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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Thomas Chayne has never managed to impress his overbearing father, and when a small act of rebellion has lasting consequences, Thomas finds himself exiled in disgrace. But with England on the brink of civil war, a larger revolution is in the air and Thomas has an opportunity to prove his worth by rallying a troop of royalists to defend Oxford from the escalating violence. But he soon faces an impossible choice between honouring his family and his loyalty to the crown .
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Seitenzahl: 532
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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THE HONOURABLE LIFE OF THOMAS CHAYNE
CYNTHIA JEFFERIES
In memory of my parents, both always loved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
I should first relate that the year 1624 saw my birth, on the 23rd of a cold February day. My mother told me that I arrived much before my time, to a landscape covered with deep snow, and more falling from the sky. The best doctors and midwives should have been there to aid her, but the weather and my sudden arrival conspired together to leave my poor mother with no help other than her servants.
Her maid, who had been engaged because of her skill at dressing hair, told my father, who unusually happened to be in residence, that one of the kitchen servants had attended several births, but my father would allow no peeler of carrots to be at the nativity of his heir. The bone-aching cold did galvanise him into ordering the fire to be hastily lit in his wife’s chamber, but in spite of the excellently seasoned ash and oak logs that had been carefully chosen and laid there in anticipation, they had hardly any time to make an impression on the temperature of the room before I arrived with indecent haste.
It would not have been surprising if I had exited this life almost as soon as I had arrived in it, being born small, chilled and hungry, but my mother had lost her first infant, and was not inclined to lose another. In the absence of a wet nurse she scandalised her husband by putting me to the breast. Not only that, she also insisted on me lying close with her in bed, instead of being put in the cold, ancestral cradle. Of course, this state of affairs didn’t last long. As soon as the snow allowed, a flurry of experts arrived, and I was whisked away, to be raised in a more seemly manner, but I do believe that not only did she bear me, but also it is likely she saved my life.
During those few days together, as the room warmed and we both grew stronger, we must have formed an unhealthily close bond. That was my father’s opinion about the great reluctance with which she gave me up. I think now that perhaps he was jealous of the love she had for me, as well as his determination that I should fit the life I was born to. I cannot remember even one occasion when both of my parents and I were fondly as one. My father seemed to hate any sign of affection between my mother and I, and my mother too discouraged it, in obedience to her husband, and also I like to think in order to spare me a little of his ill humour. It was different for my younger brother Hugh. Our mother could tousle his hair and our father would smile. If I sat at her feet and she did it to me he would complain that she was making a fool out of me, and order me to sit elsewhere. Perhaps he loved me, in his own fashion, but I never saw any sign of it. I certainly longed for his love, and never really grew out of that longing. I honoured him, respected his great station, having as he did the ear of King Charles, and did all I could to spark some sign of fondness from him for me, but his lack of feeling, in the end, obliterated my love for him. I feared him, yes, and yearned for his approval, but in the end I could not love him, however much I wanted to. It was a way, I suppose, to guard myself from his lack of feeling, though it never stopped my yearning. I did love my mother, more perhaps than was wise, but I knew she loved me, and felt almost sure that her reticence was imposed by her husband. All the same, in spite of my natural ebullience, my mother’s distance was a cause of great sadness to me, because I was an affectionate child by nature.
Of course my father was away a lot, at court, and my first few years were spent in the nursery, so my father was then seldom in my thoughts. In fact, my first real memory is of Hugh’s arrival. I was two years old and earned a smack for poking my finger into his eye when we were introduced. Early childhood memories are like flashes of half-forgotten dreams, and my next vivid memory must have occurred when Hugh was almost walking, and so I suppose I must have been about three.
‘You bad, wicked boy!’
Hugh loved his wheeled contraption. Whenever our nursemaid put him into it he would set off, careering across the floor in a haphazard, directionless fashion, his little feet drumming the boards. I loved it too. It changed my brother from a creeping creature to one who could look me in the eye with the promise of adventures to come. Perhaps it was adventure I was looking for, or maybe I was simply curious at how his contraption would handle the stairs. It certainly didn’t occur to me that my behaviour was either bad or wicked, nor did I see any danger in my antics.
The door must have been left ajar by mistake. I am sure I was not able to unlatch it, but I could certainly pull it wide. With great good fortune, one of Hugh’s wheels got stuck, and so his walker only clattered down the first step, lurching Hugh sideways and almost throwing him out. I remember so clearly his laughing face, close to mine while I tugged unsuccessfully at his chariot, trying to free the wheel. Then there were the screams of the nursemaid, who had been repairing yet another of my torn gowns, the lifting of Hugh from danger, and me being dragged in confusion from the top of the stairs. The commotion even brought my mother to see what was amiss. The result was that I never saw that particular nursemaid again. Of my own punishment I remember nothing, except that I was made to pray forgiveness for something I did not understand. It seemed the adults thought I wished my brother to die. In truth, Hugh and I were very close all through our childhood, and although we have not met for many years, I still think of him often.
