A Falling Star, page 33
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
‘What’s this? What do you want?’ His aunt’s voice cut like a whip. She was dressed in the black she had worn ever since her husband’s death, ten or eleven years previously, and the two engraved lines between the fierce grey brows were even deeper and more threatening than usual. Behind her, he saw the big, amiable figure of Jan, a chicken leg held in his hand, and his wife Bathsheba, nervously peering round his shoulder. Anxious not to give them any more cause for alarm, he called out, ‘Don’t worry, Aunt — it’s me, Bram!’
‘Abraham? Abraham Loveridge?’ said Aunt Rachael, rather as if he had announced that his name was Lucifer, son of Beelzebub. ‘What are you doing here? Who are these men? Are they rebels?’
He was close to her now, his hat doffed, and what he hoped was a charmingly apologetic smile adorning his face. ‘I’ll explain everything, Aunt Rachael, but perhaps I’d better come inside for a moment, rather than talking on the doorstep.’
She stared at him with hostile, suspicious blue eyes. Then she said brusquely, ‘Very well, if you must,’ and held the door wide.
It was not the most auspicious of welcomes. Feeling like an invader and a traitor, he sent a hopeful glance over his shoulder to Hucker, still sitting on his horse, with an expression on his face that Bram could interpret only too readily. The number of horses that the army could obtain would, as everyone knew, be vital to the success of their cause. Hucker had a bag full of coin at his saddlebow: some local gentleman, cautious with his tenants and his horses and weapons, had been a little more generous with his money. Monmouth, moreover, had expressly forbidden the stealing of horses by his overenthusiastic supporters, for he wished to keep the undoubted good will of the local people. But even so, Bram suspected that Hucker, given the chance, was quite capable of defying his commander and stripping the Longleaze stables and paddocks bare, giving no redress.
It was some while since he had last stood here in the low, panelled dining parlour, with its huge stone fireplace, burning on this cold rainy June night, and candle sconces lighting the walls. A shelf displayed pieces of decorative slip-ware, fine pewter, and a handsome silver vessel that had been part of Rachael’s dowry from Wintercombe, long ago. He looked at his aunt’s severe face, aware of his rain-sodden clothes, his shoes, hardly suitable for riding, and the green favour, badge of Monmouth, decorating his hat. Jan appeared mildly puzzled, with Bathsheba clutching his arm, while Ben stood by the table loaded with the half-eaten remains of their interrupted supper.
‘I’m sorry to intrude like this,’ Bram said awkwardly, all his customary assurance and banter disappeared like smoke. ‘Very sorry. I —’
‘Are you with the rebels?’ Rachael asked baldly.
No use at all trying to break it gently. Bram nodded, smiling apologetically. ‘Yes, Aunt Rachael, I’m afraid I am.’
‘Afraid?’ she snapped, and suddenly, so abruptly that he was taken aback, her hard face cracked into an answering smile. ‘There’s no reason to be afraid, Nephew. The best thing you’ve ever done, I’d say, joining the Protestant Duke. With a Papist on the throne, we’ll never know rest.’
Rachael, of course, was a practising Dissenter, who alone of all her family attended conventicles and prayer meetings in defiance of the law, and had not set foot inside her parish church for years. Even Jonah, whose family were Baptists, was not so fanatical, but had always compromised when circumstances were against him. For Rachael Wickham, there would never be any compromise, but she had not yet managed to persuade any of her family to follow her determined path. Jan was only really interested in horses, and Bathsheba, even though she went in awe of her mother-in-law, dutifully followed her husband’s lead, and accompanied him to worship at the church of St John in Glastonbury. And Ben, of course, understood only the simplest matters of religion, and his faith was childlike and uncomplicated.
Bram realised that he should have foreseen, knowing all this, that in fact Rachael would be his ally. He smiled gratefully back at her. ‘I’m glad you think so, Aunt. But I have not come here to exchange pleasantries, much though I’d like to stay and talk. I’ve come on an errand.’
‘Oh?’ said Jan, and in his broad, fair-skinned face there was, suddenly, a glimmer of apprehension. ‘Why are you here, Bram?’
