Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (16 page)

William was not at home when his mother called on a mild breezy autumn day. She left her coach at the end of the lane and walked through the swirling dust to the little door between Fletcher, the leather-worker’s and Thomson, the baker’s.

Eunice was happy to see her and embraced her with such eager warmth that it brought tears to Celia’s eyes.

She wiped them with her handkerchief and protested that it was the “dreadful dust this wind has blown up.”

“Poor Grandmother, pray bathe your eyes.” Eunice took a small wooden bowl and filled it from the bucket.

Celia dabbed at her face. “Oh my dear, I would come more often –”

“But for this neighbourhood,” Eunice finished for her.

“Indeed, I had scarcely left the coach when a one-legged beggar on the street called to me. I dare not open my purse in case another man in league with him fell upon me. But he cursed me and that frightens me.”

“Do not fear him, dear Grandmother. His other leg is tucked beneath him. My father says the curses of a liar have no effect. Come, sit down. You are shaken. I fear I have nothing to offer you till Father returns.”

Celia shook her head. “I have brought a little packet of a new substance your Grandfather is now importing from India. You pour boiling water on it and it makes a refreshing drink. They call it tay or tee I believe.”

“Shall I make some of it for you?”

Celia looked doubtfully at the empty grate. “Do not trouble now but when you have a fire lit and your kettle boiling try some yourself.”

“Father will not allow a fire till the evening except on the coldest of days but for you –”

“Nay, child. I must say what I came for before he returns.” And she produced Daniel’s letter from her sleeve. “See what this dear young man has written. It is for your eyes I know, though he writ it to me for form’s sake.”

Eunice’s heart was thumping but she took the letter with no outward sign except a blush which she could not control and which she feared her grandmother must have noticed.

She read it through and handed it back. “It was very kind of him to write. I was perhaps foolish to write to his mother but my father was angry with them when he called and I felt myself to blame. I am glad to hear he has gone to Cambridge and is to study subjects that interest him.”

Celia turned to her and clasped her hands. “But my dear there is much more between the lines. Why is he so particular to tell you that he has no interest in his French cousins? Why does he say neither of
them
could ever be mistress at Horden Hall?”

Eunice, unable to speak, shook her head.

“Because he knows who would be perfect there. Because he knows whose hand he will be seeking when he has graduated from the University. Oh, dear child, it is what I wished for you even before I saw what a fine, handsome young man he was, those bright intelligent blue-green eyes and that flaxen hair. If I had been your age I would have longed to attract his notice. You must not worry that your father says he wants no alliance for you with that family. When the time comes I will work on him. Does not the Bible honour human love in the Song of Solomon? Does not St Paul say that the relationship of man and wife reflects that of Christ and His Church? Your father loved your mother and cannot deny you that joy in life.”

Eunice was holding back sobs. She longed to believe Daniel loved her but her grandmother was seeing too much in the letter and far overrating her own influence over her son. Nor did she understand that the loss of his wife had turned his mind against marriage altogether, as the cause of too much pain.

Celia rose to her feet. “I must be gone before he comes back. Do not mention this to him, just hold yourself in readiness. Your day of happiness will come. I am sure of that. I know well that the less you say the more you are feeling but my bad son has so crushed your spirit that you can hardly confide in me, your own grandmother, the only female relation you have at hand.”

Eunice had risen too. “Oh do not call him bad. He strives day by day to do good. He is the soul of truth. He always gives out of our little store to any that are poorer than we are and he is his own hardest task-master if he thinks he has done the slightest wrong to any man.”

Even as she said it she knew that if he asked her “Has anyone called?” and she said his mother she would have to relay the whole conversation to him word for word to the best of her memory, and that therefore she would lie and deny that anyone had been.

She handed back the packet of tiny leaves. “Take it Grandmother. He would wish to know whence it came and I can’t face the questions.”

Celia shook her head till her cheeks wobbled but inserted it into the pocket that was suspended from her waist under her skirts. “You poor love and yet you call him good!” The letter went too.

Eunice seeing it disappear thought how she would have loved to place it beneath her pillow and look at it every night.

From the door she watched anxiously till she saw her Grandmother safely pass the beggar and reach the coach into which her maid helped her. The groom swiftly whipped up and drove it away. Eunice ran back inside, restored the wooden bowl to its place, and left the door ajar so that the rising wind could swirl in and remove any trace of her grandmother’s perfume.

“Three years of study,” she said to herself. “Then he will ask for my hand. He will be nearing twenty I believe and so will I. That is still young. I have endured eleven imprisoned years. What are three more?” She gave way to hysterical laughter.

Three years would be nothing if she had hope – but she had none. Of course he had no love for her and if he had it would never survive the wonders of his new life. And yet, she thought, there can be no living a life without hope.

I must distract my mind, she determined. Her father had told her lately of a clergyman who had rounded up some of the orphaned children that roamed the streets and had set up a little school for them in the crypt of his church.

“He needs help to teach them, Eunice. I believe the Lord is calling upon you to do this work. He is advanced in years and has a wife who will be at hand so I believe you would be safe with him and I would look in from time to time.”

The idea had terrified her. She had seen these children and they pestered passers-by and threw mud and stones at coaches.

“There will be no pay,” her father told her. “I myself will try to raise money for their daily dinners which the reverend gentleman says he will provide so that they cease from begging. Consider it the Lord’s work.”

Yes, she decided, while her heart quailed at the prospect, the Lord has sent this so that my mind will not dwell sinfully on my cousin.

