“Take the children into the gardens and hide,” Bess said.
“No, Mama!” Sabrina cried. “I want to be with you!”
“You will go to the gardens with Mavis and Clara,” the duchess said firmly, and hurried from the nurseries.
“What is happening?” Autumn came from her room with Lily in her wake.
“Roundheads,” Bess said.
“In Worcester?”
“They send out raiding parties now and again to frighten the royalist population,” her sister-in-law replied. “Perhaps you should go with the children.”
“Nay, I’ll stay with you, Bess. What of the valuables?”
“We buried them months ago in the rose gardens,” Bess replied with a twinkle. “They’ll probably steal what’s here anyway, but they can. I’ll risk no life or limb of any of our people in defense of things.”
There came a thunderous knocking on the door of the house as the two young women hurried down the staircase. Smythe, the majordomo, ran to answer the fierce summons, unbarring the door and drawing it open.
“Ye took yer own good time,” the Roundhead trooper said, pushing Smythe into the hall. Then, raising his musket, he smashed it savagely into the majordomo’s head.
The Duchess of Lundy screamed with horror as the faithful servant fell to the floor, blood pouring from his wound. She ran forward. “What have you done?” she cried. “He meant you no harm! Who is your commanding officer? I shall report you for this act of barbarity!”
The trooper raised his musket and fired his weapon. A bright blossom of scarlet bloomed over Bess’s heart, and she collapsed to the floor quite dead. Autumn froze where she stood in the shadows of the hallway. She instinctively knew that her ability to remain silent was her key to survival. She could feel Lily behind her, shaking with fright. The trooper knelt over Bess’s body and began pulling her rings from her fingers.
A second man stepped through the doorway of the house, but he was elegantly if soberly garbed. “What are you about, Watkins?” he demanded. He was tall with cold eyes.
“Just a bit of looting, sir. ’Tis permitted,” he said, looking up at the gentleman.
Autumn stepped forward. “Are you this man’s superior?” she said in haughty tones.
The gentleman bowed, removing his hat. “I am, madame.”
“He has murdered two people in cold blood!” Autumn almost shouted. She bent and snatched Bess’s rings from the surprised trooper. “Give me those, you thieving murderer!” Straightening herself up, she glared at the gentleman. “That is the Duchess of Lundy, whom this monster killed when she protested the murder of her servant. Smythe but opened the door, and this creature pushed into the hallway and battered him to death. How dare you allow your men to enter a peaceful house and wreak such havoc, sir!” She shoved her sister-in-law’s rings into her pocket.
“And you are, madame?” the gentleman asked sternly.
“Lady Autumn Leslie, daughter of the Duke of Glenkirk, sister to the Duke of Lundy, whose house this is,” Autumn replied. “Is it the policy of this so-called commonwealth to invade the houses of its citizens to loot and kill? And who the hell are you that you have such little control over your men?” she shouted at him.
“Sir Simon Bates, madame, at your service,” he responded, his eyes sweeping over the young woman. She was very beautiful, her dark hair tumbling about the quilted burgundy satin of her dressing gown.
“What are you going to do about this animal?” Autumn demanded.
“He will be punished, I assure you, madame,” Sir Simon responded.
“An eye for an eye,” Autumn said grimly. “I want it done now! Give me your pistol, sir, and I will do it myself!”
“Would you really?” Sir Simon was suddenly amused. The girl was distraught, of course. She would not really kill Watkins in cold blood, but to appease her, he handed her his pistol. She probably wouldn’t even know how to use a weapon. Then, to his great surprise, Autumn cocked the pistol and, jamming the barrel between the trooper’s eyes, shot him dead. “My God!” he said, astounded, as she calmly handed him back his pistol.
Watkins’s body hit the floor with a muffled thump.
“You thought I wouldn’t do it, didn’t you?” Autumn said quietly.
“Who taught you to shoot?” Sir Simon asked her, amazed by what had just happened.
“My father, whom your people killed at Dunbar,” Autumn answered him coldly. “Are you going to arrest me? I don’t care if you do!”
