The Rebel’s Daughter (9 page)

The third cart had left a half hour before,
and with the last one almost ready to go, he had taken an
opportunity in a lull in the activity to take a rest.

Two grooms idled outside in the courtyard,
pitching horseshoes at a stake in the ground, an occasional clang
the only sound above intermittent birdsong.

By midafternoon, three carts and four
horses from the Loxsbeare stables had left for Ideswell, although
their hard labour appeared to have made little impression on the
contents of the manor. Henry had never worked so hard in his life;
who thought piles of clothes and pewter plates could be so
heavy?

He had enjoyed the sense of purpose the
task gave him. He didn’t even mind when Samuel stepped in to call a
halt because he had allowed the servants to stack the goods too
high.

“
Not only would it slow the horses down,”
he explained, “but they are too obviously the possessions of a
wealthy family in flight, and bound to attract
attention.”

The stable door was flung wide, and Samuel
strode inside. “No long now, Henry.”

Henry jerked awake from his light snooze,
unwilling to let Master Ffoyle think he was slacking. He liked the
Guild Master of Clothworkers, a man who had always been kind to
him. As a child, while his older brother practiced swordsmanship on
the Weare Cliffs behind the house, Henry had begged to accompany
his father and Master Ffoyle into Exeter.

When Henry grew bored with
merchants” talk in the Customs House, or the pipe smoke in
the
Bishops
Blaize
inn
irritated his chest, Samuel always came to his rescue. He would
take him to Tuckers Hall to gossip with the wool men, or among the
drying racks in the Crulditch outside the city walls, where the
lengths of serge were hung to dry. He always thought they looked
like sails flapping in the wind. With a pang of sadness, Henry
wondered if he would ever spend days like that again.

A shadow blocked the
entrance
and
Henry looked up, startled. It was only the groom,
Benjamin.

Samuel rolled his eyes and Henry gave a
nervous laugh as the man sidled through the doorway and paused, his
hands in his pockets, morosely silent.

Benjamin had elected to remain behind at
Loxsbeare, whether from cowardice or loyalty, Henry could not
decide. While everyone else worked to clear the house, the groom
had been neither help nor a hindrance. He was little more than an
irritant, so Samuel had sent him to keep watch for approaching
soldiers.

“
Well?”
Samuel demanded, his brow furrowed.

“
Dragoons,” Benjamin muttered under his breath. “Man on an
'orse passed by, said they came up Shepcote Hill s’morning,” the
sullen groom mumbled.

“
Where
are they at this moment, man? Never mind this morning?” Samuel
cuffed him round the head in frustration.

“
Prob'ly
near North Gate b'now,” Benjamin staggered and rubbed his
ear.

“
God’s
Blood!” Samuel ran outside with Henry at his heels.

“
You!”
Samuel turned back to point at the indolent groom, then changed his
mind, and called to another boy instead, “No, you, man. Move this
cart into the rear stable out of sight.” Samuel yelled, not
stopping to see if the man obeyed.

“
Will they search the house?” Henry cast a
fearful look at the upper windows, just as Lumm came running from
the rear. “I’ve just heard troopers are on their way up St David’s
Hill, Samuel. How much time do we have?”

“
I’ve no
idea,” Samuel called back. “It’s too soon for the trained bands to
begin systematic searches. We’ll have to bluff it out and hope they
don’t look too closely.”

Nodding, Lumm leaned his weight into the
shoulder of a stocky pony, in an attempt to force the animal to
budge.

Indecision left Henry stranded in the middle
of the courtyard while grooms, kitchen maids and footmen rushed
between the house and the outbuildings, their arms full.

“
Churchill’s men won’t have got this far west so soon.” Lumm
leaned his shoulder further into the reluctant animal’s side. “Like
as not, they’ll be militia patrols. Surly, tough men, but none too
bright.”

Hendr
y’s first instinct was to run back
into the stable and hide in the hay-loft, but rejected the idea as
cowardly. He had no idea where his mother was, or even if she knew
the soldiers were on their way. Would she hide or face the
soldiers?

The clink
of bridles and the rhythmic
pounding of hooves told Henry he had left his decision too late.
The soldiers were here.

* * *

“
Welcome
to
The
Dove
.” The
barrel-chested landlord greeted Helena and Bayle at the entrance,
before leading them through a low-ceilinged hall, its uneven walls
covered with mottled yellow lime-wash.

A narrow, uneven staircase stood at one
end, curving to the upper storey like a series of elbows at odd
angles.

Bayle negotiated their accommodation while
Helena stood fidgeting under the suspicious stare of the landlord’s
wife, a brown-faced woman with mousey hair peeking out from under a
grubby white cap.

“
Do they
have rooms for us?” she asked, when Bayle rejoined her.

“
For
you, certainly.” He guided her to a table in the corner of the
room, amongst a motley collection of tradesmen and merchants. “The
one he offered me is at the front.” He kept his voice so low, she
had to bend forward to hear him. “I cannot see the horses from
there, so I’ll sleep in the stable. We don’t want anyone depriving
us of them in the night.”

They had arrived too late to
avail themselves of the evening meal; instead they were served a
supper of soup, sliced ham and potatoes fried in bacon fat,
coarse bread and
strong ale. The food was hot and appetizing; the soup reminiscent
of a meaty stew and the bread was still warm.

“
Are you
sure about spending the night in the stable?” Helena asked, her
voice reduced to a croak by the smoke from tallow and lard candles
on the table in front of them.

“
I’ll be
happier there.” Bayle spooned food hungrily into his mouth. “The
hay there will probably be fresher than the mattress you’ll be
sleeping on.” He glanced over his shoulder at a florid man with
stained teeth who appeared to be holding court.

