His Rebel Bride

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Those letters were clear proof that Fenton and Henry Barrington were two of the perpetrators in The Rye House Plot who had not been apprehended and were still at liberty in England. At the time Barrington was arrested on suspicion of being connected, but he managed to talk his way out of trouble, assuring his interrogators that the names of leading Republicans written in his pocket book were for remembrance of business he had to do and meant nothing more. A witness did come forward when the plot was discovered to speak against Barrington, but his testimony was weak and thrown out. As you know, the prosecution must produce two witnesses to sustain a charge of treason.

  ‘Your father seized upon what he had found, to be employed, in effect, as a second witness, and he was taking his evidence to the King. However, we must not forget that his grievance was with Fenton and not Barrington, but he must have known that he, too, would be arrested. Sadly your father was killed before he could present his evidence, and as far as I know no trace of any incriminating manuscripts or letters was found.’

  ‘Fenton will have found and destroyed them.’

  ‘Afterwards he returned to Saxton Court and calmly resumed his position as bailiff as if nothing untoward had happened. If your father had dismissed him from his post before leaving for London no one knew of it. The fact that there was no trace of Fenton’s presence in London did strengthen the belief that he was actually visiting his family—besides, no one had reason to question him about your father’s murder or to doubt his alibi. He was never a suspect.’

  ‘Mr Fenton would appear remarkably adept at concealing his tracks.’

  ‘All the same, after listening to what your father’s manservant, who had been at his house in London at the time, had to say when I managed to track him down in Southwark, it appears that Mr Fenton and Henry Barrington called and did not stay more than a few minutes.’

  ‘But long enough to commit the crime. And the servant? Did he see anything suspicious?’

  ‘No, but as they left, Barrington was greatly agitated and muttering, “You should not have done it. There must have been another way.” Mr Fenton appeared angry and kept telling him to shut his mouth.’

  ‘Why did the servant not reveal this at the time?’

  ‘Fenton threatened him. He feared for his life and the lives of his entire family.’

  ‘I see. You have done well, Roger.’

  ‘Of course the man had to be bribed to disclose what he knew.’

  ‘You will be reimbursed.’

  ‘No, indeed. It was worth every penny.’ Stretching his legs out in front of him, he heaved a laborious sigh. ‘Don’t forget I was doing it for Elizabeth, too. She suffered as you did when your father was murdered.’

  ‘I know. They were always close. Are you certain your information was correct?’

  ‘I am willing to admit that I had my doubts initially, since the information was divulged following a generous bribe, but, yes, it was definite and serious. I believed it. The man was a loyal servant to your father.’

  ‘Do you think Fenton did it, Roger?’

  ‘I am certain of it. I have learnt much about Mr Fenton in the Republican clubs, where I have been spying quite unblushingly—and talking at length with Mr Watkins, while ostensibly engaged in partaking of the evil drink and giving everyone the impression that I am about to change my politics and become a Republican.’

  Marcus smiled slightly. ‘And I suppose it did not occur to you that you might be arrested?’

  ‘That was why I came down here as soon as I had what I wanted. But if you want to hear more, for pity’s sake give me another glass of your excellent brandy and feed me. I am parched and dying of hunger.’

  Immediately Catherine rose. ‘Forgive me, Roger, I am forgetting my manners. I shall see to it at once.’ She hurried from the room to give orders.

  Roger sat back and looked hard at his brother-in-law. ‘So, how is Catherine bearing up?’

  ‘As well as she is able, considering the circumstances.’

  ‘And Stapleton? He is here?’

  ‘Yes, but not a word, Roger. It could mean death for us all if it is discovered we are harbouring a fugitive—especially one who was close to Monmouth. Apart from myself and Catherine, Alice and Archie, no one has any idea he is here. I want it to remain that way until I’ve decided what to do. Are you aware that Lord Jeffreys is on his way to the West Country to dispense the King’s justice?’

  ‘I am—and I can only pity the miserable devils awaiting trial.’

