A Falling Star, page 32
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
‘Yes, and busy with a customer.’
‘Even better. Right, if I lock this again, can you put the key back so that he won’t know it’s been touched? The longer it takes for anyone to notice that I’m gone, the better.’
‘Of course,’ Sue told him, her eyes shining. She watched as he locked the door again — she was quite right, it was so stiff from disuse that he wondered how she had mustered the strength to turn the key — and then reached forward and gave him a swift, sisterly kiss. ‘Hurry, or he’ll find you’ve gone — and good luck, and Godspeed!’
Together they ran down the two flights of steep wooden stairs to the parlour. At the door, he saw her slip inside, the heavy rusty key in her hand, and waved his thanks.
Only one more obstacle to freedom. He looked down to the hallway, empty and bare. The street door was open, but that which led to his father’s shop lay firmly closed.
Well, it was now, or never. Bram took a deep breath and descended the stairs, trying to tread lightly so that it would sound like Sue, or Hannah. The door on his right did not open. With sudden joy, he took four huge strides to carry him to the street, and the warm June air, and freedom. Then, knowing that it was too late now to be stopped, he began to run across the marketplace, aiming, as his sisters and the other girls had done that morning, for Monmouth’s camp in Paul’s Field.
13
‘Arms for public liberty’
The day after Mary Mead had so pointedly presented the Duke of Monmouth with her colour bearing a crown and the letters ‘JR’ worked in gold, the rebel leader bowed to the forceful arguments of his advisers. Although the people of Dorset and Somerset had come in gratifying numbers to join his army, there were almost no gentry among them. Some of them, well-known Dissenters or republicans, had been hauled into custody as soon as rumours of invasion had reached the King’s ears, but there were many, many squires and baronets who had welcomed him on his triumphant progress through the West Country five years ago, and who were now conspicuous by their absence. Only with the support of those with wealth and prestige could he hope to succeed without a bitter struggle. His lieutenants pointed out that his declaration, drafted by a renegade clergyman called Ferguson, might have been construed as too republican in sentiment, harking back to the days of Cromwell and the Commonwealth, and thus hardly likely to encourage the local gentry to flock to his standard. But if he proclaimed himself King, then surely men of quality would be persuaded that it was worth risking life, land or liberty to join him.
Accordingly, on the 20th of June, the people of Taunton gathered once more in the marketplace, crowded with stalls and hucksters and all the appurtenances of market day, to hear ‘The most illustrious and high-born Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, son and heir-apparent of King Charles the Second’, declared ‘lawful and rightful sovereign and King, by the name of James the Second’. And among the onlookers were Jonah Loveridge, his wife, niece and daughters, trying to pretend that Bram’s enlistment in the rebel army was something that the whole family had supported and encouraged from the start.
It had been a terrible blow for Jonah, the discovery that his son had escaped. Ignorant of Sue’s part in the affair, he assumed that the boy had somehow climbed out of the window and negotiated the drainpipe. This terrible risk that Bram had taken, even before joining the rebels, made his blood run chill, and he now bitterly regretted his misguided attempt at imprisonment. Sue, determined not to tell anyone, not even her sister, of her part in the escape, did not enlighten him. At present, she had very little sympathy for her father, even though he showed gratifying signs of remorse. He had accepted the situation, though, despite his anguish, and did not, to his family’s great relief, announce any intention of descending on the rebel camp to persuade Bram to change his mind. He knew his son well enough to be certain that he could not be deflected, once set on his course.
And so he put a brave face on what had happened, and tried to look appropriately proud when his friends and neighbours congratulated him on his son’s commendable zeal for the cause. Then he smiled and applauded King Monmouth’s second proclamation as if it did not confirm his terrible fear, deep and unspoken in his heart, that this rebellion was doomed to ignominious and tragic failure, and that when the army left Taunton, all brave and bright under the colours that the schoolgirls had sewn for them, he would never see his beloved only son again.
