Civil Conflict

by Oliver, Marina

  It was some weeks before they received further news, and then Arthur rode in late one night. Lysbeth had just taken her candle and made her way upstairs when she heard the sound of his horse. Rushing to the window, she opened the casement and craned out, but the horse had disappeared behind the house, and she had to restrain her impatience until the visitor appeared within the house.

  Looking over the banisters, she saw with joy that it was Arthur, and she ran quickly down the stairs and across the hall towards him, with a joyful look on her face.

  'Arthur, what a pleasant surprise!'

  She stopped suddenly, arrested by the strange sombre look in his eyes.

  'Arthur, what is it?' She stepped forward quickly and took his hands in hers.

  'Lysbeth, 'tis bad news. I know not how to say it. Oh, Lysbeth, 'tis Father!'

  'Father?' she breathed. 'What? Oh, Arthur!'

  He nodded. 'There was a battle, outside York, at a place called Marston Moor, and Father was – killed!'

  'No! No!' Shocked, Lysbeth stared at him. It was something she had considered, naturally, but now the reality was impossible to comprehend. 'Father!' she whispered, and then suddenly crumpled. He caught her to him as her sobs overwhelmed her, and with a look at his aunt who was standing by him, carried her into the parlour and sat down with her on his knee, rocking her like a baby until the violence of her sobs abated.

  'Tell me,' she asked, after a while.

  'It was quick,' he reassured her, a catch in his voice. 'Be thankful at least for that. It was a clean sword thrust. I was only a little way off. He died immediately. There could have been little pain, little anguish.'

  'Poor Father. He did not want to fight. It was only what those wretched Parliament troopers did that caused him to fight. Oh, Father!'

  Her sobs broke out afresh, and he comforted her as best he could. As she quietened, he began talking.

  'Lysbeth, you must be brave. You must be brave for Mother's sake. Who is going to tell her? How will she take it? Is she well?'

  Jerked out of consideration for herself, Lysbeth tried to adjust her thoughts.

  'Mother has been better the last few weeks. She always improved in the summer,' she said quietly. 'But this will kill her ! Oh, Arthur, I cannot tell her. Please don't make me tell her!'

  'No, of course not. I will do that. But she will need comfort. You must give her that. Can you do that? Can you hide your own grief in order to comfort her?'

  Lysbeth nodded, catching back sobs as she did so, and they agreed that they would leave the telling until the following day.

  *

  After breakfast Arthur went into his mother's room, and spent an anguished hour with her. Lady Fenton had been passionately in love with her husband when they had married, and she had remained so throughout their happy marriage. Her grief at his death was overwhelming, and her sister-in-law had to give her many soporific draughts over the next few days, for they all feared she would lose her reason, so violent was her grief.

  Much as he wished to stay, Arthur had to leave to rejoin the Prince, and Lysbeth was left with the task of caring for her mother. The next few months was the worst time she had ever spent in her life. Her mother grew calmer as time passed by, but her hold on life was gradually slipping, and in November, with little fuss, she followed her husband to the grave.

  Lysbeth, worn out by the months of grief, for her father and now her mother, took a long time to recover. Arthur could make only two brief visits, one for his mother's funeral, and another some weeks later, just after Christmas. Life in the Wades' household went quietly on, and Lysbeth gradually recovered her spirits and her health, though she still grieved deeply for her parents.

  In February, only two weeks after the news of Archbishop Laud's execution in January, Lysbeth received another visitor. This time it was Tom, still stationed with his troops in Yorkshire.

  After the usual polite greetings had been exchanged, Tom suggested that Lysbeth went for a walk with him. She agreed, and they were soon walking along the road towards the sea.

  Coming to the top of a hill, they paused, leaning on a wall and looking at the sea some way off. They had said little up to this point.

  Tom turned to Lysbeth. 'I know not what to say to comfort you,' he said slowly. 'You know how sorry I am about your parents.'

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  'What will you do now?' Tom asked, somewhat abruptly.

  'I had not thought,' she replied. 'What can I do but remain here?'

  'I suppose you must. Have you heard from Arthur?'

