Marriage Under Siege (13 page)

'Loyalty to His Majesty the
King is a priority, my lady. Where do you stand on that? And my lord Mansell?
God would most assuredly damn you if you broke your allegiance to his anointed
one.'

So there it was. Gower had
come to the crux of the matter at last. Honoria raised her chin and answered
with commendable calm, controlling the emotion that churned in her stomach,
'Unlike you, sir, I am not privy to the judgements of God. How comforting it
must be for you.' She allowed her lips to curl a little. 'I am sorry you are
not at ease in your position here, Master Gower. Perhaps a different living
would be wise. I believe that the parish of
Luston
is
about to become available.'

It pleased her beyond
measure to see Gower's face pale and tense.
Luston
was small. Remote. Poor. Few parishioners to bring tithes into the priest's
pocket and with lowly accommodation. Gower hid his anger, but cringed inwardly.

'I will speak with my lord.
It can easily be arranged.'

'There will be no need.'
The priest bowed his head in a semblance of compliance. 'I will convey your
wishes to my congregation.'

'Thank you, Reverend Gower.
I shall be sure to be present to hear it. And perhaps you should consider
carefully your interpretation of God's will in your sermons. I would not wish
you to anger my lord unduly. I believe that he has a hasty temper when his
wishes are not fulfilled.'

'Of course.'

'Good day then, sir.
Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.' Honoria smiled again, signalled
to her waiting maid and left the Reverend Gower to fume in frustration.

Lady Mansell's smile
quickly dissipated. She had won. But he could bear watching.

*
            
*
            
*

By the time Honoria had
covered the short distance between St Barnabas's and the castle, people were
afoot. It was market day in Ludlow. Townsfolk from Knighton and villagers from
the many small settlements of the Welsh Marches would attend to buy and sell
and exchange gossip, using the route that ran before the main gate of Brampton
Percy.

Gaining the inner
courtyard, she dispatched her maid to the services of Mistress Morgan in the dairy
and set about discovering the whereabouts of Mary Hopton. With one foot on the
bottom step of the outer staircase she was brought to a halt by an outbreak of
noise and loud shouting from the direction of the road. She shrugged, prepared
to ignore it. High spirits on the way to market. But the shouts became louder,
more coarse and vulgar in tone. Curiosity drove Honoria to turn instead to
investigate. Almost immediately she was joined by Mary, who raised her brows
and shook her head in ignorance of the disturbance. Together they climbed to
the battlemented walk to see for themselves. They found Foxton already there
and Sergeant Nathaniel Drew, the officer of their small body of armed guard.
Both were leaning out from the battlements, the better to see the commotion,
but stepped back and turned as they heard Honoria's light steps and the click
of her heels on the stone. Foxton's face was stern and angry, but he flushed
when he saw Honoria's approach. He came to her, arms lifted, as if he would
shepherd her back down to the courtyard again.

'What is it Master Foxton?
So much noise.'

'You do not want to be
here, my lady. It is not fitting. Lord Mansell would not wish it.'

Before she could reply, the
voices rose again, and now the content of some of the words reached Honoria.
There could be no doubting the cause of the disturbance on the road.

'But I believe that I do,'
she replied quietly but firmly. 'I would know what they are saying.'

She trod round Foxton to
look down from battlement to road. Below her a group of travellers had come to
a halt on the cobbles before the gatehouse. It should have been an attractive,
bustling scene with pack-horses, well-laden mules, baskets of poultry, a roan
cow with its calf. Children scampered and got in the way, shouting and
laughing. Women chided them for their high spirits. A light-hearted scene from
any market day on the road to Ludlow.

But it was not. The group
had halted with deliberate intent. Men, women and children alike had collected
stones to throw at the castle walls. Rattling like hailstones. Harmless, of
course, but the volley of words was not. Nor the hostile expressions on faces
young and old.

Honoria's lips tightened as
she picked up the words.

'Death to all Puritans!'

'Death to the enemies of
His Majesty!'

'Filthy traitors. Go back
where you came from. Lord Edward was loyal enough. We want no traitors round
'ere.'

More handfuls of stones
clattered on the stonework below them.

'It did not take long for
news of my lord's politics to become known, did it?' Honoria leaned further
forward to see the crowd more clearly, shocked by the intensity of anger and
hatred as the insults continued.

'Keep back, my lady.' Drew
put out a restraining hand. 'Someone might get lucky with a stone.'

Her movement caught the
attention of a woman holding the reins of a packhorse.

'Look.' She pointed to the
little group on the battlements. 'There she is. The Parliamentarian whore.' The
woman spat as she cursed.

Honoria dragged in a breath
at the insult, aware only of its personal and bitter nature. She felt Mary's
hand on her arm and did not pull away, but returned the comforting touch. The
shouts now redoubled, all aimed at her.

'Scarlet woman.'

'Whore of Babylon.'

'Traitorous bitch.'

She stepped rapidly back,
turning to Foxton in disbelief, for a moment lost for words. Never in her life
had she suffered such a personal attack. It hit hard. Her heart ached as if
from a physical blow. Foxton glanced at her with compassion. She was so young
and inexperienced. And yet there was an inner core of strength that no one
could guess at. Her face might lack colour, she might be unable to disguise the
anxiety in her eyes, but her composure held, every inch of her slight figure
proclaiming the authority of Lady Mansell in the absence of her lord.

'I am sorry that you should
have heard that, my lady.' Moved by the grief and pain in her eyes, Foxton
tried to draw the sting. 'They are merely ignorant and misinformed. Pray do not
let it disturb you.'

'No matter.' Honoria lifted
her head, drew her dignity round her and achieved a faint smile. 'If it is the
worst we have to suffer, we will be fortunate. At least we are in no doubt of
the sympathies of the local people.'

