And as I predicted, the English are tired of war. Few have flocked to the King's standard.” He turned back to face her. “And in the middle is the King, eternally optimistic but buffeted this way and that by his advisers."

  Kate looked at him. She had no comfort to give and none was expected. She cared nothing for the King, the Duke of Buckingham or the Scots. Her only concern, and the greatest, was that amidst the conflict to come, he would die. She would lose him, just as she had lost Richard. She wanted to rail against him, hold him here where he would be safe, but she knew that those words had to lie unspoken. She could not hold him and he would be no safer here than anywhere in England.

  "Are you well, Jon?” she asked, changing the subject.

  "Well enough,” he said with a non-committal shrug. He smiled and caught her hand, pulling her towards him again. “How goes it here, Mistress Ashley? It cannot be easy for you."

  Kate could afford a small smile of deserved pride in her achievements. “Not as badly as I feared, Jon. Thanks to the intervention of your Uncle Nathaniel Freeman, Colonel Price has caused us no trouble and our harvest looks good. We should survive, unless of course you plan to abscond with our winter supplies?"