*
The next day, Monmouth marched out of the town towards Bridgwater, amidst the cheers, blown kisses and rose petals that had attended his entry along East Street three days earlier. He should have had every reason for joy, for the army that tramped haphazardly but enthusiastically behind him was now some six thousand strong, and he had high hopes of adding to their number at Bridgwater, Glastonbury, and all the other towns in northern Somerset on his way to take Bristol, another place where he could rely on much fervent support. And yet it was noticed by some of the more observant that he seemed thoughtful, dejected even, as if he felt in his heart that this triumphant leave-taking would prove to be the highest point of the rebellion.
Bram, marching in the Blue Regiment, composed entirely of Taunton men to the number of six hundred or more, did not notice. He wore his stout old suit of blue serge, the famous local colour and weave, that his mother and sisters had brought to the camp at his request, it being very much more appropriate for campaigning than the tawny satin, however splendid. As the son of a respected and wealthy shopkeeper, and related to one of Somerset’s more notable gentry families, he had been honoured, to his surprise and delight, with a commission as ensign, and one of the colours presented by the girls of Mistress Musgrave’s school, somewhat indifferently stitched and rather uneven round the edges, waved gently from the pole he carried. Ensign Loveridge sounded very well, and Bram stepped out proudly in the sunshine, a joyous and hopeful smile on his face at one with his comrades, and a great sense of glory, of fate and destiny, filling his heart. Monmouth and his army would save England from the depredations of a Papist tyrant, and he was fortunate indeed to be one of their number.
Once more, armies were marching across Somerset: once more, war had come to this serene, fertile, abundant country. And as Monmouth left Taunton, early on that Sunday morning, the second-in-command of the King’s forces was only a dozen miles to his rear in Chard, in command of several troops of dragoons and horse guards, a regiment of foot under Colonel Kirke, and the remnants of the militia, those who had not fled back to their homes, or joined the rebels.
Chard itself, having welcomed Monmouth’s men only a few days previously, lay sullenly docile under the occupation of the King’s troops, and many of the more sensitive officers were conscious of a distinct itch between their shoulder blades. They were enemy invaders in a hostile land, and supplies, assistance and accommodation were given most reluctantly by the country people.
Several officers of the horse guards were quartered in the comfortable, if cramped, manor house belonging to Master Nicholas Hellier, and were greeted with courtesy by its owner, his wife, who had only just returned from a journey visiting relatives, and their son. It was obvious that this family were far from being rebels, or even sympathising with them, but the officers were none the less aware that they were quartered only on sufferance. They were not to know that, for Mistress Hellier, this uneasy situation brought back terrible memories, with a clarity unobscured by forty intervening years, of the time when Wintercombe had been occupied by brutal Cavalier soldiers bringing fear, destruction and murder to a small and peaceful community. Silence knew, rationally, that half a dozen civilised and well-behaved officers of breeding were hardly to be compared with the villainous Ridgeley and his crew, but she could not help loathing their presence in her pleasant house.
Nor was there any remedy for her other worry. Monmouth was in Taunton, and so, of course, was her beloved Tabby and her children. Knowing the Loveridges so well as she did, Silence was well aware that they would support the rebels. Indeed, she suspected that for years Jonah, in his quiet, discreet way, had been assisting those who were opposed to the government. And, if she examined the evidence too closely, she knew also that her nephew Alex would not be so innocent, either. The news of Monmouth’s invasion had, by the look of it, come as no surprise to him: had the Dutch servant who had brought Lukas to England brought information as well?
Such speculation could only result in anxiety and unease, and she tried to avoid thinking about such things. She could not send to Taunton for word of her daughter and her grandchildren, not while officers of the Royal army were under her roof, but she feared for them, and above all for Bram, idealistic, impulsive, and as adamant as his mother for right and justice. Perhaps he had, after all, inherited some of his father’s caution and circumspection, but she knew, with a sick sense of doom, that she was only clutching at straws.
