Alice in Love and War (25 page)

Alice was dozing when the sound of a musket shot jolted her into wakefulness. The horse reared and half turned, unsteadying her, and she clung, terrified, to Jeremiah as men burst from the bushes: wild, desperate-looking men, armed with muskets and swords.

Jeremiah shouted, “Alice! Hold on!” He drew his sword, dug in his spurs and charged straight at their attackers. Alice screamed as she was hurled backwards. The pillion jolted and bounced, and she feared she would slide sideways off the galloping horse.

It lasted only a moment. The men scattered. Jeremiah reined in the horse, throwing Alice forward again. He leaped down, raised his musket and fired one shot. She heard a shout, but no one fell. There were three men, all ragged, two of them barefoot. They threw themselves down out of sight behind some ramshackle farm buildings.

Jeremiah lowered his musket and turned to Alice. “Is the pillion secure?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hold fast.”

He mounted again and they rode hard for a mile or more, till they came to an inn on the outskirts of a village. There, at last, he reined in the horse, dismounted, and reached to help Alice down.

He was breathing heavily. “The baby?”

“She’s safe. She cried at first.” Her own voice was shaking. “She was not as frightened as I was.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He looked contrite. “I had to act instantly. A charge on horseback always terrifies the enemy. They could have shot me, but their instinct was to run. I gambled on that. If I’d shown any hesitation they would have been all around us, like wolves.”

“They looked as desperate as wolves – so ragged and gaunt.”

“They were deserters – from the king’s army, I’d guess, though it’s hard to tell. Those who don’t get home often turn robber.”

“Your musket… You fired so quickly!” She remembered Robin’s musket drill, the slow-burning match.

“It’s a flintlock. A good weapon.” There was pride in his voice. “London-made.”

He led the horse to the stable yard, and they went into the inn and bought beer and a dish of beef and onions with bread.

“Those deserters must be starving,” said Alice.

“Don’t waste any pity on them. If they’d caught us they would have killed and stripped us and taken all our goods.”

Alice shuddered at the thought of what could so easily have been their fate.

“They should be hunted down and hanged,” Jeremiah said; and later she heard him giving the landlord information about where they had been attacked and where the robbers had their hideout.

The incident had made it a sombre day, and in the late afternoon their attempts to find a wet nurse were unsuccessful. The sun was low in the sky and Elen was crying with hunger when at last they were directed to a cottage where the daughter had recently given birth to a bastard child and would no doubt be glad of the money.

The cottage was well kept enough, but the disgraced daughter was a surly, slatternly girl who looked as if she would like to murder both infants. Her mother, after securing payment in advance, offered Alice and Jeremiah a low-ceilinged attic room with straw to sleep on, and a box to use as a cradle.

Alice had already handed the frantic Elen to the girl for feeding.

“I don’t like it,” she said to Jeremiah when the woman had gone. “The girl is dirty and vicious-looking, and everyone knows a mother’s nature goes into her milk and passes to the baby.”

“Not in one night, surely,” he said. “This one night the girl may save her from starvation.”

“I suppose so. But I wish – oh, I don’t know! I hope all will be well when we reach Weston Hall. I’ll need to find someone permanent in Copsey. A good, motherly woman.”

“Your friends will help you. And if we set off early tomorrow we should arrive in good time.”

“Where are we now?”

“Just north of Oxford.” He rummaged for his book of maps, and found the page. “It’s not marked, but about here, I think.”

She smiled. “You get much pleasure as well as instruction from that book.”

“I do.”

“I too had a book I loved: a book of herbs and remedies that my father wrote over the years. It was the only thing of his I owned.”

“And you lost it?”

“Yes. After the battle. It was in my pack, on the wagon. I lost my best gown too – a fine blue wool that Mistress Christian gave me.”

“I remember it,” he said.

“But – how?”

“You were wearing it when I led my men to Weston Hall.”

She looked at him in surprise. She’d had no idea he had taken so much note of her that day, but the realization pleased her.

“No doubt you thought me a bold, uncivil girl,” she said, “despite my fine gown.”

He regarded her gravely. “I thought you bold, yes – valiant – in defence of your lady. I admired you.”

“Admired me?”

She wanted him to say more, but they were interrupted by the girl shouting from below that Alice could fetch Elen now. She left him and went down, then carefully carried the almost-sleeping baby back up the ladder to the loft.

Jeremiah had made himself a bed in the straw and was already lying down. He had left his blanket for Alice. She was so tired that she slept in her clothes, not even bothering to remove her stays. And Elen, despite Alice’s disapproval of the slatternly girl, slept until the early hours of the morning, when she woke Alice with a resounding wail.

In the grey light before dawn Alice took the child down again. The girl lay snoring – like a sow, Alice thought crossly – and had to be prodded and pushed into wakefulness. She stayed and watched the girl in case she fell asleep and left Elen hungry. Back in the loft, she removed the baby’s wrappings. Elen was dirty and sore, and the woman had not left them any water for washing. Alice took a linen cloth and used some of the beer from her leather flask to clean the baby. By the time she began swaddling her again Elen was thoroughly awake and crying. Alice rocked her in her arms, her own head drooping with tiredness, and longed for some relief from the burden she had taken on.

At last she put the child down, asleep. By now it was light, and birds were rustling and twittering in the thatch. She crawled under her blanket, and looked across at Jeremiah, who had not stirred throughout. He lay facing her, breathing steadily, his face defenceless in sleep. They were so close that their breath mingled.

I want to kiss him, she thought. I’d like to wake him with a kiss.

But she lay still. And soon he opened his eyes and looked into hers, and she saw the realization of where he was come back to him.

“Alice,” he said, and smiled.

“I was watching you sleep.”

