The Dandelion Seed (11 page)

The Prince was looking tired and weary and was crouching over a charcoal burner which warmed the tent.

‘Gad, sir,’ retorted the harassed Lord Hay. ‘I, myself, do not relish the night on this draughty looking hill but we have been left high and dry, with no one knowing in which direction His Majesty went.’

David seemed concerned as he looked at the Prince’s ashen face and sandy hair which seemed to increase the paleness of his skin.

‘The laddie isna too weel. He should ne’er ha’ come,’ he relapsed into his broad dialect as he did in times of stress.

In a lower voice Lord Hay asked: ‘Shall I send a messenger to Newly to say you will spend the night there?’

‘It’s ten miles away!’ roared the angry Scotsman. ‘His Royal Highness has had enough riding for one day.’

‘There’s a yeoman’s house in the valley. It’s clean and respectable and would certainly be better than this windy hill,’ suggested Lord Hay.

David went slowly to his charge and spoke softly in the boy’s ear. The only response he got from the young prince was a nod of the head. The boy seemed exhausted. Fetching a plain heavy riding cloak, David placed it gently on the young prince’s shoulders and helped him to remount his horse. Then the three men rode off into the night, down the valley towards Annabelle’s house.

Lord Hay was the young lord who had leapt the fence and had kissed Ruth earlier on in the day, so he knew exactly where to find the house tucked away in the trees.

The sound of heavy knocking on the door woke Abe as he slept before the fire. But the noise echoed through the still house and both Annabelle and Marcelle woke with a fright, for there was always an element of danger in any knocking at the dead of night.

A bleary-eyed Abe went to the door and two men pushed past him, escorting a third who was muffled in a big riding cloak.

‘We crave your hospitality for the night.’ The red-bearded man towered over Abe and spoke haughtily to him. ‘You will be well paid. Our friend is fatigued with riding. We need hot food and clean beds.’

‘Come inside, and you are welcome,’ old Abe said, opening the door wide. His keen eye caught a glimpse of the auburn hair and the deathly pale face of the young prince. ‘Go to the fire. I will soon rouse the house, and your wants will be attended to,’ he said.

Soon the candles were alight and a huge fire was roaring in the guest chamber on the first floor. Annabelle was now up, and her lace gown fell gracefully about her shoulders as she served hot spiced drinks to the travellers.

Marcelle was called to put warming pans in the beds and fair rosy Ruth, the dairy maid, was hustled from her bed to help in the kitchen. In less than no time, hot soup and braised chicken in wine with various other delicacies were served.

Annabelle’s eyes were very bright as she flitted and fluttered about. For she had recognized Prince Henry, the royal lover of her young mistress in those days at Audley House where both she and Abe had been servants. With his heavy lidded eyes and sunken cheeks, the young prince looked very ill, but Annabelle did not comment. She dared not let anyone else in the house know that they were entertaining the Crown Prince of England.

To Marcelle they were just another lot of guests who had come in late, not an uncommon occurrence at this inn, so she just went about her work helping Ruth in the kitchen. The other two male guests seemed to have cheered up a bit, now that the younger one was asleep. They had gently got their young master to bed and now they sat in the next room talking and drinking. The bearded one seemed to be quite upset and he drank some evil-smelling wine that he took from a flask he carried with him.

As Marcelle and Ruth cleared the dishes, the young Lord Hay looked at the golden-haired maid appreciatively as he remembered the sweetness of her lips earlier that afternoon.

With her eyes lowered modestly, Ruth demurely carried the tray from the room. She did not dare look at his lordship while Annabelle was present.

‘Och mon, I am right tuckered oot maself. Been riding since this morning.’ David Murray stretched and yawned.

‘Get to your bed, then. I’ll ride back to camp,’ said Lord Hay, still eyeing Ruth.

‘Mon, I daren’t. He might wake in the night, and he’ll be terribly scared.’

Lord Hay looked at him with disbelief.

‘Aye,’ returned David. ‘It’s these terrible nightmares he has. Goes walking off in his sleep. I have brought him in many times from the grounds in the middle of the night.’

‘Poor devil, his mind must be going,’ said Lord Hay, shaking his head sympathetically.

‘Nay, it’s his nerves. But it will go, all he needs is a mate.’

