* * * *
Nathaniel Freeman did not waste the opportunity presented by a chance encounter with John Thurloe in the corridors of Whitehall. He grabbed the Secretary of State by the arm and firmly pushed him into an empty room. He had known Thurloe a long time and had a great respect for his talents but this time the man had exceeded himself and Nathaniel Freeman was angry, very angry.
"If you wish to speak to me, Nathaniel, you need only ask!” John Thurloe said as he fastidiously straightened his sleeve.
"I found my nephew, John. As well you know!"
Thurloe raised an indifferent eyebrow. “Dead in some ditch as I predicted?"
Nathaniel's eyes glittered with fury. “As good as dead. I'd not treat an animal the way you've treated him,” he spat. “You've left him to die, haven't you, John? If I know my nephew, he wouldn't play your game so he's of no use to you! The only satisfaction I have is in knowing that for once in your life you have met your match."
"My dear Nathaniel. Your nephew's unfortunate incarceration comes as much a surprise to me as it no doubt did to you. No doubt the work of some overzealous officer."
Nathaniel paused a moment then said quietly, “I want my nephew released, Thurloe, and unless you wish me to discuss his treatment with the Lord Protector, I suggest you sign this."
John Thurloe peered at the document Nathaniel thrust under his nose. “What is it?'
"An order for his release into my custody,” Nathaniel replied.
"I am not ordering his release!” Thurloe bridled indignantly.
"If you don't, he'll be dead by the month's end and you know it.” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Or is that is what you intend? Sign it or I go to Cromwell. We've fought a war for the rights of men to face fair trial. If Thornton lives, his ultimate fate can be decided at a later date by the proper authorities. For now, in the name of Christian compassion, authorise his transfer to house arrest."
Thurloe's eyes narrowed. “You surprise me, Freeman. I had no idea your family's fortunes were of such importance to you."
The coldness in his tone made his meaning clear. A close association with a known malignant did not help Nathaniel's career.
"I'm not in the mood to bandy words with you, John,” Nathaniel responded impatiently. “I've never given you cause to doubt my loyalties to the State. But this has been a civil war, John. No family is untouched by it and Jonathan Thornton is my blood. Whether he lives or dies is of no importance to you, but it is to those who care about him. There'll be another, hungry for your money, and you will have achieved nothing by letting him die in that terrible place. For God's sake, if not for mine, release him, Thurloe."
John Thurloe sighed and looked at the paper in front of him. With obvious reluctance he crossed to the table where a quill and inkstand stood and signed his name.
* * * *
"I found him, Kate,” Nathaniel Freeman said as he laid his hat and gloves down on the table.
Kate stared up at him, disbelief and wonder in her eyes. “Where is he?"
"In the Tower. As we feared he was taken prisoner just as he was to board a boat for the continent."
"Six months! He has been a prisoner six months and no word?” Kate exclaimed.
She saw Nathaniel's hesitation and wondered at the cause of it.
"Circumstances prevented him,” the lawyer replied.
"Circumstances? What circumstances?"
"He did not have the ability to send a message."
"Oh really, Nathaniel!” Henrietta put in. “Turnkeys are notorious for lining their pockets. It surely would not have taken much to get a message to you?"
"He could not."
Kate regarded the lawyer, sensing the evasion in his eyes. There would be time later to hear the whole tale.
"Can I see him?” she asked.
Nathaniel withdrew a paper from his jacket. “Better than that, Kate. I have an order releasing him into house arrest, into my custody."
Relief flooded over Kate and she placed her hands on Nathaniel's Freeman's arms. “Oh thank you! This is a debt we can never repay you."
The lawyer held up his hand. “Kate, you must prepare yourself. He is ... unwell."
Kate's eyes widened. “Unwell? What do you mean?"
She saw the lawyer swallow. “A lung fever, I fear. He is probably as close to dying as any man I have seen."
Kate put her hand to her throat. Lung fever could kill the strongest man. She took a step back and felt Henrietta's reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"There is no time to lose then,” Henrietta said. “We must go for him at once."
