Exchange of Love, page 5
“It’s a place in Wales, in the Black Mountains.”
John’s mind was undecided. He had nothing planned and a mountain walk sounded good, but he had walked yesterday, danced until late, and glugged down the last of the wine after leaving Vespa’s.
“Sorry, I don’t want to pressure. Probably got more interesting things planned,” Judith continued, backing down.
“No, no. Not at all.” John suppressed a yawn. “Just need to wake up. You got boots and things?”
“Always in the back of the car, with my windproof coat. Are you up for it?”
“Sure, I’m up for anything,” he replied, thinking of Judith climbing the windy hills in her clubbing skirt and sheer tights.
“See you soon. Oh, John, what do you drive?”
“The van and a Fiesta. Why?”
“Would you mind driving? The roads will be narrow and there’s not much parking for a Discovery.”
An hour later, John lumbered downstairs to find Judith sitting, legs out of the back door of the Discovery, hauling up a pair of walking trousers.
“Spoil sport,” he greeted her. “I only agreed to this thinking of you climbing the mountains in that short skirt.”
“Tough. I keep these in the back, just in case I have a car problem.”
The day passed easily enough – well, from a social perspective. Steep climb over a ridge west from Chapel le Frith, soggy descent, wading a stream and then walking up Waun Fach wasn’t John’s usual pre-Sunday lunch activity. By the time they reached the mountain’s flat tabletop, his calf muscles were screaming.
“Lunchtime,” he stated emphatically, throwing his rucksack onto a small boulder, though he only had several stale rolls, a tin of corned beef and coffee – nothing to be excited about.
Judith took her water bottle out. “I don’t normally stop to eat when I’m on a day walk,” she explained.
“I do.”
After John had eaten, they walked a long flattish loop around the top of the valley, before embarking on the steep descent to the little church in Chapel le Frith. Judith had paused briefly when they looked down from the mound of Twmpa to phone and check on her dad. It seemed she did not do rest stops, and they had seen few other walkers to talk to. There was no mention of John’s failed marriage or Judith being abandoned by Mark. They had chatted easily about nothing in particular as they forged along.
Back at the start and sitting in John’s Fiesta, Judith said hesitantly, “John, er, is that offer of a bed at yours still, well, on offer?” Her eyes were fixed ahead on the narrow lane as he started driving.
John jolted in surprise. “Of course.” Then, thinking she could just be afraid of the Peverell ghosts, he added cautiously, “Do you want the bed or settee?”
“The bed.” A pause. “I was hoping you might be in it with me.”
He was unsure how to reply. “Um… it would be my pleasure.”
“Mine too, I hope,” she said girlishly.
Should he pull over into a passing place and kiss her? Would they head straight to bed when they got back to the flat? Should he suggest a meal first? He glanced in her direction. She was still staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m a bit rusty at this, John. It’s been years since, well, Mark left.” She swallowed hard. “Could I have a practice run as soon as we get back? Then I could treat you to that burger I mentioned.”
She spoke lightly, but John could tell she was feeling embarrassed. He leaned over and stroked her arm. “We could even do a restaurant.”
“I’ve nothing to change into. Can’t do ‘posh’ in last night’s sweaty top.”
“No clothes hidden in the Discovery?”
“Dayglow vest.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Idiot.”
John laughed, wiping the sexy image from his mind before saying, “The fridge is empty, so burgers it is.”
His euphoria lasted about forty-five minutes. Just as they crossed the Severn Bridge, Judith’s mobile buzzed.
“Hi, Simon.”
It was her brother, he realised. John only heard snatches of conversation over the traffic noise.
“So soon? Can’t you? Of course, of course. I’ll be there in say— John, how long to get to Calne?”
“Straight there? An hour. But your Discovery is still outside my place.”
“Bugger. Simon, I’ve got to come via Bath. So, between one and two hours.”
There was more talk. Then she rang off.
“I’m so sorry, John. It’s Dad’s night carer. They’ve let us down.” She rambled on, “Simon’s got an investors’ do tonight.”