  ‘They are no different from you and I, Roger. My own loyalties are at war within me. I have served the King and have done my duty loyally—yet the King is a Catholic and as such threatens the peace of Protestant England. For a long time now these two sides have tormented me and refuse to rub along together. If only it can be resolved one way or the other without further bloodshed.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, but what is to be done?’

  When Roger fell silent and sat savouring his brandy, Marcus stared off into space for some time, drumming his fingers on the table top and thinking at a furious rate. Finally, he said, ‘For my part, I think I’ve known for so long that it was Fenton who killed my father. Yet even now, I find it hard to believe that a man of such diabolical cunning could have allowed himself to be caught.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Leave for London.’

  Roger stared at him in amazement. ‘Is there a reason for this?’

  Marcus told him of George’s warning and the threat to Catherine, and that because he feared she would be arrested, even though as yet there was no charge against her, he felt she would be safer in London. Roger agreed.

  ‘As you well know, Jeffreys presided over the trials of The Rye House Plotters. The names of all those involved are detested by any royalist as fervid as Lord Jeffreys, and given it was suspected at the time that Henry Barrington was involved in a minor way, yet escaped justice because of insufficient evidence, Jeffreys will remember his name. My advice is that you leave Saxton Court before he gets here.’

  ‘There is just one thing, Roger. Would you mind if Catherine and I imposed on you? The house in Westminster has stood empty these past two years. The servants will have their work cut out making it habitable—in fact, I may decide to sell it.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome to stay with us for as long as you like. I intend remaining down here for now—with most of my work force having left to join Monmouth and losing money by the day, I have business to attend to—but I know Elizabeth would love to have you. When do you intend going?’

  ‘As soon as possible, but first I must see Fenton.’

  ‘In gaol? Is that wise? I’ve heard the gaols are hell holes inhabited by demons and that the prisoners are dying of smallpox.’

  Marcus was resolute. ‘No matter what the conditions are, Roger, I must see Fenton before Kirke hangs him. I want to hear him confess his guilt, and to do that I must overcome my repugnance I feel at the notion of seeing him again.’ He glanced towards the door, seeing that Catherine had returned and must have heard his words. She came towards him and looked at him hard, her eyes very clear.

  ‘You must go—yes, go by all means,’ she said slowly. ‘I understand why you feel you must…only, please take care. And tell Mr Fenton that I hate him.’

  Marcus’s mouth curved with irony. ‘I think he knows that already.’

  ‘And please be careful of Captain Kirke. Avoid him if you can. I never wish to set eyes on him again.’

  ‘I pray you won’t have to.’ His tone held an odd note—of tenderness, perhaps, that made Catherine lift her face to his. Marcus drew in a breath. With her hair drawn from her face she looked pale and extremely vulnerable. Something in his chest tightened. Wordlessly he opened his arms, and when she came into them, he could feel her body trembling against his. ‘There’s nothing to fear, Catherine,’ he said gently. ‘While ever Harry remains secure, you have no charge to answer and Kirke knows that. He will not come back.
’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because when I’ve seen Fenton—if his gaolers allow me access to his prison cell—it is my intention that we leave for London immediately. It is clear to me that if we do not leave here, my energy will be spent in tearing myself to bits waiting for Kirke to come to try to arrest you. With Jeffreys on his way, there’s no telling what might happen.’

  ‘But what about Harry? We can’t leave him here.’

  ‘I don’t intend to. I’ll think of something.’

  She smiled. ‘I know you will,’ she replied softly. Something caught at her heart, a warming hope that when they were in London and Harry had escaped to Holland, all would be well between them and that they could enjoy each other and become close without restrictions.

  Mid-morning the following day, Marcus rode into Taunton alone. He was too late to speak to Fenton, but not too late to see him hang.

  Marcus stood back from the sweaty reek of the crowd to watch the proceedings outside the White Hart Inn. Drummers beat out a dead march, slow and grim. Spectators stood around, quiet, used to the sight of hangings and sickened by them. The day was hot, the air humid and thick with flies. Marcus removed his hat and wiped his forehead. Replacing it, he hoped for a cool breeze. He was morbidly aware of what was to happen. Women and children, some on their fathers’ shoulders, craned their necks to see the condemned men.