‘The army is very short of horses,’ he said. ‘When we reached Glastonbury, I thought of you at once. Have you any spare that we could take back with us? We’ll pay good money for them,’ he added hastily, seeing Jan’s horrified expression.
‘Even if you had not the means, we would give them gladly, for the cause,’ said Rachael, with a quelling look at her eldest son. ‘Would we not, John?’
‘Er…if you say so, Mother,’ Jan said unhappily. He looked at Bram, his eyes anxious. ‘You haven’t come at a very good time. Most of the colts that might have been suitable for your needs have been sold on — the paddocks are full of mares with young foals at foot, and I cannot let you take them, for the foals would sicken or die. But we do have seven horses in the stables that I was intending to school and sell on this autumn, and those you may have. Is that sufficient?’
He looked so worried that Bram was quick to reassure him. ‘Of course it is, Cousin — more than we’d hoped for. Are you sure you can afford to let us have them?’
‘If you’ll give me their value, yes,’ said Jan, with a rather wary smile.
Bram gave him his most wholehearted one in return. ‘Captain Hucker outside has the money. It may not be enough, but I promise on my own account that you won’t lose on this transaction. After all, coming to you for horses was my idea, so I feel responsible.’
It was plain that Jan was still very reluctant, but his mother’s adamant approval of the idea seemed to persuade him. A lantern was found and lit, and Bram walked with his cousin and Captain Hucker to the stables.
Ben followed them, his eyes shining. He had already questioned Bathsheba in an excited, barely intelligible gabble, but her reply had been clear enough. ‘Yes, Cousin Bram’s a soldier now — a soldier in the Duke of Monmouth’s army.’ And the boy’s crowing sound of excitement and envy had, strangely, affected Bram more than his sisters’ enthusiasm, days ago in Taunton. Like all the family, he was very fond of Ben, and respected his judgement as one might that of a favoured and intelligent hound. The simpleton’s obvious hero-worship was no embarrassment, despite Hucker’s raised eyebrows at the sight.
The seven horses, all geldings, young and saddle broken but rather skittish, were led out by Ben and a clutch of surprised stable boys. Hucker professed himself well pleased, and at Bram’s gentle reminder, untied the bag of coin with a flourish that did not disguise the fact that he had obviously hoped to get away with paying nothing. ‘My heartfelt thanks, Master Wickham. I’ll give you five guineas apiece for them — less than they’re worth, I know, but I’m sure you will not grudge this small donation to our cause.’
Jan’s face was a picture. Bram dug him gently in the ribs, and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He did not know much about the trade in horses, but was well aware that thirty-five guineas for seven animals of promise was a derisory sum. The best amongst them, schooled and suitable for a gentleman’s saddle horse, might fetch that amount on its own.
Despite his amiable appearance, Jan was capable of driving a very hard bargain, but in this awkward situation, between the implicit threat of these armed men on the one hand, and Bram’s urgent eagerness on the other, he could do very little. With a rather forced smile, he nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well, sir. As you say, it’s less than they’re worth, but for the cause…’
‘Good man. Your cousin knew that we could rely on your help,’ said Hucker cheerfully. ‘And while you’re being so generous, you must have noticed that the lad hasn’t any boots to his name — have you a spare pair he could use?’
Jan, the bag of coin weighing down his hand, still looked somewhat bewildered. ‘Yes — I should think we have. Come with me, Bram, and Bathsheba will find you something.’ He gave orders to the little knot of stable lads standing with the horses, and then, his hand companionably on his cousin’s shoulder, guided him back to the house.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bram said, as soon as they were within doors. ‘He told me he’d give you a fair price for them, and I was fool enough to believe him. How much are they really worth?’
‘If I’d kept them until the autumn, anything up to twenty or thirty pounds apiece,’ Jan told him. ‘But of course there’s their keep, four months of it, and the effort expended in schooling them, so it’s not as bad as it seems. I’ll send down on to the Levels for some more — if your Protestant Duke hasn’t stripped all the farms in Somerset bare of horses, that is.’
‘Not yet,’ Bram said, wondering how he could find the money to reimburse his cousin. ‘But cavalry is our biggest problem — our horses are too few, and those we do have are completely untrained for war — they turn and run at the first shots. We need more time, time to be able to stop and train them, and the foot as well — but the tale runs that Churchill and the regulars and the militia are on our heels, so we can’t afford to stop. Not until we reach Bristol, anyway.’
