‘But why not run?’ Nat’s curiosity burned. ‘I know that Margaret cannot travel through the trees but you could both just leave, escape—find somewhere safe. ’
‘Perhaps. You have met Margaret. She is . . . exceptional. At Burcroft, she is free but out there . . . She would be noted, be wondered about, be examined. We can have no place safer than Burcroft Park. It is our fortress. Here, Margaret will grow into her womanhood without fear. She will learn to become who she is and how to hide herself from harm. I have already made plans for my daughter’s future Nat, rest assured.’
Nat scanned the distance. Nothing except trees.
‘You know of this Taxane Order? How do they work. Will they help us?’
‘My experience of them is . . . uncertain. They have great knowledge—of that there is no doubt—but they wield power—menace. They should not be underestimated. Their roots are deep and wide. How could they knew of you and Florence?’
Nat shrugged. ‘How did Moorcroft know of you and your daughter?’
Edward sighed. Unanswerable questions. ‘I am unsure. A link with the Taxanes? I would hope that they have no dealings with the like of him. There is another possibility—a family—the Blackmans.’
‘In the forest. We encountered them with Margaret and Buskette.’
‘Indeed. Caleb is a good man but if his wife and son were threatened . . . You have spoken of torture.’ He shook his head. ‘There is more. I carry this,’ and with a flourish, he pulled a revolver out of his jacket. ‘You know it?’
‘Smith and Wesson is a famous name in my time also. You surprise me.’
‘How so?’
‘If your motivation is to protect your daughter, why risk brandishing such a gun?’
‘It is my last line of defence.’
‘But your preparations, your devices…?’
Edward shook his head and the full force of the meaning hit Nat.
‘For Margaret . . .’
‘Should they take her, I will not allow . . .’
Nat understood. ‘Keep it close by.’
Edward replaced it. ‘Unfortunately, I also had cause to use it upon Moorcroft’s thugs—my only option I assure you—and he merely showed surprise that I possessed such a weapon. Nat, he should have been shocked and awed by such a thing but he wasn’t. Denzil Moorcroft is also a time traveller I believe.’ He looked to Nat.
‘Yes. I think so. I suspect that his steward, Holless, knows of it.’ Nat paused recalling a memory he’d rather not have. ‘I believe he captures any travellers he finds and tortures them for information about their own times. This I can testify to—as can Florence. If he is linked with the Taxanes, what does that tell us?’
‘It would be a portentous discovery. I am reluctant to believe such.’
Nat withdrew the small Dinky car that he’d stolen from Moorcroft’s locked cabinet. It had rested in full view while he was held captive and when Florence rescued him, he grabbed it in passing—as much to annoy Moorcroft as anything. It was a bright red Mini.
‘A toy? A strange artefact to treasure. Perhaps it tells us something of his history?
‘The car was prevalent in the 1960s.’
‘Fascinating. One could only wish that he were a sane man who one might speak to…’
‘Yeah. Well. On the sane thing…Have you ever heard the term psychopath?’
Edward shook his head, ‘From the Greek? Concerning the mind?’
Nat nodded slowly. ‘Exactly. Florrie and I believe that he is a psychopath—unbalanced in the mind.’ Both men thought of their women.
‘Very well. Then there is no choice. I have long anticipated a day when I too might be discovered, and although it is Florence who is the target of Moorcroft’s insanity, there is true threat to my dearest daughter. I had not anticipated that it would be another time traveller who would threaten us so but Moorcroft would only have to call the Witch Finder General to Burcroft, and we would be tainted with fatal suspicion and, in my experience, rumour and superstition are usually believed. Moorcroft must die.’
The conversation was brought to an abrupt end as they saw a figure emerging from the woods. Both men stood ready thinking that it was Moorcroft but the figure was too large—a grown man. He ran erratically, flailing his arms as he thundered towards the house, arms pumping and feet pounding.
‘Open the gate!’ roared Edward, as he charged towards the door, Nat on his heels. Moments later Peter Blackman pelted in to the courtyard. Unexpectedly, he didn’t stop but continued his wild sprint, past Edward and Buskette , around to the back of the house. They followed.