As we grew, we discovered that life was not all play. A tutor was engaged, and for a while I sat alone in the classroom, learning at first to read and write my own language and then Latin and Greek. By the time Hugh joined me I had my own pony and was learning to enjoy the hunt as well as my books. Hugh was not a natural scholar, but I am, and so we often found ourselves secretly in the role of teacher and pupil, as I strove to help him avoid a beating for not managing his lessons. I always wanted to protect him and I continue to thank God that he survived the dreadful times that were to come. But that all lay in a future I had no conception of then. Indeed, I doubt any at that time would have imagined the difficulties that lay ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
In my tenth year, my father decided to take me to court in the expectation of presenting me to the King. I always think of that occasion as the start of my adult life. It was when I began to find myself as a person in my own right instead of simply being my brother’s guide and playmate. I cannot say I looked forward to the journey. I hardly knew my father, and feared him, but being of an optimistic nature I did hope that spending time alone together might help him to know and like me better. I was keen to impress him with my conversational skills, but things did not happen quite as I had hoped.
‘So, you see, Thomas, how important it is to be knowledgeable about all factions at the court, if I am able to advise His Majesty wisely.’
We were in my father’s coach, still at least two hours from Whitehall, and I was already weary of my father’s attempts to educate me about politics. I wanted to ask about the beggar on a board at the inn where we had changed horses. Had he lost his legs in some accident, or had he been born without any? But I didn’t voice my question. It, like the others I had asked, would bring irritation and dismissal, not an answer. The last question, about the name of the great tree we had passed a while ago, had prompted a withering rebuke. My father had glanced at it briefly and then turned to me.
‘Trees are for foresters, Thomas. I’m told you have a good brain in your head. Use it to learn about things you will need to know, not frivolous nothings.’
I was angry with my father, and secretly wondered if he even knew the answer to my question. But I was also gratified that he acknowledged my intelligence. I did still want to please him. I could tell, however, that if this was ever to happen I would need to commit all the names of the men he spoke of to memory, as well as their opinions and alliances. It was not his fault that I found such things crushingly tedious. Maybe, once we arrived at court, I would be able to put faces to the names, and everything would fall into place. I would try a better question, on his subject, to show I had been listening.
‘So, Father, are all these men members of the privy council?’
Too late I realised I had made another mistake. His frown betrayed his true feelings, although his voice strove to keep his temper under control.
‘Of course not! It is vital for the King to have trusted advisers outside the council. It is a mistake to think that the privy council contains all the best brains, or even most of them. Though that,’ he added swiftly, ‘is not to be voiced in court, nor anywhere else, particularly by a beardless boy.’
Maybe a year before I would not have realised how angry and frustrated he was at not being a member of that inner circle but now, suddenly, I could see it. With that insight came the extraordinary knowledge, like the pounce of a hawk, that like me he was not entirely master of his life, and that his frustration coloured it. I gazed at his profile under my new hat, and decided that when I was grown, I would never put myself in a position where I had to do as I was told. Kings might be our masters, but why put oneself so directly under them, when a life of hunting and hawking, servants to carry out our wishes and comfort aplenty was ours at home? I was, after all, just a boy, but was learning that life was more complicated than I had thought. I had been told much about duty, responsibility and the destiny that was mine, but the word ‘ambition’ had never been mentioned. Mine had always been to gain my father’s affection; now, for the first time, to me he looked less powerful, and much less worthy of my embryonic ambition. Was a man who worked at what frustrated him and could not even name a tree someone I should respect? I glanced at his florid complexion, his greying moustache and his bulging stomach, and with the devastating logic of a ten-year-old, decided that I would never turn into him.
At court I was allowed to watch King Charles and his queen dine. I wondered that they could enjoy their food with so many gawping at them, but they seemed indifferent to their public. All sorts of people came to stare, comment to each other and go on their way. The sight of so much food made my stomach argue for sustenance, and so I was relieved when Their Royal Highnesses rose from their table and disappeared from view. The common people left the palace, but we took a different route. I would soon have been lost, but my father was very familiar with our surroundings. He took me to a side room, where several people were eating together. They hailed my father as a friend, and made room for us at the table. While they talked, I ate. A girl not much older than I, sitting opposite to me and splendidly dressed, smiled at me.
‘You are Thomas Chayne,’ she told me, as if I might not know.
‘I am,’ I agreed, swallowing hastily.
‘Have a woodcock,’ she said. ‘They are very good.’
‘We have woodcock at home,’ I said, taking one. ‘And I like them very much.’
It was far more interesting talking to this girl than listening to my father’s impenetrable conversation with his friends, but it wasn’t long before the gentleman next to her pushed his plate away and got up.
‘I must go,’ the girl said, hastily wiping her greasy fingers on her napkin. ‘My husband has business elsewhere.’
I stared at her like a fool. I had assumed, if I had considered it at all, that he was her father, bringing her, like me, to court for the first time. And yet, I suppose he was not so very old. I got up and gave them both the best bow I could with my stool so close behind me. I hoped I had not done anything to offend him. He had done no more than nod at me when I first sat down, and had not engaged his wife in any conversation at all. I wondered how she had known my name, but then felt even more foolish. She and her husband must know my father well, and had known he was going to bring me to court. She had spoken politely to me but I had not so much as enquired her name. I felt abashed by my rudeness, but by the grin she gave as she took her husband’s arm I suppose she must have forgiven me.
