The Rebel’s Daughter (30 page)

Aaron
’s eyes widened and his mouth worked
silently. He looked away, then back at Tobias, his expression
darkening. He leapt to his feet, the wooden chair clattering onto
the boards behind him. “You lie!”

Tobias did not react, merely held his
gaze.

Understanding dawned, and Aaron relaxed
his stiff shoulders. Finally, he found his voice. It was cold. “How
did she die?”

Haltingly, Tobias told him about the day
the militia came to Loxsbeare. He recounted the scene in the hall
when the soldier snatched her necklace, her fall, and Hendry’s
grief. The days so vivid in his head, his voice broke before he had
finished.

Aaron
’s fists clenched as Tobias talked,
his knuckles bloodless, the veins on his neck bulging, as his whole
body tensed in suppressed fury.

When Tobias stopped speaking, he expected
Aaron to crash his fist into the wall, or hurl the remainder of the
scanty furniture around the room in a rage; or even scream
accusations at Tobias.

Instead, a heavy silence stretched between
them until Aaron crumpled to his knees on the bare floorboards,
dropped his fair head forward and sobbed like a child.

Once again, Tobias found himself in the
role of physical comforter to one of the Woulfes. This time the
grief was so deep, so heart-wrenching in its intensity, Tobias
found his own face wet with tears. He murmured repeatedly as they
clung together, ironically like brothers, “I am sorry, I am so
sorry. I beg your pardon.”

They broke apart finally, without
embarrassment, knowing neither of them would ever speak of the
incident again.

Aaron pulled himself to his feet. “There
is nothing to forgive.” He strode to the corner of the room and
splashed water on his face from a ewer on a lop-sided dresser. When
he spoke again, he seemed chillingly calm, his hair wet at the
hairline. “There is an unremarkable eating-house a few doors away.
The food is a little unusual. Mostly cold, and consisting of cheese
and some odd sort of fish. But it is economical and filling. I have
funds, thanks to you. Would you dine with me?”

The brittle invitation tore at Tobias”
heart. He accepted with a silent nod. Aaron collected a shabby
brown coat from a hook behind the door, they clattered in single
file down the narrow stairs. There was no sign of the old man, as
they let themselves out on a street where the biting wind from the
North Sea funnelled between the buildings.

Tobias pulled up his collar and jammed his
hat low, but Aaron seemed impervious to the chilly weather.

The inn was no more than adequate, the
food as bland as Aaron had described, but at least their seats in
an alcove by the fire gave them privacy. With orange flames
reflected in Aaron’s eyes, he listened as Tobias talked.

Aaron accepted the loss of Loxsbeare with
naked, but silent grief, expressing his relief his brother and
sister were safe, grateful his mother and uncle received Christian
burials. He expressed incredulity at Helena’s foray into Somerset.
“She is an unusual girl, my sister.” A tear slid down his cheek,
which he wiped away.

Tobias told him about Henry becoming an
apprentice architect, and Aaron’s face suffused with genuine
happiness. “You don’t say!”

The door opened and a face appeared round
the jamb. A pair of shrewd eyes scoured the room before alighting
on Aaron. The man stepped inside, and as he approached their table,
Tobias studied him. He was tall and lean with stringy brown hair
and a large, Roman nose that sat uncomfortably on a thin-jawed
face. His eyes were sharp and piercing, and he stooped.

Aaron beckoned the newcomer to their
table. “Master Ferguson, do join us.”

If Tobias hadn’t known the man’s nickname
was The Plotter, he would have been able to tell it from his
furtive attitude.

Aaron moved his stool to make room, but
the newcomer declined with a hand gesture. “I came ta gie ye the
news.” His accent was so thickly Scottish, Tobias had to
concentrate to make out his words. “The King has pardoned us,
Aaron.” He rolled the name over his tongue, already eyeing the door
as if eager to be off to spread the news elsewhere.