Jan studied him thoughtfully. A big man, with warm eyes and mouse-brown hair, he did not in the least resemble his mother. He said quietly, ‘How did your father take it when you joined the rebels?’
‘He accepted it,’ said Bram. The imprisonment in his chamber still rankled, but it was not a subject for family gossip and comment. ‘He was not happy, but he knows that I am of an age to make my own decisions.’
‘Well, you’re — what? Twenty-one? I keep forgetting,’ Jan said. ‘Time passes so quickly. Still, I suppose we’d best find you some boots, and send you on your way. Bathsheba? Sheba, where are you?’
It took some time to unearth a suitable pair of riding boots. Bram’s feet were not as big as Jan’s, and the only ones that could be found to fit him belonged to Sam, the black sheep of the Wickham family, who had run away to sea eight years previously, and had last been heard of as the mate of a merchantman plying between Bristol and the West Indies. They had been kept dry and oiled, but were still so stiff and unyielding that they stood upright on their own like logs. By the time we get to Bristol, Bram thought, though without much hope, perhaps they’ll have softened a little with wear. Riding in them would be uncomfortable enough, and when he put them on, he clumped round the kitchen like a carthorse, while Jan grinned and even quiet Bathsheba giggled.
He had lingered long enough, loath as he was, suddenly, to leave this familiar, welcoming place, so full of memories, and venture back into the alien military world into which he had so impulsively plunged himself. He thanked Jan profusely, kissed Bathsheba and his aunt, and took his reluctant leave. Behind him, candlelight and warmth and the savoury aroma of roasted chicken: in front, the cold wet night, and a damp bed, and a supper that was as uncertain as his future.
The soldiers were ready, each with a led horse, and Hucker waved at him impatiently. ‘Come on, lad — what were you doing, making them?’
‘I’m sorry, sir — a suitable pair was not very easy to find,’ said Bram. He came up to his horse and found that Ben was holding its reins, a lantern in the other hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said to his cousin, and the boy’s face creased into a huge grin. ‘Bram? Take Ben — take Ben with you.’
His tongue had always been too big for his mouth, and it was hard to discern what he said. But the gist was clear enough, and Bram stared at him, dismayed. ‘Oh, Ben, you can’t! I’m a soldier now, and it’s no place for you.’
‘Soldier,’ said Ben, pronouncing the word carefully and with pride. ‘Bram’s a soldier. Ben wants to be a soldier too.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ Bram told him firmly. ‘It’s quite impossible, Ben — you really can’t come too — this isn’t a game, Ben, it’s real, it’s war, and people get hurt or even killed in war. What would your mother say if something happened to you?’
He had expected petulance, anger, sulks. But Ben just stood there at his nag’s head, the reins slack in his big blunt fingers, and his face crumpled like a child’s. ‘P-please,’ he muttered, staring at the ground.
Bram hastily hardened his heart. He pushed one of the big clumsy boots into the stirrup, and swung up on to the horse’s back. ‘No, Ben,’ he said again. ‘No, no, and no. You stay here with Jan and the horses — you’re needed here at Longleaze.’
He felt like a traitor as he rode with the others into the night, leaving his cousin sobbing like a baby in the middle of the stable yard. Ben had fixed upon the imagined glory and excitement of being a soldier, but a rebel army was no place for a simpleton, even one whose skill with horses amounted almost to the magical. If things went wrong, God forbid, the fact that Longleaze had supplied the rebels with horses would look bad enough, without Ben joining them as well.
But nothing would go wrong. They had men in plenty, and the country supported them. Once Monmouth took Bristol, success was quite possible, even likely. And Bram had done his small part, and provided his commander with seven much-needed horses. As a reward, he would be made a cornet, a post of greater prestige than ensign, part of the cavalry, the élite of the army, even one such as this.
His spirits high, he whistled all the way back to Glastonbury, and refused to be cast down, even at the prospect of an uncomfortable night in a makeshift straw bed inside one of the few parts of the abbey that still had a roof on it. Once, it had been the abbot’s kitchen, and the huge fireplace was exceedingly welcome. He slept surprisingly well, woke a little stiff and sore, and ready, even eager, for the day’s march.