  Suddenly there was a ripple of excitement. Soldiers came, and then the prisoners. A long murmur ran through the crowd, a murmur in which curiosity predominated over pity. There were three of them, their hands bound in front of them. Fenton was the third in line. Marcus stepped back so as to avoid notice. The first man, with white, close-cropped hair and a greasy leather jerkin, looked sick and staggered. The second man, small and disreputable, his eyes wide with terror, his face red and distorted, was a pitiful specimen.

  All Marcus’s attention became focused on Fenton. He stood straight and seemed surprisingly calm. His hard thin lips were tight, and even on the point of death his arrogance was undiminished. His educated eyes scanned the crowd, as if they searched to gain an advantage.

  The hangman placed the noose about the neck of the first man, fixing it tight. Fear choked the breath in his lungs as hemp scorched his flesh. Death came quickly as the neck was grotesquely stretched and cleanly broken. The body swung like a dead weight on a string.

  The second man became demented on seeing the first man’s reflexive jerk. He began shrieking and threw himself on the ground. The soldiers of the guard fell on him, the captain of the guard purple with rage. The crowd roared and surged, and not until order was restored and the prisoner had been hauled to his feet and was suspended and jerking beside his fellow rebel, did everyone realise that the third prisoner had escaped. Immediately pandemonium broke out with soldiers scattering in every direction, but it was as if Mr Fenton had vanished into thin air.

  True to his word, Marcus came up with a solution to the problem of what to do with Harry. Without a word to Catherine, he enlisted the services of Alice, who, sworn to secrecy, concocted a black dye for Harry’s hair and multicoloured fuzz that had appeared on his chin, which he had left unshaven during his weeks of hiding. His appearance was completely changed. What Marcus had in mind was a great risk, but when he saw Harry with his dark, shoulder-length hair and his youthful face half-covered by a short black beard, wearing new attire, he was confident his plan could work.

  Everyone believed the handsome new addition to the household—alias John Oakley, his lordship’s new manservant who had replaced poor Dickon—had arrived from London with Sir Roger. As soon as he walked into the house, maids paused in their work to gaze at him with admiration and hopes of future assignations.

  On the morning they were due to depart for London, much to Marcus’s amusement, as he studied her reaction from a discreet distance, Catherine didn’t recognise the bearded man as he went about his duties. There was something about his gait and the way he carried himself that seemed oddly familiar, but she was so busy preparing to leave that she thought little of it. Then, as he was carrying baggage out to the coach, he moved into the light and she caught the flash of dark blue eyes, and her own opened wide in astonishment.

  ‘Harry?’ she mouthed silently.

  Without a word he placed a finger to his lips and went on his way. Immediately Catherine went in search of her husband. Nothing mattered to her at that moment but that Marcus had after all made plans for Harry. Dangerously fascinated by this unexpected, vulnerable side of her enigmatic husband, she knocked on his chamber door. On entering, she found him seated in a chair pulling on his boots.

  Marcus looked up when she swept in, noting her high colour and the shining excitement in her eyes. Lowering his head to hide his amusement, he knew only too well what had prompted her to seek him out in his chamber.

  ‘Why, Catherine, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Marcus,’ she gasped, her eyes doing a quick flick around the room to make sure he was entirely alone, ‘I have just seen Harry—but he looks so different I didn’t recognise him immediately. Why didn’t you tell me what you intended? Do you not think he will be recognised?’

  ‘Why?’ he chuckled. ‘If you couldn’t see through his disguise, why should anyone else? It’s a risk, I know, but I believe he is unlikely to raise suspicion out in the open as my manservant.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus, you are a marvel. It’s so kind of you to consider Harry in this way.’