  'He came a month ago.'

  'Has he any plans for your future?'

  'How can he think of a future for either of us at this time?' Lysbeth asked somewhat pettishly. 'Besides, what future is there? I am too tied, by the past.'

  Tom took both her hands in his and forced her to face him. 'It will pass,' he said gently. 'Naturally, you are much shocked and grieving at the moment, but it will pass.'

  She nodded, but did not speak.

  'Lysbeth, I would not worry you at this time, but I may have to leave Yorkshire with the army soon, and I know not when I may come to you again.'

  She looked up at him, puzzled.

  'Lysbeth, you know how I feel about you.' The same warm look she had seen before was in his eyes, and she looked down, suddenly confused.

  'Lysbeth,' he repeated gently, 'I love you. Will you become my wife?'

  Lysbeth caught her breath. This was entirely unexpected in its suddenness, and she did not know how to reply. She looked up at Tom, a pleading look.

  'I did not wish to ask you so soon,' he said awkwardly, 'so soon after your parents, I mean, but there may not be another opportunity for years. We may be separated by this dreadful war. Lysbeth, I wish to protect you, to have the right to protect and look after you, and I love you, dearly. You represent all I admire in a woman.'

  She looked away from him, not speaking for what seemed an eternity, then she whispered something, so that he had to stoop to catch it.

  'Tom, I cannot think. I know not what to say.'

  'Can you feel anything for me?'

  'I like you, Tom,' she answered at length. 'I like you a great deal. You are a friend, and I have trusted you for many years, but I have not considered marriage.'

  'That I understand, and I would not expect a definite answer now, but please let me hope. Give me the right to come to you again. I will not hurry you, I promise.'

  'I cannot answer,' she whispered.

  'All I ask for now is that you do not say no.'

  'Very well, Tom, I will not say that.' She smiled up at him tremulously, and he was strongly tempted to take her in his arms and kiss her trembling lips, but he knew that this would frighten her, and instead he put one arm round her shoulders and gave her a brotherly squeeze.

  'It is enough for me, my dear, for now. But we had best move, 'tis cold up here.'

  Nothing more was said, and Tom made his farewells soon after they returned to the house. Lysbeth had not been entirely surprised at his declaration, only at the suddenness of it, for she had read his feelings for her in the looks he had given her previously, but she had thought no more of them at the time, feeling confused and embarrassed by them. Now she forced herself to think of it, and came to the conclusion that it would be pleasant to marry Tom, to have a home of her own again, and a strong man to care for her. Tom was kind and gentle, strong and handsome, and a man to be proud of. Many girls would be flattered if he paid them attentions.

  She did not feel able to discuss it with her aunt and uncle, and did not see Arthur, so was unable to discuss it with him either.

  Gradually the idea took root in her mind, and she almost began to regard it as a settled thing, but a major barrier remained, her dislike and fear of the Parliamentarians.

  *

  Chapter 7

  A week or so after Tom's visit, Lysbeth's aunt and uncle had to travel to Lincoln to attend the funeral of a relative of her aunt. Feeling Ly
sbeth had suffered enough from her own bereavements, they did not propose taking her with them, and so she was left for several days to her own devices.

  On the second night after her aunt and uncle had left, Lysbeth was wakened by loud shouts. She had not long retired to bed, and guessed it could not yet be midnight. She sat up in bed listening for the shouts to be repeated. They came again, and this time she could distinguish a few words.

  'Open! In Parliament's name!'

  With fear in her heart, she scrambled out of bed and went over to the window. Opening the curtains cautiously, she looked out. A sight she dreaded met her eyes. A group of soldiers dressed in the close-fitting helmets of the Parliamentarians that had given rise to the nickname of Roundheads, were waiting outside. As she watched the heard a thumping on the door, and this time the voice came more clearly.

  'Open, I say, in Parliament's name! Open, or we open for ourselves!'

  Lysbeth ran out into the passageway and met there the startled servants. The steward, an imposing man in his late forties, was bearing down upon them.

  'Mistress Lysbeth,' he said to her firmly, 'I am going to see what they want, but I am not giving up the house to them.'

