Wintercombe, page 48
part #1 of Wintercombe Series
Yet, in spite of what Mally had just averred, he had offered proof of his friendship, had put his life and his position in jeopardy for her sake more than once. She must trust him now, as a ship trusted to its anchor in a storm, because she could do no other.
There were sounds outside. The key turned in the lock and the door opened to admit Ridgeley and the two troopers, dragging with them the tearful, frightened figures of William, Deb and Tabby.
As Silence scrambled to her feet, her arms open to embrace them, the Colonel spoke. ‘They’re unharmed, as you can see — for the moment. But remember what I have said, my dear lady. You have until tomorrow to think it over, and since hunger is supposed to sharpen the wits, I do not intend to let you sup tonight. There will be a guard on the door, and his orders are to let nothing and no one pass. Goodnight to you, Lady St. Barbe — and pleasant dreams.’
At least they were together. That was one small comfort in the dark hopelessness that overwhelmed Silence as Ridgeley banged the door behind him. But she must keep calm, for the children’s sake. Deb and William wept in her arms because they were frightened, but on Tabby’s white and tearless face there was the old, terrible fierceness that her mother found so disturbing.
William, soothed at last, realised that he was hungry, and said so, rather loudly. Mally came to the rescue: she produced a sticky, brown wedge of gingerbread from the pocket of her apron, to cries of delight from Deb and William, and divided it with care into six, giving the biggest pieces to the smallest children. There was a pitcher of water and two cups on a side table, so at least they would not go thirsty. As Nat pointed out, it could be worse.
‘It could indeed,’ said Silence. She would not talk about Rachael, and the terrible doom that might befall her. She could not mention it in front of the younger children, and besides, she must keep up her own spirits as well as theirs. So she let the little ones stroke the kittens, though she did not tell them what Ridgeley had done with Tabby’s favourite, the one that looked like Pye. Apart from some slight charring to the fine white fur on its paws and belly, and a faint aroma of burnt hairs, it seemed none the worse for its appalling experience.
There was paper and ink and books, and Nat, still pale of face but as calm as his stepmother, sat down at one of the walnut tables to study with what Silence thought was very commendable calm. But the preservation of some semblance of normality, for the children’s sake, was a terrible strain. Silence, her nerves and emotions already stretched almost to breaking point, had to answer a stream of urgent questions from Deb. Why were they locked in? When would they be let out? Why was Colonel Ridgeley angry? Was it because she had got lost at the Fair?
Silence, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at this evidence of Deb’s bewilderment, smiled down at her daughter’s round, anxious face and was able to reassure her on that score. She could not, however, offer any hope on what, to Deb’s mind, was the most important question of all. When was supper? And why wouldn’t Colonel Ridgeley let them have any? What were they being punished for?
Such queries were impossible to answer, and certainly not to Deb’s satisfaction. She was still grumbling as the sun sank lower, and the door remained firmly shut and locked.
Mally, who had been watching over the courtyard from the northern oriel, reported that the forage troop had ridden in, bringing two cows and a great deal of plunder, but that there was still no sign of Captain Hellier. It was beginning to grow dark, and the youngest children were fretful and fractious, obviously exhausted by the excitements of the day, but too hungry and upset to settle easily into sleep.
There was a truckle-bed on wheels run under her own. She and Mally hauled it out, and piled it high with blankets, for the night was plainly going to be clear and cold, perhaps even frosty, and the fire, starved of wood, was already ebbing. Then Deb and William, protesting, were divested of their outer garments and tucked neatly into bed, feet in the middle and a head at either end. Tabby, still ominously quiet, was allowed to study alongside Nat for a little while, but there were only a few candles, and the two gave up as it became obvious that there was insufficient light.
‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ Tabby whispered to her mother. ‘I want to see what’s happening in the Hall. I can hear something going on.’
Silence had not noticed it before, but now she became aware of a low buzz of noise. She beckoned to Nat and Mally, and the four of them, very quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping children, crept into the maid’s closet and crowded round the spy-holes behind the King’s mask.