“I should,” Sir Simon said slowly, “but I will not, madame. As you have so succinctly put it, an eye for an eye. Besides, Watkins was of little import. He was but cannon fodder, and would have been killed sooner or later. And then, too, there is the matter of the pistol, which I gave you. While I did indeed not believe you would actually shoot the scum, I must accept my responsibility for Watkins’s execution.”
“Remove him from this house,” Autumn said in hard tones. “I will not allow him to be buried on the same lands in which poor Bess will be interred. Dig your grave by the side of the public road. This animal has widowed a good man and orphaned three children, sir. Take him, and be gone from Queen’s Malvern!” Autumn could feel her legs beginning to tremble, but she stiffened her spine. These Roundheads and their arrogant captain would not make her cry.
“Where is the plate?” Sir Simon asked.
“How should I know?” she replied angrily. “I am but a guest in this house, sir. My sister-in-law was prepared to let you take whatever you desired. She said no life was worth mere things, but you have taken two innocent lives. And having done so, you are now prepared to rob the dead?” She shrugged scornfully. “Take whatever you want, sir. I will not impede your thievery.”
“Madame, your tongue is sharper than my sword,” he told her.
She stared coldly at him, and he realized with surprise that one of her eyes was a clear leaf green and the other a bright turquoise blue. Fascinated, he wished suddenly that they had met in another time and place. He bowed politely to her. “I will leave this house in peace, madame, but I must take some of your livestock to feed my men.”
Becket, who was Smythe’s assistant, came running into the hall, shouting, “They’ve fired the east wing, m’lady!” He stopped short, seeing the three bodies, two of whom he recognized. “Oh, Jesu, God!” he said, and his glance went to Autumn. “M’lady?”
“Form a bucket brigade and do what you can to save the house,” Autumn said grimly. Then she turned to Sir Simon. “Take your dead and anything else you want, but go! You have done enough damage here for a lifetime, but your life will be worth nothing when my brother returns and sees his wife murdered, his house a ruin!”
“Your brother is a Stuart, is he not?” Sir Simon said.
Autumn nodded.
“Then I feel no guilt for what has happened here today, Lady Autumn. You Scots and your Stuarts have been a blight upon England since you inherited old Bess’s throne. I feel no shame for the death of a Stuart, madame,” he told her coldly.
Autumn slapped him as hard as she could, leaving a large red welt upon Sir Simon Bates’s handsome face. “My sister-in-law, sir, was English, as is my brother, for all his paternity. Charles was born here in this house. As for Bess, she was the Earl of Welk’s youngest daughter. He is one of your own. I shall be certain to tell him exactly how his innocent child died at the hands of your Roundheads, Sir Simon. You think to terrify us with these raids, but all you have succeeded in doing is hardening our resolve to restore the monarchy. God Save the King!”
“If I were not aware that you are suffering from shock, madame, I would slay you myself for the traitor you are,” he replied, rubbing his injured cheek. “Others will not be so caring of you, lady.”
“If I had a weapon, sir, I should slay you for the traitor you are,” Autumn answered him bravely.
Sir Simon laughed in spite of himself. What a bewitching little wildcat Lady Autumn Leslie was. He envied the man who would one day bed he
r, and wished he might be that man. “Good day, madame,” he said, bowing once again as he put his hat back on his head. Then he bent to hoist Watkins’s body over his broad shoulder, departing through the open door.
She stood stock still, watching the Roundheads and their captain as they rode down the gravel driveway of Queen’s Malvern, driving several sheep and cattle ahead of them; chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese squawking indignantly as they were tied and slung over saddles. Her gaze moved to the east wing, where the servants were gallantly battling to save that part of the house and prevent the fire from spreading any farther.
“Autumn, what has happened?” Her niece, Sabrina, was unexpectedly by her side. Then, seeing her mother, Sabrina screamed. “Mama!” She clutched at Autumn, burying her face in her aunt’s skirts. “Mama,” she sobbed.
“She is dead, Brie,” Autumn said, and hearing the words aloud from her own lips, she collapsed onto the floor, cradling her niece while they both wept uncontrollably.