His cheerful mood did not last long. It was still raining, a thin penetrating drizzle that insidiously soaked everything. Breakfast consisted of a huge hunk of dry bread and some old cheese with mould thick upon it, and a taste like the interior of his riding boot. And just as the men were ready to mount up and move on, a trooper he did not know came hurrying up. ‘Be ee Bram Loveridge? Someone here d’want to see ee.’
And there behind him, a dogged, sheepish grin on his broad face, was Ben, sitting on a solid bay gelding that usually pulled carts at Longleaze.
Bram’s heart plummeted. He said, with a forced, bright smile, ‘Hullo, Ben. Have you got a message for me from Jan?’
No one could call Ben a graceful rider: his slouched posture strongly resembled a sack of meal. But he never fell off, and he could persuade the most recalcitrant beast to behave beautifully, with the manners of a high-bred Arabian. ‘No message,’ he said, grinning. ‘Ben’s coming with you.’
Bram had been afraid of this. Childlike, Ben was prey to intense obsessions that would fill his mind to the exclusion of all else. At the age of five or six, barely able to speak, apparently little more than an animal himself, he had become devoted to horses, even sleeping in the stables, riding, grooming, schooling them so that he became an expert before the age of twelve. But that was somehow natural, the attraction understandable: the horses loved Ben because, it seemed, they sensed that he was nearer to them than the other, supposedly more intelligent humans who handled them but lacked true insight. Sometimes, Bram had wondered fancifully if Ben thought that he was a horse himself.
But this desire to be a soldier, when he could have no idea at all of what it meant, what would be required of him, was impossible. The thought of gentle, loving Ben in charge of the implements of death was almost enough to make Bram weep. He would have to go back.
He tortured his fine-featured face into a hideous frown, and glowered at his simple cousin. ‘No, Ben,’ he said severely. ‘No. Go home. Do you understand me? You must go home.’
‘No,’ Ben protested. ‘No, no, Bram. Soldier now, with you.’
‘You can’t!’ his cousin cried despairingly. They were ready to march, his men were giving him curious looks, gaggles of pretty Glastonbury girls had come to wish them Godspeed, despite the drizzle, and he was forced to stand here arguing with his simple-minded cousin, a situation as likely to bring success as persuading a rock to sprout wings. ‘Ben, please. You can’t stay, you can’t come with us. We might have to kill people, Ben — kill them! You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
For the first time, an expression of doubt appeared on the boy’s face. He slowly shook his head.
‘Then go home, Ben, please,’ Bram begged him. The horse was beginning to move out, and people were cheering them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Hucker urge his mount towards him. ‘Go on, Ben — home!’
Stubbornly, his cousin shook his head. ‘Not kill,’ he said, and then added, as if he had just thought of it, ‘Horses! Ben look after horses! Come with Bram!’
‘What’s this, Loveridge? Problems?’ Hucker had come up, his lean face impatient. ‘Hurry up, lad, we can’t linger here all day. Who’s this?’
‘My cousin, Ben Wickham, sir. If you remember, we met him last night.’
‘Oh? Has he come to persuade you to go home?’ said Hucker.
‘No, sir — he wants to join us.’
The captain’s face cleared. ‘Oh, is that all? Then why the delay? Anyone who can ride is welcome, half-wit or no.’ He added to Ben, with a smile, ‘Welcome to the army of King Monmouth, Ben Wickham. Keep him by you, is my advice,’ he said to the horrified Bram, and turned his horse to shout at a ragged and dilatory knot of horsemen.
‘Me a soldier? Ben a soldier?’ The boy’s face was all one huge smile, and the joy in it stabbed to Bram’s heart. ‘Ben stay with you — that man said so!’
One or two of the troopers, who had been curious onlookers, gave voice to cheerful words of approval. Ben, beaming, looked all round at them like a child receiving birthday greetings. It was too late, Bram realised, with a boulder of guilt weighting his heart: much too late to return him. He wished with all his heart that he had never thought of asking Jan for horses. If he had not, none of this would have happened, and Ben would be safe with his mother and brother on the farm where he had lived all his life.