A few minutes later the whole company broke up as they went about their business. There were meetings, and committees, petitioners and huddles of friends discussing who knew what. Some greeted my father, and made comments about my likeness to him, which secretly appalled me. One of the ladies caressed my cheek. I did not much like it, although my father smiled indulgently, which he most certainly would not have done if she had been my mother. I bowed and smiled, nodded and replied to the inane questions asked of me as best I could. I could tell that most of the people were little interested in me. They were simply being polite. After this awkward progress we entered the room where King Charles sat, speaking to two gentlemen. We approached a little, and then waited for the discussion to end. Before it had, the King looked up and, seeing us there, smiled and beckoned us forward. I had been taught how to behave in front of my monarch, but found I was very nervous.
‘Thomas!’ It was my father he spoke to, not me. But then he regarded me with a keen eye. ‘And this is your son.’ My father bowed again and I did the same.
‘Your father is a great addition to our court,’ he told me. ‘His knowledge of the mood of the people is often right, and I rely on his good judgement. Will I also be able to rely on you, in time to come?’
I did not think he required an answer, but I mumbled something and bowed again. Before I had raised my head he was speaking again to my father.
‘There is a meeting this afternoon about the tax that has been proposed. I would like you to attend and give me your opinion afterwards. You may leave the boy here. No doubt the ladies will enjoy his company.’ He turned back at once to his earlier conversation and it was obvious that we were dismissed.
I tried not to convey my alarm at the prospect of my father leaving me with all these strangers, but I suppose he must have noticed. He was not used to reassuring me but made a gruff attempt. Pulling me away by the sleeve, he deposited me near a group of gentlemen playing cards.
‘I will return when I can. Don’t forget your manners.’
I watched him out of the room, wishing I was at home with my mother, my brother and my pets. Alone of all the people in the room, I knew no one. I was perfectly able to behave in a proper manner if I was spoken to but could not begin to think of initiating a conversation myself. Everyone was occupied in one way or another, and so I stood miserably by the wall, watching, and feeling invisible.
However, after some minutes, which felt like an hour, I did recognise someone. It was the girl who had spoken to me during our meal. There was no sign of her husband, and she was with a couple of other girls. After a few moments she spied me and came to me, bringing her friends.
‘It’s young Thomas Chayne!’ she said in a teasing voice. ‘What are you doing lurking by the door?’
A shrug has no place in a book of manners. A shrug combined with a slight bow and an embarrassed blush must have made me look as stupid as I felt, but she was not a cruel girl.
‘This is Alice, this is Mary and I am Elizabeth, as you know,’ which of course I did not. It was kind of her to be so informal.
‘Come with us,’ said the one called Mary. ‘We are going to practise our parts. You can help.’
‘I’m terrible at remembering my lines,’ said Alice. ‘Do come. You can prompt me.’
Elizabeth grinned. ‘Your father and my husband are at the same meeting. They will be ages. What else are you going to do? Come on.’
I needed little encouragement.
Much later, on the way home, my father neglected to ask how I had passed my time, huffing instead about the meeting, and telling me how difficult it had been. I hugged my own afternoon to myself, keeping it until I could boast to Hugh about my adventure. When my father was gone again on business I told my mother too, sitting at her feet in her room, with the sunlight warm on my face and the silk of her dress cool against my neck. I had enjoyed a glorious time, being treated like a pet by those beautifully dressed women. The rehearsal for Her Majesty’s masque had been enormous fun and I had thrown myself into it. With the words on a paper thrust into my hands, I prompted where needed. The masque would not be performed for some weeks, and it was just as well. Lady Alice was indeed terrible at remembering her lines, no matter how many times I helped her out. I did not have the masque clear in my mind, but these three had been cast as nymphs. Mary’s role seemed to consist mainly of her gazing up at the moon, while Elizabeth had a whole verse to recite, and did it almost flawlessly. I, of course, would not be there to take part, or to see it, which felt a great pity. As well as prompting, they had me play all kinds of extra parts, whether made up for their amusement, or in fact to stand in for props that Mr Inigo Jones would supply on the day, I could not tell. I was not used to the company of girls, but they made my presence seem like a treat, and enormous fun. I had not laughed so much, ever! I even saw the Queen. She paused in the doorway to watch for a moment, waving us to continue as we all scrambled to acknowledge her. I, being already on my hands and knees, taking the part of a swan, could not decide if my position was humble enough or not. By the time I had got to my feet to bow she had gone, with a nod of approval to her nymphs before she moved on to inspect, perhaps, others rehearsing for her masque. I still remember that day with great fondness.
I don’t mean to convey that my home life was as sad and drab as the afternoon at court was joyful and full of colour. The older Hugh and I got, the more licence we had to ramble over our estate on pony and foot, when lessons were done for the day. We two fought and made up, came home dirty and grew closer each day. Our mother was at pains to teach us all the formality we needed, but when father was away, in her private quarters we could play chess or cards, read aloud or tell stories, and best of all, laugh at jokes. There was much merriment, but it was a separated life, with formality and sober duty in public. I was, I think, fortunate to have been born a merry and demonstrative person, and have always been quick to laugh, but that brought its own frustrations as I often had to master my mirth and assume a purposeful expression. But that afternoon at court taught me that my father’s insistence on sober behaviour was not the only way for well-brought-up people to behave. There was no impropriety in the behaviour of the young ladies, simply fun and high spirits. If the Queen could encourage the enjoyment of her masques, with her husband reputed to be righteous and faithful, how could it be wrong? From that day on, I decided to no longer think of those times in our mother’s company as a guilty secret. It was, I decided, for whatever reason, my father’s error, not ours. Even unto embracing our mother. If Hugh was allowed to, then why should not I? After I had told her of my afternoon at court I stood up and hugged her. The fact that she returned my embrace so warmly told me that in spite of her past reticence she welcomed my affection, and that we had made a pact of sorts. Perhaps she had worried that as a little boy I would not be able to restrain myself in company, especially that of my father, and wanted to spare me his ire. But I was old enough now to understand. The artificial stiffness that had kept us physically apart melted away. It was easy to be formal when I knew that I only had to wait until my father was gone back to his dreary business at court.