John swore quietly under his breath. “On a Sunday?”
“Seems so. Semi-social dinner with investors.” Her voice trailed off. “I’m so sorry. Are you angry?”
“Not angry. Bitterly disappointed.” He was about to suggest ‘another time’ when a thought hit him. “It’s a late start for the rugby, Bath playing Wasps in a friendly. There’s going to be a stack of traffic as we hit Bath, more as you drive out of town back to Calne. Might be better if I take you directly home. You can collect the car tomorrow.”
“Can’t believe Dad and Simon have buggered up everything again,” Judith muttered, close to tears. “First time since Mark left and…”
CHAPTER 7
Sir Edward Peverell had not managed to get to Oxford and advise Prince Rupert on how to capture Bristol. Instead, he had been diverted, and caught up in the minor but very bloody battle at Lansdown, to the north of Bath. It was now the day after the battle and Edward was leading a small party of his own men looking for any of parliament’s scouts, and rounding up stragglers.
Damn, thought Edward bitterly. This had all been so unnecessary. Instead of using some discipline and their cannon to give a clear victory, General Hopton had sent the Royalist pikemen charging up a steep hill at Parliamentary musketeers, shielded by a drystone wall. Eventually it had achieved a nominal victory, in that the Parliamentary force had withdrawn, but over a third of the Royalist army were dead or seriously wounded. The king’s cause couldn’t afford to lose men like this, and commanders shouldn’t expect them to die in such fruitless attacks.
It had left Edward in an angry and depressed mood, lost in his own reflections, until one of his men rode alongside him and pointed to a plume of smoke.
“Sir Edward, look!”
“There’s no fighting upon these hills now. Probably a haystack on fire.”
“More like wood smoke,” said another. “A farm or steading with damp thatch.”
“Looters, sir?”
“Possibly. Let’s see if anyone needs help. Bristol and Bath towns declared for parliament, but most of the manor houses up on the hills towards Gloucester are still true to the king.”
Edward led his dozen men across an open common, through a hedge and onto a track bordered by a thin copse. As they galloped out of the trees, they could see a large imposing manor house and surrounding farm buildings burning. Soldiers with the king’s yellow colours of the day were carrying grain from a barn, loading it into carts. A pig lay with its throat cut, another squealed as it was dragged out from a sty; some sheep had escaped from a pen, pursued by whooping horsemen. Worse still, two labourers lay dead or dying beside the stable buildings. A group of men were raping a maid on the gravel path and two more struggled to rip the dress off a gentlewoman, no doubt for plunder and then rape. A young girl, eight or ten years old, ran screaming from her hiding place near the house towards the orchard. A soldier, helping to hold down the maidservant, picked up his pistol, sighted and shot the fleeing child.
Edward was too far to intervene. He saw the smoke from the pistol, the bang of a shot, sounds of laughter.
“Draw swords!” he yelled, and charged forward at the group of looters still a hundred yards away.
Unhurriedly, their leader lifted himself off the hysterical maid, fastened his breeches and shouted towards Edward. “Sir Edward! It is I, Master Thomas Waddell, foraging in the king’s name.”
Edward rode his horse into Waddell, knocking him over and trampling one of his men.
“Hold, sir. We are King’s men. All King’s men here. Why attack me?” He sprawled on the gravel, grabbing his pistol, and then realised it was discharged already.
Across the farmyard, foragers stopped and reached for weapons, but their leader was down with a pistol pointing at his head and a line of Edward’s grim-faced men were poised to charge. Courage failed.
“Release that woman,” shouted Edward.
“We take orders only from—”
Edward turned slightly in the saddle. “Phil, see to it!”
Phil Howells, son of Edward’s bailiff, was Edward’s nominal commander. He walked his horse towards the imprisoned gentlewoman, his pistol aimed directly at one of her tormentors.
“If you fire your piece, you’ll hit her.” The forager’s voice was fearful as he looked at Phil’s cocked pistol.