“
All
rebels?” Aaron tensed.

“
The
messenger arrived on
The Sirius
this morning,” Master Ferguson replied, nodding.
“Tha news'll be posted in the market place later today.”

Tobias frowned, wondering which of the men
he had shared passage with had been the messenger.

Master Ferguson leaned both hands on the
table and stared into his friend’s face. “We cae' go haeme Aaron.”
He beamed.

Aaron rose to his feet. “We must tell the
others.” He followed Ferguson, to the door, and then turned back.
“Tobias, will you wait here until I have consulted with my
friends?”

Bewildered, Tobias nodded. “The next ship
for England does not sail for three days.” He glanced around the
gloomy taproom. “Might I obtain a room here?”

Aaron nodded, and then without a backward
look, both men were gone.

* * *

In the time it took for Tobias to negotiate
with the Dutch innkeeper to secure a room, change the linen he had
worn for the last two days and wash his face and hands, Aaron had
returned.

A new nervous energy had invaded Aaron. He
took his seat in the taproom they had vacated an hour before. From
a burdened man, visibly reeling under the recent loss of half his
family, Aaron’s eyes had acquired a new determination. His
self-possession restored, he reminded Tobias of the young man he
knew at Loxsbeare; the arrogant young Crown Prince instructing a
servant, with every expectation of unquestioning
obedience.

“
When
shall I book our passages home, Master?” Tobias asked, keeping his
voice low. For some reason, their presence appeared to be
attracting attention from other patrons.

“
You’ll
be returning alone, Lumm. I’m staying here, in
The Hague
.”

“
For
what reason?” Tobias asked, open-mouthed in shock. “The King’s
pardon means you can return to England without fear of-”

Aaron held up a hand. “I have friends
here. Friends who saw what I did at Sedgemoor and barely got away
with their lives, as I did. We shall not go back to England to live
under the tyranny of the Papist King James.”

“
What
will you do?” Tobias dipped his nose to his tankard, judging it ill
advised to mention life in England under any authoritarian monarch
was much the same.

“
I can
afford to stay and establish my own household, thanks to our Master
of Clothworkers, Samuel Ffoyle.” Aaron grinned and tapped the money
pouch inside his coat. “The Prince of Orange sympathizes with our
situation. His wife was distraught at her most beloved cousin being
murdered by her own father, so I feel sure he’ll soon commit to our
cause with troops.”

Tobias
’s gaze swept the room nervously,
wishing Aaron would lower his voice, but didn’t like to
ask.

“
I can
see you don’t understand my reasons, Tobias. However the Protestant
religion is in greater danger than ever while this king is on the
throne. Can you not see?”

Tobias couldn’t see. News of the Pardon
would be all over England by now. Helena and Henry would be
expecting their brother home. How could he return alone? He stared
into Aaron’s face in search of a chink in his resolve, but saw
none.

“
I have
instructions for you, Lumm,” Aaron went on, oblivious of Tobias”
discomfort. “On your return to London, I wish you to call on a
friend of mine. I’ll give you a letter to take to Master Daniel Foe
of Deptford. Accompany him to Samuel at Lambtons. He’ll explain my
reasons, if you feel you cannot.”

The thought of Samuel Ffoyle waiting
patiently at Lambton’s for his protégé’s return made the ale curdle
in his stomach. At this rate, no one was going to welcome Tobias
back, without their precious boy.

Unable to summon a convincing agreement,
Tobias merely nodded just as Master Ferguson appeared at the door
and made for their table.

The two men sat over a heartier supper than
Tobias suspected either of them had eaten in a long time, making
plans for the brave new society Prince William promised them.

Disillusioned, and robbed of all energy after
a stressful and disappointing day, Tobias rose wearily to his feet
and stumbled to his room at the back of the inn, where he slept the
clock round.