CHAPTER THREE
My court experience did more than show me that affection and fun were not wrong in company; it also pricked my interest in girls. Not having any sisters, they were a foreign species to me. Our servants were not allowed to be familiar with my brother or I. Indeed, my father once dismissed a kitchen girl for smiling at Hugh. He was a very tyrant as far as propriety was concerned. I can only think that he had informed his tenants of his wishes because when we came across any girls in the village, or local boys for that matter, they busied themselves in looking elsewhere. I don’t think Hugh or I thought it was strange. We had never known anything different, but that day at court introduced me to the delights of playing with others, in particular girls, and I did not forget it.
But those girls at court were different from any I saw at home. In their silks and ribbons, not to mention their jewels, they were exotic, exciting creatures to me. Yes, my mother wore silk on occasion, but her movements were stately. The girls at court ran, twittered and giggled when not required to be formal. The very sound their clothes made as they moved was different to any I had heard before. Their feet, peeping out from the hems of their dresses in their embroidered satin shoes, were a wonder to me. The little heels on their shoes drummed like woodpeckers when they ran and their dresses susurrated like leaves in a breeze. They delighted in gently teasing me, and I lapped up every saucerful of fun, stored it away and took it home to where the girls were heavily shod and whose clothes were rough, and almost silent.
My father didn’t repeat the exercise of taking me to court. Perhaps he thought his duty had been done in presenting me to the King. At any rate, my life resumed its parochial pattern, except that girls seemed more interesting than they had hitherto. And then, at sixteen I found myself in love. For over a year I was in heaven. Of course our liaison was foolish, but my heart was entirely taken by a local farmer’s daughter, Mistress Catherine Walke. It was unwise of us both, but youth is seldom sensible in such matters, even with a father like mine. She was, of course, below me in station, but for all that the daughter of a prosperous, land-owning farmer. Her father rented some extra land from us, and we had grown up knowing each other by sight. By the time Christmas had come and gone we were past saving.
How cunning is love! How it creeps up and ensnares a body. We had no need of secret signals in order to meet. No lace handkerchief waved from a window, nor any midnight trysts. We had since early childhood met in plain view at church every Sunday, and also when Hugh and I were on our regular ramblings, because Catherine often crossed our land, going to and from the land and buildings her father rented from ours. At first there was no more to it than the gradual exchanging of polite greetings instead of ignoring one another, as had been the case when children. Such behaviour was proper for adults but we were ripe for disaster. One day, when Hugh was in bed with a slight fever I went alone to the path through the trees. I knew what time she was accustomed to pass along it so I loitered in my callow way, leaning with studied nonchalance against a towering beech tree. I was nervous. I wanted to say more than ‘Good day’, but what could I say to her, or she to me? I was like a fly, drunk on a honey cake. As soon as I caught sight of her dress, a moving shadow in the patches of sunlight, I bent down and began to scrabble ridiculously in the litter of dead leaves.
‘What are you doing?’
She was upon me and I looked up at her laughing mouth, loving it and everything about her, but feeling far from the romantic I wished to be. I wanted to kiss that mouth, having seen men in the village gather their wives and sweethearts into their arms and do just that, but I had no idea how to begin.
‘I lost some coins, and was finding them,’ I said, brushing the damp mould from my hands. I made to stand up but caught my foot on a root and almost fell. She laughed again and stepped backwards to give me the space to recover my balance. If she had not looked me in the eye once I was standing, I think we could have, even then, remembered who we were and how it must be. But our eyes did catch hold of each other, and that first, fleeting intimacy led eventually to so much more that we both knew was forbidden. I could not cross the space between us that first time, but over the following days we drew nearer to one another until we were breathing each other’s air. I feel sure someone must have stolen a kiss from her before. She had more idea about it than I, but was hardly the wanton. It took a while before we did more than kiss, although those kisses ignited a fire that consumed us both in the end.
I had to tell Hugh. He was indignant at being told to go ahead of me when Catherine appeared on the path, or that I felt like walking alone that day. Indignation changed to awe when he knew the truth, and the risks we were both ready to take. But he loved knowing our secret, and loyally held it until it was a secret no more.
