Marriage Under Siege (34 page)

If only, she prayed
silently, they would be willing to show Francis the same respect and
consideration when the castle fell, as it surely must. They had mentioned
between them, briefly, the likelihood of his imprisonment, but had not dared
discuss the possibility that he might pay for his defiance with his life. She
could not think of it but, calling the wolfhounds to heel, turned her face
resolutely towards Ludlow.

From the battlements
Mansell watched and listened to the swell of the applause around him, his heart
sore with pride and love for her. And with dread for the future.

Ludlow, nestled confidently
below the walls of its magnificent castle in the county of Shropshire, gave
the appearance of a haven of normality after an uneventful journey. No troops
to speak of. No constant musket fire or blast of ordnance. No real evidence
that the country was torn by the anguish of civil war.

The Brampton town house was
soon opened up for the unexpected guests, accommodation found for women and
children, with promises that they would be returned to their homes and their
menfolk as soon as it was deemed safe for them to be so. Doctor Wright and
Mistress Dorothy departed with many thanks and professions of support in the
coming days, to stay with their own family in the town. Mary made haste to her
own home to give news of her brother and her own safety to her long-suffering
parents.

Honoria, with Mistress
Morgan taking control of the extended household, collapsed into a cushioned
chair before a reluctant fire that struggled to warm her chilly bedchamber. It
was pleasant enough, she supposed, surveying her accommodation. It had the
definite advantages of glass in the windows and a roof secure against all the
elements. But she wished with all her heart that she was at Brampton Percy
with Francis.

Deliberately closing her
thoughts against the dire images that sprang into her mind as soon as she
lowered her guard, she was pleased to pick up a pile of correspondence. How had
it arrived here? she mused as she leafed through it. Presumably the carriers
had decided it too dangerous to approach Brampton Percy, running the gauntlet
of Royalist troops, so to deliver it to Ludlow was the obvious alternative.

The letters contained
little of news or import. Lady Scudamore wrote to warn her of the imminence of
the siege, advising her to escape before Vavasour arrived. Honoria laughed a
little wryly as she read it. One was from Sir William Croft to Mansell, which
she had no compunction in opening. The advice here was also a little late—to
make the journey to Hereford to appraise Coningsby of his good intentions in
the county. A show of compliance might remove the threat of action against him.
Honoria pursed her lips. Even if the letter had been delivered in time, she
would wager her pearl necklace that her lord would have consigned the advice to
the flames. But the brief letter from Eleanor Croft had quite a different
effect. It brought her rapidly to her feet, pacing the confines of the room,
with such a fire of anger burning within her that she could not settle.

Fitzwilliam Coningsby, Lady
Croft had informed her, in the event of its lord and lady being otherwise
engaged, had taken personal possession of Leintwardine Manor, and was at this
very moment in residence there, claiming it as a spoil of war. He had always
admired it. And now he had it.

Admired
it? How dare he!
Honoria all but spat. By what right had he
taken control of it? The manor was her personal property, part of her jointure,
not part of the Brampton estate. He had no right to take possession. Even if
the Royalists were victorious and Mansell's properties were confiscated, her
own jointure of Leintwardine Manor was free from such legal acquisition.

He had no right!

But this time Honoria did
not weep, as she had mourned the delicate Venetian vessels shattered in the
dust. She trembled with a force of rage that shook her, astounding her at its
grip on her senses. Where had this anger come from? Sleep did not come easily
to her that night.

Next morning, eyes heavy
from a restless night, the fury still gnawed at her, but now was colder, icy in
her thirst for revenge. She was in the process of reading Lady Croft's letter
through once again when Mary was announced. That lady immediately saw that all
was not well.

'What is it?' She halted on
the threshold of the parlour, struck forcibly by the aura of frustration and
anger that pervaded the room. 'Have you had bad news?'

'Bad news indeed!'
Honoria's eyes flashed as she cast the letter on to the table beside her.

'From Brampton?' Mary
paled, anticipating the worst.

'No, no... Forgive me,
Mary. Come in and sit. I was not thinking... There is no need to fear for
Joshua—or Francis to my knowledge.'

'Thank God. Then what is
it?'

'Fitzwilliam Coningsby, God
rot his black soul!'

'Honor!'

In a few short sentences,
in which Honoria did not mince her words, Mary was soon informed of the
treachery on Coningsby's part. 'So not only did he prolong the siege under
Henry Lingen, arranging for the arrival of the mortars, but he would rob me of
my personal inheritance from the estate. Have you ever met the man?'

'No, I think not.'

'I have!' Honoria snatched
up the letter and then slapped it down on the table as if it were a heavy book
on the Governor of Hereford's head. 'A mean, thin-featured little man who has
no interest in anything other than his own wealth and importance. I pity his
poor wife, who must tolerate his high-pitched voice and thin legs.' She caught
the smile on Mary's face and was forced to return it. 'Perhaps that is a
slander—but I feel better for it. Let us have a glass of wine—for the good of
my health!'

They sat and discussed the
absent Governor with increasingly unlikely accusations, but with much
enjoyment. By the time a second glass had gone the way of the first, the ladies
were in total accord.

'So how do I get him out of
my property?' Honoria tapped her fingers restlessly against Eleanor Croft's
letter.

'I have no idea. We do not
have the advantage of a troop of horse. Or even a mortar to persuade him that
the Manor is not a safe place to remain.'

'Hmm! What, do you suppose,
would make a man like the Governor remove himself from my home?'

'Nothing less than a dose
of the plague. I fear that you may have to resign yourself to the loss of your
house.'

'Say that again!'

'Plague?' Mary wrinkled her
nose.

Honor leapt to her feet and
hugged her. 'Thank you, dearest Mary, from the bottom of my heart.'

'What have I done?'