‘The stable!’ shouted Edward, suddenly understanding the boy’s destination and they all followed in Peter’s trail. By the time they’d caught up, the lad had wrapped his arms around Cloud’s neck and she was nuzzling his ear and searching for apples. As they skidded to a halt, Edward signalled for Nat to halt whilst he approached the boy.
‘Peter,’ he spoke softly. ‘Peter, lad. The horse is well—perhaps a little lame. Why the hurry boy? Where is your father?’ His fears began to take form.
The boy withdrew himself from the tender attentions of Cloud, who in truth was losing interest since there was no apple, and began to nod very rapidly. His agitation was evident.
‘Calm yourself my boy. You are safe here. Cloud is safe—as you see. What is it Peter?’ It was hard to be patient with the lad knowing that he held information.
‘Danger. Come.’ The boy forced the words out. ‘Pa says, Danger Come.’
‘Thank you Peter.’ There was no need to ask the nature of the danger. In any case, the lad had already turned back to Cloud.
Edward stepped away, drawing Nat aside. ‘He is a good boy—a child. Caleb, his father, is my trusted man. He aids me when I return—clothes, possessions—the horse!’
Nat sensed the attachment between the two.
‘If he has sent this message with Peter and not come himself . . . ’
‘He can’t.’ Nat supplied the terrible truth.
‘I fear for him and his wife. The message may already be too late. The boy stays with us and I shall look to Caleb when this is over. Moorcroft cannot be far behind.’
12
Mind Games
‘Signore!’ Buskette was careful to speak quietly, alarming neither Peter nor the horses. ‘They are here.’
They left the lad there—it was as safe as anywhere for him at Burcroft—and watched as the men emerged from the forest towards the main gate, ambling with the confidence of violence.
Edward observed the hatred cross Nat’s face. ‘I see no advantage in confirming to this fellow that you and Florence are here. We will keep him unsure for as long as we can. Stay out of sight.’
Reluctantly, Nat agreed, keeping to the impenetrable shadows of the hallway. His eyes were trained on the elegant figure of Moorcroft who was trying to trot nonchalantly towards the locked gates, with just one attendant—the vulture Holless—inevitably. Nat noticed how skewed Denzil’s riding position was and the corner of his mouth lifted.
Denzil called out, shifting himself in the saddle, ‘I said that we would meet again, Sir Edward but this is hardly a hospitable welcome! Come Sir, we can avoid all unpleasantness by the simple return of my WIFE.’ He yelled out the word. ‘I assure you that I will leave both you and your witless daughter in peace and trouble you no more. Look around you. Your rabble of retainers would rather handle pitchforks not blades!’
You’d know all about pitchforks, thought Nat but saw several ears around him prick up at the mention of Florence being his wife. Unfortunate.
Edward heard him out, hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. ‘Peace is it? And yet you continue to insult my daughter and threaten my home! Your words are not supported by your actions, knave. No surprise to me that you are cuckolded.’
Nat heard a few snigger. Edward had delivered the perfect riposte.
Denzil’s eyes blazed and he inclined his head towards Holless who turned back
into the forest from where a dozen more men materialised, all on horseback and all armed. A small army thought Nat—purchased, not persuaded.
‘Since the reason of my words have not swayed you sir, perhaps my show of arms will. Do not risk the lives of these simple folk. Open the gates and none will be harmed. I require only my adulterous wife.’
‘And now we see the true measure of the man,’ Edward’s voice, addressed his retainers, carried as intended to Denzil’s brigands. ‘He is no more than a low thug. A God-fearing Englishman does not countenance threats from such as he! Surely, we cannot allow such a creature to breach the walls of our home. We are Englishmen.
He called to the brigands, ‘Stand warned: your injuries will be of your own making. You will die or you will be maimed. No measure of coin will compensate for this. Leave this place in peace.’
Nat thought the man had hit the mark well both with his own people and with Denzil’s. He wondered how often Edward had imagined this moment when he would need to protect his own.