By the height of the summer of 1641 we had sworn eternal love and made the firm though impossible decision to marry. If necessary, we would run away together. She was certain her father would understand, and although I was much less sure of my own parents’ gentle understanding I was utterly determined Catherine would be my wife. We exchanged vows in the woods one hot summer evening. Such foolishness! But such sweetness too. It seemed important to shed our clothes entirely, rather than the half-dressed, fumbling lovemaking we were used to. I can remember it as if it were yesterday, though not why being naked had seemed so vital to our vows. It was the first time I had seen her body clearly, and she mine. We became shy all over again, and serious, as if we were doing something very grown-up. Then, the sun hot on our skin reminded us of our passion. I remember the fecund scent of the mossy ground we lay upon, and the sun edging its brilliance ever lower through the branches, illuminating our warm nakedness with spots of constantly shifting light. Afterwards I lay beside her, with my head on her breast.
I thought I should perhaps say to her, ‘What if there were a babe?’ But we had not spoken of it before, and it had not come to pass. I formed the words in my head, but could not utter them. For shyness, or because if I said it she might deny me in future? I think it was a little of both, and in addition it was a woman’s matter. Not for me to speak of it.
We lay for a while longer, drunk with love, but then a cloud covered the sun. Catherine shivered, both with the lack of warmth and the sudden fear that we might be discovered. We scrambled into our clothes and spent a while picking leaves and twigs from our hair. We could not bear to part, but knew we must, and so we told each other that it would not be long before we were together for ever.
It was full autumn by the time I realised she was seriously unhappy. We had talked and talked of what to do. We could never quite decide how to tell our parents of our decision. Should we call a joint meeting? But that was frightening in the extreme! I simply could not imagine the six of us sitting down calmly to discuss the future. We must each tell our own family, but should I tell mine before I had formally asked her father for her hand? My duty was certainly to do so. I was still only sixteen and not free to marry without my father’s permission. What if he prevented it? In a small corner of my mind I knew for certain that he would. He had never shown any interest in taking my feelings or opinions seriously. The prospect of his heir marrying beneath him, when there were daughters with fortunes and dynasties to join elsewhere, would rile him to explosive anger. We would never be joined with his blessing, so how to proceed?
One afternoon Catherine arrived with a book in her basket. It was her mother’s herbal, the same one I knew to be in our house.
‘What’s this for? Do you mean to physic me?’ I was trying to tease her to get a smile, because her face was even more doleful than the last time we had met.
She flopped down onto the fallen log we had made our own and handed it to me. ‘I am so afraid, Thomas! I have a lump in my belly. I’m afraid I’m going to die like Mistress Foley did last winter.’ Tears began to trickle down her cheeks and I put my arms around her.
My heart began to thump in my chest. ‘You’re not going to die, Catherine. Mistress Foley was old and …’
‘Young people can die of lumps, Thomas. You know they can.’
Indeed, a boy of eight had died that spring, of a lump in his neck.
‘I’ve been wanting to look in Mother’s herbal for advice, but I never get enough time alone at home, so I brought it with me.’ She began to cry in earnest. When she was done I put her gently from me and opened the book. I had no idea what to look for. There were so many remedies, and each had so many uses. Should I look for those under the sign of cancer, or those that were prescribed for internal problems? Could Catherine’s problem be exclusive to women? They did, I know, have disorders unique to their gender, but what they might be I had little idea, and I was loath to question her. I didn’t want to set her crying again, and frankly, I was embarrassed to ask any intimate questions, even if I had known what to ask.
‘Surely,’ I said, ‘you should tell your mother. And you should see a doctor. If money is a problem I can pay.’
‘Don’t be foolish!’ she said. ‘How could I explain that you have offered to pay?’
‘Of course you are right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But I do not know how else to help you. You must consult someone in the village if a doctor is out of the question.’
She clung to me. ‘I am so frightened, Thomas. What if they say it must be cut out? I couldn’t bear it!’
I didn’t think I could bear it either, but I could not say that. ‘It’s almost certainly a small matter,’ I said. ‘You probably just need to be purged, and soon will be fine again. But you must go and see the herbalist, or tell your mother. She will know what you must do.’
She looked at me with such fear in her eyes that I knew my talking was not enough.
‘I will study my mother’s herbal too,’ I said. ‘Between us we will make you well again. I promise.’
We neither of us had much appetite for loving that afternoon. Soon, after a last, clinging embrace I watched with anxious love as she picked her way along the deer track towards the main path through the woods. Almost out of sight, she paused to free her skirt of a troublesome bramble. She turned then, and gave me a last, sad little parting wave. I kissed my hand, blew her the kiss and then she was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Parents hold all the playing cards when it comes to their children. I think now that Catherine must have confessed to her mother about me, while so distressed about her health. It is easy for secrets to spill out under those circumstances. For the rest of that week I was unaware of any change in our situation. I did as I had promised and studied the herbal kept in our house. Under other conditions I would have found it a surprisingly fascinating read. But I was looking to cure my love of an unspecified disease, and there were too many questions to answer. I was frantic with worry, and there was no one I could speak to as I considered it unseemly to discuss my mistress’s health with my brother.
Catherine and I had agreed to meet the following Wednesday afternoon, but before that, on the Saturday, my father came unexpectedly home. Time has hardly dimmed the memory. First, Hugh was summoned and given a thorough whipping for knowingly keeping my secret. Then I was summoned. If he had thought to cow me by treating my brother so harshly, he was mistaken. Rather than make me meek, his behaviour set such a fury in my head I had difficulty in speaking coherently. He did not, however, request explanations, and my protestations of love simply made him more vicious. I had always known the risk to me, but our father’s cruelty to Hugh made me hate him more than I thought possible. I could not prevent tears of pain running down my face during my own punishment, but I was thinking of Catherine, and planning, as each blow landed, to run away with her that night. Hugh could come too. I would look after them both.