There was a skirmish between a troop of the horse guards, led by one of the young officers quartered with them, Lieutenant Monoux, and a band of rebel cavalry, at Ashill, only a few miles away towards Taunton. Several of Monmouth’s men were killed, as well as the young lieutenant, shot in the head. His body was brought back to Chard and buried in the church on Midsummer Day. He was the first casualty of the rebellion whom the Helliers had known personally, a smiling, cheerful, capable young man, who had talked at supper, the night before his death, of the girl he hoped to marry. How many more, Silence wondered despairingly, would be slain on both sides before this apparently futile and ridiculous rebellion was brought, one way or another, to an end?
Nick held her close at night as she whispered to him the fears that she would never ever dream of revealing to another living soul. And because he, alone of the people at Chard, remembered the nightmare of forty years ago, he understood the depths of her anguish as she saw war return to Somerset, and her grandchildren, this time, at risk.
That Sunday, Midsummer Day, was hot and loweringly oppressive: it was plain that the fine, dry weather that had lit the country with sunshine for weeks, would soon break. The news came from Taunton that Monmouth had marched out that morning, and Lieutenant-General Churchill, still considerably outnumbered by the rebel army, gathered his forces together and left Chard in distant, cautious pursuit.
They were free, and at once Richard Hellier took horse and rode over to Taunton, late in the afternoon, to obtain news of his half-sister’s family. He listened to the excited gabble of Sue and Hannah, Tabby’s bleak acceptance, Libby’s hero-worshipping pride and, unspoken but quite evident, Jonah’s anguished despair. He stayed the night, and the next morning, under a glaring blue-grey sky like molten steel, he rode back to his parents to report.
It confirmed Silence’s worst, most dreadful fears. Bram was with the rebel army, and his sisters and cousin had taken part in some charming but treasonous procession that would, if the rebellion ended in failure, doubtless be recalled to their detriment. She said, trying to conceal her distress, ‘How is Tabby? Is she very upset by what has happened?’
Richard, despite his own misgivings, said drily, ‘Tabby? I think in her heart that she feels that Bram was right to join the rebels, if their cause is one in which he believes, but of course she’d never say that openly — especially since poor Jonah is so obviously devastated by his going. And the girls, of course, knowing no better, think he is a hero.’ He smiled unhappily at his mother. ‘There is nothing we can do, except wait for news, and hope and pray for him.’
Outside, the sky had grown suddenly and menacingly dark. A distant, ominous growl of thunder followed his words, as if in comment, and Silence unobtrusively took hold of her husband’s hand. Something cracked once against the west-facing window of her parlour, like a pebble: she glanced round, eerily afraid, and saw the first rain for weeks, the drops as hard and heavy as stone, begin to batter her beloved garden.
Monmouth’s brave army, that had left Taunton in high hopes and sunlight, would find their march towards Bristol very much more arduous now.
*
In torrential rain, their spirits dampened despite themselves by the sudden and virulent deterioration in the weather, the rebel soldiers left Bridgwater, where they had been given a tumultuous welcome and had gained many more recruits — so many, in fact, that there were not enough conventional arms to equip them, and five hundred men wielded an ingenious and deadly weapon, a scythe blade firmly fixed to an eight-foot pole. Others, less fortunate, bore clubs, axes and other implements, humble, but still capable of doing much damage to human flesh and bone.
Through mud and puddles they trudged doggedly along the long low ridge of the Polden Hills, clear of the soggy green marshland below, towards Glastonbury. Here, soaked and exhausted after a march of some fifteen miles in appalling conditions, the rebels set up camp in the largest open space available, amongst the ruins of the great abbey that had once been the splendour and marvel of the West Country. The local people, sympathetic, brought food and firewood, and huge bonfires blazed in the dusk amongst the tall stone pillars and empty arches of the abbey church.
Bram, however, was not there to witness this strange and eerie sight. He had made sure that the men under his command, if that was the right word, were fed and settled steaming around the fire, and then went in search of Colonel Bovett, the commanding officer of the Blue Regiment.
