"Good morning, Mistress Ashley,” he whispered.
"Good morning, Sir Jonathan.” She smiled sleepily. “What are you looking at?"
"You,” he said, “I want to remember you like this."
Memory jolted her into the present and she felt the pricking of tears behind her eyes. “Today...” she said, unable to complete the sentence. Today he was leaving her.
"Shhh.” He kissed her again.
She reached up and her arms circled his neck, pulling him down towards her. Their bodies joined as one, moving in perfect harmony with each other as they took the time to savour these last few precious minutes.
Even when they were both spent, they clung to each other as if relinquishing the bond between them would mark the irretrievable separation that had to occur. Kate pulled him closer to her. So many words crowded her mind but they would all remain unsaid. Everything they had to say to each other passed silently between them.
Jonathan kissed her hair and with an obvious effort pulled away from her embrace.
"Dearest,” he said, “it's time. I must be away."
She nodded in bleak agreement. Protest would be pointless. He had to go and she had to let him depart. Another farewell; too many farewells.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and she knelt up behind him, wrapping her arms around his well-muscled shoulders, nuzzling his ear.
"Kate!” he protested. “I have to get dressed.” He grabbed one of her hands and put it to his lips. “Who would ever guess you were such a wanton!” he said, extricating himself from her arms.
She lay back on the bed and watched him dress, trying, as he had done, to hold this memory of him.
"Where will you go?” she asked at last.
He paused in lacing his shirt. “London,” he said, “and from there, the Hague. I will send word as soon as I reach safety."
She nodded and sat up, pulling her night rail on.
"What about you?” he asked.
"As soon as Giles can travel, we will go north to Barton for the winter,” she said. “Suzanne is with child again and I would like to be with her."
"With child again?” Jonathan shook his head. “I swear William must only have to hang his hat up!"
Kate's hand moved involuntarily to her own flat stomach, and she bit her lip, wondering if the last few days with her lover may have left her with child. While the thought filled her with dread, a small part of her cried out to have his child, to hold a part of him with her always.
She dismissed the thought and summoned Ellen to help with her dressing before the family gathered in the courtyard to see Jonathan on his way. Giles, leaning heavily on a stick, stood beside Nell, holding Nan by the hand, and Kate, rigidly holding herself together for the sake of the others and the servants who gathered in the doorway.
Jonathan gathered up the reins of David Ashley's chestnut. In exchange for Amber, Kate had told him to sell the horse in London. It would give him sufficient money for a fare to the continent and a start to life as an exile.
"Where's Tom?” Jonathan asked.
"Wait for me!” Tom shot into the courtyard, clutching a filthy rag in his equally filthy hand.
Kate looked at her son with distaste. “What do you have there, Tom?"
Reverently Tom unwrapped the rag and held up the Order of St. George that the King had given him on the night of the battle.
"Jonathan, can you give this back to the King?” Tom asked.
Jonathan took the precious George from the boy. He shook his head. “No. I think Giles should take it,” he said.
"Why would it be any safer with me?” Giles enquired.
Jonathan shook his head. “I just think it would be."
He met his friend's eyes and Giles nodded. Only Giles knew that Jonathan's route to London involved a detour that could well present a risk of capture.
"Do you really have to go?” Tom asked Jonathan.
Jonathan nodded. “I do, Tom. You know that."
Tom grimaced. “What will you do? Will you fight for Prince Rupert again?"
Jonathan pulled a face. “I think not. When last I heard, the noble Prince had taken to the sea as commander of the King's navy, and I have no great desire to join Rupert on his aquatic adventures!"
"You will write and tell us your adventures, though?” Tom moved beside his mother and suffered her to put an arm around his shoulders.
"Of course.” Jonathan swung up into the saddle. He had assumed his John Miller persona and wore a plain grey, woollen jacket and breeches beneath a dark cloak, his much-battered hat on his head. He carried Jacob Howell's short, serviceable sword, a pistol and sufficient books to cover his alias.