Moorcroft had not expected such resistance and he was unsettled. He’d thought that the display of force would force the man to relinquish Florence in a pathetic attempt to avoid bloodshed. It was just a simple country house with few men. Cavendish sounded disproportionately confident. He eyed his troop of men, all hardened fighters, and then he smirked at the sight of the rustics facing him. He would slaughter them. No mercy.
‘Then it seems that we have made our choices, Cavendish. A pity. I would have liked to have heard of your travels to Lincoln! I would very much like to make a similar journey soon and your advice would be welcomed.’ He began to turn the horse but then changed his mind and faced Edward again, ‘Your man . . . Caleb?’
Edward tensed.
‘He was equally reluctant to discuss your travel plans—until I promised to assist his wife in her hour of need. I suspect that once I have Mistress Margaret in my company, you will be very ready to chat with me. I look forward to it.’ Denzil’s tongue touched his lips. He would have Florence and the daughter. A bonus.
Edward had planned for men like Denzil Moorcroft. If he’d had any doubts about him, they’d been dispelled once he spoke of Margaret. Nat had called him a Psychopath. Edward suspected that he knew what that meant.
‘And what of the DESERTER, Haslet? Is he also hiding behind your daughter’s skirts, Cavendish?’ The time for subtlety was gone.
There were mutterings at that and Edward heard them. There was a battle here for the hearts of the people of Burcroft. Whilst he had no doubts that they would fight for him and for Margaret, they had no incentive to protect an unfaithful wife and a deserter. Fortunately, Nat had stepped out of the shadows and came to stand beside him.
‘I have fought at the side of Lord Thomas Fairfax and I left his company honourably. Whose colours do you wear, Moorcroft? Step forward so that we may see,’ Nat called out, ‘Or do you wear a cloak of indecision and cowardice ?’
Edward was relieved. His people knew of Fairfax—a good general and a fair man. It seemed that Haslet also understood how to win hearts and minds.
Denzil brindled at the accusation but forced his face into proud distain, ‘Ah, Nathanial Haslet! The man who tempted my wife to follow a sullied path.’ His voice lifted as he began to address the household. ‘You see before you a man—a husband—who has been wronged. Standing in your midst and protected by your master, is the man who has dishonoured me—an adulterer, a seducer, who abducted my wife, twisted her weak, feminine mind so that she hardly knew her virtue. Is this the man for whom you are prepared to give your lives? And what of those who protect him? Ask yourselves: does this place have the whiff of brimstone about it?’
Edward caught heads turning towards one another, ‘Stand fast friends,’ he reassured them. ‘You know well my dear daughter. Be not tempted by the oiled voice of Satan.’
‘As I have said,’ Denzil’s face pleaded, ‘all that I ask is that my wife is sent out to me and I shall leave this place and no harm shall come to any.’
Moorcroft’s words were finding their mark; they sounded so reasonable. Edward hoped that the bond between him and his people was strong enough.
Nat felt himself nudged aside a little and young Elijah stood between them. He raised his treble voice. ‘All is ready Sir Edward. The people of Burcroft are prepared.’ He was defiant. Edward rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Hephzibah scuttled up to pull the boy back but Moorcroft began to laugh and his men joined him. ‘Babes and women! Is that your army, Cavendish!’
Edward smiled. The man had finally misjudged and the mood had changed around him. Benjamin had moved to stand with his son. ‘Constantina?’ Edward said.
‘All is ready, Sir.’
‘Then let every man, woman and child prepare to see off this pack of carrion vultures.’
Denzil turned his horse and his men followed him into the woods.
Nat thought that he saw Buskette’s eyes flash at the use of her given name and she licked her lips at the prospect of the fight.
13
The Battle Of Burcroft
Spofforth was adamant that the main gate was the only barrier to their success. He was confident that his plan—to skirt the wall, fix ropes to the ironwork and use the horses to tear the gates open—was an excellent one. Denzil was persuaded by the man’s certainty and so they mustered at the edge of the woodland and Spofforth urged four of them forward. He and Moorcroft stayed back. Extra coins jingled in the men’s pockets.
