Jonathan shook his head. “No, I didn't know that."
"He was a member of the Long Parliament. Katherine cannot owe any thanks to your grandfather for saddling her with Seven Ways."
"No,” Jonathan agreed.
"Still, she seems to have taken it on. Brave woman."
He nodded. “She's an extraordinary woman."
Jonathan caught the glance between his aunt and uncle, but let it pass without comment from him.
"How is Nell?” Henrietta asked.
"Nell is with child.” Jonathan passed on the small snippet of family gossip.
"How?” Thomas asked ingenuously.
Jonathan looked at him and laughed. “The usual way I presume, Uncle,” he said then added, “Giles was hardly likely to miss an opportunity to see his wife once he was as close as Worcester."
Nathaniel nodded. “Ah, Giles. I presumed him still in France. He was at Worcester too?"
Jonathan nodded.
"Where is he now? Is he all right?” Henrietta asked.
"He's all right,” Jonathan said.
Henrietta looked at Jonathan and placed a kindly hand on his arm. “You're exhausted, Jon,” she said. “Go and rest and we will talk in the morning."
* * * *
With the infinite capacity of youth for speedy recovery, Jonathan found not only was Tabitha up, but playing on the floor of the parlour with Henrietta's little dog. A smile lit her face when she saw him and she rushed up to him and took his hand.
"Is this where we are going to live, Father?” she asked. “It's a lovely house and everyone is so nice."
Jonathan picked her up and smiled. “Well I'm glad to see you looking so bright this morning,” he said, ignoring her question. “What's the dog's name?"
"Pippin,” Tabitha replied.
Henrietta came in with some flowers from the garden.
"Ah, you're up. I let you sleep. Nathaniel has gone to town but he will be back later. He will wish to see you. Now, you probably want to break your fast."
She rang the bell for the maid and told her to find something for Jonathan to eat.
The maid obliged and reappeared carrying a tray loaded with a substantial breakfast. While Jonathan ate, Henrietta sat with Tabitha on the window seat, showing her a game that seemed to be played with string. Jonathan watched, fascinated that the grave, unhappy child of just two days ago could so suddenly blossom.
After breakfast Henrietta suggested a walk by the river as the rain had passed, leaving a clear, fresh, autumn day. The garden of the fine house ran down from the house to the banks of the Thames. It had always been a place of happy memories for Jonathan. Tabitha ran ahead with the little dog and Jonathan walked slowly with Henrietta's hand tucked into his arm.
"I know someone who would love this garden,” he said as they strolled through the pleasant borders.
Henrietta looked sideways at him. “Someone special?” she asked.
He looked down towards the river. “Someone very special,” he admitted.
"Ah. Kate Ashley?” Henrietta enquired.
Jonathan looked down at his aunt. “Am I that transparent?"
"Of course you are, dear boy. Don't forget, of all your family, I probably know you the best!"
Jonathan shook his head and patted her hand affectionately. “You flatter yourself, Aunt. It has been ten years."
"And you think you're so very different?"
He looked at her with a half smile. “I thought I was!"
Henrietta shook her head. “Well, take it from me, you aren't! Now you have slept on your problems, have you any thoughts as to what you are going to do with your daughter?"
They stopped on a terrace to watch Tabitha throwing a stick for the dog.
He shrugged helplessly. “I have no choice but to take her with me to Holland, Aunt. I can't send her to Seven Ways at the moment. Her great-grandmother will probably look for her there and Kate—Kate has responsibility enough without another mouth to feed."
"Does Kate know about the child?"
He shook his head.
"I see,” Henrietta said pensively. “Jon, you've not a penny to your name. How can you possibly expect to give the child a decent home in Holland or France?"
She had asked the question that he himself had been turning over and over for the last two days. He turned a tortured face to her. “I don't know, Aunt Hen. God help me, I really do not know."
Henrietta stopped and took both his hands, forcing him to look at her. “Jonathan, please don't take this the wrong way, but Nathaniel and I lay awake for hours talking last night and we both agree.” Her eyes held his. “Jon, leave her with us."