Kate moved beside him and he bent from the saddle to kiss her, a chaste public kiss on the cheek.
"God speed!” Nell said and lifted her hand.
Jonathan took one last look around the courtyard, at the house, his sister, his friend, the servants and the woman he loved, before putting his heels to the horse and riding out beneath the gatehouse without a backward glance.
* * * *
The last time Jonathan had seen Oxford, it had been the King's headquarters and the streets had thronged with soldiers and courtiers. It would take more than six years to obliterate the massive earthworks and other evidence of the important role the city had played during the war but at least, superficially, it seemed to have returned to its peaceful role as a place of learning.
The thought that he may have a child yet living had played continually on Jonathan's mind until it had become a familiar tune. He'd not told Kate, reasoning that she had troubles enough already without assuming any vicarious responsibility for his child. Only Giles had been apprised of his intentions and had tried to dissuade him from this venture.
Jonathan stabled his horse at an inn just outside the city wall and strolled unchallenged through the gates. Outwardly Oxford had become once more the pleasant, dreamy city of Jonathan's dissolute youth. Students in gowns, their heads bent against the cold, wet weather, mingled in the streets with the townspeople, just as they had done for hundreds of years.
The Woolnoughs’ house stood in Turl Street, unaltered in the six years since he had last seen it. He almost expected to see Mary's face at the parlour window, watching the street for his arrival, but the lower windows were shuttered and the house looked cold and impenetrable.
The rain that had fallen persistently since he had left Seven Ways continued to fall on Oxford. The cold, autumnal drizzle penetrated through his heavy cloak and ensured that the streets of the town were largely deserted. He gave the house one last look but dared not loiter. Instead he slipped gratefully into a small hostelry from which he could just see the house, bought himself ale and waited.
The afternoon slipped by, and he had all but abandoned his watch when he heard a familiar voice.
"Now then, do ‘ee stop thy complaining! We're nearly home, see?"
Bet, Mary's loyal and devoted maidservant, had stopped just outside the door. She held a child by the hand. The child, too heavily bundled in a cloak for Jonathan to even see what sex it was, complained in a high, fretful voice. Jonathan's heart lurched. He picked up his hat and stepped outside the door just as Bet, pulling her unwilling charge by the hand, had started off towards the Woolnough house.
"Bet!"
At the sound of his voice, the woman froze then swung around sharply on her heel, her face breaking into wreaths of smiles as she recognized him. He put his finger to his lips warningly, to stall her from declaring his name in her loud voice.
The child, a girl Jonathan could see now, looked up at him with disinterested eyes. She seemed about the right age. Could it be possible that Prescott had told him the truth and that this was his daughter?
"Bet, I must talk to you,” he said. “Can we meet?"
Bet considered a moment. “I must get madam here home and in some dry clothes and see to Dame Elizabeth. I could meet you in an hour, perhaps,” she said. “Where?"
He hesi
tated. They needed privacy and somewhere dry.
"The church of St. Michael, Bet. In an hour."
Bet's eyes shone. She thrived on subterfuge. She had willingly aided and abetted her mistress in the first flowering of youthful love. Later, in the more deadly game of adultery, Bet had carried their notes and arranged their trysts.
"An hour,” she agreed. “Come on, madam.” She addressed the child who was poking an already damp foot at the puddles. “We've been shopping and Madam would stop to feed the ducks,” Bet explained.
Jonathan smiled and nodded, still hardly daring to look at the child who skipped off up the street without a backward glance.
The church of St. Michael stood open and quiet. A few godly souls occupied the front pews, too intent on their prayers to notice the tall man who slipped quietly into a darkened pew to the rear of the church. Jonathan removed his hat and knelt, grateful for the peace and the chance to make some amends with God.
It had long gone past the hour before Bet slipped in beside him with muttered apologies for her tardiness.
"You've not changed, Bet,” he said.
"Oh you always did have a silver tongue!” She blushed and self-consciously patted her brown curls. “I can't say the same for you. I scarce recognized you in the street."