"I've ordered the coach and I will take Kate's manservant, Dickon, with me,” Nathaniel replied.
"I'll fetch my cloak...” Kate turned for the door.
"No!” said the lawyer in a tone that brooked no opposition. “It's no place for you."
Kate turned back to face him. “I'm not easily upset!"
"No, Kate. It's no place for you. That's final,” Nathaniel said. “Now I'm wasting time arguing with you. We shall return within the next hour or so.” Picking up his hat and gloves, Nathaniel Freeman left the parlour.
Nineteen
The Freeman coach turned in through the gates of the house long after it had gone dark. Kate seized the lantern she had ready by the door and ran out into the cold night air, with Henrietta and Ellen hard on her heels. Dickon jumped down from the box and opened the door. For a brief, horrible moment she thought it had all been a terrible mistake and the ragged, filthy scarecrow Dickon half lifted from the coach was someone else all together.
Reluctantly her feet moved towards him. “Jonathan?"
The man lifted his head. “Kate!"
Kate handed the lantern to Ellen and ran to him.
Tears running down her face unheeded, she took him in her arms. “My dearest love,” she whispered.
"I never thought to see you again...” was all he managed to say before his legs gave way and together they sank to the ground, disturbing the neatly raked gravel.
Kate smoothed back the tangled hair from his forehead that burned to her touch. His eyes, bright with fever, held hers and his breathing came in short, painful rasps. From the door of the house came a sharp wail. Kate looked up and saw Tabitha, clad only in her nightgown, standing on the step with her hands to her mouth.
"He's dead!” The girl's eyes grew wider and her face paler. “It's all my fault!” She turned and ran.
"Leave Jonathan to us,” Henrietta said, placing her hand on Kate's shoulder. “Go and see to the child. She needs you more."
Reluctantly Kate surrendered Jonathan to Ellen and his aunt and ran after Tabitha. The child had retreated to her bedchamber and huddled on the bed with a reluctant Oliver in her arms.
Kate laid her hand on the child's rigid back. “Tabitha, he's not dead,” she said softly. “He's very ill but he's not dead."
"I heard Uncle Nathaniel say the soldiers had caught him!"
Tabitha pressed her face into Oliver's side, her shoulders heaving with the wracking sobs. Kate took the child in her arms, allowing Oliver to wriggle free. She gently rocked the stiff, unresponsive child.
"It's all my fault that they put him in prison and now he's going to die!” Tabitha's voice sounded muffled against Kate's bodice.
"Nonsense,” said Kate. “It's nothing to do with you, Tabitha. My dear, he was in prison because he fought for the King, not because he took you away."
Tabitha looked up at Kate and fresh tears welled in her hazel eyes. “Dame Elizabeth said I was wicked and God would punish me for my father's sins."
Kate's lips tightened. If Dame Elizabeth had finally departed this earth, Kate sincerely hoped that she was rotting in hell.
"Tabitha,” she said, smoothing the child's hair, “you're not wicked and God forgives. He does not punish."
Tabitha looked at her unblinkingly, as if weighing up the truth of what Kate said. There was so much of Jonathan in her expression that Kate almost w
ept.
"Would God listen if I prayed really hard?” she whispered.
Relieved, Kate replied, “Of course He will, my dear. Come, we'll both pray."
Tabitha swallowed the last of her sobs and closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent, fervent prayer.
She gave a last, shuddering sigh and opened her eyes. “Will you look after him?” she asked.
Kate nodded. “And when he is well, we'll all go to Seven Ways and you can meet your cousins."
Tabitha nodded, forlornly sniffing.
"Tom can teach you to ride a horse. And your Aunt Nell will have a new baby in summer.” Kate added, “Now how about you climb into bed and go to sleep?"
Kate fetched the warm bricks from the fire, wrapped them in flannel and tucked them into the bed. Tabitha crawled underneath the sheets, and Kate tucked her in. Tabitha's pale, disembodied face looked at her from the pillow.
"Please don't go,” she pleaded.
Kate thought of Jonathan who needed her and looked down at his daughter who at this moment needed her more.
