Beloved Enemy (62 page)

Night
after night, Ginny would edge gingerly to the far side of the bed, away from
the sprawled, stertorously snoring figure of her husband. His outflung limbs
left little space for her, and she was petrified of touching him lest he wake
and attempt to renew the conjugal assault on her body that a drunken stupor had
mercifully and as always brought to an incomplete close. Giles Courtney had
never been anything but an inconsiderate lover, but now, faced with his
impotence, humiliated and frustrated by the woman who had betrayed his bed, he
was careless of hurting her, pinching and prodding, breathing over her the
fumes of the brandy that he took ostensibly to dull the pain of his hip. In
fact, the brandy bottle appeared at the breakfast table and remained at his
side until he retired.

Once
and only once, Ginny had attempted to remonstrate with him, to point out the
deleterious effects of this constant imbibing, had offered to prepare a
soothing poultice for his hip. The tirade that had broken over her head in a
white-hot, intoxicated fury had left her shaking and frightened for her
physical safety for the first time. Since then, she had kept out of his way as
far as it was possible.

They
had found Courtney Manor intact, having escaped occupation by Parliament's
forces, but crippling fines had been levied on the family for their part in the
war, and they were forced to sell off vast tracts of woodland and borrow
heavily. As a result, stringent household economies were instituted by Lady
Courtney, something that did not concern Ginny in the least, but seriously
affected the equanimity of her three sisters-in-law and her husband who felt,
after his years of fighting and hardship, that he was entitled to the comforts
and luxuries that had hitherto been his due.

Nothing
had been said about the circumstances in which Giles had met up again with his
wife, and his mother and sisters assumed that he had journeyed to the Isle of
Wight to fetch her back. Her desertion on her husband's supposed death,
however, rankled, and no opportunity was lost to increase the misery of her
existence.

The
winter of 1648 dragged interminably. The country was in a turmoil as the king
was seized and taken from the Isle of Wight to Windsor. On January 30, 1649, he
was executed on a scaffold specially erected outside the banqueting house at
Whitehall. Ginny, sickened at the news, left the house on a raw February
afternoon, and rode down to the sea. That time of her audience with the king at
Carisbrooke, when she had taken his seal and pledged herself to further his
cause in Parliament's despite seemed an eternity past. Just as did the time she
had spent at Whitehall, dining in that banqueting house at the high table with
Parliament's newly appointed general. Where was Alex now? Would he have
supported the king's execution? Was he well? The image of the green-brown eyes
softened in love or snapping with exasperation hung in her mind's eye, the feel
of his hands touched her skin. There seemed little point in existence any more.

The
sea crashed gray against the stony beach in the horseshoe-shaped cove, inviting
her with its implacable rhythm that all the misery in the world could not
alter. She could swim out to the farthermost edge of the headland where the
current was strong. The water was cold enough to numb the limbs of the
strongest swimmer, and it would not take long to slip down into the cradle of
oblivion. . . .

Each
day she cherished the thought that perhaps today Alex would come riding on
Bucephalus, up the gravel sweep to hammer on the great door, to catch her up in
front of him and ride away with her. Of course he would not; she had left him
without a word, without the slightest hope that they could ever come together
again, not in Giles Courtney's lifetime. But even knowing that it was
impossible could not destroy the dream that kept her alive, shielded her from
the pinpricks of unkindness from her in-laws and the nightly brutality of her
husband, who, in angry failure, would blame her and call her whore, leaving her
to lie awake throughout the long reaches of the night, crying inside for the
loss of love and passion.

The
cold, gray familiar sea beckoned again with its promise of surcease.
Resolutely, Ginny turned away from the invitation. The bed she lay on was
largely of her own making, and she had never before lacked courage. To give
one's life as Peter Ashley and Jack Calvert and Diccon and so many others had
done was a fine and splendid thing, but to take it because things were not as
one would wish them to be was a cowardly act, and one that would negate the
sacrifices of all those others.

Back
at the house, she paused outside the small parlor, listening to the most
unusual sounds of her mother-in-law's voice raised in altercation with her son.

"Eavesdropper,
keyhole peeper," a voice hissed behind her, and she spun round guiltily to
face the malicious glare of Giles's youngest sister Margaret.

"I
was just about to join my husband in the parlor, as it happens," Ginny
lied, quite unable to bear such a mean-spirited accusation. Since Margaret
showed no intention of leaving, she was obliged to follow through and open the
door.

The
two within stared at her, for the moment silenced by their surprise. Virginia
never appeared among the family except at the dinner table and never took part
in exchanges, be they acrimonious or harmonious. "Good morrow, husband,
madam," she greeted them calmly, dropping a polite curtsy. "I trust I
do not intrude."

"As
it happens, the matter concerns you," Lady Courtney said stiffly.
"Although your opinion is of little interest and even less
importance."

Ginny
dropped another curtsy in ironic acceptance of the truth and waited.

"We
are to go to the Colonies, it seems, to repair the family fortunes," Giles
stated, limping irritably over to the sideboard where the brandy bottle stood.
"My mother seems to think it is the only way we shall be able to maintain
Courtney Manor for our heirs—not that there's much sign of them," he added
morosely, glaring at Ginny with red-rimmed eyes over the bottle.

"May
I ask, madam, why the Colonies would achieve this miracle?" Ginny
inquired, ignoring her husband's remark.

