By the Sword (2 page)

"You needn't trouble William,” Kate replied. “I have no intention of going."

Suzanne looked at her knowingly. “Perhaps it is not a matter for you to decide alone,” she said. “It seems to me that perhaps Tom should be consulted."

Kate waved her sister off and stood in the shelter of the porch watching their departing backs and considering her sister's words. It seemed inappropriate to involve a nine-year-old boy in such weighty decisions. He had never asked about his grandmother's family and Kate would not have known what answer to give if he had. She and Richard had only discussed the Thorntons on a couple of occasions, and in all the years she had shared a house with Richard's father, she had never heard David Ashley speak of them.

How dare Richard's Thornton grandfather choose this moment to write!

She looked up as the first swirl of snowflakes drifted down from the bulging clouds. She let them fall onto her face, cold and stinging, and turned to the warmth of the house

"Did your grandfather ever talk to you of the Thorntons?” Kate began as she sat on the edge of her son's bed that night.

Tom regarded her thoughtfully from her under his heavy, dark fringe. “No. Who are the Thorntons?” he asked.

"Well...” Kate took a deep breath and dredged her memory. “Your grandmother, Elizabeth, was a Thornton."

"Was she?’ Tom did not look particularly interested.

Undeterred by her son's disinterest, Kate continued, “She married your grandfather against her father's wishes."

"Really?” Curiosity began to spark in Tom's eyes. He liked a good story.

"Her father, Sir Francis Thornton, swore he would never have anything to do with her again."

"So what happened then?"

"Well, as far as I know the story, your grandmother died when your father was born. And we have heard nothing from the Thorntons ... until now.” Tom sat up expectantly and Kate continued, “I've had a letter from your great-grandfather, Sir Francis Thornton. He heard that your grandfather died and he has invited us to visit."

"Really?” Tom's eyes were bright with interest now. “Where does he live?"

"At a house called Seven Ways in Worcestershire,” Kate replied.

"Worcestershire?” Tom's eyes widened. He had never been further than York. He frowned. “Seven Ways is a funny name for a house."

Kate dredged what little Richard had told her of his mother's family from the depths of her memory.

"Ah! I do recall your father once told me it was called Seven Ways because one of your ancestors was told the King would be passing by and he constructed seven entrances to his property to make it easier for the King to find him."

"And did he?” Tom asked.

Kate laughed. “I have no idea!"

"Seven Ways?” Tom tried it out. “I suppose Sir Francis is very old?"

Kate shrugged. “I suppose he must be,” she agreed.

Tom thoughtfully pushed his thick hair out of his eyes and looked up at his mother. “Do you think we should go, Mother?"

"I think perhaps if your grandfather were still alive he would want you to go,” she admitted. “For all he never talked of them, I doubt he would prevent you from seeing them. He was not a man who held a grudge."

"What else do you know about them?” Tom hugged his knees.

"Tom, I know nothing more than what I have told you."

"Then let's go, Mother. Shall we?” Tom looked up her. “It will be an adventure."

Every instinct within Kate screamed resistance. She had no need of adventures in her life. Instead she leaned over and kissed her son gently on the forehead.

"If that's what you want, Tom. I will see what can be arranged. Now sleep. You've had a busy day."

Tom lay down and closed his eyes. “Seven Ways,” he murmured drowsily. “It is a funny name for a house."

Kate drew the curtains around the bed to keep out the cold draughts and crossed to the window. The snow had passed, obliterating the signs of the afternoon's battle and laying a fresh, white crust on the trees and the walls. She looked out across the garden, lit by the cold light of the winter moon, to the dark shapes of the hills and woods beyond.

Seven Ways
, she thought, echoing Tom's comment.
It is indeed a very strange name for a house.

An ache of homesickness, every bit as physical as her sore, weary muscles, clawed at Kate's heart as she looked from the long, low window of the pleasant bedchamber across the unfamiliar Worcestershire countryside. She thought longingly of her own parlour and the little garden, bursting with spring life, she had left behind. Kate fought down the tears that welled in her eyes and knew she must feign some sort of cheerfulness while she prepared herself and her son for their first meeting with the mysterious Thorntons.