'Listen.' Honoria sat again
and leaned across the table. 'What if Coningsby is led to believe that there is
a severe outbreak of plague in Ludlow and it is believed to be spreading from
the town, making its way towards Leintwardine. Leaving a high death count—and
much suffering, of course—behind it. What do you think Coningsby would do in
such circumstances?'

'Go back to Hereford, I
expect. As quickly as might be.'

'Well, then.'

'But there is no plague in
Ludlow...' Light began to dawn, and with it a smile of pure mischief began to
curl Mary's lips.

'You know that, I know
that—' Honoria laughed aloud '—but Fitzwilliam Coningsby does not and can
surely be led to believe that there is a virulent outbreak, against which there
is no defence other than flight!'

'And how do you propose to
tell him of this dangerous circumstance?'

'We can ensure that letters
make their way to Leintwardine. Ostensibly from different sources. And perhaps
a local carrier or carter might call, to inform the inhabitants of Leintwardine
of the terrible and deadly circumstances in Ludlow.'

'And when Coningsby has
removed himself and his people back to Hereford...?'

'Then I move in. It is all
very simple. And with all the legal justification of title deed.' Honoria
smiled at Mary, her eyes alight with the brilliance of their plot. 'And if
Coningsby wishes to repossess my house, he will need troops and ordnance to do
it. I will not easily be removed. We need pens and paper. You can help me to
write some letters. Whose signature do you think we should forge?'

Within the day, a number of
letters had been written and dispatched from Brampton House. Some to
Fitzwilliam Coningsby himself. One to the Steward at Leintwardine Manor, one to
the Red Lion, in the village of Leintwardine. All of them, by various means
within the differing content of the letters, whether it be mere gossip or
comment on the state of the roads, included dire news of the outbreak of
plague. Lady Eleanor Croft would have been surprised, and probably more than a
little amused, to discover that she herself had written a note of warning to
the Governor of Hereford.

'We have missed our calling
here, Mary.' Honoria smiled grimly at the spread of letters before her. 'There
will be no reason for Mr Coningsby not to believe their content.'

Mary used her knowledge of
Ludlow to contact and instruct a carrier to take his next route through Leintwardine.
If money changed hands, no one outside Brampton House was any the wiser. Tom,
to his delight, was dispatched with the carrier after being well rehearsed in
suitable detail. He would use his wits and report back to Honoria regarding the
effect of the carefully orchestrated rumours.

They waited impatiently as
the days passed with complete lack of news. There was no guarantee, after all,
that the makeshift plan would work, that Coningsby would act on, if indeed he
appreciated, the strength of the rumours of approaching death sweeping the
Marches. Honoria's spirits fell.

But, she admitted to
herself in the dark hours of the night when she could not sleep, her mind
racing, her vision filled with stark images of Francis's treatment at the
hands of victorious Royalists bent on revenge, at least it gave her something
other to worry over than the fate of her lord and those left behind at the
castle.

And then Tom appeared on
the doorstep, filthy, hungry, but full of excitement at the success of his
adventure. The household at Leintwardine Manor, he reported with glee, was in
turmoil. The Governor of Hereford had not questioned the rumours or their
source. With fear riding him, he had decided to return to the city until safer
times, taking his own people with him. Tom had seen the loading of supply
wagons for himself. By now, the Manor would be deserted.

'At last.' Honoria handed
over some enthusiastic praise and well-received coin to her messenger and
clapped her hands. 'Now I am going to Leintwardine. If I move quickly, I can be
there by nightfall. I will not leave that place unoccupied for a single night,
for some other Royalist vermin to commandeer at a mere whim.'

'Then I come with you.'

'No.' She shook her head.
'Too dangerous, Mary. Your father would not thank me for dragging you
unprotected around the countryside on such a wild-goose chase as this.'

'If it is too dangerous for
me, how can you argue for your own welfare?' Mary used the sharp and
indisputable sword of logic. 'You cannot possibly go alone.'

'I shall not go alone,'
Honoria assured her. 'I shall take one of the servants to drive a supply wagon.
And perhaps Tom, since he appears to have a taste for intrigue. But I need to
move now—quickly.' She prepared to vanish in the direction of the kitchens to
arrange with Mistress Morgan for necessary supplies.

Mary deliberately
positioned herself in the doorway, forcing her friend's attention. 'You will
not dissuade me. I would never forgive myself if you went alone and fell into
danger. I will willingly play Naomi to your Ruth.' She showed her teeth in a
quick grin, even though aware of the difficulties. 'How dull life would have
been if I had never met you, dear Honor.'

'But how safe!' She reached
out to clasp Mary's hand with her own, her gaze serious after all. 'I cannot
pretend that I would not value your support in this. But you have to understand
that we may very likely fall into danger together.'

'Then so be it. I will
remember to blame you afterwards.' Mary moved to follow Honoria from the room,
yet still hesitated for one moment, a fleeting concern sweeping her face as a
thought struck her.

'What do you think your
lord would say, if he knew what you were about?'

'Francis does not know.'
Honoria offered up a silent prayer of thanks. 'Nor need he. If luck is with us,
this will all be over before the siege ends.'

'Mistress Morgan. It is
good to see you safe here.'

Lord Mansell stripped off
gloves, cloak and hat, dropping them over a chair in a damp heap. The heavens
had opened halfway into their journey between Brampton Percy and Ludlow, the
roads quickly awash, and they were all drenched. Master Foxton, who had
followed his master into the house, removed his own outer garments with fastidious
discomfort.

'My lord.' Mistress Morgan
curtsied, a little discomfited, hurrying to take up the sodden clothing.
'Indeed, it's a relief to see your lordship. Is the siege at an end, my lord?
We've all been that worried. We've had news from travellers, but nought that
makes much sense.'