  'My father felt like that,' Lysbeth told him, and smiled at him, suddenly recovering her courage in the presence of such determination. 'I am sure my uncle would feel the same. Do not give them aught if you can prevent it.'

  'But you and the maids must go.'

  'Go? Go where?' Lysbeth asked in surprise. 'Surely there are many of them, they will have surrounded the house by now. We would not be allowed to leave.'

  He smiled and beckoned to someone standing in the shadows behind him. Lysbeth saw the housekeeper, Janet. The steward pushed her forward.

  'Janet will show you the way, Mistress. Trust her.'

  Impressed with his air of sincerity and command, Lysbeth nodded.

  'Fetch a warm wrap and some stout shoes, Mistress,' Janet said quietly and calmly. She turned and gave the same instructions to the maids, and they scampered off to their own rooms to obey. Lysbeth was soon ready, and was just turning to leave her room when she found Janet on the threshold.

  'Have you any jewels and valuables? You must take those as well. They will be easy to carry.'

  Lysbeth had very little, since most of her possessions had been lost when her home was burned, but she had a few things of her mother's. Janet pushed another bundle into her hands.

  'These are your aunt's jewels. We must get away with these, as well. Now we must hurry. Follow me.'

  Janet led the way quickly down some back stairs. Lysbeth could hear the steward arguing with the soldiers through the closed front door. Janet led the way, not into the kitchen as Lysbeth had expected, but past it and into a small room that was used as a linen room. Turning, she smiled reassurance at the puzzled girls, and swiftly began to take pillowslips from one of the shelves. Lysbeth watched in amazement, an amazement which was increased when a set of shelves suddenly swung forward, to reveal a door set in the wall behind them.

  Janet produced a key and quickly unlocked the door. Lysbeth noticed it turned easily. Just inside was a ledge on which a tinderbox and candles rested. Janet lit the candles quickly, and thrust one into Lysbeth's hand.

  'Go down the steps. There are twenty of them. Wait for me at the bottom. I must lock the door when everyone is through.'

  Lysbeth nodded and led the way, holding her candle high. The scared maids followed her, each receiving a candle from Janet as she passed through the door. When the last one was descending the stairs, Janet closed and locked the door, then made her own way down the steps, squeezing past the maids till she came to the front by Lysbeth.

  'What is this?' Lysbeth asked in a whisper. 'How is this staircase and passage secreted?'

  ' 'Tis very old,' Janet informed her, setting off cautiously along the passageway, which was uneven stone, and had a roof which in places caused them to stoop as they passed. 'There are smugglers' haunts along the coast, and many houses have secret entrances like this one. This one leads into the village, into the churchyard.' She chuckled. ' 'Tis half a mile, so we shall be well away from the soldiers when we come out.'

  Lysbeth nodded, relieved, and they trod the rest of the way in silence. After some time the air began to smell fresher, and Lysbeth guessed they were almost at the end. Janet hissed caution, but it was unnecessary, for none of the maids was chattering. Suddenly they came to some steps, and Janet led the way carefully upwards. At the top there was another very short passage. Janet blew out her candle, and whispered to the others to do the same.

  As their eyes became used to the darkness they could see a faint grey light a few feet away. Janet moved slowly towards it, and the others, fearful of being left alone in the dark, pressed after her. Reaching the aperture, Janet pushed her way through, reached back to catch Lysbeth's hand, and pulled her gently forward.

  Lysbeth felt pressing against her the branches of an evergreen. Then she was out in the open, and the other maids were crowding after her. There was a faint moonlight, and she looked round in surprise. They were in a corner of the churchyard some distance from the church itself, and, looking back, the entrance was completely hidden by the bushes that had sprung back into place after the girls had come through them. Janet counted quickly and nodded with satisfaction.

  The maids were mostly village girls, and Janet quickly ordered them to go to their homes and to stay there out of sight until they discovered what had happened at the house. Willingly they dispersed, and Lysbeth was left alone with Janet.

  'My sister lives in the next village, which is but two miles. We will go to her, but first, perhaps, we could discover what goes on.'