The moment she had sent the letter to Sir Francis Thornton, accepting his invitation, she had regretted the decision. Like her son, she had travelled little in her life, and the thought of making the long journey to Worcestershire filled her with dread. Using her sister's confinement as an excuse, she had delayed the journey as long as she could, but Suzanne had been safely delivered of another girl, the weather had improved and the promised visit could wait no longer.

She turned back to face her son. Tom turned a pale, worried face up towards his mother as Ellen, who had travelled with them, dragged a brush through his obstinate locks.

"Will they like me?” he asked anxiously.

"How can they not?” Kate smiled at him with a conviction she did not feel.

She planted a kiss on his forehead, and he cringed away from her.

"Please don't do that, Mother,” he protested, and despite herself she laughed.

At the door to the parlour where they had been led by the elderly steward, they hesitated. Thomas slipped his hand into his mother's and Kate squeezed it reassuringly.

A young woman sat perched on the broad windowsill of the long, low window intent upon some intricate embroidery. She set this down as Kate and her son entered and rose to her feet. Tom looked up anxiously at his mother who released his hand and dropped a dutiful curtsy.

Before she could rise, the young woman had crossed the floor and embraced her.

"Mistress Ashley, I'm so pleased you have come!"

She released Kate, who, unbalanced by the effusive welcome, took a step backwards to recover her composure. The woman turned to Tom, who bowed stiffly.

"And you must be Thomas. I am your cousin Eleanor,” the woman said and returned his bow with a polite curtsy.

She looked at Kate, a warm smile lighting the pretty, heart-shaped face.

"Lady Eleanor Longley, but please call me Nell. We are kin after all. May I call you Katherine?"

Kate blinked. “Kate,” she stuttered, “I'm always Kate."

"Now, let me look at you, Tom,” Nell said and, placing her hands on Tom's shoulders, appeared to study him intently. “I do declare you are the image of my brother, Jonathan, at the same age. See there behind you, Kate, is a small portrait of my brothers done when Ned was about fifteen and Jonathan twelve or thirteen. I can't recall exactly, although I do remember Jonathan got into terrible trouble for turning up late."

Kate turned to look at a charming head and shoulders study of two boys. The older one, she assumed to be ‘Ned', shared his sister's golden hair and wide, sunny smile. The younger one, dark-haired Jonathan, glowered sulkily from the canvas. Even allowing for the sullen expression the resemblance to Tom was, as Nell had observed, striking.

"Nell, please forgive me. I'm afraid I know nothing of my husband's family,” Kate said. “Will I have the pleasure of meeting your brothers?"

Nell's mouth drooped. “Of course. I took it for granted that you would know of whom I spoke. Dear Ned we lost at Edgehill, the first battle of the war, my father at Naseby and Jonathan ... of course...” She waved her hand, dismissing Jonathan's fate. “We are a very sad family as you will come to see. My own dear husband, Giles, is an exile in France and our home, Longley Abbey, is sequestered. If it were not for the generosity of my grandfather, my daughter and I would be quite homeless."

"I'm sorry,” Kate said. The words seemed inadequate to cover the extent of this woman's loss. “You have a daughter?"

Nell smiled. “Ann. You will meet her later."

"Where's Sir Francis?” Tom asked and looked anxiously around the room as if he expected his great-grandfather to jump out from behind a chest.

"Grandfather is not in the best of health, but he will join us for supper tonight. He is very much looking forward to meeting you, Tom. Now would you like to see the house? It would be my greatest pleasure to show it to you."

Kate guessed that Seven Ways had never been a grand house, but in its shabby gentility, it gave the sense of having always been a much-loved home. The war had left physical scars: broken wainscoting where axes had torn looking for hidden silver and bare walls where once fine pictures or tapestries had hung. The furniture was ordinary, workaday stuff and Nell told her much of the better furniture had gone as plunder when the forces of Parliament had occupied the house at the end of the war.

"You cannot have failed to notice, Kate,” Nell said, her fingers twisting the gold chain around her neck, “that you find this house but a shadow of its former self. Our family has paid dearly for loyalty to the King."

A fine chimney breast carved with the Thornton coat of arms—three golden leopards’ heads on a crimson field—dominated the Great Hall, a bright, well-proportioned room on the first floor. Unlike the bare walls of the other rooms, a large family portrait still hung on one of the walls and Kate stood back to study it in greater detail, puzzling at the identities of the stiffly formal group of people wearing the costume of thirty years earlier.

