By the Sword (7 page)

He coughed again and paused before continuing, “Although my motives may appear purely personal, my primary concern is not so much for what happens to the last of the Thorntons but to the people dependent upon my family, my tenants. Nell tells me you have met some of them and I tell you in all honesty that I owe them a debt greater than that which I owe to this Parliament. It is my responsibility to ensure there is enough to eat for the winter and none of them lack for clothes or shoes. So far I have succeeded in that end but at a terrible cost to my estate and myself. When you make your decision, my dear, think on them."

Kate sighed and looked at the dying man lying in the bed. She thought of the tenants whose farms she and Nell had visited—the women, the children, the old and the sick—and knew that he was right. Whatever became of the last of the Thorntons, the tenants needed care.

"I am truly sorry, Kate,” Sir Francis said, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper, “that it had to be like this. I have lived nearly eighty years and have few regrets. My greatest sorrow is that I let my daughter go in a fit of petulant anger that cut me off from her family for so long. I speak in all honesty when I say my intention in bringing you here was not just to test young Thomas’ suitability to be my heir, but to make amends for thirty years of my own stupidity."

Looking into the faded eyes, Kate saw that he spoke the truth. Spontaneously she reached out and took the frail hand lying on the coverlet. There seemed nothing more to be said and she sat with him until he slept.

"Is it much further, Mother?"

Tom's fretful whine set Kate's teeth on edge. She was as tired, wet and muddy as her son and her two servants riding pillion, who plodded faithfully behind her. She didn't need Tom to remind her that England's notoriously fickle weather made travel a nightmare. The rain had set in on the second day after they had left Seven Ways and now three days later they were at the end of their tether.

Kate ignored her son and stared resolutely into the gathering gloom as her weary horse picked up one hoof then another only to set them down again into the thick, gluey mud of the road. Her sturdy groom, Dickon, who had accompanied them on the journey south, led the miserable party.

"I see a light ahead.” Dickon's voice took on an edge of encouragement.

"Pray God it's an inn,” Kate muttered between clenched teeth.

Her prayer answered, they turned into the lonely travellers’ inn. The lights from the windows beckoned and the prospect of a dry bed and some warm food immediately cheered the party.

Kate left the horses in Dickon's care and swept with what dignity she could muster in her damp, mud-spattered clothes into the inn.

"Your best room,” she told the landlord, “and warm water, please."

At least it was clean, she thought, taking off her gloves and inspecting the room.

As Ellen fussed over Tom, pulling off his muddy boots and setting them to dry in front of the pleasant fire, a maid knocked on the door and entered, bearing a bowl and jug of water. “I have a message for thee, madam."

The girl handed Kate a small square of paper. Kate looked at her questioningly and took the paper. The writing was unfamiliar and the note was short.

"Mistress Ashley. I would esteem it an honour if you would dine with me tonight. We are, I believe, old acquaintances. Yr servant, J. Miller."

"Who is this Master Miller?” Kate asked of the girl.

The girl shrugged. “A traveller like yourself, madam. Arrived not long afore you. Said you would find him in the parlour."

"For the life of me I can recall no man by the name of Miller,” Kate said, as the girl closed the door behind her.

"You're surely not going to meet him?” Ellen protested. “It wouldn't be proper."

Kate shrugged. “Believe me, I want nothing more than a hot meal and a warm bed, Ellen, but I'm curious. I'll present myself and then retire gracefully. Find me some clean petticoats."

Ellen dug clean petticoats and a bodice from out of the luggage. The skirts were hopelessly crumpled but an improvement on her mud-spattered travelling clothes. Kate straightened her collar in front of the old, smoky mirror and kissed her son, who was too intent on the rabbit pie he had ordered for his dinner to pay her much attention.

Few travellers braved the road in this weather and apart from a table of men, local to judge by their rough clothes, the parlour seemed quiet. A lone man sat beside the fire, his legs propped on a firedog, spectacles pushed to the end of his long nose, too deeply absorbed by his book to notice her entrance.

"Master Miller?” Kate peered into the gloom.

He jumped up from his seat, hastily removing the spectacles. “Mistress Ashley. I'm delighted you could join me."

She took a breath as her eyes, becoming accustomed to the gloom, recognized the tall figure. “Jon—” she began, but he interrupted.

"John Miller, indeed the same. I was a friend of your husband's, you may recall? It has been some years I realise but as soon as I saw you arrive I thought I should make myself known. Come and sit by the fire. This weather is the very devil. You would think it mid-winter, not mid-summer."

She took the seat he indicated as the maid scuttled away for glasses and a bottle of the house's best Rhennish.

"Take that look off your face, Kate.” Jonathan lowered his voice. “I assure you I'm quite real enough."

"How did you come to be here?” Kate found her voice at last.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I'm travelling in the same direction as you."

"Then how is it we have not seen you on the road?” Kate challenged.