Edward, observing it all, held one arm in the air and moved unhurriedly towards Buskette, his focus still on the assault. The horses were almost to the wall when he flagged his hand down and Buskette, watching him intently from her station at the far side of the yard, used the lighted torch to touch a cord. Nat watched it fizz as it burnt rapidly. A fuse, he realised. He and Edward shared a look of understanding and ran hard, away from the gates, and dived into Buskette’s small emplacement of sandbags. Within seconds firecrackers exploded into life in the path of the galloping horses outside the gates, terrifying them so that they reared and threw the men to the ground, scattering white-eyed with frothing mouths.
‘Nicely done!’ Edward shouted. And to Nat more quietly, ‘One is never quite sure of the amount of gunpowder to use.’
But the attackers were hardened men who recovered quickly, bristling with anger at the trick. They still had the rope and now they scuttled towards the gate, one of them holding on to a dangerously nervous horse which he dragged back with brute strength as they continued towards the gates. As they ran, Edward raised his other arm. This time two farm hands, either side of the gates, watched for his signal. Just as the mercenaries were about to tie the rope, Edward dropped his hand, his men sliced their ropes and a chasm opened in front of the gates. Two of the attackers tumbled into the deep ditch and onto the sharp spikes set at an angle to one another. There was a whoomph and a guttural cries as one man was impaled through his belly. Another fell heavily into the bottom of the ditch, spikes piercing him as he went. Bones were broken. Flesh was punctured. The horse bolted. The two others who’d been waiting for the rope to be attached, were open mouthed at the tactic and fled.
‘Their general is not well-read in the art of warfare, it would seem,’ Edward observed dryly. The men in the ditch were silent.
Denzil spat with fury! He screeched at his men to charge forward, cursed them for their cowardice and when Holless leaned towards him, speaking quietly of a more measured approach, he lashed out and struck the man across the face. If Holless had expected regret he was mistaken. Spofforth decided to keep quiet and began to reassess the risk against the reward.
Nat was seriously impressed with the level of ire which this ruthless Sir Edward had fuelled. He even began to hope. He very much liked seeing Denzil unnerved and he’d underestimated Edward Cavendish’s capabilities.
Denzil’s men seemed hesitant to advance further on such uncertain ground as did their ever heroic leader who now
spluttered at Edward from a distance, ‘Never you fear Edward Cavendish. I shall gather my full resources and return. I see now that you have used your journeys to useful effect but know that such knowledge will not protect you. I shall lay siege to you and we will see then how you fare.’
The petulance in his voice made Edward smile.
Denzil took several deep breaths to calm himself and then called, ‘Holless! Send a rider to Master Hopkins—a veritable bloodhound in sniffing out WITCHERY. I have no doubt that he will be fascinated by this household!’ He watched with satisfaction at a certain amount of shuffling among the retainers of Burcroft who, while they did not for one moment suspect devilry in the family, had heard the rumours of the self-titled, ‘Witch-Finder General’ even in this quiet hollow of England. Despite their regard for the Cavendish family, there was something unnatural about them.
Denzil’s voice continued to be raised, ‘I think, Holless, that we will make camp here and wait for our friend, the scourge of the anti-christ, to come to us.’ Denzil and his remaining men slunk back into the protective edges of the forest, clearly content to allow those in Burcroft Park to consider his words. They left the bodies of their companions, where they lay.
Sir Edward, face blank, turned on his heels and marched back into the house, telling Buskette to keep a wary eye on their besiegers. Nat followed him, wondering what their next step would be. He had felt the stirring among the workers when the Witch-Finder was mentioned. He’d been surprised by Burcroft’s defensive mechanisms and the brutally effective weaponry thus far, but ultimately, this was not a battle that could be won by allowing the house to be besieged. Edward did not break his stride and so Nat had to reach forward and pull at his arm. When Edward turned, his eyes were blazing. ‘Witch Finder General! This is what you and Florence Brock have brought to Burcroft and to my daughter. There is no turning back from this point on. Come. We must adapt our plan.’
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 8