  ‘Kind?’ He stood up, his dark eyes mocking her. ‘I make no secret of the fact that I want Stapleton off my hands as quickly as possible, and I warn you it was not kindness that made me bring him out of his hiding place. Always remember, Catherine, that I never do anything without a reason, and I always expect something in return.’

  Catherine looked at him, and a small, wry smile formed on her lips. ‘You always get paid, that’s what you mean, isn’t it? I know what you expect from me, Marcus, and I have told you that I accept our marriage, that I will not deny you. I have not done so on the two occasions you have come to my bed. It is you that is at fault. Your celibacy is of your own making.’

  ‘Most women in that situation would welcome a cold bed to the unwelcome attention of their husbands.’

  ‘My bed is never cold, Marcus, and neither am I,’ she assured him softly, ‘as you know.’

  A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Rubbing his knuckles against her cheek, tenderly he asked, ‘Am I to infer from that remark that you actually like having me in your bed?’

  Her face turned pink. ‘I can imagine the awful damage to your pride if I said no, but, yes, if you really want to know, I do like having you in my bed. I have never forbidden you to touch me. I have always been accessible to you. Little did I realise that you would come to play the reluctant husband. It is no compliment to me. You cannot blame me if I think perhaps that the distance you have placed between us is because you do not find me desirable, that you do not want me anymore.’

  Marcus remained unconvinced that what Catherine had once felt for Harry was in the past. He was impatient for the time when the matter of that young man was resolved, when he was out of their lives for good and he could have his wife to himself. His gaze travelled from Catherine’s eyes to her lips. ‘You are everything a man could ask for in a wife—and more.’

  Tilting her head to one side, she smiled mischievously. ‘Then I don’t suppose,’ she said softly, ‘that it would do the least bit of good for me to insist that you come to my bed.’

  Marcus’s lips twitched. ‘None whatsoever,’ he said lightly, ‘unless you are in it.’

  ‘Where else would I be—and you would be most welcome. But now, enough of your seduction, my lord, for since you made Harry your manservant, you will have to get used to seeing him every day. But how will you spirit him out of London?’

  ‘I have connections among the shipping merchants there, who ply their trade between London and the Continent. There is
one who owes me a favour. I am confident he will agree to take Harry on board with no questions asked.’

  ‘I am happy to know that all is not lost. His disguise is perfect. We may get away with it.’

  ‘May?’ returned Marcus. ‘We shall save him, Catherine.’ He cocked one dark eyebrow at her, and she laughed.

  ‘You are right. We shall. I know it,’ Catherine echoed in a tone of such ferocious determination that Marcus smiled, delighted to find her showing a touch of her old spirit.

  ‘I did my best—with a little help from Alice.’

  ‘Alice? Do you mean to tell me that she was in on this little subterfuge—and never a word to me?’ she remarked with mock indignation. ‘Oh, just wait until I see her.’

  One corner of his mouth curled up as he glanced at her. ‘I couldn’t have done it without her. Now, go and get ready. I want to make Wells before nightfall.’

  Catherine hurried away to do his bidding, carried away by the new hope that had risen in her with this new turn of events, and to Marcus, his wife’s infectious enthusiasm was like a breath of joy.

  They left Saxton Court at midday. Since the deprivations of the rebellion had reduced the staff at the house, the demands on Archie and the other male servants had increased. They doubled as gardeners and stable hands, and on this occasion, for Archie and two others, coachmen. A rather apprehensive Harry travelled up front with Archie. Marcus and Catherine were alone in the coach. Alice and two maids followed on behind with most of the baggage.

  ‘I do not wish to delay any longer,’ Marcus said as he assisted Catherine up into the spacious conveyance with its domed roof. ‘I’m in a hurry to put as much distance as possible between us and Taunton.’

  Relieved to be heading for London at last, leaning his head against the upholstery, Marcus had plenty of time to mull over recent events during the journey. He had not seen Captain Kirke since he had come to Saxton Court that day, and nor had he heard what had become of Fenton. Roger had promised to keep an eye on things while he was absent, and also to keep him informed if he should hear anything concerning Fenton.