"I won't go,” she said. “Close your eyes and I will tell you a story."
She sat with the child until she slept then made her way to the chamber where Henrietta had put Jonathan. The flickering light of the candles and the fire barely illuminated the dark, panelled room. Kate stood beside the large, carved oak bed and looked down at the almost unrecognisable face of her lover, propped high on the bolsters. If it had not been for the agonized breathing, Jonathan could have been dead.
Henrietta and Ellen had done a masterly job in cleaning him up. The beard had gone and his hair had been cropped closely, giving his gaunt, starved face a strangely unfamiliar, severe look. Even after he had been shot in York, he had never looked like this. The months of incarceration and deprivation had robbed him of all his light and strength.
She sat down beside him and picked up his hand, cold fear clawing at her. The sleeve of his nightshirt fell back, revealing a neat, white bandage around his wrist. Kate looked up questioningly at Henrietta, who stood on the other side of the bed.
"Nathaniel told me that he had been manacled,” Henrietta said softly, barely keeping the disgust out of her voice.
"For all that time?” Kate asked.
Henrietta nodded.
Kate leant over him and whispered his name. His eyes opened and looked into her own. Recognition suddenly flickered like a candle in the dulled depths. He tried to speak but the effort started the coughing. Kate held him, feeling his body, once so familiar, now wasted and frail beneath the nightshirt. She laid him back on the pillows and tried to summon a reassuring smile.
"Where ... have you been?” he whispered at last.
"Seeing to your daughter. She seems to think this is God's punishment for your past sins."
"Perhaps it is,” Jonathan muttered wryly then realizing what he had said, tightened his hand on hers. “I ... didn't mean that, Kate."
"I know,” she said.
A crooked smile flitted across his face. “Ellen's already started pouring her poisonous potions ... down me. I think ... I think she's the only person I know who can make death seem like a pleasant alternative."
"Would you rather I sent for the doctors?” Henrietta interposed hopefully. “Perhaps he should be bled?” The last remark was addressed to Ellen, who had entered the room carrying a tray covered with a cloth.
"It'd kill him!” Ellen said dourly
Jonathan rasped. “No doctors, Hen. Ellen maybe a witch but I trust her.” Clearly exhausted, he looked at Kate. “Tabitha,” he said, his voice now so faint that she had to strain to hear him. “If ... if anything happens to me ... promise me you will look after her?"
There such intense urgency in his face that Kate felt tears pricking her eyes. “I promise,” she said between stiff lips.
The grip on her hand relaxed and for an awful moment she thought she had lost him. But although his eyes were closed, the tortured breathing showed he still lived.
"You are not going to die,” she said fiercely under her breath.
If he heard her, he gave no sign.
* * * *
Kate frowned as she came to the head of the stairs and saw Tabitha sitting, as she had done for the last week, on the top step, her elbows on her knees and her chin cupped in her hands, Oliver forlornly by her side. The dog looked up hopefully when he saw Kate, his bottom waggling in anticipation of a walk or more cheerful company.
"Tabitha,” Kate said sternly, “it's cold out here. Go and play your music in the parlour where it's warm."
She shook her head. “When can I see him?"
"We've talked about this. When he's a little stronger.” The child's face fell and a thought occurred to Kate. “If you leave the parlour door open, we will hear you playing the virginals. Your father would like that."
"Would he?” Tabitha's face brightened and she skipped down the stairs.
Kate watched her enter the parlour, propping the door open as she did. The first uncertain notes rose waveringly up the stairs as Kate opened the bedroom door.
"Do you hear that?” she asked.
The man propped high on the bed turned his head slowly towards the door.
"That is your daughter.” Kate answered his unspoken question.
"Mary ... her mother ... had a rare gift for music.” Jonathan's voice was faint and hoarse. “Her father ... would not allow her to have lessons. He thought music ... music was the work of the devil but she sang..."
"Enough talking!” said Kate severely.
"Yes ... Sergeant!” he murmured with a ghost of a smile lightening his haggard face.
She crossed to the bed and sat down beside him.