Could he see from her face what she had been thinking? Did he have the same wish? For a moment she thought he did – but then he drew away and sat up, saying, “How is the child? Has that surly wench’s milk turned her into a monster?”

“Don’t tease me!”

“Why not? I always tease my sisters.”

“I’m not your sister.”

“No,” he said. “You are not.”

He rose quickly, and began gathering up his possessions. “No water for washing.” He looked around, disgruntled.

“I washed Elen’s bottom with beer.”

He started to laugh. “You did what?”

“Well, there was nothing else to hand! It was only small beer…”

That made him laugh more. “A waste of good beer!” he said, and ducked his head under the low ceiling and went downstairs to ask for water. When it came, he told her, “You wash first. I’ll use your water.” He grinned and jerked his head towards Elen. “
She
goes last!”

Alice giggled. “I won’t be changing her again. Not till we get to Weston Hall.”

At the thought of Weston Hall her light-hearted mood left her. She’d wanted to go back there; it had seemed almost like home to her. But now it meant parting from Jem. He had deliberately turned his back and was reading his Bible. She washed briefly, splashing her face, then untied the neck ribbon of her shift to reach a bit further. Anything more could wait till their journey was over.

They were out early, Elen asleep in the sling, rocked by the now familiar movement. It was a clear day, and these were roads Jeremiah knew. In the afternoon they found themselves on the road from Oxford to Faringdon, and then Alice saw the inn – the King’s Arms at Copsey – and the turning that led through the woods to Weston Hall.

She felt a sudden misgiving. Would they have her back? As before, she was arriving uninvited, in need of help. And what would they think of her bringing with her the man who had caused them so much pain in the spring?

The woods were in full leaf now, the violets gone, and in their place the verges were thick with elderflower and wild roses. In the distance she glimpsed the warm golden stone of the house. A peaceful scene – but as they approached she heard the unmistakable sound of a musket being cocked.

Oh God! she thought. The house is taken! And fear washed through her.

Jeremiah dismounted and raised his hands as a man stepped out of the tree cover with his weapon at the ready. Another appeared behind him.

“I come as a friend – alone,” said Jeremiah.

The musket shook in the defender’s hands. Alice saw then that he was Tobias Fairthorne, and the other was Tom Pether.

“Tobias! It’s me, Alice!” she cried, and at the same moment, Tom recognized her and called out her name.

They both lowered their weapons, though they watched Jeremiah nervously.

“I am here only as escort,” he said, and with their permission he reached up and lifted Alice down. “Tell your mistress I have brought Alice Newcombe back.”

Elen absorbed all the attention at first. Anne Florey was sent running to the home farm to fetch a woman they knew of who would be able to feed her. Mistress Florey brought a soft woollen shawl and prepared a makeshift cradle. Bess asked, “May I hold her?” And Alice was only too willing to surrender Elen for a while to the care of others.

Christian came in from the dairy, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked more like a maidservant than a lady. At sight of her Alice was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “Oh, Mistress Christian!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you!”

And Christian, looking equally shaken, seized Alice’s hands. “We heard such news of the king’s defeat at Naseby, and the women killed! And I feared—” She stopped and stared at Jeremiah, and Alice wondered whether she recognized him.

“Sergeant Banks brought me here,” she said, “with my friend’s child. I had nowhere else to go. I’d like – oh, I hope! – to come back and work for you, if Lady Weston agrees. Will you have me, Mistress Christian? I need to find work, to pay for the care of Nia’s baby.”

“Your friend is dead?”

“Yes. Killed in the field by the Parliament troops.”

“Oh, Alice, I’m sorry. It was a wicked deed. We read about it in the newsbooks.” She turned to Jeremiah. “Nevertheless I must thank you, Sergeant Banks, for bringing Alice back to us. Mistress Florey, give the travellers some food; and Tom, see that the sergeant’s horse is fed and groomed. I’ll go and tell Lady Weston.”

Alice and Jeremiah were given bread, cheese, cold venison and beer, and they sat at the kitchen table eating while everyone else ran around after the baby and marvelled at her survival. Jeremiah was hungry, and at first he concentrated on the food. Afterwards it seemed to Alice that he could not make up his mind what to say or do. He would look at her, and then away, then back at her again. And Alice, who did not want to part from him, could think of nothing to say either. She could see that the servants were wary of him – this Parliamentarian dragoon, an enemy, in their midst – and she saw them casting glances at the two of them and knew everyone was wondering what their relationship might be. Embarrassed by their scrutiny, she gazed around the kitchen and saw signs of damage she had not noticed at first: initials gouged into the big work table, a broken chair, the rim of the bread crock chipped and a great crack running down its length.

She was relieved when Christian returned, looking pleased.

“Lady Weston will speak to you later, Alice. She is much reduced in spirits these days. The war has dealt her cruel blows. But she bade me tell you that you are welcome to stay if you will turn your hand to whatever work is needed.”

“I will, indeed,” Alice promised.

The woman from the farm arrived soon after to feed the baby; and at the same moment, Jeremiah rose and thanked Mistress Florey for the food and said he must be on his way.

“I’ll go and see to my horse,” he said.

Alice jumped up. It was so sudden, this parting! She was not ready for it. She stammered, “Oh! I must thank you, sir … my gratitude for all your help…” Her words sounded to her ridiculously formal. They could not express what she felt.

But Jeremiah replied equally formally that he was glad all had turned out well. He left for the stables; and Alice was obliged to greet the woman, who was a dairymaid at the farm and had lost a child, and who settled down at once to feed Elen. Alice talked to the dairymaid for a while, but her mind was all on Jeremiah. Would he wait for her? How long would it take him to saddle up?

As soon as she could, she excused herself and left. She ran to the stables, desperate with anxiety that he might be gone already. But he was still there, talking to old Tobias, who withdrew at sight of her.