Three days later, Tobias stood in the
stern of the ship taking him back to England, his inside pocket
heavy with a bundle of letters for everyone at Lambtons. The wind
had dropped, and the sea was calmer, forecasting a longer, but
easier crossing. Among his fellow passengers were several exiles
who, unlike Aaron, were eager to return home.

The sailors threw the mooring ropes over
the side, and to a symphony of called orders and echoed responses,
the ship eased away from the dock. Tobias leaned on the rail,
watching the land slide away from him, and remembered; he had
lacked both the courage and opportunity to broach the facts of his
own paternity.

Chapter
19

Henry tucked into his second
portion of cold beef and potatoes fried in bacon fat with a
resigned sigh. Despite his protestations
that he was quite replete, Mrs Newman
had piled his plate, again.

After five daughters, having a young male
to care for at last appeared to please her. Not that Henry minded,
her attentions going some way to helping him miss his own mother
less. He was looking forward to work more than usual on that
particular morning. Master Newman had requested a meeting the
evening before, where he expressed more than usual satisfaction
with his work.

“
You
won’t be spending all your time on building sites and in stone
warehouses in the future, young Woulfe,” he had said, a fatherly
hand on Hendry’s shoulder. “It’s time you began to learn the more
aesthetic aspects of being an architect. Drawing, planning,
ornamentation, and the like.”

“
I’ll
look forward to the new experiences, sir,” Henry had responded with
genuine enthusiasm, though he forbore to explain how much he
enjoyed getting plaster dust on his hands. He liked nothing better
than to run up ladders, hang precariously over drops, and scramble
along buttresses to see how the masons were progressing.

On this particular morning, however,
Hendry’s thoughts were not on stonemasons. Instead, he contemplated
Mary Ann Newman’s green eyes and rich, glossy hair. She was the
most exquisite creature he had ever seen. Diminutive and
fine-boned, she made Hendry’s lack of height seem dominant and
manly beside her.

Her eyes had attracted him first. Wide and
luminous, with tiny golden flecks within, they reminded him of
Helena’s. He hesitated to mention this, for fear of allotting Mary
Ann a status equal to that of a relative. Thus, with a genuine
compliment withheld, he was rendered tongue-tied in her company.
Henry couldn’t stop looking at her, drawn repeatedly to her
delicate features and her perfect, bowed lips that held a perpetual
smile.

From her position further along the table,
Mary Ann flicked frequent glances in his direction from under her
long, sweeping lashes, an occurrence that Henry had at first
assumed mocked him.

He quickly learned that Mary Ann was not
only intelligent and quick-witted; she never grew bored with his
talk of the characteristics of stone or how mortar was mixed, like
Celia and Phebe Devereux did. Sometimes even Helena suppressed
sighs and rolled her eyes when he grew particularly enthusiastic
about a building, or a style of brickwork.

In contrast, Henry found the younger
Newman daughters, though charming, somewhat irritating. All four
vied for Hendry’s attention, performing small tasks to gain his
notice, until he found himself bestowing constant gratitude for
their efforts.

“
I used the tiniest stitches on the tear in
your coat, Henry,” fourteen-year-old Joanna simpered, her attempt
to look doe-eyed and appealing not sitting well on her plump frame.
“Only a small tear on the hem at the back, but I thought best not
to allow it to worsen. You must have caught it on a carriage door
as you climbed down.”

Henry nodded politely. “Thank you for the
effort, Mistress. I had not been aware of the damage until you
mentioned it.”

“
Do you
like the feather I picked for you, Henry?” Margaret, the
twelve-year-old smiled coyly, brandishing her gift. “The colour
will suit your new hat perfectly.”

As if she too had become weary of her
sisters” girlish chatter, Mary Ann flicked Henry a knowing look and
left the room.

The void she left felt like a chasm
opening up, though Henry forced himself not to watch her retreating
figure. “Thank you for a most satisfying meal, Mistress Newman,”
Henry dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rose. “I look forward to
this evening’s supper, which I know will be every bit as
good.”