“
I can
guess what he’s talking about.” Bayle tore a chunk of bread off a
loaf and chewed. “Everyone I’ve spoken to claims to have seen
king’s men rounding up rebels.”

“
Did you
believe them?” Helena nibbled the heavy bread, picturing her mother
and Henry at home in the dining hall eating roast leg of lamb and
potatoes. Then she remembered.
They will have left Loxsbeare by
now
.

The man kicked his stool aside and
advanced toward their table.

“
He’s
coming over,” Helena gasped, ducking her head to avoid his
gaze.

“
Heard
about them rebels have ye”?” He rolled his eyes toward the front
windows. “They’re being hanged by the roadside wherever they’re
caught. The royal army has run out of wood to build the scaffolds.”
He wiped a dirty hand across his dirtier mouth and fixed Bayle with
a penetrating gaze through bloodshot eyes.

“
Can’t a
body eat his dinner in peace!” Bayle swung his head in the
stranger’s direction and made what Helena deduced was an obscene
gesture with one arm. “I’ve been on the road all day with a whining
lass. I don’t need you prattling on about rebels who should have
known better.”

The man backed away rapidly, muttering to
himself.

When she was sure they weren’t
being observed, Helena widened her eyes, and mouthed
Whining
lass
?

Bayle
’s lop-sided grin appeared but
instead of a response, he speared a chunk of bacon with his knife
and popped it into his mouth, masticating noisily.

They finished the rest of their meal in
peace. Then a maid in a food-stained apron escorted Helena to her
room under the eaves, with a crooked door that hung askew from the
frame.

The bed bore thin, rough sheets and a
coarse blanket; set lower to the floor than Helena was used to,
bringing images of scurrying rats to mind. At least the bed looked
clean.

Helena peeled the bodice of her gown away
from her itching skin, letting the skirt fall to the floor. She was
more weary than she could ever remember; and yet proud of how far
she and Bayle had come since morning. Dressed in only her shift,
she crossed to the low window where grimy, diamond-paned glass at
waist level gave onto the road.

She leaned her hands on the cracked sill
and squinted at the shadowy outline of Bridgwater off to her left.
The smell of grass and wildflowers drifted on the air, combined
with the sharp tang of the stable. She thought of Bayle, bedded
down amongst the hay, hoping he would not be too uncomfortable
sharing it with the horses.

Her smile faded.
Where was Father
sleeping tonight
? Beneath a hedgerow somewhere, or in the Taunton gaol
house? That he may even lay dead on the battlefield was also a
possibility. The thought made her shiver, though the night was
warm. And where were Aaron, and Edmund? Were they together, running
from the troopers? Or had they split up and taken off across the
countryside alone, and could they be on their way home at that very
moment?

The image of them as chained prisoners was
something she didn’t want to contemplate. She pushed the notion
into the back of her mind. The man downstairs had said captured
rebels were being hanged on the roadsides.

Helena scanned the horizon, where a cloud
of dust grew larger, then separated into riders, approaching from
the direction of Bridgwater.

The soldiers sat their mounts with an
arrogant air, leaning over their saddles to stare into windows, and
scattering the villagers, who ran ahead into houses and slammed
shut their doors.

Helena stepped back, her back pressed against
the wall, her breath held until she heard the thump of her own
heartbeat.

Loud voices called from the landing
outside her room, followed by the slamming of doors from the floor
below. Shouts and the sound of running feet on wooden boards
reverberated through the building.

What should she do? Run and fetch Bayle,
or stay where she was?

The seconds stretched and the sound changed
pitch, then receded until she could hear nothing at all. She
exhaled slowly, dizzy with relief. She crept back to the window and
saw they had ridden past.

Weak with relief, she climbed into the
creaky bed. Despite her exhaustion, she lay awake for what seemed
like hours, until the tiny patch of sky beyond the window darkened
to black.

As she teetered on the edge of
consciousness at last, her father’s face swam into her mind,
seeming so real, she mumbled into her lumpy pillow,
Stay alive until I
get there, Father
.

Chapter 6

Henry peered round the stable
door as the patrol of twelve soldiers cantered double file
through
Loxsbeare's gates, their hooves clattering to a halt on the
cobbles.

The officer’s glare raked the empty
courtyard, fixing on Samuel who strolled forward, a puzzled frown
on his face, as if their appearance were a mystery.

The officer dismounted, while Samuel drew
himself up to his considerable height, and returned his arrogant
stare.

Henry sensed Tobias” presence behind him,
and whispered, “Master Ffoyle is not easily intimidated, is
he?”

“
Nay,
Henry. Let’s hope they believe his story.”

Henry was about to ask what story, when a
black-coated figure dismounted beside the officer. Henry glowered
at the sight of the Magistrate who had tried to waylay them outside
the church three Sundays ago.

“
What
can I do for you, Master Prendergast?” Samuel said, his voice
carrying across the yard. He folded his hands in front of him, a
half-smile of enquiry on his face.

“
I
apologize for our unannounced presence, Master Ffoyle.” The
magistrate avoided Samuel’s gaze, as if he were reluctant to be
there. “This officer has business with Sir Jonathan
Woulfe.”

A grimace of distaste passed across the
officer’s face, one already marred by a livid scar that ran from
beneath his right eye to the corner of his mouth. “I have orders
here for the arrest of Sir Jonathan Woulfe.” His voice a snarl as
he withdrew a parchment from his coat. “On the charge of treason
against His Majesty King James the Second, and the seizure of all
his goods and property.”

Henry groaned. “How had they arrived so
quickly, Tobias? They must have captured Father.”

“
Quiet,
Master Henry!” Tobias silenced him with a painful grip on his
shoulder.