It was there Charles Frederick Stuart found them when he finally reached his home less than an hour later.
Chapter 2
Bess! His beautiful blue-eyed Bess lay crumpled in a heap upon the dark polished wooden floor of the entry; the blood on her bodice dried black now; her eyes wide, the image of shock and disbelief still lingering in them. Within his chest his heart was suddenly crushed, and then an emptiness such as he had never felt swept over Charles Frederick Stuart. His glance took in Smythe, also dead. His sister and his daughter huddled together weeping with sorrow. His eldest son was frozen by his side, his small hand clutching his father’s.
“What has happened here?” He pushed the words up through his constrictred throat, his tongue almost becoming entangled in them. He wanted to shriek his outrage; howl to the heavens at this terrible injustice. Bess! Bess! Bess! Her name echoed in his brain.
Autumn looked up, her eyes swollen and red. “Roundheads,” she said, and nothing more. Then she began to shake, finally collapsing unconscious next to her dazed and benumbed niece.
The Duke of Lundy picked up his young daughter. She was cold but half-conscious with her shock. The servants were beginning to crowd into the hall. Many were sobbing with both fright at what had happened and relief to see the duke, their master, returned from Worcester.
Becket, with a wave of his hand, called forth young Sabrina’s nursemaid, Mavis, taking the child from her father and transferring her into the woman’s arms. “Take Lady Sabrina to her bedchamber and see to her welfare,” he said in a very no-nonsense voice. “You two!” He pointed at a pair of young footmen. “Remove Smythe from the entrance to be prepared for burial. Lily! Don’t just stand there gaping, girl. See to your mistress. Samuel! Peter! Carry Lady Autumn to her chamber! Clara, take Master Frederick upstairs. My lord, if you will come with me, I will try and explain what has happened here this morning. Where is the duchess’s tiring woman? Sybll, stay with your mistress until the master decides what is to be done. The rest of you, back to your duties!
The duke followed Becket to the relative quiet of his library. The servant poured him a generous dollop of smoky, peat-flavored whiskey, shoving the crystal tumbler into his master’s hand.
“Forgive my boldness, my lord, but with Smythe dead I felt, as his assistant, that I had to make some order out of the chaos. I am at your service, and will tell you what little I know. Just after dawn a cowherd spotted a troop of Roundheads making their way toward Queen’s Malvern. He gave the alarm. Her ladyship ordered the children hidden with their servants in the gardens. When I had finished overseeing this duty I discovered some of the blackguards had entered the east wing and, finding nothing they might loot, fired it. I ran to tell her ladyship, but she was already dead. Lady Autumn orderd a bucket brigade and sent me back to oversee it. I fear I can tell you nothing else.”
“Did my daughter see her mother murdered?” the duke asked.
“She was not in the hallway, my lord, when I was there,” Becket replied. “There was, however, a third victim, a Roundhead soldier. I must assume the captain of the troop removed him. He was obviously quite dead. He lay on his back, a bullet hole directly between his eyes, my lord. The Roundhead captain was a gentleman, my lord.” Becket refilled the duke’s tumbler, which was already empty.
“Then my sister is the only person who can tell us all that happened here this morning,” the duke said slowly. He focused his gaze on Becket. “Your loyalty is appreciated, Becket, and you will, of course, assume Smythe’s position permanently. Have my wife’s women lay her out in her wedding gown. Have a grave dug in the family graveyard. We will bury her tomorrow. Inform me when my sister is conscious and able to speak with me.”
“Yes, my lord,” Becket said, and then he withdrew.
Alone, Charles Frederick Stuart put his head in his hands and wept. How could this have happened? The county of Worcester was a royalist enclave, a place of safety from Cromwell and his bloody Roundheads. Not any longer, obviously. And that fool, Billingsly, who had told him the Roundheads were headed in a different direction! Bess! His sweet Bess was dead and gone. He would never again hear her voice or lay with her in their bed. Never again would he caress her little round breasts that had always responded so well to their shared passion. Bess was dead. Taken from him in a war of rebellion that had seen his uncle murdered by the Parliament and his cousins in exile.