As David spoke it was obvious that he was exhausted. His head nodded and his eyes were almost closed.

‘Come on David, old lad. Get off to bed. I’ll guard your baby.’ Lord Hay had a kindly way about him, so David Murray gave in and went to bed while the younger man sat by the fire to guard the royal guest. But as Lord Hay sat back in his seat, in his mind’s eye was a vision of golden-haired Ruth with her pearl-like teeth and cheeks like rosy apples ready for picking. The more he stared into the fire, the more vivid this vision became. He fidgeted uncomfortably; it was going to be a long night. ‘Oh, to hell with the royal baby,’ he decided finally, when the temptation became too great for him.

Down in the kitchen Annabelle had just finished clearing up. ‘Well, that’s over,’ she said. ‘Now we can all retire for the night.’

Abe took a candle and lit up the path for Ruth to guide her to her sleeping quarters which she shared with the other dairy maids. The heavy front door closed with a click, and as Ruth skipped merrily through the orchard, a tall slim shape climbed down the ivy and a voice whispered: ‘Don’t go, darling, let me kiss you goodnight.’

Ruth was not afraid. She had half-expected his Lordship to be there, for she had a way with men and had had plenty of experience. So, with an attractive little giggle, she raced straight towards the barn with the young Lord Hay following her like a whippet.

Marcelle could not sleep. For hours she lay restless, tossing and turning from side to side. Unlike Ruth, whose instinct it was to give way to the urge of nature, Marcelle had no understanding of why the sight of the young men disturbed her sleep. The young visitor she had seen had been so pale, she felt quite sorry for him. As she thought over the events of the evening, a strange sound reached her ears. It sounded like a tiny cry for help, perhaps from an animal in distress. Almost immediately she thought of the kitten. Had Merlin come down in the night to steal yet another kitten? The thought horrified her but she was too terrified to move. Then again she heard it. It was a deep sob, something or someone was crying. Her soft heart had to know. Creeping from the bed, she opened her door silently. Her bedroom was at the top of a small flight of stairs and down below was a long corridor which ran alongside the guest chambers. As she stepped noiselessly down into the corridor she saw that the door to one of the guest rooms was open and through it emerged a slim figure walking, his hands stretched out in front of him. As he moved, violent sobs convulsed him. Even in the dim light, Marcelle caught a glimpse of the auburn hair. The young man was walking towards the blind end of the passage. When he reached it, he seemed to wake up, for now he was beating his fists on the wall.

Without a word, Marcelle ran silently up to him and gently turned him to face her. ‘Come sir,’ she said. ‘This way. You have been walking in your sleep, I think.’

The man clutched at her convulsively. ‘Franci!’ he exclaimed. ‘I knew you would come.’ His words ended in a mutter.

Marcelle guided the man along the passage to his chamber and tried to coax him through the door. But he held on to her tight, his tears streaming down her bare arm. ‘This way, sir, just a few more steps.’ She piloted him along, humouring him as a nurse would a child. He went quietly holding tightly to her arm and every now and then pressed his burning lips to her bare flesh, now exposed since the bedgown had slipped down from her shoulders.

‘Franci, my love,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t leave me ever, not ever again.’ He said these words over and over again.

Marcelle got him to the bed, but he would not go any further. Instead he knelt on the floor beside the bed and pulled her down with him. Marcelle felt overwhelmed with pity for this young boy; she felt strange flickerings of emotion as he held on to her. She opened her mouth to speak but he covered it quickly with his hand. ‘Hush, my darling, they will hear you and kill you as they are going to me.’ He pulled her closer, covering her with kisses, and Marcelle relaxed as they lay down on a rug of sheepskin beside the bed. Her gown came apart and he pressed his body against her, pouring words of love in her ear. The hot sensuous blood of the Stuarts consumed his body and Marcelle had no chance, not even for a protest. What was happening was wonderful; she could not resist. After a while she began to return his love with equal passion until they tired. Then they curled up and slept close together like two young puppies on a rug.

The crowing of the red rooster awoke Marcelle in the early hours as it did every morning. But this morning it was different. She had had a strange dream, and what was wrong with her arm? She could not lift it. Turning her head sleepily, she saw to her amazement, a young man’s head with a wealth of red hair resting on her arm. Suddenly she was horrified. It was no dream; it was all true! She had forsaken her virginity for a strange young man. She shuddered and her eyes looked down at her bare white limbs stretched out before her. ‘Oh, Holy Mother,’ she whispered. ‘Dear Virgin, don’t let it be true.’ She pulled out her arm from under his head and reached for her bedgown.