Lady
Courtney, although she would the rather than admit it, had developed a certain
reluctant respect for her daughter-in-law. There was a hint of steel beneath
the appearance of obedience and dutiful respect that the other woman
recognized, just as she saw the weakness of her son. Giles would never amount
to anything left to himself, but with his wife behind him, it was just
possible. Anyway, it would certainly be worth enlisting her support. So she
answered the question with none of her customary sharpness. "My uncle's
son and his wife went to the Colony of Virginia some fifteen years ago,
receiving a land grant from the London Company," she explained. "They
were planting tobacco. I received a letter two weeks ago, and it seems they are
doing well. There is still much land available." She handed Ginny a
pamphlet of the kind issued by the companies promoting emigration. "Our
neighbors, the Hallidays, received this in London. Their son is sailing on the
next vessel leaving Southampton under the auspices of the London Company."

Ginny
examined the pamphlet critically. It was full of flowery promises of fabulous
riches and untold amounts of land waiting to be seized by the bold and the
farseeing. No mention of the hardships she had heard tell of, of the wilderness
and the disease, of the painted savages who massacred whole settlements. She
remembered listening to an old mariner given hospitality by John Redfern some
ten years ago, telling of the massacre of 1622, of the land seedling with
wildlife that the settlers could neither tame nor catch for the pot, of the way
they had to hew land for cultivation out of the wilderness and swamp. But it
was also true, that since then matters had improved somewhat, and if this
pamphlet was to be believed, some forty thousand souls had been conveyed to the
Colony of Virginia in the last fifteen years, and the planting of tobacco was
the road to fortune.

It was
also the road away from the agony of memory and loss, she thought. A better
road, surely, than the one offered by the sea this afternoon. It offered escape
from this prison, where every day was the same, bound by malice and duty in
hostile company. True, it would not take her away from Giles Courtney, but it
would take
him
away from the women who kept him ineffectual and without
purpose with their doting servitude. Who could know what he might become in a
new land where he had to stand on his own feet, face challenges that might, at
least, take his mind off tormenting his wife? It could be no worse, and the
possibility that it might be better was sufficient. Alex was lost to her so
completely already, that a separating ocean was of no moment.

"I
find the idea appealing, madam," she said. "It is written here that
the next ships will sail at the end of April. We have two months to make our
preparations. It will be sufficient time, I think."

Lady
Courtney smiled. "I see no reason why we cannot accomplish everything in
that time, daughter. Giles, you must journey to London within the week and meet
with the men of the London Company. You will receive a land grant from them and
details of your passage."

And
thus is was settled, Giles reflected in moody resignation. settled between his
mother and his wife, as it had been settled that he should declare himself for
the king four years previously. That decision had brought only disaster; there
was little reason to imagine that this one would be any different.

Chapter
24

On the
last Saturday in April, Giles and Virginia Courtney stood with twenty other
passengers on the deck of the
Elizabeth May
watching the port of Southampton
recede as the vessel, under full sail, picked up speed with the fresh breeze
and danced across the waters of the Solent, heading for the Needle Rocks and
the English Channel.

Ginny
stood riveted to the deck rail, watching the Isle of Wight come closer until
she could see the house on the headland above Alum Bay. It looked just as it
had when she had left it ten months ago, but it was not hard to imagine what
ten months of neglect had wreaked in the gardens and fields of the estate, and
the house would be dusty and mildewed. But perhaps it already had new owners,
staunch Parliamentarians rewarded for their services. She swallowed her tears.
It was over, all over. The past was gone and she had only the future to face.
And the immediate future would require every vestige of strength and courage if
it was to be embraced with even a modicum of dignity.

She
went down to the between deck area where the passengers were to be quartered
during the voyage. with a headroom of a mere four foot seven, only the children
could stand up. It was an area designed for cargo, not people, and no attempt
had been made to modify it for its new purpose. Voices were already raised in
argument as the passengers laid claim to deck area, rolling out their pallets,
arranging their chests, in which reposed all their worldly goods, as boundary
fences around them.

Giles
had established an area in one corner, and Ginny had to give him credit for
picking a relatively choice spot and hanging on to it with all the grim
determination of a spoiled child with a disputed sweetmeat. The cackle of
chickens rose from the hold below where they hung in cages above the water
barrels, sacks of flour, and grain, the flitches of bacon, sides of beef,
hogsheads of pickled herring and salted cod, the casks of ale that would be all
they would have to drink once the water was used and they were far from land. A
child began to wail, an exasperated hand cracked, and the wailing doubled in
volume.

Ginny
went back on deck. Three months of that, if they were lucky, and once in the
open sea the gratings would be battened down, and they would be herded into
that space, lit only by oil lamps, cooking, washing, eating, sleeping,
performing all the most intimate activities —privacy a lost word.

A
seaman pushed past her, hauling on the topsail halyard, and one of the officers
bellowed at her to get below. Ginny contemplated telling him that she was
probably every bit as capable of sailing the wretched ship as he was, then
decided against it. Three months was a long time, and it would be impolitic to
set up backs before they had even left the Channel. A cursory glance had shown
her that the sailors' and officers' quarters were palatial compared with those
between decks. The bunks were long enough and wide enough to accommodate the
human frame, but most important, they were fore and aft the main deck with
access to light and air. In the forward cabin, also, was set up a brick
fireplace with arms and hooks for cooking pots. Ginny wondered if and when the
passengers would have access to those facilities, or would they be condemned to
cooking below decks even in calm seas?

Alex
rode through the verdant Dorsetshire countryside, his heart pounding
uncomfortably, his hands sticky in his gauntlets although it was a chilly May
morning. He did not know why he was doing this, except that he had to be sure
that she was alive and well. He would not go up to the house, he would not even
try to see her, but in Lulworth village he would make general inquiries, and
Jed would ask around also. Between them, they would be able to glean a
relatively accurate picture of life at Courtney Manor.