The horse’s breath was in the woman’s face but she didn’t flinch. Suddenly, Phil’s arm shot out. The muzzle of the gun hit the forager on the bridge of the nose and blood spurted. The woman darted away. Phil struck down, crunching the hand guard of his sabre into a second man’s face.
The maid, freeing herself from the man who still held her, pulled down her skirts as she ran, stumbling to her mistress.
“Ma’am, they have ruined me.”
Unbidden, another of Edward’s men had dismounted and walked to where the shot little girl’s hand waved feebly. He cradled her in his arms as if she were his daughter.
“Help me,” she sobbed pitifully.
“Fear not, I will stay with you.” He called to Edward, a catch in his throat. “Sir…” He made a sign with his thumb down.
“Murderer,” hissed Edward.
Waddell had staggered to his feet, trying to regain some dignity. “Sir, stand back from me. I have the king’s warrant to forage for the army. You have no right to strike me down – me or my men. No right to impede our orders.”
“To kill and to rape?” Edward asked harshly.
“They are for parliament. The cook drew a knife on me and was executed.”
“Two old men, two women and a child. You have a dozen armed men. There was no need to kill and fire the manor house; to ravish one girl and murder another.”
“She isn’t dead.”
“Not yet. I will wait until she dies before you and the coward who fired on her are hanged.”
“You have no authority.”
“I am Sir Edward Peverell, Justice of the Peace for Calne and its surrounding area, as vested in me by—”
“Bollocks!”
Waddell was knocked down again, this time by Phil, who said furiously, “Show respect when addressing the magistrate!”
“The girl is dead, sir, God rest her soul,” called out Edward’s man, as he lay the girl down on the grass.
“May she rest in peace.” Edward’s anger collapsed into profound sadness and he forced himself to act rationally. He ordered Waddell and the girl’s killer to be pinioned. Phil and two others were sent to try and recover the cook’s body from the blazing manor house.
He looked on as the mistress of the estate stood praying over the dead child’s body. Finally, she stalked over to Edward.
“You, sir. Are you one of the king’s felons sent to loot and murder?”
Edward patiently introduced himself and explained his office. “I will enact justice on these men, madam, and ensure your property is restored to you. The grain and other fodder have been legally requisitioned by the king. These thieves should have explained that and given you a receipt.”
The woman took a deep breath. “I am Margaret Ransom, mistress of this estate. My husband is in Bath with my stepdaughter.”
“Master Oliver Ransom, the clothier and farmer?” Edward asked.
She nodded.
“I know him by way of business,” Edward continued. “He buys wool from my flock. A good man.”
“These two burst into the kitchen where I was in discussion with Alice, my cook.”
“She went for me with a knife,” pleaded Waddell.
“She was chopping vegetables and had a kitchen knife in her hand. You said nothing but just slashed her with your sword.” Margaret turned to Edward. “His orders to his men were ‘kill them all – no witnesses’.”
“They ruined me,” sobbed the maid. “Three of them!”
“Tush, girl. No one falls with child on their first tumble!” Margaret scolded. “You can see why we are for parliament,” she said to Edward. “The king proclaims he has the right to rule from God and that he will rule fairly for all. Instead, he sends criminals to murder and steal. We must have rule of law. Fair and just rule – not tyranny.”
“She has a point, sir,” said Phil after a pause. “We cannot just hang these two without trial.”
“Then we shall have one. You will be foreman of the jury; I will be the judge. I have personal judicial authority. I can imprison, flog or hang any man or woman who is not of noble birth. I am charged to seek advice of a jury only for capital offences and I do so now.”
Margaret Ransom’s money was found in Waddell’s saddle bags and her possessions were plainly stacked onto the cart in preference to bags of grain.
Edward went through the form of a trial. Margaret Ransom and her maid gave evidence; the accused were given chance to speak, found guilty, sentenced and hanged. It was a gruesome hanging: a halter around the neck before being hauled up with a rope over a tree branch. Waddell’s pinion came loose and he was able to clutch up at the rope. It took some time for his struggles and kicking to subside. The man who had shot the child also took a long time to die.