She had given him the answer, the perfect answer: A loving, comfortable home for the child. Perfect except for one thing: he would not share it. A terrible pain wrapped itself around his chest and he looked away momentarily.
Henrietta saw his hesitation and squeezed his hands sympathetically. “Jon, you must see that it is the only solution until you have sorted out your life."
He sighed with resignation. “You're right, Hen, and I thank you both for the offer but how can I tell her?"
They were interrupted by Tabitha herself, flying across the grass, her skirts billowing out. The pain manifested itself in Jonathan's chest again. How can I leave her, he thought bending to gather her up in his arms as she flew towards him, when I have only just found her?
Carrying Tabitha, Jonathan walked up to the house.
"Do you like this house, kitten?” he asked.
"Oh yes, it's lovely."
He set her down on a low garden wall. “It's not my house, Tabitha. I don't actually have a home,” he admitted ruefully.
"Nowhere?"
"Well, my family lives in a lovely old house in Worcestershire called Seven Ways."
She frowned. “That's a funny name."
"It's a very old house."
Tabitha swung her legs, kicking her heels against the wall. “Do I...?” she began. “Do you have any other boys or girls?"
Despite himself, Jonathan smiled, remembering a similar conversation with Tom. “No, I don't, but there is a lady who lives at Seven Ways. I hope to marry her one day. She has a boy who is a little older than you, called Tom. He's your cousin."
"What's a cousin?” Tabitha asked.
Jonathan explained about cousins and told her about her aunt Eleanor and little Nan and the new baby.
Tabitha's eyes shone at the thought of this newly discovered family. “When am I going to see them?” she asked.
"Sometime soon,” Jonathan said. When I can work my way out of my problems, I will take you there, he thought.
"What's this lady's name?” Tabitha asked.
"Kate."
Tabitha frowned. “So when you and Kate get married, she'll be my mother?"
"I suppose she will be,” Jonathan said.
"So when are you and Kate going to get married?” Tabitha demanded.
"One day,” Jonathan said with a bitter laugh. But now I have to go a long way away, kitten. If I don't the soldiers will come and put me in prison."
Tabitha looked at him, aghast. “Did grandam send the soldiers after you because you took me?"
"No,” said Jonathan. “I told you, I'm a soldier. I fought in a big battle and we lost and I need to hide for a little while. Tell me, Tabitha, do you like Aunt Henrietta and Uncle Nathaniel?"
She nodded. “Very much."
Jonathan took his courage in both hands and said, “Where I am going, kitten, I can't take you with me.” Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth but before she could protest, he put his finger to her lips. “Hush and hear me out, Tabitha. I want you to stay here with Aunt Hen and she wants you to stay very much. She has never had a little girl of her own."
"You promised!” her wail cut him to the very core.
"I know, Tabby, but I have to go and I have no money and nowhere for us to live. I can't take you with me. Here you will have a warm bed and someone to love y
ou and I promise no one will beat you."
She looked at him, her hazel eyes full of hurt. “You promised you wouldn't go away again!” With a strangled sob she flung herself off the wall and ran into the house.
Jonathan sat with his head in his hands, listening to the sound of her retreating footsteps and hearing again her mother's plea. Take me with you. Please take me with you.
Oh Mary, he thought, why didn't you tell me you were with child? I would have taken you away. I would have left you at Seven Ways and Tabitha would have grown up there.
He stared despondently at the river. His mother would have grown to love Mary and once she held her granddaughter all would have been forgiven. Perhaps at Seven Ways, Mary would not have died. How different things could have been! Instead every life he touched he seemed to hurt: Mary, Tabitha, Kate and even Stephen Prescott.
"Deep in thought, Jonathan?” His uncle's voice made him start. “Henrietta says you have agreed to our suggestion of leaving the lass here."
"Tabitha doesn't seem to agree with the idea."
Nathaniel shrugged and sat down beside him on the wall. “Well, you can hardly blame her for that, but give her time and she'll get used to it. You will promise to write regularly to the lass?"