"You look ... look very tired, Kate."
The long, sleepless nights were written on Kate's face but the knowledge that her battle to keep him alive had apparently succeeded made up for her exhaustion. He reached up and touched her face, tracing the dark circles under her eyes.
She smiled and took his hand. Turning it over, she kissed the palm and held it to her cheek. He would live, and at this moment she cared for nothing else. Still holding his hand in hers, they listened in silence as the gentle and erratic notes of the virginals drifted in through the open door.
"Why didn't you tell me about Tabitha if you knew about her before you left Seven Ways?” she asked.
"I couldn't ... be sure. Prescott could have been lying.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I'm ... sorry, Kate. I never meant ... to deceive you. I intended to ... write ... and tell you once I reached Holland but ... my life is full of ... mistakes..."
Kate twined her fingers in his. “We shall take her back to Seven Ways,” she said fiercely. “She's your daughter and she should live in your home, and if I can go some of the way to giving her the love her mother never could..."
"Kate ... Kate, you're crying!"
He brushed away the offending tears and she caught his hand, holding it tight.
"Don't leave me again, Jonathan!” she said suddenly, fiercely.
"My dearest ... dearest, Kate. I will never willingly leave you again. You have my word on that."
She smiled wistfully and bent over to kiss him, her lips brushing his forehead. “Willingly? Is that a promise you can keep? Surely that is for those Fates, spinning out our lives in Whitehall to decide."
His lips tightened and he nodded. “You're right, Kate. It's ... it's not a promise I can keep. Can I see ... Tabitha?"
She looked doubtfully at him. Even wasted and gaunt, sallow with spent fever, he still presented a considerably less fearsome aspect than he had when last his daughter had seen him on the night Nathaniel had brought him home.
"I'll fetch her. I know she is anxious to see you,” she said.
She found Tabitha kneeling on the window seat in the parlour, looking wistfully out at the driving rain.
"Your father liked your music,” Kate said.
The girl spun around eagerly to face Kate. “Did he?"<
br />
Kate held out her hand. “He wants to see you. Come with me."
Tabitha held on to Kate's hand tightly. At the door to the bedchamber she looked up at Kate and gave her a tight smile. Kate squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Jonathan turned his head towards the door as they entered. “Tabitha!” he said softly and held out his hand.
With a strangled cry, Tabitha leaped on to the bed and buried her face in his shoulder. He winced slightly but did not attempt to dislodge her. Instead his arms tightened around her as she wept. Kate turned and slipped unobtrusively from the room. There was no place for her at this moment.
* * * *
Jonathan had the peculiar feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes and started. Three pairs of grave eyes regarded him solemnly from the foot of the bed. He pulled himself up against the bolster and ran his eyes down the line that comprised, in order of height and age, Thomas Ashley, Tabitha Thornton and Anne Longley.
"You look terrible,” Tom said.
Jonathan ran a rueful hand over his unshaven chin and up through the closely cropped hair. “I'm certain I do,” he said, surprised at how weak his voice still sounded to his ears after three long weeks. “What are you doing here?"
"Aunt Nell brought us,” Tom said, “but they—” he indicated the door “—wouldn't tell us anything so we thought we'd see you for ourselves."
"Are you going to be all right, Uncle Jon?” Nan asked.
Jonathan forced a smile. “It seems so,” he said.
"I picked these for you.” Nan held up a small bunch of wilting spring flowers, no doubt picked from Henrietta's garden.
"Why did you let them catch you?” Tom asked accusingly.
"Because there were too many of them,” Jonathan said. “Some fool mistook me for the King."
"The King?” Tom scoffed. “You don't look anything like the King!"
"How do you know what the King looks like?” Tabitha demanded.
"I met him!” Thomas pulled himself up straight as the two girls stared up at him with new respect.
The door opened and Nell glided in. “Out!” she scolded. “How did you children get in here? I thought we told you..."
"It's all right, Nell,” Jonathan said. “They're fine. Nan brought me flowers. Can you put them in water?"
By The Sword Page 30
