Circle of Pearls Page 3

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  The eve of Robert’s departure came. He made love to Anne, knowing that it was likely to be a long time before they could be together again. In the morning, just before they were about to go downstairs for a family breakfast, she stopped him by the bedchamber door.

  ‘Promise me that you will consider your safety at all times!’ she implored with a desperation she had never shown before.

  He held her in a close embrace and smiled reassuringly into her upturned, anxious face. ‘Once when I was in a far-away foreign land, an old soothsayer told me that I should never die at sea, or on a battlefield, but on my own land. I believe him. As you know, my first ship sank in a storm and I escaped capture by pirates on another. As for battles, I have been seasoned since Edgehill onwards. Have no fear, my love. We shall spend our old age together at Sotherleigh. I promise you that I shall come back to your arms. Never doubt it.’

  She nodded, accepting what he said in an urgent need of comfort. Then it seemed to her that within seconds breakfast was over, farewells were said, and her final kiss with him exchanged. Somehow she managed to follow Katherine’s example and shed no tears when he rode off with his little band of faithful followers, who only the day before had been serving him at table or tending his land, all rearmed, newly breast-plated, well clad with fresh horses to ride. Her tears came later that night when she was all alone in her wide and lonely bed.

  *

  Robert had been gone only three weeks when his daughter had a rare recurrence of her dream. But it was dashed from her by a loud shout of warning from somewhere downstairs in the house. Julia sat bolt upright from her pillows, her tousled hair hanging in disarray about her startled face. Shaking her curls back, she clutched her rag doll closer. From far away the shout came again, reverberating up through the panelled walls and oaken floors. This time she could distinguish the words.

  ‘Roundheads at the gatehouse!’

  Flinging back the bedclothes, she sprang from her narrow four-poster and dashed to the half-open mullioned window, its diamond-shaped panes gilded by the early sunlight. Although she knew there was little chance as yet of seeing the unwelcome visitors, she stood on tip-toe to peer out in the direction of the drive.

  The warm air met her, heralding another hot and brilliant day, and the elm trees were dusty with summer and faded with heat. The groom, who had given the alarm, had left the house and was running off across the courtyard, not returning to the stables as she would have expected. She saw that he was making for the seclusion of the box-hedges that lay in the opposite direction. He was a good groom, who had lost an arm in battle while serving with her father, and she was puzzled as to why he had not gone back to the horses in case they should be troubled by the presence of strangers marching by.

  She felt more wary than frightened. Yet the very manner in which the warning had been given showed that some danger was imminent. Were they coming in the hope of seizing her father on a charge of treason? If that was the case they would be piqued to learn that he was not here. By now he should be with the King, who might have crossed the border into England already.

  It was as she drew away from the window that a disturbing thought struck her. Suppose the Roundheads refused to believe that her father was elsewhere? She had heard what great damage was done when they searched for hideaways. She would go wild if she saw havoc being wreaked on her home! There was also the dreadful possibility that in their rage at not finding their quarry they might set fire to it.

  Thoroughly afraid now, although not for herself, she began to wash hurriedly, making do with the cold water in her jug since a maid was not due with a steaming container for a long while yet. It was a source of pride to her that she was able to look after herself in many ways. Her mother had always cared personally for her instead of relegating her welfare to underlings, as would have been expected of a lady of Anne Pallister’s social status. As a result Julia had been allowed to develop more independence than any nurse would have permitted. She was also proud of being allowed to sleep in a room of her own, admitting only to herself that it was a comfort, when the wind howled eerily or the house creaked, to know that her grandmother’s bedchamber was next to hers in the west wing.

  Julia snatched a pink cotton gown out of one of the drawers in her clothes-press, not quite at random, for if it had had hooks down the back she would have needed assistance with the fastenings. As she pulled the garment over her head and settled it down on to her petticoats, its decorative knots of rose-patterned ribbons fluttered and danced. Then she whipped up a hairbrush and wielded it on her tangles. Normally her mother dressed her hair, but for the time being it must hang free down her back. When the brushing was done she returned to the window and looked across to the east wing where her mother’s bedchamber was located, but saw no sign of her. Then she stiffened. Was that a glint of steel through the elm trees?

