The Rebel’s Daughter (28 page)

Helena
’s breath caught in her throat, and
for a fleeting second she thought he might be… then her stomach
settled again as the familiar figure of Tobias Lumm stepped into
the room.

Helena stared. “Lumm? Wh-what brings you
to the City?” Strangely, in his expensive long coat and wide
brimmed hat he didn’t look out of place any more than Samuel
did.

Looking handsome and totally at ease with
himself, Tobias appeared almost amused by her discomfort, then
exchanged a loaded look with Samuel, who gave a slow nod.

The fact struck Helena then that these two
were friends. It made no sense. When did such a thing happen? If
there was news of her family, which was surely the only reason he
would want to see her, Samuel alone could have brought
it.

“
This is
quite an alehouse.” Lumm removed his hat, tapping it gently against
his thigh as he gazed around appreciatively. “The room Master
Devereux gave me is a virtual palace.”

“
Lambtons is no ordinary alehouse.” She gave the standard
response without thinking. “Your visit is unexpected, Lumm, though
you are welcome all the same.”

He set his hat onto a side table, tugged off
his gloves and flung them into it, each movement masculine and
deliberate.

Samuel made to leave. “I will see you
later, my dear.”

Helena started after him, but Lumm called
her back. “He has left us alone for a reason, Mistress.”

She froze as the door clicked shut, halted by
his tone.

Lumm sat down on the chaise Samuel had
recently vacated, relaxing into the upholstery as if he belonged
there. He indicated the empty space beside him. “Please, sit.
There’s something I need to say to you.”

Helena was tempted to remind him a
gentleman did not sit in a lady’s presence, but the time for
trivial niceties appeared to have passed. Still uneasy, she did as
he asked, watching as he brought a small square packet from the
pocket of his long coat and held it out.

The sight of familiar
handwriting on the upper side set her heart racing. “It appears to
be a letter…” she said, making no attempt to take it from him.
“…that must have lost its way, judging by the condition it is in.”
At the same time her breath caught and a shiver ran through her
veins.
It
cannot be
.

He held her gaze. “Addressed to
Lady Elizabeth. Had not the messenger the foresight to ask
at
The
Ship
for the
location of Loxsbeare, it may have ended up in Lord Blandness
hands. As it was-” He shrugged, placing the letter in her
hand.

“
Y-you’re living at your father’s inn now?” Helena stared at
the packet in her hand. He nodded. “I could never serve Blanden.
Not after what he did to Sir Jonathan.”

“
I
appreciate your loyalty,” she whispered, blinking back tears at the
sight of her mother’s name in looping, brownish script. The writing
blurred as she stared at it, an urge snatch the page and devour the
contents was strong. Yet still she could not bring herself to take
it.

“
Read
it, Mistress Helena.” He said, his voice barely above a
whisper.

She lifted the letter slowly, as if she
expected the paper to burst into flames, weighing it in her hands.
The parchment was hard, brittle and cracked in places along the
folds, and slightly greasy to the touch; the clumsy seal
broken.

She did not hear the click of the door, but
sensing she was alone, the only sound in the room the crackle and
hiss of the fire, Helena began to read.

Chapter
17

September 3rd 1685

The Hague

Dear Mother

This is the first occasion I have had both
the resources and inclination to write of the events of these last
weeks. I am impatient to assure you that I am alive and well, but
would I had more welcome news, for surely everyone at home must
know the fate of our expedition.

Our hopes were so high that day
we left for Taunton, but before I venture into the worst of it, I
must tell you there will always be one light, that shines through
my darkest memories, and that is Monmouth. He was everything I
remembered from my youth, and more. No one could have been prouder
than myself on that day he was proclaimed King at Taunton's market
cross, or surer that the course we had chosen was right.

All too soon did it turn to hopelessness and
despair, although the early signs were there, when the squires of
the West did not come as they had promised. Those who gathered
under our banner were faithful and determined men, though there was
barely a real soldier among them.

At first, it was a true
adventure, a test of our spirit and resolve, when even the weather
turned against us, for after the drought of early summer, we faced
days of heavy rain, with mud to our knees and our clothes forever
sodden. With no proper tents, we slept in the open, with
diminishing supplies, so more often than not we went
hungry.

Copies of King James” pardon
were handed out amongst the men by kin and clergy, after which the
desertions began. We cursed those for slipping away in the night,
but I hold no bitterness in my heart for their wish of family and
hearth. I longed for it every day myself.

The Royal Army closed in, and
we were no longer welcome where we had marched in triumph just days
before. Warned off by the town authorities, we dodged troopers
through hedge and village, as they hunted us like
rabbits.

I was assigned to Lord Gray’s
Horse under Captain Jones when Monmouth decided to launch a
surprise attack on Feversham’s men. A man named Godfrey was to
guide us across the moor at night, but still we got lost in the
mizzle.

We found the Langmoor, but as
the first horses were crossing, a shot warned of our coming, so
Captain Jones took us full tilt against Compton’s troopers before
the King’s infantry could arrive. We put their Commander out of
action straight away. Not bad for a cabinetmaker, wouldn’t you
say?

I could make out lights ahead,
and thought they were of the town in the distance. Then an officer
shouted they were the tapers for the matchlocks of the Dumbarton’s
Scots Brigade. Our infantry fired on them with musket and cannon,
killing some of them. I heard later that Churchill made the rebels
pay for that indignity.

