Alice in Love and War (28 page)

I cannot tell you how much joy your letters gave me, to know you think of me and hold me in your prayers – as I do you. In this cold place where we sit out the winter I read your words often and they keep me warm. We are in quarters near Exeter, and have been for many weeks. We have surrounded the city with our forces and keep up a blockade in hope of weakening the enemy’s resolve. I am here with a dozen others, lodged in a widow’s house – one of the gentry of this village whose only son fought for the king and was killed at Bridgwater. She is a hard, bitter woman and keeps a cold house, but who can blame her? All the people here are resentful of us; they have been plundered so often these last years by one side or the other. The church has bullet holes in the door and the effigies of the dead have their faces hacked off – a reminder of our army’s last passing this way
.

I have friends here, but my companions are rough men for the most part. They grow restless and quarrelsome the less action we see. The weather is cruelly cold, with deep snow, and much of the time we are confined to quarters. I sit with a candle and write my journal and letters, and sometimes – often – I study my book of maps and plot my way to you
.

This paper is running out and I have no more space. I’ll seal it now, though I know not when I may send it
.

Until then, I remain your loving friend
,

    
Jem Banks

Alice felt very satisfied by this letter, despite Jem’s discomforts. She set it down beside her in the straw to read again and savour, and turned to the second letter. This was dated mid-January and told her they were at last about to move and march on Dartmouth. But that was a month or more ago, she realized. Where was he now? Was Dartmouth taken? Please God, she thought, let him be safe.

He had found some more paper, he told her; the widow had sold it to him.

I have written to my mother and sisters, and to my former master – the one I was apprenticed to in Willesden. And now to you, dear love. I think of you, so far away, and pray you are well, and little Elen too
.

I forgot to tell you that I heard last year from Phoebe that her husband came safe from Naseby fight, for which we all give thanks. And today we had a delivery of mail here, the first since Christmas. I had letters, very loving, from both my sisters. I hope one day you will meet my sisters, Alice. From my mother came a parcel containing a shirt and knitted stockings. She worries greatly about my health, and whether I am warm and have enough to eat. Priscilla said she was obliged to restrain Mother from sending me a cake, promising they would make one together when I came home
…

How lucky he is, Alice thought, to have such an affectionate family. Even though his sister Phoebe’s husband fought for the king, they all care for one another.

And she read, and reread, his words
I hope one day you will meet my sisters
. That surely meant he saw her as part of his future life?

Spring came, and with it the news that Lady Grace’s home, Bramford Hall, had been slighted – burnt to the ground. Lady Grace, even more cast down, moved restlessly between Weston Hall and her sister’s home in Buckinghamshire.

“She must marry again,” said Christian. “There is nothing else for a woman in her situation.”

Alice wrote regularly to Jem, but heard only once from him in that time – a brief note, written at the end of a day’s march:

I can scarce stand for weariness, but with God’s help we are winning this war. Wait for me, sweetheart
.

Your love
,

    
J.B.’

The paper was creased and dirty, and there was a thumbprint on one corner. Alice kissed it.

All around the country, castles and strongholds were falling to Parliament. They read of the campaign in the west and the towns taken by Fairfax’s army: Dartmouth, Torrington, Launceston, Bodmin, Truro. No more letters came from Jem. He’s fighting, Alice thought; marching, and fighting, and with no time to write. She refused to give way to fear, and instead tried consciously to bring his image to mind: his strong frame; the fairish hair, with a slight curl to it, that hung in twisting strands on his neck; his eyes; the shape of his face, his mouth, his hands.

In mid-April, Exeter surrendered, and by the end of the month they heard that the whole of Somerset was at last in Parliament’s control, the king had gone to seek help from the Scots – and the New Model Army led by Fairfax was on its way to Oxford.

“Oxford!” Alice’s heart gave a leap of traitorous joy even as she realized that Lady Weston and her husband might lose their home and what was left of their fortune.

“It is the end,” said Christian. “We must prepare for defeat.”

A week later they all heard, from far off, the sound of drums and fifes; and then, as the victorious army drew nearer, the hymn-singing and tramp of boots and hooves and the rumble of wheels. They came marching along the road from Faringdon, passing only half a mile from the Copsey turn.

The Weston family shut their eyes and ears and hearts to this final assault and closeted themselves in their rooms. But Alice could not be contained. She begged Mistress Florey to let her go, and hurried down the lane to the village to join the throng of people moving towards the Faringdon road. All she could think about was that she might see Jem. The generals, the officers and cavalry, resplendent in their feathers and sashes – a glorious sight – held no interest for her. She stared only at the dragoons. But there were so many of them, rank on rank, riding three or four abreast, and all alike in their buff coats and helmets. She would never know him, she realized, not unless he turned aside and looked for her – and how could he do that? Even if he glanced towards the crowd, she would be hidden among so many people.

For more than two hours she stood there, knowing she would not see him, and yet unable to bring herself to leave. She would not have moved even then, but Bess arrived, pushing through the crowd, sent by Mistress Florey to fetch her.

“He might come later!” Alice protested. “He might be a guard on the ammunition train.”

Bess looked hot and tired. “There’s work to be done,” she said.

And Alice trudged back with her to Weston Hall in low spirits.

“You must wait,” said Mistress Florey, though not unkindly. “It’s a woman’s lot, often enough. Get those pots scoured, then clear the table and scrub it. And when you’re done, go and ask Mistress Christian if she needs you. She’s not herself today. None of us are.”