When her father came in she said straight out, “Tell the Reverend Woodhouse I will come tomorrow.”

“You have prayed for guidance?”

“Oh yes, Father.”

It was yet another lie.

CHAPTER 13

March 1664

B
EL
took Dan’s letter to the bench under the Hall windows. There she was sheltered from the March wind and with the sun shining and Spring in the air she would have been in high spirits – only she was almost afraid to open the letter.

“No,” she said aloud. “I must.” She couldn’t wait for Nat to return from the village church where he had been reading the morning office. “If it’s bad news I will do my best to get over it before he comes.”

She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Immediately her eyes flew to the opening sentence and she laughed aloud with relief.

‘You will be pleased to know, honoured parents, that yesterday, Ash Wednesday, I received my Bachelor’s cap. It was a strange ceremony where an ancient graduate of Trinity dressed up as a jester and sat upon a tripod and read satirical verses. Though I only came midway among the graduates and Henry Branford had almost the lowest marks possible to be made Bachelor we were so happy that we listened to not a word of what was read out. To tell the truth we are mighty relieved it is all over for we are both tired of study and wish to do something more active. That is not to say we are not grateful to have been sent to Cambridge. They have been happy and fruitful years but now is the time for something new.

‘All the talk is that we must soon go to war with the Hollanders who lord it about the seas as if our navy was nothing. I hear that we have sent a fleet against a Dutch trading post in Africa to show them we mean business. Another has gone to New Amsterdam in America to capture the fur trade there. How I would have loved to be on one of those expeditions but Branford’s father, who you know to be a good man because he was a friend of yours, Father, has the ear of the King. He can get us entered into the navy as ‘volunteers per order’ who I understand carry the rank of midshipmen. We will learn the art of navigation and if we show promise we can go on to become lieutenants. This will be an excellent way of putting our scientific knowledge to good use.

‘As you know I have longed to serve the King from the very day we saw him enter the city. I have dutifully obtained a degree in obedience to your wishes and would now seek to fulfil my own hopes and ambitions. I am uncertain whether I can make the long journey home to see you before our enlistment but rest assured I am always,

‘Your loving son,

‘Daniel.’

By the time she had read through to the end Bel’s joy had been swallowed up in shock and misery. When she heard Nat’s footsteps as he came to look for her she let her sorrow turn to anger.

“That Branford boy! If you hadn’t encouraged them to be friends just because you and his father were friends at Cambridge this would never have happened.”

Nat sat heavily down on the bench. “So they have both failed their degrees and I am to blame?”

She flung her arms round him. “Nay, my love, they have graduated but now they want to turn sailors and go to war!” She handed him the letter. “And he’s not coming home at all. He’s afraid to face us, that’s what it is.”

Nat read the letter. “He has been awarded a degree – that is something. I knew he was already weary of study when he wrote in his second year of the new brilliant student who had come to Trinity – what was his name? Newton, Isaac Newton. He said the sight of Newton’s copious notes took the heart out of him. But that he should think of joining the navy with young Branford –”

“Of course he will be seasick but what is so much worse he will be a target for a canon ball – being taller than all the rest of the ship’s crew.”

“But we are not at war.”

“Not yet. But see what he says –”

Nat sighed deeply. “I have seen and I know not why there is a mood in the country for war when surely we have all suffered enough from men’s folly and wickedness.”

Bel leant her head against his shoulder. “I can’t bear to speak of battles. I try not to think of them. But now –!” She shook her head as if to shake the subject away. “Did anyone attend your morning office?”

“Only my mother. She says she is ashamed of the many times she failed to hear my father read it in her days of darkness after Dan’s death. But she thinks I put too much expression in it. My father always read in a sweet low murmur. She also says my sermons are too vehement for our quiet village. Maybe our Dan thinks so too. He seemed embarrassed by my preaching when he came home for Father’s funeral.”

“You had only just been ordained. It is your vehemence against strife and bloodshed that he deplores – since he seems happy to go forth and kill people. Oh Nat, can we stop him. He is not yet of age.”

Nat looked at the letter again. “I see he is staying at Lord Branford’s house in London. You remember we passed it on our way to Cousin Clifford’s? The Lord Branford I knew long ago was sent to the Tower by Parliament and died there of an apoplexy. His eldest son was killed in battle. That was why my friend Edward became the earl. I would have liked to meet him again but maybe – now that the boys are good friends –”

“Oh Nat, you’re not answering my question. Can we stop him joining the navy? I want Dan here, not with the Branfords and not on board some hateful battleship.
I
want him. I want him at home where he belongs.”

“My dearest, he is a man and will have to make his own path. You know how I hate war, particularly because I was briefly a soldier. He will learn.”

“You escaped from it quickly, but he won’t.”

Nat pulled him to face her. “Do you think he is braver than I? You don’t know how often I asked myself if I was a coward.”

“You were brave to face being called a coward. But that is all nonsense. You were ill with a fever.”

“So were many men but they recovered and went on fighting.”

“You never wanted to join. You were pushed into it.” She sat up suddenly. “Nat, you don’t think your mother has been inciting Dan to go to war and be a hero, the hero you and that other Daniel never were. Remember how furious she was when they executed the last King. She wanted to go out and avenge him herself. Has she told Dan to go out and kill this Charles’s enemies?”

Nat smiled and shook his head. “The Dutch didn’t kill Charles the First.”

“Your mother won’t mind that. If she has encouraged him –”