  She dallied no longer but shot across to her door. Outside in the corridor the silence of the house seemed to hit her. Abruptly she stood quite still and strained her ears, but there was no distant clatter of dishes to he heard, no clack of heels from scurrying maids, no swish of a broom over carpets. Her pulse quickened and she swallowed hard. Turning on her heel, she ran to her grandmother’s apartment, which consisted of a parlour, a bedchamber and an adjoining garderobe. She did not halt until she stopped with a gasp on the bedchamber threshold, for the door was open to reveal that the room was deserted and the bed made.

  Katherine never rose early and always took a leisurely breakfast alone in her room before emerging for the day; the only exception that Julia could remember was when her father left recently to join the King. She was seized by the conviction that everyone in the household, except herself, had been up for hours, which meant they must have been forewarned of the Roundheads’ coming after she had gone to bed. They should have told her too! Now her blue eyes flashed under a deep frown of annoyance and her stubborn little jaw tightened.

  Whirling about once more, she dashed in the direction of the Grand Staircase, passing on the way the open carved wooden screen that was one of the treasures of Sotherleigh. It took the place of a wall, reaching from floor to ceiling and overlooking the entrance hall below. It gave an illusion of transparency in its fretwork effect, all the wild flowers and ferns and grasses that had been growing on the land where the house now stood had been depicted on the screen with a sense of spontaneity and a feeling for natural form. Through the entwining stems and leaves it was possible to view the hall below. It had long been a game of Julia’s to identify by name everything portrayed there, but today she had no time for that. She paused briefly to peer through a cluster of carved hedge-roses at the hall with its black and white chequered marble floor below. It was deserted. The heavy wooden bolt, which slid out of the wall to bar the entrance door at night, was still in position.

  It was then that she heard the sound of someone at work in the Long Gallery, the double doors of which were exactly behind her. Swiftly she turned the handle and entered. A handyman, far from young, who did general repairs in the house, turned with a start from plastering a section of the wall a few yards from where she stood.

  ‘’Ave them bastards got ’ere yet?’ he asked.

  No need to ask whom he meant! ‘No, but I think I saw them. They’ll soon be in the courtyard.’

  He cursed picturesquely, using words she had never heard before, and she pondered them with interest as she went to him. The Long Gallery was hung with portraits under a curved ceiling painted as though arched by the branches of thickly foliaged trees, and it stretched the full length of the main block of the house, with four fireplaces to heat it in winter. It was here that ninepins and other bowling games were played and where the ladies of the household sometimes strolled for exercise when the weather was bad. She was astonished to see at close quarters the work that the man had in hand. He was slapping wet plaster over the profile of the new King.

  ‘Why are you doing that, Mr Ridley?’ she demanded in
dignantly.

  The handyman did not pause in his work. ‘Your father was a brave man to ’ave set this ’ere in the first place, but it’ll do this ’ouse no good for them that lives ’ere if those Roundheads should spot it.’

  Julia’s anxiety for Sotherleigh, already high in her, made her clasp her hands together. ‘Why are they coming?’

  ‘You best ask your mama that, I don’t know nothing.’

  It was obvious that he did, but did not feel it was his place to tell her. ‘But wet plaster can’t be hidden!’ she cried out.

  ‘That’s why I’m covering a good spread of the wall and not just the King’s face. It’ll make it look a bigger job than what it is. Them cracks ’igher up the wall will be a reason for my work.’ He gave her a wink, twisting his weathered face that was as wrinkled as a walnut. ‘They’ll suspect nothing.’

  She was not so sure. Sadly she watched the carefully executed plaque being obliterated by the plaster; it was a handsome profile with hooded eyes, a large well-shaped nose and chin, the lips sensual under a thin moustache. As the last slap of plaster covered it, she shivered and rubbed her arms.