The young man stirred in his sleep. ‘Don’t go, Franci,’ he whispered.

Tears trickled down Marcelle’s cheeks as she bent over him and gently pressed her lips to his brow. Taking the rug from the bed, she covered him up and went silently from the room.

In her own chamber, she had just finished dressing when Annabelle rapped on her door. ‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ she called. ‘There’s work to do.’

Down in the kitchen, Annabelle was busy and brisk as usual. ‘Come on, Marcelle,’ she chided. ‘The gentlemen need their breakfast. Abe is bringing the cows in for milking. Go down and see if the girls are up, and bring some fresh butter up from the dairy.’

Once outside the house, Marcelle stopped for a while. The morning air tasted like wine. The grass was a deep green and fresh with dew. Looking away over the fields towards the sun as it struggled through foamy pink clouds, Marcelle heaved a sigh of intense pleasure. What had happened? How wonderful she felt this morning. It must be love. Yes, she was sure that what happened last night was that she had fallen in love. She picked a rose petal from a nearby rose and pressed it to her lips. How lovely his soft lips had been, just like this petal, she thought as she danced towards the dairy. Yes, she did not care about anything. She was really terribly in love with that young man though she did not even know his name. When she reached the outbuilding where the dairy maids lived, there was a lot of noisy commotion going on. One of the maids was ranting and raving outside. Her face was pale and showed up the large brown freckles that adorned her otherwise fair skin, and she was waving her milking stool in a threatening manner at someone inside.

‘Whatever is wrong Wanda?’ asked Marcelle as she approached.

‘It’s her!’ yelled Wanda bursting with temper her cap awry. ‘The slut, that’s what she is. I’ll tell the mistress, I will.’

‘Who? Ruth?’

‘Yes, nice goings-on there have been. She’s been in the barn with his lordship all night, and she won’t get up now. The cows are bellowing to be milked and she is still in bed.’

‘Shut your big mouth!’ yelled Ruth from her bed. ‘I said I was getting up, didn’t I?’

‘Whore!’ screamed Wanda. ‘I saw you in there.’

‘Jealous bitch!’ retorted Ruth. ‘Didn’t fancy you, did he?’

Marcelle stood open-mouthed as she listened to the lewd exchanges. Two spots of colour had appeared on her cheeks as she went towards the dairy.

‘Done it now, you have,’ Ruth shouted at Wanda, putting her ruffled head out of the window. ‘She’s gone to tell the mistress, that prim little miss has.’

‘And a good job, too,’ returned Wanda, marching off to the cow shed. Her strong sturdy legs soon disappeared amid the herd of cows that Abe drove into the yard.

Marcelle quietly took some butter from the dairy and returned to Annabelle, who was looking a bit annoyed. ‘Well, I need not have bothered myself, after all, they have gone.’

Through the window Marcelle saw the silhouettes of the three horsemen as they rode off over the hill. Her heart sank down, feeling so heavy, like a ton weight; he had never even said goodbye.

7

Home Sweet Home

A little man sat by the roadside staring down at his feet which were bound up in pieces of sacking and secured with yellow string criss-crossed half way up his legs. But Chalky was not looking down at his feet in admiration; he was worried. He had worn out his only pair of boots, his feet were very sore, and he still had many miles to go. Binding his feet with the remains of a flour sack was not really going to solve his problems nor take away the pain of the huge blisters on the soles. He was a scrawny little man who looked much older than his twenty-five years. His features were marred by the ravages of the sun, wind and cold of many countries. His nose was distorted by frost-bite and his skin had darkened to the colour of tree bark. There he sat, a pathetically round-shouldered creature with his few possessions in a small bag over his shoulder. He had walked many miles from Harwich and although he was exhausted, he was now just twenty miles from his destination and he did not intend giving up. He rubbed his legs ruefully as he wondered what sort of reception he would get when he got there. It was five years since he had been home. He did not expect to be given the fatted calf, that was certain, but perhaps old Sam had matured a bit now. Some people did as they grew older.