On that thought she turned
to survey the faces of those who lived within her walls who had come to view
the commotion, the people whose service and loyalty she depended on for the
safety of her home. Her promise to Francis came into clear focus. What did her
servants think to this unexpected outburst of hostility? Where were their sympathies
given? She looked around her. And saw shock. Discomfort. Embarrassment. And
perhaps one face, unaware of her searching glance, registering a shade of
delight, of satisfaction at her discomfiture. Mary, with the same focus,
nudged her and nodded in the direction of the young groom who stood below in
the courtyard with others from the stable.

'Yes. I have seen. Ned
Parrish.'

'I would not trust him.'

'Nor I. And I know that
Foxton has his doubts. The boy has been outspoken in his criticisms of
Parliament. He would support the King.'

'What will you do?'

'I think that I will send
Ned Parrish off to London with a letter for my lord's family. With an innocent
suggestion that they keep him close and make use of him there.'

Mary glanced at Honoria
with something akin to admiration. 'You continue to amaze me, Honor.'

'How so? It would seem to
be the perfect solution.'

'Without doubt.' Mary hid
the appreciative glint in her eyes. The bride was proving to be a lady of
remarkable resource. It would be interesting to watch Lord Mansell's reaction
to it as he came to know her better.

Honoria spent an hour in
writing letters. One strange, uncomfortable message was to Francis's mother in
London, to inform the lady of her son's precipitate marriage to Honoria Ingram,
recent widow of Lord Edward Mansell. It caused her to chew the end of her pen.
A difficult, stilted letter with no possibility for personal comment or
lightness of touch since neither lady was acquainted with the other. In the end
Honoria gave up and wrote a bald account of events. What would the lady make of
her new daughter-in-law? Honoria sighed as she re-read the terse sentences that
hid so much unease. But, however unsatisfactory, the letter would get Ned
Parrish away from Brampton Percy for good.

A far more relaxed letter
to Lady Eleanor Croft followed. Honoria's dealings with Sir William might have
acquired an edge of discomfort, but Eleanor was a different matter. This letter
was full of gossip, trivia and personal matters. And if it should contain more
than a little comment on recent doings in the vicinity, then what should a
lady write to a friend when war was on everyone's lips. She anticipated the
reply with pleasure.

Honoria abandoned her
ill-used pen in relief when a further development was brought to her door. One
of her outdoor servants, whose name she did not know, a mere lad now covered
with dust and indignation, was brought before her by Foxton who explained that
Sim had gone with Master Thorpe, the gardener, to Hereford three days ago, to buy
seeds for spring planting in the vegetable garden.

'You must speak with Sim,
my lady. It is not good news.'

Honoria did not need
Foxton's warning. She now feared the worst. She eyed the trembling lad before
her. He shuffled and failed to lift his eyes any higher than the toes of her
shoes.

'What happened, Sim? Come,
now. The fault is not yours, whatever happened. Simply tell me what you know.'

'We was in the ale house,
m'lady. In the High Street. Just a tankard before setting for home. We had the
seeds and everything.' Sim wiped a hand over his already smeared face and
risked a higher glance. 'And Master Thorpe was arrested by the Governor's men.
We was doing nothing. Just sitting. But he was dragged outside and taken off to
the castle. For being a spy, they said. And they took our horses and seeds and
everything. So I got a ride with the carrier and walked from the crossroads.
That's all, my lady.' He finished the tale, hands wringing his cap as he
awaited her comment.

'Think carefully, Sim. Did
they know he was one of mine?'

'For sure, my lady. And my
lord's. The Captain asked if he worked here at the castle.'

'I see. Was he harmed in
any way?'

'No. Master Thorpe was just
dragged off to the castle, like I said. He told me to come on home.'

'You did well. Go and eat,
now.'

Sim escaped from the solar
with relief and a rapid bob of his head.

'So it begins, Master
Foxton.'

'Yes.'

'Then I pray for my lord's
return.'

'And I, my lady.'

*
            
*
            
*

Evening closed in, an
early, cloud-banked dusk.

And then moonless night.

Anxiety gnawed at Honoria
with the teeth of a ravenous rat, giving her no relief. She could neither eat
nor rest. Nor set herself to any useful purpose with a quiet heart. Her
marriage, only two days ago, had cast her into a quicksand of fears and danger.
And the man to whom she was legally bound had abandoned her to a fate for which
she was ill prepared. She checked the initial resentment. In all fairness, how
could he have known? And, in all justice, she was safe enough. But she wished
he was here. She remembered the hard security of his arms around her when
despair had taken over. She had never known what it was to rest, to lean on
such strength. But now she did, and longed for it again. And his more intimate
caresses. A flush tinted her skin at the memories, to her consternation. Or
perhaps it was merely the warmth from the fire, she told herself, not believing
a word of it.

So she sat in her solar
with Mary, an open, unread book on her lap, waiting. Neither lady made any
pretence at hiding their concern but both were reluctant to speak their fears
aloud. Perhaps it would tempt fate if they did so.

'I wish Josh would return,'
Mary stated finally as the hour reached ten o'clock.

'Yes.' Honoria acknowledged
to herself the one thought that had filled her mind throughout all the trials
of the day. 'And Francis too.' There was no need to say more.

But they did not return.

In Leintwardine Francis and
Joshua had found themselves pinned down by a small but enterprising troop of
Royalists who determined to seize the property. There was some minor
skirmishing from them, not very effective, but Mansell dared not return to
Brampton Percy with the outcome still undecided. His impotence smouldered,
ready to burst into flame, his inactivity driving him to pace the low-ceilinged
parlour as night fell.