"If you don't feel that would compromise you, Uncle?” Jonathan said with a wry smile. “I am conscious of your position. A friend and adviser to Oliver Cromwell should hardly be seen to be sheltering the children of known delinquents."
Nathaniel pursed his lips. “How are they to know? Anyway my family connections are no secret. No, we would like to have her here. Makes up for our own—” he coughed “—our own sadnesses. Hen needs someone to love and fuss over her. You know what she's like."
"The debt I owe to you can never really be repaid, Nathaniel,” Jonathan said with genuine feeling.
His uncle shrugged. “We've always done what we felt was right,” he said.
The two men sat in silence watching the river glide gently by, timeless and ceaseless on its course to the sea.
"Nathaniel.” Jonathan broke the reverie. “Tell me honestly, what would happen to me if I came openly back to England?"
Nathaniel looked thoughtful. “I think you already know the answer to that, Jonathan. Memories are long and your part in the second war has not been forgotten. Long imprisonment certainly, death possibly."
Jonathan sighed. “Then I'm trapped, Nathaniel. Trapped between a life spent in exile and an uncertain future if I return?"
Nathaniel nodded. “That about sums it up. Although I will tell you something in confidence,” he said. “I don't think many more will die for the King's cause. Derby probably and a few of the other senior officers, but as for the rest of the poor wretches, possibly release or sent to the colonies as bondsmen.” He paused contemplatively. “If you take my counsel, lad, wait a till this latest business is just a memory and then we can see what can be done."
"A year or so! That's so easy to say, Nathaniel,” Jonathan said bitterly.
"Well it's the best advice I can give in the circumstances,” Nathaniel said pragmatically and stood up. “For now, Jonathan, I suggest you find a boat to France. And take this to speed you on your way.” Nathaniel dropped a small purse of coins into Jonathan's hand.
Jonathan looked up at the lawyer. “Thank you, Uncle. I'll be gone within the hour."
He sat for a little while looking down across the garden, thinking of Kate and a peaceful life of hearth and home that seemed to be forever denied him. Just as he decided the time had gone to be on his way, he felt a small hand on his shoulder and turned to see Tabitha, her eyes red from crying, with Henrietta behind her.
"Father,” she said. “I'll stay here if you promise to write often. I can't read but Aunt Henrietta says she'll teach me and I'll learn how to write too. So I can write you letters."
Jonathan took her in his arms. “You dear child,” he whispered. “Of course I'll write when I can and I promise I will come back as soon as I am able."
"And you'll marry Kate and we'll all go to live at Seven Ways?"
He smiled. “That is what I want more than anything else in the world, Tabby. Wait for me, promise?"
She nodded and he rose to his feet. Holding his daughter's hand in his, they walked back up to the house together.
* * * *
Jonathan stood in the shadows pondering the size of the boat on which he had bought a passage to Dieppe. It looked depressingly small and he silently prayed that the crossing would not be unduly rough. He'd got a good price for the horse and with the money Nathaniel had given him, for the first time in weeks he felt some prospect of a reasonable start to life in exile again.
The general buzz of activity around the small vessel indicated that sailing would not be long off so he stepped forward to take his place.
The master of the vessel surveyed him critically. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
"When do we sail?"
The master looked up and down the wharves, an anxious frown on his face. “Tide's on the turn. A few minutes, no more."
Jonathan tossed his satchel containing a few books and clean linen down into the boat where it was deftly caught by one of the crew. He made to grasp the ladder to step down but as he did so the master grabbed his arm.
"I need no assistance,” he began to say but the look in the man's eyes gave him warning and he twisted around to see soldiers, some six of them in the command of an officer, running down the docks towards them.
"I have him,” the master shouted exultantly, tightening his grip.
Jonathan tried unsuccessfully to shake his arm free of the master as the soldiers reached them. The officer stood panting slightly, the muzzle of his pistol pointed at Jonathan.
"What is the meaning of this?” Jonathan protested, finally wrenching himself free of the man's grip. “I'm a bookseller and I've appointments on the continent to buy books. Who can you possibly think I am?"