The siege of Oxford lasted nearly seven weeks. They seemed to Alice the longest, hardest weeks of her life. She heard nothing from Jem, and had no way of knowing whether he was alive or dead; nothing but that last brief letter which she kept always about her, in a pocket under her skirts. There were movements of troops all around, rumours that the city was on the point of surrender, and yet still the siege continued. And then, at last, on a morning in midsummer, almost a year to the day when Alice and Jem had left Sibbertoft, the news burst upon them that all was over: Oxford had capitulated, all the king’s children except the Prince of Wales were prisoners, and the New Model Army had marched into the city, which was now in the hands of Parliament.

Jem will be there! thought Alice. If he is still in this world, he must be in Oxford now! And she wanted to leave the house at once and run the nine or ten miles to the city and search until she found him – for surely they would be drawn towards each other like magnets?

But all she could do was to continue to wait. Now, with release perhaps so near, the waiting had an intense, unbearable quality. Lady Weston had collapsed at the news, and Alice, feeling guilt and sympathy, made tisanes of lavender and camomile, and recommended rest – even as her own heart raced. Later that day she hurried down to the King’s Arms to find out if there was any more news, any message for her, but there was nothing.

It was on the afternoon of the following day, when she was stepping out from Jane Edginton’s house after visiting Elen, that she saw a horseman approaching from the direction of the Oxford road.

She stood still, uncertain. The man drew nearer. She held her breath, almost afraid to hope – and then she gave a gasp and caught up her skirts and ran to meet him.

Twenty-seven

“Alice!”

He looked bone-weary, but his face flushed with delight when he saw her. He dismounted and seemed about to seize her in his arms, when both of them remembered that they were standing in the village street, visible to everyone. But Alice thought her soul must be in her eyes as she said, “I have so hoped you would come. It’s—” her voice broke. “It’s been a long year…”

“Too long. And I have much to say – to ask – that I could not speak of in a letter.”

People passing by had begun to glance curiously at them.

“I was on my way to the King’s Arms,” he said. “Shall we go there? I’ll stable the horse, and then we could walk and talk – if you have time? Do they expect you at the house?”

“No. I have the afternoon free. I’ve been at Mistress Edginton’s, visiting Elen.”

“And is the child well?”

“She is very well. And may leave the Edgintons’ at any time now, for Jane has weaned her.” She was glad to be talking about the baby; she wanted to make sure he understood that Elen was now her daughter. “She’ll be walking soon. She pulls herself up to stand, holding on to the furniture. And she begins to talk! Calls me Mamma.”

After they left the inn she led him down a lane and onto a path that wound alongside a stream. There were trees growing beside the water, and moorhens cheeping and ducks delving for weeds. On the other side was common land, where a few cows grazed. He took her hand as they turned onto the path, and then his arm went round her waist, and soon they were in each other’s arms, kissing and clinging to one another as if they would never let go.

They stayed locked together for a long time, then found a secluded place in the field and lay down and kissed some more and laughed as they fumbled with shirt and shift.

“Last year,” he said, between kisses, “a whole year ago, wasn’t it? This is what I wanted to do then! And those nights we spent together on the road, and never – oh, Alice! Shall we be married? Will you have me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will! Only…” She looked at him, still uncertain, searching his face. “There’s Elen…”

“Of course there’s Elen. I told you before: Elen comes too.”

Alice felt the knot of anxiety she had been carrying loosen. “Truly?”

“Truly. She will be my daughter; take my name.”

They kissed to seal the promise – and might have done more had they not become aware of a presence, a breathing, near by, and looked up to find that all the cows in the field had moved towards them and were now standing, bunched and curious, watching.

“Oh!” Alice scrambled to her feet, and Jem laughed and got up. The cows retreated, but only a few steps. Alice brushed grass from her clothes and his, and they returned to the path and walked on, laughing.

Jem took her hand and said, “I’ve told my mother about Elen.”

“Your mother?” She looked up at him, alarmed, realizing that there was more to marriage than two people who loved each other. There were mothers, sisters, neighbourhoods.

He said, “When we were at Sibbertoft I wrote to my mother, and told her I had been nursed back to life by a sweet girl; and I told her then about the baby – your friend’s baby. This spring I wrote and told her I hoped to be married, if you would agree.”

“I am afraid she will not approve of me.”

“She will probably say you are too young and we are in too much haste to wed.”

“She will think… Jem, what else did you tell her about me?”

“As much as she needs to know. I didn’t tell her anything that is private between you and me.”

“She will find out that I was following the army.”

“Alice, she knows you cared for me when I was left for dead after Naseby fight, and for that alone I am sure she loves you already. And she will come to love you more.” Alice must have looked doubtful, for he added, “I do not need her permission to marry you.”

They walked on, their arms around each other.

“My mother is not the problem,” he said. “The problem is that now I have left the army I have no employment, no home to offer you and Elen. I have written to my former master and to acquaintances back home, and I don’t doubt I shall find work, though it may take a little time.” He laughed, shortly. “There should be work enough for carpenters after all the destruction of this war. But I need to go home, to Hertford. I haven’t seen my mother for nearly two years. She longs to see me again. And I must find a home for us. If it hadn’t been for the war I might have been my own master by now, but I shall have to start as a journeyman. We won’t be rich, but I have my army pay – some of it.”