Below, the Hall was full of soldiers, setting up trestles, laying out platters and cups on the top table just below them, laughing and talking. Silence could see only Cornet Wickham, standing in the corner below the opposite Queen’s mask, supervising them. Surely Wickham would not stand tamely by if Rachael were attacked?
She could not rely on any of them, save Nick, to take the girl’s part, she reminded herself, however sympathetic they appeared. They were the enemy, and to them Rachael was a traitor’s brat who had attempted to murder their Colonel. They had all turned a blind eye while Ridgeley lay on his sick bed, but now he had recovered most of his strength and regained power, they were doubtless all as terrified of him as before.
Byam came into view, the dairymaid Bessie hanging onto his arm. She sported a string of cheap beads, and ribbons in her russet hair: her lover had evidently been spending coin on fairings. Something about the way she stood, the even more generous swell of her breasts above the low-cut bodice of her gown, unconcealed by any scarf or collar, made Silence suddenly suspicious. She glanced significantly at Mally, and her maid jerked her head downwards. ‘Be ee thinking what I be thinking, m’lady?’
‘I expect so,’ said Silence. She added wryly, ‘And all I feel is mild annoyance — I can’t pretend to ignore her behaviour any longer, and where in Somerset can I find a dairymaid as good?’
Tabby was evidently puzzled, but Nat understood. He whispered, grinning, ‘Is Bessie going to have a little Byam bastard, then?’
‘Nat!’ said Silence reprovingly, with a glance at Tabby. Her daughter, still with that pale, vengeful look, said in a low, fervent voice, ‘It serves her right for going with that dreadful man. Why didn’t she choose Captain Hellier? He’s the only nice one of all the officers.’
I am so glad she did not, said Silence’s traitor heart. Appalled at herself, she resolved to spend an hour or so in prayer this evening. Prayer for Rachael, for their safe deliverance from this nightmare, and above all for her own salvation from the terrible wickedness into which she was so sorely tempted, and from which she stood in danger still…
She knew already that her pleas would not work. Even if she did manage to keep Nick Hellier at arm’s length, it was too late, for somehow he had slipped into her soul, and lodged there like a burr. She no longer possessed any loyalty, any affection for her husband: his letter about Sam’s death had destroyed any vestige of wifely feeling, and whatever their marriage became after his eventual return, she knew that she would be no more than a puppet, mouthing platitudes she did not feel, performing duties she had no wish for. The autumn-coloured man possessed her heart, for good or ill, and now, for her own sake and her children’s, she must suppress the emotion that threatened her whole world as surely as did Lieutenant-Colonel Ridgeley.
Confused, miserable with fear and grief, she stared blindly down at the bustling Hall, until someone tugged gently at her sleeve, and Tabby’s voice whispered, ‘Mama, can I see too?’
She drew back to allow her daughter to peer downwards. From this restricted vantage-point, only the far corner of the screens was visible, and a triangular sliver of the Hall. The Queen’s mask in the other closet gave the opposing view, of the fireplace and the screens nearest to the front door, but identically limited. She did not know if Ridgeley was aware of the squints’ existence, and that everything which happened in the Hall could be heard, and partly seen, by anyone in her chamber — and in Dame Ursula’s.
She wondered what he would do with her mother-in-law. Ignore her, most like. She hoped that Ruth would be able to carry up her supper on a tray, as usual, and replenish her fire: she did not in the least like the old lady, but nor did she want to see her suffer. Despite her age and frailty, she was almost a match for Ridgeley, verbally at least, and Silence could admire her indomitable spirit.
‘M’lady.’ Mally was speaking softly. Nat and Tabby were kneeling on the floor, engrossed by the comings and goings below. Silence turned. ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Have ee disremembered, m’lady?’ We bain’t prisoned here after all! We can get out of here, any when we d’want — through the roof.’
She had indeed forgotten. In Mally’s closet, behind the green hangings in the corner, a tiny, twisting stair had been built into the thickness of the wall by a past St. Barbe, obviously enthusiastic about the defence of his house. It led into the roof space above the Hall. She had never been up there, but Sam had told her once that with care you could walk from joist to joist the length of the Hall, and come down the corresponding stair that opened into Ruth’s closet, just off Dame Ursula’s chamber.