  Lysbeth agreed eagerly, and they set off along the lane leading to the house. As they rounded a corner and came out of the shelter of some trees, Lysbeth gasped with horror.

  *

  In front of her, a sight she had hoped never to see again, was a house in flames. The troopers had set fire to her uncle's house as they had to her own. A fierce cold anger gripped Lysbeth's heart, and she began, without thinking, to run up the lane towards the house. Janet, with an apprehensive cry, began to run after her, but Lysbeth had scarce gone fifty yards when the sound of rapid horse hooves broke into her concentration. The sounds of the flying hooves came closer, and suddenly, out of the gloom, loomed the shapes of two frantically galloping horses. Lysbeth leapt for the safety of the bank at the side of the lane, and fell panting against it, while she watched two of her uncle's favourite horses, both highly bred animals, flash past her, the whites of their eyes showing in terror, their ears laid flat on their heads, and their manes and tails streaming behind them.

  Janet, some way further, had also managed to scramble out of their way, and as Lysbeth sat up, looking after the horses, she heard Janet's voice coming to her plaintively.

  'Mistress Lysbeth, please come and help me.'

  Lysbeth got up slowly. The first unreasoning passion of her anger had passed, and with scarce a glance back at the burning house, which she now realised she could do nothing to save, she walked back along the lane towards Janet, who was still lying in a somewhat awkward position at the side of the lane.

  'Why, Janet? Are you hurt?' Lysbeth queried in some anxiety.

  'I think not, Mistress,' she answered, 'but can you help me to my feet, then I shall know.'

  Lysbeth assisted Janet, and they discovered with relief that nothing was amiss apart from a few bruises and some scratches where Janet's face had come into contact with a thorn bush.

  'What shall we do now?' Lysbeth asked, when she had assured herself Janet was sound.

  'We go to my sister's,' Janet replied firmly. ' 'Tis but a couple of miles, and the sooner we are out of this area the better.'

  'I suppose so,' Lysbeth agreed, 'but it grieves me to leave my uncle's house so. Those poor horses! They were frantic.'

  'Aye, but they escaped,' Janet observed, calmly sensible. 'Someone must have let them ou
t of the stables.'

  'I hope all of them got out,' Lysbeth replied with a worried frown.

  'Surely they would. Now come, Mistress, we must set off. The troopers will soon realise the women have escaped, and will begin scouring the district to take revenge. We must not be found by them.'

  'No.' Lysbeth seemed abstracted. Suddenly she turned to Janet with more liveliness in her manner. 'If all the horses escaped we might be able to catch two of them. 'Twould make our journey easier. What say you, Janet?'

  Janet nodded slowly. ' 'Tis a thought, but we would never catch them, afrighted as they are.'

  'They might not all be in such terror,' Lysbeth said slowly. 'I recognised the two that passed us. They are two of my uncle's finest bred beasts. They would be more frightened than the others. Come, let us see if we can find some.'

  Reluctantly, Janet agreed, and they set off up the lane towards the house once more. Their optimism was soon rewarded, for scarcely two hundred yards nearer the house they came across two of the more stolid ponies contentedly cropping the grass. Lysbeth smiled in triumph at Janet.

  'Stay here,' she ordered. 'They know me and will allow me to approach.'

  Speaking softly, she went nearer to the ponies. One of them backed nervously away from her, but the other, after a querying glance, resumed his nibbling. With a slight laugh of relief, Lysbeth walked up to him and patted his neck, and took a firm hold of his mane. With a little urging, she was able to coax him back down the lane to where Janet waited.

  'Have you anything we could use to contrive a halter?' she asked.

  'I could tear up my shift,' Janet answered. ' 'Tis all I can think of. 'Tis not very strong, but 'twill serve.'

  'Then we must set to work.'

  Janet tore strips from the edge of her shift, and Lysbeth fashioned a halter out of them. While they were doing this, the other pony had approached, his nervousness decreased by the normality of their voices, and his curiosity aroused. When the halter was finished and in place round the captured pony's head, Lysbeth handed it to Janet.

  'Hold this, but hold his mane as well, while I see if I can capture the other,' she said quietly.