"Well I don't encourage people to recognize me,” remarked Jonathan grimly. “It generally means trouble."
It was not the time for idle gossip, so he came straight to the point.
"I've come about the child,” he said, adding in an uncertain tone, “...my child."
Bet paled and sat back against the pew. “How did ‘ee hear about her?” she said. “Master and Dame Elizabeth were dead set about you never knowing."
"That was the child with you this afternoon, Bet?"
Bet nodded. Hundreds of questions suddenly flooded into Jonathan's mind. He caught his breath and finally asked the one question that had haunted him for the last six years.
"Why didn't Mary tell me she was with child?"
Bet's cheerful face clouded over. “Oh, Sir Jonathan, at the time you went, she wasn't sure and she didn't want to trap you into taking her with you."
Agonised, Jonathan twisted his hat in his hand. “I would never have left her to Prescott and that old harridan if I had known, or even suspected."
Bet touched his arm sympathetically. “It wouldn't have changed anything. Like as not she'd still have died. She were too small for child bearing."
"Maybe,” Jonathan agreed. “But the child, Bet. What's her name?"
"Tabitha, Mistress Mary called her."
"Tabitha!” He tried the name out. “What sort of life has she led?"
Bet sighed. “She's led a lonely life, poor, motherless thing."
"Can I see her, Bet?"
"Not while the old lady lives and breathes. She would call the soldiers as soon as she laid eyes on you."
"And your master?"
"Dead these two springs. It's just me and the old lady and the little lass now. I tell you the old lady is not long for the world, although she's going to her Lord kicking and screaming!” Bet sighed.
"I can imagine,” Jonathan remarked grimly, remembering his last interview with the old woman.
Bet paused. “I tell you what, though. Come tonight. When you see the light go out upstairs, knock twice on the kitchen door and I'll let you in."
Jonathan smiled. Bet the schemer had not changed.
They parted at the church door. Jonathan took his evening meal then returned to the street to wait for Bet's signal. When the tiny light in the upstairs window went out, he gathered his courage and crossed the road. Through the kitchen window he could see Bet setting the dough to rise for tomorrow's bread. He knocked quietly on the kitchen door.
Brushing the flour from her hands she opened the door to him. “Come in and warm yourself,” she said.
Although the rain had abated, it had been a long, cold wait and he accepted the offer of the fire gratefully.
"Is she here?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
"Aye, upstairs in her bed asleep. Do you want me to wake her?"
Jonathan nodded.
He caught Bet's arm as she stood to go. “You'll not wake the old lady?"
"Bless you, no. I've given her a sleeping draught that would fell an ox!” Bet smiled mischievously.
Jonathan stood by the fire, every nerve in his body strung to breaking point. Even before battle he had never felt so ill. He had a daughter called Tabitha; the name spun around in his mind as it had done since he had spoken to Bet that afternoon. He tried to imagine what he would say to her.
It seemed an age before Bet returned, leading the child by her hand. Tabitha's long, dark hair cascaded out from beneath her nightcap and she clutched a ragged dirty doll of sorts. She yawned, blinked sleepily in the light of the kitchen and looked up curiously at the tall, strange man by the fireplace. Jonathan searched her face, taking in every detail. She had Mary's heart-shaped face but the hazel eyes and dark hair were his legacy.
Bet knelt down beside the child and said in a serious voice, “Mistress Tabitha, this is your father, Sir Jonathan Thornton."
The child looked at her disbelievingly, then up at Jonathan. The sleep had gone from her eyes and they were bright as she scanned his face.
"Is he really my father?” she asked Bet.
Jonathan, normally so much at ease with children, suddenly felt totally inadequate. He crouched down to the level of the child and said softly, “I am your father, Tabitha."
Her reaction was not what he had visualized in the long wait to meet her. The small face contorted with anger and she flew at him, her fists flailing helplessly against his chest.
"I hate you, I hate you!” she screamed.