It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off her mind. They could escape — although what Dame Ursula might say to her daughter-in-law’s and grandchildren’s sudden arrival in her chamber, apparently out of nowhere, would probably beggar description. Silence stood, thinking hard. If necessary, they could get out — though how they would manage to carry the smaller children across the roof, she did not know. Quickly, in her mind, she traced some possible routes from Dame Ursula’s chamber. Presumably it had not been thought necessary to guard it — but its door stood directly opposite Ridgeley’s. With luck, judging by the preparations below, there would be a big feast that night, which would render most of the officers and men drunk and insensible. If that were the case, then it might well be quite easy to get out of the house without being seen.
But then what? Carefully, she made herself consider the likely consequences. Wintercombe would be left entirely at Ridgeley’s mercy, and she already knew the kind of damage and destruction he could inflict. In revenge, he might well gut the house, or even fire it. The servants, and Dame Ursula, would take the brunt of his wrath: quite possibly, given the unbridled malevolence of Ridgeley’s nature, there might be murder done. Her conscience shrank from that thought. The house, and all within it, were her responsibility, left in her charge by Sir Samuel and by George. She had done her best to preserve it from despoliation, and so far had had some success. To escape now would ensure her children’s safety, but it would surely also sign Wintercombe’s death warrant.
And where would they go? To Wick Farm, which might no longer be a haven? Or perhaps to Farleigh Castle, to throw herself on the mercy of the Royalist garrison there, and rely on the chivalry of Colonel John Hungerford to protect them. Or they could go to Bath, or even Bristol — further off, safer from pursuit, but lacking any friendly face, anyone who might take in a sad little group of abused and threatened refugees. And behind them, Wintercombe would burn.
There remained one other possibility: to send away Nat, or Mally, or both, with the younger children. If she herself remained behind, a prisoner still, Ridgeley’s rage would most likely fall only on her: he would still have a victim on whom to wreak his revenge, even if baulked of the children. And perhaps, somehow, possibly with Nick’s help, she could prevent any further damage to Wintercombe.
Short of shooting the man, she did not see how this could be done, but at least she would not be running away. She would send her children to safety, but stay to do what she could for the house and for the people who were her responsibility.
‘Did ee hear what I said, m’lady?’ Mally whispered urgently, and Silence, abruptly returned to reality, gave her a quick smile, and nodded. ‘Yes, I did — I’m sorry, I was thinking. Mally, can you come with me for a moment? I want to talk to you — I have an idea.’
The chamber was quiet, Pye and her kittens lying by the still-glowing fire, Deb and William slumbering with the utter abandonment of small children in their truckle-bed. The little boy had fallen asleep on all fours, his head on the pillow and his round rump sticking up under the blankets. Silence stared at the dim, shrouded shapes of her son and daughter, and her breath caught in her throat. Tiresome, wilful, stubborn Deb; William with his open, sunny, friendly nature, both so dear to her — and Tabby, showing disturbing signs of the harm done by the presence of the soldiers, always her favourite, her first-born, the deep, quiet, sensitive dreamer, with the gift for music that it had taken a stranger’s eye to perceive. And Nat, her support, her friend in a way that none of the other children were able to be.
Ridgeley had threatened them all. It could be just that, a threat, uttered to frighten her into submission, and it had certainly made her very afraid. But she knew Ridgeley, and she could not forget the dreadful cruelty, the casual gesture with which he had thrown that kitten into the fire. By a miracle, it had survived almost unscathed: but would her own children be so fortunate?
He had spoken, with unbelievable brutality, of smothering. She simply could not afford to take the risk, to call his bluff. The most terrifying quality of the man was that he seemed quite ready, indeed eager, to carry out even the most extreme of his threats. And with the lives of all her children at stake, she would not gamble on his forbearance.
‘Yes, m’lady?’ said Mally softly, and Silence, her heart suddenly thudding in fear at the danger in which they stood, bent her head and whispered her plan into her maid’s ear.