"You tell us,” the officer replied sarcastically.
"I've told you. I'm a bookseller. My name is John Miller. Search my bag if you like. You'll find naught but books in it,” Jonathan replied, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. “Now I will miss the tide if you do not desist."
"If you're a bookseller, why do you carry a sword?” the officer enquired.
Jonathan looked around the circle of soldiers who surrounded him, their swords drawn, and spread his hands. “Gentlemen, these are dangerous times."
"I tell you, he's Charles Stuart!” the master of the boat insisted. “I want that reward."
If the situation were not so serious, it could be considered laughable, Jonathan thought. This surely could not happen to him twice? Not now he was so close to escape.
He gathered his fraying nerves and addressed the officer. “My good sir, I assure you, I most certainly am not Charles Stuart. Here are my papers.” He handed over the papers, including letters of introduction to mythical book sellers in Amsterdam, purchased that afternoon from a forger in Fleet Street recommended by his uncle.
The officer perused the papers doubtfully in the dim light of the ship's lantern. “These look genuine enough,” he admitted, “but I think you'd better come with us."
"I'm not going anywhere with you. My papers are in order and I've appointments in The Hague that must be kept!” Jonathan tried to keep the edge of panic out of his voice.
"You'll come with us, sir. Your journey must needs be delayed while we verify the truth of these papers."
As the officer advanced on him, Jonathan threw his head back in a gesture of despair and frustration. He'd not spent the last five weeks on the run to be taken at the last minute. His choice was simple: go with this man and try and bluff his way out or throw caution to the wind and fight for his freedom. He narrowed his eyes as he weighed up the situation. The soldiers stood between him and the water. If he could fight his way through to the edge of the dock, he could always swim for it. One last reckless act, one last gesture of
defiance; he did not intend to be taken without a fight.
With a swift movement that took the officer totally unawares, he knocked the pistol from his hand. Before any of the soldiers could react he had drawn his sword. For what seemed an eternity the soldiers eyed him until one, more daring than the rest, lunged forward. He took a sword point to the arm as a reward for his audacity and fell to the ground with a shriek of agony. That goaded the others to action. As a body they advanced on Jonathan. In the fast, furious fight that followed two more soldiers fell back, nursing painful but not fatal wounds. Jonathan felt his arm tiring with the old, heavy, cavalry sword. Sweat poured down his face and he seemed no closer to the water.
"Put up your sword!"
He turned sharply and found himself facing the pistol that the officer had retrieved and reprimed. At that range the officer could not miss.
Panting heavily he looked back at the remaining soldiers and conceded defeat. His sword fell to the ground with a clatter as he raised his hands in surrender. The officer advanced cautiously, placing the muzzle of his pistol under Jonathan's chin.
"Now, I'll ask you again,” he said. “Are you Charles Stuart?"
Jonathan laughed contemptuously. “No, I'm not Charles Stuart. To begin with I am nearly ten years older and at least a couple of fingers shorter. I assure you, sir, I bear no resemblance to the King."
"Charles Stuart is no King in this country,” the officer spat contemptuously. “So, if you are not Charles Stuart, then who are you?"
Jonathan's eyes flashed. “If you don't know then I am damned if I'll tell you. Find out for yourself."
"I tell you, he's the King. I claim the reward.” The master of the boat jumped up and down in impotent fury.
* * * *
"You've done well, Captain!"
The speaker was an immaculately dressed man of early middle age whom, it was widely rumoured, was destined for an important post in the new administration. A man to keep on the right side of, the captain had recently decided. He allowed himself a small smile of self-satisfaction.
"Only one problem, sir,” the captain conceded with a frown, “the man refuses to tell us who he is. Do you think he could be Charles Stuart?” he added hopefully.
John Thurloe crossed the room. Through a carefully concealed hole in the panelling, he could quite clearly see the man in the next room. Jonathan sat at a table, his heavily manacled hands resting on the solid oak surface, defeat written in the slump of his shoulders.
By The Sword Page 27