Such naivety! Of course we were securely locked in our room. How could it have been otherwise? With great generosity Hugh forbore blaming me for his hurts. Indeed, he was anxious in case I believed it was he who had betrayed us. I am quite sure he had not. At fourteen he was impressively steadfast. I told him I had decided to leave with Catherine as soon as we were released. I did not know how, but I was utterly determined. Of course, Hugh would not go with us. He was more naturally dutiful than I, and besides, he had not fallen in love. However, he offered all the help he could give when the time came. He offered to take a message to Catherine as soon as he could, and so all that evening, while nursing our hurts, we plotted my future like the children we were.
The following morning, Hugh was taken to his lessons with our tutor, but I was left in our room. A little later my father entered. I tried not to shrink from him, and stood defiant, but he gave me no opportunity to speak. All he said was this:
‘She has been taken away. It will be worse for you both if you try to find her. I cannot forgive you for treating one of my tenants with such contempt, so you will have to strive hard to eventually regain my regard. That is all.’
Not long after that, I found myself bundled into a coach with two of my father’s servants. It was clear they been charged with preventing my escape. For a while I sat silent, my stomach lurching even more than the coach, trying to make more escape plans. My captors were not inclined to speak to me, but after an hour or so, by my reckoning, I could not prevent myself from trying to get a response.
‘Surely it would be no harm to inform me where we are going?’
Something in my voice must have awakened pity in them. They looked at each other and after a moment one said, ‘We are taking you to university, sir.’
l was astonished. I had asked my father to send me to Oxford several times. I had a great interest in many subjects that our tutor knew little about and longed to attend the university at Oxford, but my father had always refused, saying that there was time enough for that. Now I was going to get my wish, under circumstances that could have scarcely been less welcome.
I comforted myself by realising that Oxford was not so very far. If I could discover where my love had been taken, all was not lost. All the same, I had no idea how I could find out. Hugh and I had wasted the time we’d had together. Instead of planning wild escape plans for Catherine and myself we should have worked out how Hugh and I could communicate in secret, should we need. At the very least we should have devised a code to use in letters, much as spies are reputed to do. We had not done that, and now I would not be able to write to him of anything but the most insubstantial news from university. Would he think to get a letter to me when he found out where Catherine was? Would he be able to find out? Indeed, would he even be told where I had gone? We had not thought to be isolated from one another. I could not write and ask Hugh or indeed my mother for any information, and there was no one else to ask. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind but all was tangled and imprecise. To feel sorry for myself would be childish, but however hard I admonished myself, self-pity insisted on pricking my eyes. My father had banished me from home, and had not even allowed me to make my farewells to the people I loved most in the world. How could I bear it? But of course I bore it, and, false knave that I named myself, I couldn’t help looking forward to Oxford.
It was the first time I had stayed in that city. I couldn’t deny my pleasure at seeing those wonderful buildings, and country fellow that I was, I couldn’t help gawping at the citizens and students in the streets. I would be one of their number, which held the promise of new friends and a new way of life. I insisted to myself that I would hate every moment away from my Catherine, but the lure of the university was too powerful to resist.
My lodgings were comfortable, even though my father’s two servants showed no sign of leaving me to enjoy them alone. It seemed my father did not trust my studies to immediately dilute my attachment to Catherine. No matter. I had expected as much. Indeed, their company was not unwelcome for the first few days. After all, I knew no one else.
On the morning of the first day after our arrival they handed me a letter. It was from my mother. In it she did not admonish me, but begged me to make the most of my time at the university, and not to waste it by sighing, which would do no good to anyone. She didn’t mention Catherine by name, but told me a certain person known to me was not in any more physical danger than any other of her gender. She will, her letter went on, with the help of your father’s generosity, very soon make a good marriage, one suited to her station. There is no need, nor is it advisable for you to dwell any more on the situation. Youth is hasty, but maturity follows. Pray to God for forgiveness, work hard at your studies and know that time heals all.
I read that letter many times, holding as it did both good news and bad. Catherine was, it seemed, in little danger from her ailment, for which I thanked God, but my father was going to use his considerable influence over his tenant to get her married with indecent haste. How better to take her away from me for ever? Knowing her lost, I felt relief at having been sent away. For how could we have borne it, living in the same place, me seeing her wed to another man, and her knowing me unreachable? This letter, far more than the whipping and banishment, turned me from a warship in full, angry sail to one hopelessly becalmed, directionless, sails hanging loose. But my mother’s gentle tone and reasonable advice, the more times I read it, fell by slow degrees like a salve onto a wound. Indeed, I began to wonder if my mother had also loved and lost, before she was wed to my father. She and my father had made a dynastic match. Love would have had no part in it, and, I told myself caustically, still did not. But she would have been kept much closer by her family than my Catherine had been by hers. There would have been no opportunity for her to experience the dalliance we two had enjoyed, but it was entirely possible that she could have loved another from afar.