He had avoided taking sides in this civil strife even as his mother had advised, even as his brother, Henry Lindley, was doing. The royal Stuarts had always loved him and treated him with exceptional kindness from the moment of his birth. Still, for his family’s sake he had remained neutral. Now, however, he had no choice. Now he would take sides, for with his wife’s murder the Roundheads had forced his hand. So be it, Charlie thought grimly, but no matter how many of them he killed—and he would kill—it would not bring back his lovely young wife. Bess was gone from him forever.
He stood by her graveside the next day in an autumn rain, his three children by his side. His sister, however, had not yet been revived from her swoon, although she was showing signs of returning consciousness. Sabrina and Frederick were somber. Baby William did not understand what had happened. He would have no memories of Bess at all but those they gave him, the duke thought sadly. He took comfort in the fact that Bess was buried next to her great-grandparents, Adam de Marisco and Skye O’Malley. They would watch over her, he knew.
Autumn Leslie finally revived the morning after her sister-in-law’s burial. Charlie came and sat by her side, taking her small hand in his.
“Do you remember what happened, lass?” he asked her.
Autumn nodded; then she told him.
“Becket said the trooper was shot,” Charlie gently probed. “Did his captain execute him?”
“Nay,” Autumn told him. “I did.”
“You?” The duke was not certain whether he should believe her or not. It had been, after all, a terrible experience.
“I said I wanted him killed for murdering Smythe and Bess,” Autumn explained. “Sir Simon laughed at me, but he handed me his pistol and told me to go ahead and kill him. He didn’t think I would, Charlie. He thought me a silly girl, hysterical with what had happened; but I took his weapon and slew the monster who had killed Bess and Smythe! Sir Simon was very surprised. I told him to arrest me, but he said the trooper was cannon fodder and would have died sooner or later. He said he accepted the responsibility for his death, for it had been he who had foolishly given me his pistol. Then he took the body and left. It was then that Sabrina came and saw her mother lying there. Oh, Charlie! I hate this Commonwealth, these Roundheads, and pocky Cromwell. I hate them!”
He sighed deeply. “We buried Bess yesterday,” he said.
“How long have I been unconscious?” Autumn gasped.
“Three days,” her brother answered.
“My God!” She was stunned by his revelation.
“As soon as you are well enough to travel, Autumn, I will take you
to Cadby. Perhaps Mother will be there by the time we arrive. Then I am taking the children to Glenkirk to Patrick, for safety’s sake.”
“Charlie! What do you mean to do?”
“Fight for my king,” her brother answered her. “I mean to join my cousin, King Charles II, in Scotland, little sister.”
She nodded, understanding completely. “You have been left with no other choice,” she said. “What of Queen’s Malvern?”
“I will close it up and leave but a skeleton staff to watch over it. I shall pay the servants for two years, and they shall all have their places when this is over, should they want them. They are safer without my presence than with it, now that the Roundheads have decided all Stuarts are the enemy. They will learn that they have made a bad mistake, making an enemy of me,” Charles Frederick Stuart said.
“Mama will not be happy with your decision,” Autumn said softly.
“I know,” Charlie answered, “but I cannot allow my wife’s death to go unavenged, nor can I now stand by as the monarchy is rent asunder by these traitors. Cromwell and his ilk are little better than the others, sister. My uncle was a good man but a bad king. Those who had his favor, and surrounded him, keeping him from the truth, were every bit as abusive of their power as the men who now claim to govern England. But these men have murdered God’s annointed king and persecuted our good Anglican church. I see now, as I did not see before, that they must be stopped!”
“I am in complete agreement with you, brother, but you know what Mama will say. Particularly now that our father is dead in defense of the Stuarts.”
“I will send a messenger to Cadby, saying that you are coming to be with Mama,” the duke said. “The rest of it I prefer to tell Henry and his family myself. It is not something one can write in a letter, although I must send a message to Bess’s parents in Dorset. Welk and his wife are now openly Puritans, but they are still Bess’s family.”
Intrigued Page 3