  ‘Where’s my mama?’ she asked on a rising note. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘Mrs Pallister will be with Mistress Katherine downstairs somewhere.’ He used the old form of address that her grandmother preferred. ‘It’d ’ave made no difference if I ’ad started on the work last night, ’cos the plaster would still ’ave been damp this morning. Better for me to be seen at what I’m doing.’

  She bit her lip as she turned to go, hurt showing in her eyes. ‘Everybody seems to know about Oliver Cromwell’s Roundheads coming except me. If I hadn’t heard the warning I’d have been asleep still.’

  He gave her a consoling glance, ‘It’s my bet that’s what the Pallister ladies wanted. With the Roundheads coming so early it was ’oped to spare you the upset.’ Then he jerked his head as a knocking for admittance to the house resounded from the hall. ‘That’ll be them! Nip down quick to your mother, child. You’ll be safe with ’er and Mistress Katherine.’

  She ran from the Long Gallery, full of trepidation, and rushed to look down through the screen at the hall below. An entirely different scene now met her gaze. The whole household had gathered there. Her mother and her grandmother stood side by side. Behind them, lined up in a row, were the two lady’s maids, eight of the nine maidservants, the cook and her scullion boy. It was a domestic staff much depleted by the need for economy and the absence of the footmen, who had gone with their master to the King. By the entrance door the ninth maidservant waited for the moment when her mistress would tell her to open it. The all-over effect was that of brightly hued pieces on a chessboard. They were facing the barred door where the hammering had increased in volume and the demand for admittance was louder.

  ‘Open in the name of Parliament!’

  Anne, very pale and visibly trembling, was wearing the most vivid gown she possessed, a rich ruby red, almost as if she hoped it might help her to assert her authority in the face of the enemy. She stood slightly to the fore of her mother-in-law as benefited the mistress of the house, neat in her person as always, even at this early hour. Not a strand of her dark hair was out of place and her top-knot, high at the back of her head, was encased in a little cap of plaited metallic threads. It was a fashion favoured by Royalist women and she had a variety of this accessory, some with rosebuds, others of narrow ribbon, and even one with tiny butterflies. This morning she had chosen the one that sparkled most, perhaps out of defiance. In her lobes, almost invisible under her bunches of curls, were her pearl ear-bobs.

  She was looking fixedly at the barred door where the butt of a musket was adding to the din. In her right hand, dropped by her side, she rotated a wispy lace-trimmed handkerchief in an agitated manner; she looked fragile and vulnerable and likely to collapse at any moment. Julia’s heart went out to her, fiercely angry that anyone should frighten her mother in this manner.

  In contrast, Katherine, wearing bronze taffeta with a wide lace collar, was a commanding figure in spite of her age and her need of a cane. Her whole demeanour was completely composed. She spoke to her daughter-in-law in her slightly husky voice.

  ‘Take courage for the sake of Robert and the King!’

  Anne nodded. On both the previous Roundhead rampages she had been in bed recovering from the miscarriages that had caused her such grief. On each occasion her maid had pulled the curtains around her and she had been spared the sight of her jewel-box being rifled and her clothes and personal belongings being tumbled from her chests. It was at that time that her be-jewelled and be-pearled accessories for her top-knot had been plundered.

  This was the first time she had had to meet a raiding party face to face and her knees felt ready to give way. Yet mention of Robert had stirred some small fount of courage she had not known she possessed. For some inexplicable reason she had a sudden image of his love-face at their most intimate moments in the wide warmth of their marriage bed. In her heightened state of nerves there came such a surge of longing for his presence that she almost cried out. Yet if he were here now he would be drawn into fighting to escape capture and she must be thankful that he was far away. Straightening her shoulders, she gave her instructions to the maid by the door. For a few moments her voice was clear of the nervous tremor that had been plaguing it ever since the midnight warning that the Roundheads were coming for a special purpose.

  ‘Open the door now, Joan.’