“That was shoddily done, Phil.”
“Aye, sir. Not done this sort of thing before. But it will teach the other bastards a lesson. They cannot come into our county and do as they will.”
It was decided that Margaret Ransom could not stay in the ruins of her home, and one of the farm carts would be used to take the family possessions into their Bath home. Edward promised that the bodies of Alice the cook and her daughter would be taken for burial in consecrated ground, not dumped into the mass graves of those killed in the battle. At the same time, Waddell’s men had been allowed to continue their legitimate forage, emptying barns and storage areas of anything that was authorised by the king’s order. Eventually, they led their carts away towards Melksham and Devizes.
“Party of horsemen approaching, sir. King’s colour, yellow sash as a pennant.”
Edward was detailing off two of his men to escort Margaret Ransom to Bath as the horsemen approached.
“Nick Stanning!” exclaimed Edward. “I thought you would be leading your musketeers off to Bath?”
“So I should be, but after the fiasco of this Lansdown battle I have to retire my force back to Devizes – what’s left of them.” Nick grimaced. “I lost thirty-seven men, killed just driving off the rebel dragoons from the hedges at the base of the hill. I’ve less than two hundred left who can fight, and no powder left. What goes here, Ed?”
“Looting, rape, murder, and arson to boot.”
“And you dispensed justice?”
“It is my right, Nick. This was a bad business.” He pointed to the swinging bodies. “They were sent to collect fodder – that’s bad enough – but then killed one woman and child and raped another girl. You can see the people on the farm are good God-fearing folk who have friends and relations. This outrage gives more recruits for parliament, and blackens the king’s name.”
“Lord Hereford tries to enforce discipline but Prince Rupert gives troops leave to plunder.”
“He’s not fighting in the ‘German States’ now. We have to win the peoples’ support.”
“This hanging wasn’t wise, Ed. Lucky for you, this man’s commander is one of those killed. Chaos is everywhere. You will not be called to account.”
“I do not serve ‘luck’ Nick. I serve justice. Has Lord Hopton not restored order?”
“He is half-blinded and quite deaf. Half a dozen Parliamentary dragoons attacked our supply wagons. One wagon carried all our remaining powder. It exploded and Hopton was close by. Several men of note were killed but Hopton recovered his senses, if not his sight. Lord Hereford is all confusion as usual, and most of the prince’s horsemen have fled back to Oxford.”
“The battle started well for us. What happened? What went wrong?” questioned Edward.
“Grenville led his Cornish pikemen in a bloody, stupid uphill charge at their position, against musketeers crouched behind a drystone wall and two cannon dug into the side.” Nick shook his head sadly. “Hopton ordered us to follow in support. It was carnage on that slope. The idiot never tried to bring our own cannon to bear – just a mad charge.”
“I saw that. Our lightweight Falconet cannon that could have blasted the wall away turned it into their death trap.”
“Grenville is dead,” continued Nick.
“No great loss. The man was mad.”
“Sir Bevil Grenville?” butted in Margaret Ransom.
The men had nearly forgotten her and that she could overhear all they said.
“The Cornish devil! God works in His own way.”
“He does indeed,” said Nick. “God has rid us of a lunatic. If He would take Prince Rupert as well, we could organise an army in the west to match their general.” He turned to Edward. “Who is this lady, Ed? What is going on?”
Edward explained, and Sir Nick Stanning looked pained.
“It’s not possible, Ed. I cannot allow Parliamentary supporters back into Bath with news of our disarray. Waller’s force is intact. I doubt he lost two hundred men in total, and he has powder.”
“Mistress Ransom is not a spy. She has no knowledge.”
“She knows enough now, due to my loose mouth,” said Nick grimly.
“If she gave her word…”
“Never!” flared Mistress Ransom. “I cannot give my word to thieves and murderers; agents of the Man of Blood!”