A deafening volley of musket
fire from Albemarle’s militia terrified the horses. This proved our
undoing, for they scattered and turned about, stampeding backwards
into our own upcoming infantry. My own horse reared, then a musket
shot caught him in the neck and he went down like a felled tree.
Gentle Strider, companion of my boyhood, was never meant to be a
soldier. I fell with him, injuring my shoulder as I hit the ground,
rolling into the path of a dragoon who aimed his musket straight at
my face.

I froze, certain I would be killed, but
another horse crashed into his and he was crushed beneath both
flailing mounts. I gained my feet again, though the Lord knows how.
I scrabbled for my sword as our infantry surged toward the Royal
troopers, caught in their forward charge.

I saw neither my father nor
Uncle Ned during that frantic hour when the fighting was at its
worst. Then the dawn came, and with it a massive charge by
Feversham, through the mist, cutting through what was left of our
men. Musket balls screamed past me in waves, shredding men and
horses.

Wade
’s boys were driven back to the
Langmoor Rhine, and the Taunton Blues fought like demons, though
they must have known they stood little chance. Then Oglethorpe’s
horsemen thundered over the moor, howling and hacking at any rebels
left standing, although there was little sport left for
them.

The boom of the guns and
hundreds of hooves battering the ground filled my head, so I could
barely gather thought, much less fight. Rage burned in me at the
sight of our boys” easy slaughter. Somehow I stopped cowering and
ran at the troopers, swinging my sword through red cloth and flesh
as they came at me. I carried blood that was not my own on my
clothes for days afterwards.

I did not see the blow that
struck me from behind, plunging me into a deep stream, where I lay
stunned and soaked by muddy water with some poor drowned wretch
beside me. When I came to my senses enough to crawl out, my clothes
caked with mud and blood, it was into a field fallen eerily
silent.

I breathed in the acrid stench
of powder in the air. It seemed like every one of Monmouth’s boys
lay broken on the earth. Unrecognizable heaps of bloody, dirtied
clothes, with pallid faces; the ground littered with discarded
weapons, bloodied pikes and scythes, boots, coats and hats, all in
a mass of corpses, and mangled horses.

I staggered from their accusing
eyes, trying not to see the dead hands clutching wounds, convinced
some of them reached for me. I know not how long I crouched beneath
hedges up to my waist in stinking water, while King’s men searched
the nearby cornfields, shooting or hanging men where they found
them.

It took me two days to reach Lymington,
where a fishing boat master bound for Cherbourg took me aboard.

I would like to think the man
enough of a good Protestant to help a distressed rebel, but I fear
the villain only sought to relive me of my gold. I let him think he
robbed me, but am enough of Edmund Wolfe’s nephew to have kept some
back and well hidden. I have already discovered the life of a
fugitive is very costly.

The voyage in heavy seas in
such a tiny vessel convinced me it would surely be my last. I doubt
I shall go to sea again without serious misgivings, but daily I
remind myself I have life at least, when so many do not.

I am in a poor but Christian
lodging here in The Hague, with another Rebel outlaw, an
intelligent fellow whose name is Daniel Foe. A splendid companion,
who is much saddened at having to leave his young wife in London. I
suspect he will not stay here long.

I have scant news of my
officers, although the plotter is here in our company. They say
Matthews and Foulkes are still at large, and we heard Lord Grey is
preparing to purchase his freedom in exchange for information; but
best I don’t dwell on that.

I have heard no news of Father or my Uncle,
but they are without doubt the bravest and best men I know, so I
pray God has preserved them.

When I have been presented to
his Majesty of Orange, I shall write again, although how long it is
before I can return home, I cannot tell. Tales of the savagery
meted out to those captured has sickened us all. For York to have
murdered his own nephew so callously, then to spread rumors that
Monmouth offered to convert in exchange for his life, are beneath
contempt.

Surely the Prince of Orange
would not allow this travesty to go unpunished, with the Protestant
Church in more danger than ever before? When I return, I hope to be
among those of like mind, who would make the Devil of York account
for his cruelty.

I pray you are kept safe, and
Helena and Henry also. I long for the day we can be together
again.

Your respectful and loving son

Aaron Woulfe

* * *

The comfortable sitting room at
Lambtons faded and Helena was taken back to the courtyard at
Loxsbeare, the morning after Sedgemoor. She could still hear
Hendry’s anguished
protest when dirty water spilled on his shoes.

Her throat burned as the words
were forced from her.
Mother, Aaron’s alive. He got
away
. Then
her elation clouded with bitter disappointment that she would never
be able to tell her. This was compounded by the fact he had no idea
where their father was.

Unnoticed, Tobias had slipped back into the
room, circled the chaise and sat beside her.

Helena kept her gaze on the page in her
hand, her thumbnail picking at a small tear beside her brother’s
name.

“
He
doesn’t know where Father is.” She looked up into sympathetic eyes,
so familiar she gave a choked sob. Then she mentally shook herself
and swiped her wet cheek with the back of her hand. What an odd
thing. Of course he was familiar. She had known Tobias Lumm for
nearly two years now.

“
I know.
No one in Exeter has heard from him either, as far as I
know.”

“
He
wrote this months ago.” She held the pages up between them. “He’ll
be wondering why no one has responded. I shall have to tell Aaron
about Mother, and Uncle Edmund. He expects…”

“
He
expects nothing,” Tobias cut her short. “He’ll be more than
grateful that you and Henry are safe and well.”

“
Why are
you here, Tobias?” Helena let the pages fall into her lap. “Samuel
could have brought this to me. You owe us nothing. You lost your
livelihood when Loxsbeare was seized. Why would you want to come
all this way for Henry and me?”

“
On the
contrary. I owe the Woulfes a great deal. And with your permission,
I’m determined to carry it through, and go to The Hague to see
Master Aaron on your behalf.”