‘I don’t like to leave ee,’ said Mally, when she had finished. ‘But I can see the sense on it. And that hang-gallised fiend, I don’t doubt as how he’ll do just as he said. If I can bring ’em to safety, m’lady, I’ll be main glad of en.’
‘And so will I,’ said Silence. She added slowly, ‘My fear is for them — not for myself, but for them. If I know they are safe, I will be happier, even if I face Ridgeley’s wrath by sending them away. He can hurt me most by hurting them, and he knows it. If the children are gone, what can he do to me?’
‘Burn the house down, most like,’ said Mally drily. ‘But they bain’t safe yet, m’lady. We have to get ’em across that there roof, first — and ’twouldn’t be very secret if Ridgeley was to look up and see a foot come through the ceiling, would en?’
Despite her fear, Silence had to swallow a snort of laughter at the vision that Mally’s words conjured up. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, it definitely would not. And then you have to take them through Dame Ursula’s chamber without my lady thinking that she’s about to be murdered in her bed — and then you have to smuggle them out of the house somehow, without anyone seeing, and take them — where? There’s no chance of obtaining horses, you’ll have to walk, and it’ll be dark and cold — I shouldn’t lay such a charge on you, Mally.’
‘Don’t ee fret,’ the girl said. Her eyes were shining brightly in the dim, dying light from the fire, and her voice was buoyant with hope. ‘I d’know Norton like ’twas the back of my hand — I were born here, after all, m’lady. Why not to Wick Farm? It’ll take days for that there Ridgeley to search all on the village, and Wick be so far away it be almost to Farleigh. I’ll explain all to Mistress Baylie, she won’t be miffed. And then all the children will be together, and maybe I can get help for ee from the Castle garrison.’
Silence stared at her thoughtfully. Wick did indeed lie at the furthest corner of the parish, on the border with Farleigh, and reached by a lane that led off the main highway, from which it was screened by a fine belt of timber. It was difficult to find unless by one familiar with the village, and surely, to a stranger such as Ridgeley who had no local knowledge, so isolated that he might well be entirely ignorant of its existence. And at Wick they would be sheltered and protected. Very few people, if any, in the village knew that Rachael was there, and she was certain that none would give her or the other children away. The mood in Philip’s Norton had not yet spilled over into violence and riot, but she remembered, with gratitude and a strengthened heart, the words of Emmanuel Atkins. They would not attack the soldiers — yet. But they were already prepared to show open defiance, at great risk to themselves and to their possessions.
And Wick was two miles away, inhabited by people she knew and respected. She had heard little of the garrison at Farleigh, and her mind shrank from sending Mally, accompanied by four children, one of whom at least would have to be carried, and another in poor health, on the difficult, tortuous tramp up hill and down dale to Bath, where for all most people cared they could probably sleep in the streets. A dreadful vision of her beloved children, and Nat, huddled together in some doorway or begging charity from the Governor, or the Mayor, rose up to haunt her. Decided, she nodded at Mally. ‘Yes, I know it’s close, but for the moment I think Wick is safest. And it’s very near to Farleigh — you can flee there, if danger threatens.’
‘They d’say that Colonel Hungerford at Farleigh be a good man, for a Cavalier,’ Mally told her. ‘He won’t hand ’em over to Ridgeley, I be certain of that, m’lady — and once I’ve told en what that villain have said to ee, I d’reckon as how he’ll come to help ee.’
A small, pale figure slipped silently out of the closet, and crept round the bed to join them, her hands wound tight together. ‘Mama,’ Tabby’s voice hissed urgently. ‘Mama, come quick — Captain Hellier’s come back!’
Silence’s heart gave a deep, betraying lurch; her face and hands did not move at all. She whispered to Mally, ‘We’ll talk more about it later — we can’t do anything for some hours yet.’ And as her maid, still with that air of suppressed hope about her, nodded in agreement, she turned and walked casually back to the closet, Tabby clinging tightly to her hand, as if she were frightened.