Not wanting to wake Dame Elizabeth, Jonathan gently disengaged the small virago and held her at arm's length. She glared at him, her chest heaving and tears of rage and frustration splashing on the flags of the kitchen floor.
"Hush, child!” Bet scolded. “You'll wake your Grandam and there'll be hell to pay for both of us."
At that the child's sobs ceased and she stared, still gulping, into her father's eyes.
"Tabitha,” he said quietly, making sure his eyes held hers, “why do you hate me?"
She hiccupped, and the rage in her face subsided to be replaced with fear. “You're the devil. You killed my mother!"
"Ah! Is that what Dame Elizabeth told you?” he asked.
She nodded.
Still holding her eye he asked, “Do I look like the devil?"
Slowly she shook her head, and he continued, “Tabitha, I'm just an ordinary man and I loved your mother very much."
"I don't believe you.” She quivered with rage.
Bet interrupted. “'Tis true, Mistress Tabitha, he did, and your mother loved him too."
"Then why did you go away?” Tabitha challenged.
Jonathan tried to keep his voice even but he could hear the emotion at the edge of his words. “I was a soldier, Tabitha. I had to go away to war and your mother never told me about you. I promise you I knew nothing about you until a week ago and then I came as soon as I could."
She looked from one to the other. Her face crumpled, and all the years of hurt and loneliness spilled out of her. Clutching her doll she ran out of the room. Jonathan made to follow her, but Bet's hand restrained him. He looked down at her, agonised and rendered helpless by the child's pain.
Bet shook her head. “You must give her time, Sir Jonathan,” she said. “Dame Elizabeth's filled her ‘ead with all sorts of stories about you. None of ‘em good."
"Devil take that woman!” said Jonathan with feeling, subsiding onto one of the kitchen stools. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, trying to imagine them circling Dame Elizabeth's scrawny neck
"Bet, what will become of her when Dame Elizabeth dies?” he asked.
Bet looked up, surprised. “I don't know,” she said then added thoughtfully, “Dame Elizabet
h is the last of the family, save for a cousin who will inherit the house. He won't want her, a motherless bastard child.” She shook her head sadly. “There is none that would want her save perhaps as a serving maid."
Jonathan ran his hand through his hair in despair and frustration. For now, cold and unloving as it might be, she did at least have a home, but without the protection of her grandmother what hope was there for an illegitimate child nobody wanted? He stood up and walked slowly over to the kitchen door.
"What will you do, Sir Jonathan?” Bet's voice came from behind him.
He turned and looked at her. “I don't know, Bet,” he said wearily. “I need some time to think."
He stumbled back to his lodgings through the dark, familiar streets of Oxford. His feet suddenly seemed to have turned to lead, and utter despair hung over him. Giles had been right; it had been madness to come here. He would have been better off never knowing about the child.
He flung himself on to the bed and stared up at the ceiling beams. The urge to run again pulled at him but he knew that this time he could not escape. He could never live with himself if he abandoned his child again to her very uncertain future. He owed Mary and her daughter some atonement for the past.
The thought of his own parlous situation overwhelmed him, and for one of the few times in his twenty-eight years, alone in the concealing darkness of his inn room, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and slid unchecked onto the none too clean bed covers.
* * * *
The effects of a largely sleepless night were written on Jonathan's face as he stood outside the neat house in Turl Street. He had faced the worst any foe in battle could throw at him and he had known real fear, but nothing in this world could fully prepare him for an interview with that fearsome termagant from his past, Dame Elizabeth Woolnough.
Several times he had made to knock on the door but his courage had failed him. He paced the street restlessly, heedless to the curious stares of the passersby. Suddenly above the noise of the day, a child's scream pierced the air. The sound cut Jonathan to his heart. It had come from the Woolnough house. Without any more hesitation he beat on the door.
Bet opened it, her face pale and strained. “Oh, Sir Jonathan.” She grasped his hands. “Miss Tabitha told her about your coming here. I've never seen her so angry. She'll kill the lass and then she'll start on me."
By The Sword Page 25