"All gone save for I, Mistress Ashley."

"Grandfather!” Nell said, “I thought you were resting?"

Kate turned quickly and dropped a hasty curtsy. The frail, elderly man, stooped and leaning heavily on a cane, inclined his head.

"Mistress Ashley, and unless I am gravely mistaken, this must be young Thomas?"

Tom stood very straight and gave his great-grandfather the benefit of one of his most formal bows.

"Sir,” he said stiffly, “it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Kate hid a smile at the gravity of her son's demeanour.

"And I yours, Master Ashley,” Sir Francis replied.

The trace of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He indicated that the boy should come closer and reaching up, he tilted the boy's face towards him and frowned.

"Nell, is he not like Jonathan at the same age? The resemblance is quite remarkable,” he said at last.

"I said as much myself,” Nell said, adding, “Let us hope, for his sake, that is where the similarity ends!"

"You were admiring the portrait, Mistress Ashley? That is my family ... in happier days.” Sir Frances turned back to Kate.

Kate looked back at the family study. Sir Francis’ younger self dominated it, tall, upright and imposing. Only the eyes and the rather long nose, now emphasized by old age, gave the clue to the resemblance.

Sir Francis pointed with his cane. “See there, my wife Anne, my son William and his wife Sarah and our beloved Ned as a baby.” The cane slowly lowered to the ground again. “And of course, Bess."

Kate turned her eyes to the first likeness she had ever seen of her husband's mother. Elizabeth Thornton had been no classical beauty, but she had an arresting face and the hazel eyes, fixed forever on the father who had disowned her, revealed a determined and intelligent woman. She scanned the painted face, looking for some resemblance between this woman and her son. Perhaps there ... she could see something about the nose and mouth, or perhaps, Kate acknowledged bitterly, the memory of Richard had faded to a point where she could no longer recollect his features clearly.

"See, Tom,” she said, “there is your grandmother."

Tom cocked his head to one side. He turned away from the painting. “I'm pleased you have come, Mistress Ashley,” he said. “I trust my granddaughter has seen you comfortably settled."

"Indeed, thank you, Sir Francis. I have a delightful chamber and we have been made most welcome."

"The gatehouse was Elizabeth's chamber. I thought you would appreciate it,” he said and, blinking mildly, moved to a chair beside the hearth.

He pointed his stick at chair opposite him, and as Kate sat, he said, “Tell me of the Ashleys. David Ashley never married again?"

She met his eyes and read the need for reassurance in them.

"No,” she said. “For David Ashley there was only ever one woman."

He held her gaze then nodded slowly. “And Richard, your husband,” he paused, “...my grandson, he fought for Parliament, I believe?"

Kate nodded. “He was a captain under Sir Thomas Fairfax.” She indicated her son. “Thomas is named for him."

Francis nodded thoughtfully. “I heard only good things of Fairfax. My grandson Jonathan had a great respect for him. Now, I think Jonathan and Richard were much of an age. Jonathan was born to soldiering. His father's attempts to turn him into a scholar were sadly wasted. What was Richard's inclination?"

"Richard was a scholar not a soldier,” Kate said. “He hated the war."

Kate remembered the pain in her husband's eyes as he told her of the deaths of the men under his command.

The old man's gaze rested on her face. “Forgive me dredging up such painful memories, Mistress Ashley. I do not even know how he died."

Kate felt the old, familiar pain clutch at her heart. It had been a great victory, the wounded told her as they had trickled into the village. Prince Rupert had been routed, the forces of the Parliament triumphant; but Kate cared nothing for Parliament or victory. The broken man beneath her hands commanded all her attention that night.

"He died of the wounds he received at Marston Moor,” she said quietly. “His father brought him home after the battle. He took two days to die."

Richard's grandfather shook his head. “I'm sorry, my dear,” he said, “I truly am. The war has dealt ill with this family. Nell and her little Nan, you and Thomas are really all that remains of this family and I am nearing the end of my allotted time on this earth, Mistress Ashley. It is long past time to put away the differences born only of a stubborn man and his equally stubborn daughter. Such a petty feud to cause all these years of division, and I regret every day that has passed. I hope, Mistress Ashley, Thomas, that your coming here is the start of a new chapter in the life of this family."