The Colonel was at the George, Glastonbury’s chief inn. Bram knew him, for, like most men of standing and education who lived in Taunton, he was a regular visitor to Jonah’s bookshop, and his daughter, Catherine, attended the same school as Sue and Hannah Loveridge. He greeted Bram with a rather preoccupied smile, which quickly turned to genuine interest as his ensign explained his purpose in seeking him out. He listened with approval, nodding and asking occasional questions, and clapped Bram on the shoulder when he had finished. ‘Well done, young Loveridge. We’re still desperate for horses, and although I’m told that forty men rode in an hour ago, their mounts were pretty indifferent, apparently. Can you ride? Yes, of course you can, you’ve delivered books to my house at Bishop’s Hall often enough. Well, if you can obtain half a dozen or more horses of some quality from your cousin, save one for yourself and join Captain Hucker’s troop. Better than wearing out your shoe-leather, eh?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir — thank you,’ Bram said, with delight. A thought struck him, and he added, ‘But I have no riding boots, Colonel, nor any pistols.’
‘Perhaps we can provide you with the weapons,’ said Bovett. He was a big, upright man, about the same age as Bram’s parents, who had been a Colonel of Militia during the Commonwealth, and wore now a stout buff coat, rather worn and lovingly cared for, that he had probably owned during the heady days of Cromwell. ‘But I don’t doubt that your cousin — Wickham, did you say? — will be happy to provide you with a pair of boots. Now, we must rouse Captain Hucker, and he’ll give you some men for an escort.’
‘One last thing, sir,’ Bram said diffidently. This was a difficult request to make, and would probably be denied: already he was aware, like most of his comrades, of the drastic shortage of coin and equipment in the rebel army. As Bovett looked at him enquiringly, he added, ‘I would not wish these horses simply to be taken, without any form of redress. My cousin breeds them for his livelihood, not as a pastime, and he won’t be very happy if we do not give him at least some payment for them.’
‘Then he is not sympathetic to our cause?’ Bovett said sharply.
Bram shook his head. ‘Oh, he favours Dissent, sir, I know that for a fact. But he is not really interested in affairs of state, his horses are his whole life. And frankly,’ he added, with a rather guilty smile, ‘I would feel myself to blame if we took all his best horses at my suggestion.’
‘And you don’t wish to antagonise your cousin? I can well understand that,’ said Bovett, to Bram’s secret relief. ‘I’m sure we can find some coin, or at the very least the Duke, I mean King, can sign a promissory note, for payment after our victory. I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
Bram, agreeing wholeheartedly, thanked him profusely, and within half an hour, as the sun was setting, found himself on a borrowed horse, an ill-behaved nag with feathery plebeian heels, in the company of five troopers, all Taunton men, and Captain Hucker, in whose house Monmouth had stayed while in the town. Like Colonel Bovett, he knew Bram well, and was full of praise for his suggestion. This was heartening, for Bram himself was beginning, now that they were actually on their way to Longleaze, to have considerable doubts. What would his Cousin Jan say when this band of rebel soldiers arrived on his doorstep and demanded a tithe of his best horses? And, much more to the point, what of Aunt Rachael’s reaction?
Well, he would know soon enough. The lights of Longleaze flickered through the trees ahead, the outline of the house long, dark and gabled in the diminishing dusk. Bram brought his horse up level with Captain Hucker’s, and said quietly, ‘Sir — perhaps it would be most tactful if I were to speak with my cousin first.’
‘Break the news gently, you mean?’ said Hucker, who was a thin cynical stick of a man, surprising amongst all the fervent Dissenters who made up the bulk of Monmouth’s army. ‘Well, I’ve no objection — so long as you remember, lad, that none of us will be best pleased if we’ve come out here on a fool’s errand when we could have been snug round a fire with hot food in our bellies.’
‘I’ll remember,’ Bram said. It was still raining fitfully, and cold water was dripping off his hat and trickling uncomfortably down the back of his neck. They rode through the gate and up to the porch, and as their horses, tired from the day’s march and as empty-bellied as their riders, came to a grateful halt, he saw the door open, and the gaunt, unwelcoming and suspicious figure of his Aunt Rachael stood unmistakably outlined by the light behind her.
With a feeling of dread that, he suspected, no enemy armies would have the power to instil in him, Bram dismounted, throwing his reins to a trooper, and went to meet the woman of whom he and his sisters had always gone in awe.