  Julia, who might have run to her mother at this point, had been stayed from the start by the hurtful knowledge that she was neither expected nor wanted as a member of this waiting tableau, in adult eyes still the baby to be kept out of the way. She watched the door keenly, her hand tightening on the carved leaf that she gripped as she waited. The maidservant grasped the bolt and slid it back into its aperture. Then she turned the big ring handle. When she had drawn the door wide open she scampered back to her place in the line.

  A broad shadow fell across the chequered floor and a heftily built Parliamentary officer strode in, his boots bucket-topped, his spurs jangling. The meeting of thick brows and the grim set of his mouth showed his immense displeasure at not having been admitted at his first demand for entry. He came to a halt with his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip, facing the group in the hall. In his wake came a sergeant, who took up a stand nearby. The door, left open, showed a dozen troopers lined up outside.

  The Roundhead officer addressed Anne curtly. ‘You are Mrs Pallister?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘My name is Captain Harding.’ His frown was threatening. ‘Why was your door not opened to me at my first command?’

  Anne looked bleakly at him. How could she say that she had delayed everything by fainting on her way to the hall? Katherine had slapped her wrists and brought her round and hauled her to her feet. To her relief her mother-in-law promptly spoke up, answering the officer on her behalf.

  ‘There was good reason, Captain.’ Katherine regarded him haughtily, her back as straight as she could manage. ‘We have a system whereby the gatehouse keeper signals to the stables and the groom then warns us here. These are dangerous times and, being a house of women, we have to be cautious. My daughter-in-law was careful to check first from an upper window that the troopers had an officer with them.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He thought it more likely that arrogance on this old woman’s part had delayed his entrance, but he was prepared to let that go as he made an observation. ‘I must say I find it surprising that everyone here should be up and about at such an early hour.’ His gaze rested cynically on Katherine. ‘Even you, madam.’

  ‘I was up early for my prayers,’ Katherine stated imperiously.

  ‘Is that your habit?’

  ‘It is.’ She spoke the truth, for she prayed each morning in her room on her knees before returning to bed for a while. This morning she had dressed instead of resting again and had breakfasted downstairs. In her opinion if her daughter-in
-law had had something to eat it was unlikely she would have fainted. Anne had not slept either, although she should have snatched some rest after all the preparations for the Roundheads’ visit had been carried out in the darkness of the night. If it had not been for a friend whose contacts reported Roundhead movements to local Royalist families, this officer and his troopers would have caught Sotherleigh completely by surprise.

  Captain Harding returned his attention to Anne. ‘So where is your husband since everyone else is about?’

  She attempted a casual note, somewhat unsuccessfully. ‘The Master of Sotherleigh is not here at the moment.’ Katherine followed up in an imperious tone. ‘My son has gone hawking in the vicinity.’ She knew her daughter-in-law would never get her tongue round a lie, but she herself had no such qualms in these desperate circumstances.

  The Captain’s eyes showed contemptuous disbelief. ‘Is that so? I suggest to you he has already broken the five-mile boundary to which he is restricted.’

  Katherine’s chin went a little higher. ‘Why should you say that? My son is not in the habit of breaking the law and has never failed to meet the heavy payments demanded of him and others like him by the Committee of Compounding for failing to condone the execution of King Charles!’

  The Captain snorted furiously. ‘That royal tyrant was poison to the country. We have freedom now.’

  ‘You give freedom only to those whose religious beliefs run parallel with your Puritan rules!’

  His retort came with the speed of a musket ball, ‘I’ll remind you, mistress, that there would never have been a Civil War if your royal despot had not tried to force his rules, religious and secular, on Parliament and the people of these isles!’

  Anne knew it was the truth that he had spoken, but the trouble was that the tyranny of the late King was being matched by the extremists into whose hands the country had fallen. So many good, fair-minded Puritan Parliamentary leaders had been killed early in the war or had died from other reasons, and now Cromwell could send his men to invade the homes of those listed as his enemies. But this was no time to let a political debate develop.