For a while I was kept very short of funds, with my captors overseeing every expenditure. I chafed at that, as every student did who was poor, for whatever reason, but for me the restriction did not last all term. Soon enough, my father’s servants informed me that they had been recalled by him. I was to be allowed to manage my own affairs, and must write to him regular accounts of my life in Oxford. I would have an allowance, and if I overspent I must apply to him for relief. I did not intend that to be necessary!
I began to turn ever more willingly to my studies, accepting what must be. And there was much to enjoy. There were students of all ages, stations and abilities. Some boys of my station looked down on the poor scholars, and I confess I was inclined to do the same. It seems odd to me now, that while I had been prepared to marry beneath me, I resisted debating with the sons of merchants. I had not thought that the sons of dyers, smiths or builders would have anything of import to say to me, but I was wrong. Their fathers might dwell beneath mine in lands and occupation, but these students were there entirely through ability, rather than wealth or influence, and that made them interesting fellows. I had never been bested in an intellectual argument, having only my younger brother as a schoolmate. Now I was put on my mettle, because almost everyone wished to shine in debate, and some had been taught by better men than had I. Richard Darte was only a grammar-school boy from London. He was a scholar, the son of a glover, and several times he had made better arguments than me. He could have been annoying, but his clear argument and nice modesty as he made his points commended him to me, while his manners were better than some of the wealthier students. I found I could not help but like him, and somewhat to my surprise we found ourselves natural friends. His circumstances had made him determined to achieve as much as he could at the university and beyond.
‘For although my father’s work is honourable, and he has some standing in the community, I do not intend to follow my father into trade,’ he told me one afternoon as we walked to the inn where several of us liked to meet. ‘I will write a great philosophical treatise, be invited to court and advise the King.’
‘Then unless I can come up with a better career we will be there together,’ I told him. ‘For my father is determined that I should follow him into politicking at court, but I do not wish to do what my father expects.’
Not doing what one’s parent expected became a constant theme for us, and whether accident of birth, or inclination, should rule. We both voted for inclination and ability, deciding to make our own way, while having little idea how to achieve it without penury. There was for us a certain heady power in learning, or at least so we imagined. In our arrogance we worshipped our intellect, as young students are sometimes inclined to do, in a mutually congratulatory manner. It makes me laugh now to think of it: we considered ourselves so much higher than ordinary men. We knew so little, while thinking we knew much, but our ridiculous posing did no harm while it lasted. Soon enough we settled down and learnt a little humility once we realised how we only tiptoed at the edge of knowledge. I won extra regard from Richard for the very thing that had so incensed my father, namely following my heart against his wishes, which included, had he known of it, making Richard my best friend instead of cultivating higher-born students who had young sisters to marry. We were indeed the very epitome of renegades!
I think neither of our fathers would have wished us to get into fights with the city boys, but there was much animosity between the two, and while frequenting the taverns we often had the opportunity of breaking a few simple-minded heads. Fortunately, no real harm was done, and our swagger faded as our love of learning took over. There were some students who remained arrogant, but fortunately that was not our natural behaviour. As Christmas approached, in spite of our great friendship, we both began to look forward to going home, I with a little trepidation. I had received several letters from both my mother and Hugh, but nothing more pertaining to my lost love, and I had not dared mention her in my replies. Would she be in the village, a married woman, when I returned? If so, I would be bound to meet her in church, or at least see her from a distance. How could we manage ourselves? And surely she would blame me for not rescuing her.
But my father had other plans for me. I was not, he informed me by letter, to go home, but was to travel to Norfolk, where I was to stay with the family of a friend of his. The estate was large, and I was to take the opportunity to study the running of it, as well as make myself useful where I could. With the letter was a chest. It contained gifts for the Earl’s family, and lengths of fabric to be made into suitable clothes of the latest fashion for me, to celebrate Christmas in a great house. Richard’s eyebrows disappeared into his dark thatch of hair when I showed him the contents.
‘You are so far above me you are almost beyond my sight,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Look at all the linen, too!’ He had but two sets, which over the time we had been in Oxford had suffered much from our brawling.
When he went out I took my hitherto best linen and wrapped it around with one of the ribbons I had bought for my mother’s Christmas gift. I bought her a marmelet of oranges instead, and presented my gift of linen to Richard the morning I left for Norfolk. I had a little trouble in making him accept the gift, but I told him I looked forward to him wearing it when we next wrestled.
‘For it will give me something stronger to tear,’ I said. ‘And you know how I like a challenge!’
In the end he had the good grace to accept my gift, and I received his, a pamphlet of bawdy songs much sung in some Oxford taverns.
‘You will have no excuse to be anything less than word perfect when I see you next,’ he said with a grin.
‘I will practise them every day!’ I said. ‘But I fear my singing will have to be sotto voce where I will be staying.’
My tailor had turned the fine wool and velvet into two of the most fashionable of suits, which Richard and I both greatly admired. I had sent my gifts to my family: the marmelet along with several other edible delights for my mother; a book of poetry for Hugh; and a volume of philosophy the bookseller assured me any right-minded man would cherish, for my father. I liked it, but suspected he would not. Perhaps he and Hugh could swap the gifts about if they were so inclined.
The roads being bad at this time of year, I was to ride, guided by his lordship’s man, with a pack animal being provided for my box. I hoped no mishap would come to the glorious contents before I had a chance to wear them. To my surprise there were two men to accompany me, but they were for my safety, not my restraint.
‘There is much unrest in the country, as you know,’ said one, in an accent I had not heard before, never having been to Norfolk.
There had certainly been talk in Oxford, but I had not paid it much heed. It seemed to me that king and parliament had been at odds since he had first called it, and I was impatient that the two could not find a way to be reconciled. Of course, the execution of the Earl of Strafford earlier in the year had been a shock. I wondered several times if he had been one of the men talking to the King when I had been presented as a boy, but I had never seen his portrait, and would not have recognised him. No doubt if I had been with my father now, he would have drummed into me all the details and reasons for and against the recent bad mood in London and elsewhere, but I was not with him, and was no more interested in politics than I had been before.
Two hard days of riding without incident got us to Cambridge, and the following day took us north through the mud towards Ely. It had been raining for several days, but that afternoon the clouds cleared away and I saw the cathedral, which seemed to swim in the watery landscape. The horses, tired though they were, pricked their ears and stepped into a more lively pace, knowing they were almost home. We were soon riding through the Earl’s estate, but the rain came on again and I was little inclined to look about me. When we reached the house, however, I could not help but be impressed. It was a building of great grace and balance. The huge windows looked out onto formal gardens, and the large, smoking chimneys promised warmth to my sodden body. I was heartily glad to dismount and hand my reins to the lad who ran to receive them. Indoors, I was taken to my chamber, a handsome room with a good fire in the hearth. Soon, my box stood nearby and a servant unpacked while I toasted my cold feet. Not long afterwards, warm, dry and wearing one of my new suits, the green wool, with lace at the throat and wrists, I presented myself to the family.
CHAPTER FIVE
I confess I had been missing my mother and brother all the way to Norfolk, as well as wondering about my lost love. They would be at home, making ready for Christmas, seeing friends and having fun, while I was forced to spend the festival with strangers. And yet, when I nervously entered the room, I was aware of a warm, lively atmosphere, with lots of chatter. In spite of their nobility, the whole family, Lady Mary and her three daughters, greeted me with the greatest friendliness.
‘I’m sorry, the rain must have made your journey very trying, but you are here now, and we will do our best to make you merry,’ said the Lady Mary. ‘My husband has been called away on business, but we hope he will return in a few days. Meanwhile, you will have to make do with us.’ She brought forward a young woman standing to her left. ‘This is my eldest daughter, Eleanor.’
She was eighteen but looked older. I wondered if she was unwell. I unkindly thought her a dumpy girl, very unlike her delightful sisters. She gave me a rather awkward curtsey, but her smile was friendly enough.
‘Alas, Eleanor’s husband is also attending the King, so we are a very female company. This is Aphra, my second daughter.’
Aphra looked, I thought, to be a little older than me but I soon discovered that at just sixteen she was slightly younger.
‘And this is the baby of the family, Aurelia.’
Aurelia frowned as she curtsied, but almost instantly grinned at me. ‘We will entertain you very well,’ she said. ‘You won’t have time to be homesick, and I’m seven. I’m not a baby,’ she added rapidly. ‘Do you like shuttlecock?’
‘Really, Aurelia,’ said Aphra. ‘Poor Master Thomas is exhausted with his travels and you propose to tire him even more!’
‘I didn’t mean play it now.’
‘I haven’t played for a long time,’ I told Aurelia, unable to hold back a smile. ‘But I used to like it. If this rain stops …’
‘Oh no!’ she said in a hurry. ‘We play in the library when the weather is bad. It’s perfect for it, and Mother says it is important to take exercise, even in inclement weather.’
I couldn’t help laughing, she was so earnest. ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I will make sure to play with you at the earliest opportunity, if that is agreeable to the rest of your family.’
By the time we had eaten and the two younger girls had shown me a good portion of the house, I was feeling quite at home. When Eleanor and Aphra excused themselves shortly after Aurelia had been taken to bed, I thought it advisable to make my goodnight as well, but Lady Mary stopped me.
‘Stay a moment,’ she said.
I sat back down. She looked suddenly so serious I wondered what was amiss.
‘If my husband had been here he would have said what it is now my duty to say in his place.’ She regarded me steadily, and after a few seconds I found myself unable to hold her gaze.
‘You are here because your father thought it wise to extend your time away from your home, but he did not want you to have a Christmas without a family to share it. We are happy to have you here, and will do all we can to make your stay agreeable, but I wish you to know that there is to be no repeat of the unfortunate behaviour that led to you being sent to Oxford.’
I found myself blushing. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t find any words to speak, but bent my head and mumbled into the fine wool of my suit.
‘My daughters will never be alone with you. There must always be one of our women in attendance, or myself. My husband and I wish you to know that we do not think ill of you. It is easy to lose your heart to someone unsuitable when you are young. We are not unsympathetic to your feelings, but if there is any hint of improper behaviour you will be sent immediately back to Oxford. Do you understand?’
I looked at her then, though I still felt the heat in my face. ‘I promise I will not behave improperly. You will have no reason to send me away. And I thank you for your generosity in having me here.’
She nodded. ‘That’s good. I’m glad. So it will not be mentioned again, will it?’