"I passed you when Tom's horse cast a shoe this morning and you were at the blacksmith's. I thought of stopping then but I had to see someone this afternoon. Judging by the state of the roads I hazarded a guess that this would be your stopping place for the night."

"So who is John Miller?” Kate settled back with the welcome glass of wine in her hand.

"John Miller is a bookseller from London, travelling to York to purchase a rare volume of Spenser."

"He's obviously an old friend,” Kate observed.

"A very old friend.” Jonathan smiled. “Ah, I see the landlord with dinner. Come and dine, Kate, you must be famished."

They sat in silence as their supper was served.

"I have a favour to ask of you,” Jonathan said as soon as they were alone again.

Kate paused in cutting her meat and looked up at him suspiciously. “A favour?"

"As you may have noticed the roads are busy with troops."

Kate nodded. They had been passed several times by red-coated soldiers heading northwards.

"A man travelling alone is instantly suspect, no matter how good his papers. A man travelling with a woman and child excites less interest. Would you object to my riding with you as far as York?"

Kate looked up at him. Obviously mistaking her hesitancy for reluctance, he caught her hand.

"I wouldn't ask if I thought it would bring danger to you. I assure you my papers are quite in order and my reasons for my journey quite plausible."

Kate looked down, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers and wondering why it stirred something deep within her, a forgotten memory of a man's touch on her skin. Propriety demanded she resist his entreaty but curiosity about this man overcame her scruples. If she were honest with herself, the thought of his company for the few days they had left on their journey intrigued her. She withdrew her hand, looked up at him and smiled.

"I've no objection, and Tom would relish your company. He has had enough of mine for the last few days!"

"Good!” Jonathan sat back. “It's settled. Your cousin, John Miller, will join you tomorrow.” He frowned. “Can your servants be trusted? They both know who I am."

Kate stiffened. “Ellen and Dickon are absolutely trustworthy,” she said. “Ellen has been with me since I was a girl. Dickon's her nephew.” A moment of doubt nagged at her. “How much is your head worth?"

"Enough to keep the likes of Dickon in comfort for a year or too,” Jonathan said.

"Well, if you want to travel with us, you will have no choice but to trust them,” Kate observed.

"I know.” Jonathan sat back and looked into his wine glass. “So, home to Barton, Mistress Ashley, home to peace and quiet, away from the Thorntons and their terrible impositions.” His eyes laughed at her across the top of his glass.

"For the moment anyway,” Kate said, conscious that his words reflected much of her own thoughts over the last few days.

The further she travelled from Seven Ways, the angrier and more resentful she became. How dare Sir Francis think to impose this burden on her shoulders at a time when the Thornton fortunes were at their lowest. In the good times there had been no generosity of spirit to his abandoned daughter and her family to warrant any magnanimity on her part. She could, she had reflected several times, snap her fingers at the whole shipload of Thorntons and leave them to drown in the tempest of their own choosing.

She could—if it were not for one thing. She liked them.

Sir Francis’ days were numbered but what would happen to the tenantry and to Nell and little Ann if she, Kate, were to desert them? Could she, in all conscience, drive them from the lovely, rose-coloured house to face an uncertain future dependent on the charity of friends and relatives even worse off than they?

"What will I do, Jonathan?” She looked up at him as if expecting him to have read her thoughts.

For a moment their eyes met and she knew he understood exactly what she had been thinking.

He shook his head. “Oh, my dear Kate Ashley, I can't answer that question. Pray that Grandfather decides not to die or...” His voice was grim. “...that The King will prevail in the coming conflict."

She sat in glum silence for a moment. “I will just have to pin my hopes on the King,” she said at last.

Jonathan shook his head. “I wish to God that I could,” he said quietly. “Kate?” He caught the yawn that Kate tried to stifle. “You're exhausted. Might I suggest you retire? We have another long, damp ride again tomorrow."

Kate pulled a face and reluctantly stood to leave.

"I will excuse myself,” she said. “Good night, John Miller."

Jonathan rose and his eyes smiled at her again as he inclined his head. “Good night, Mistress Ashley. Thank you for your company."

Thomas slept curled up in the bed with a beatific smile on his face. Ellen dozed by the fire, waiting for Kate. She started up when Kate closed the door and made Kate sit on the stood while she unpinned her hair.

"So, who was your mysterious Master Miller?” Ellen asked.

"Jonathan Thornton,” Kate replied.

Ellen's hand paused in the brushing. “Not that ‘un! Now what mischief is he playing at?"

"He'll be travelling with us to York, Ellen, in the guise of my cousin John Miller, a bookseller from London,” Kate said.

"Will he now?” Ellen's lips pursed.

"Don't give me that look.” Kate knew her maid well. “There is naught but the need for company and the need for secrecy."

Ellen finished brushing Kate's hair. “His secret's safe enough with Dickon and me,” she said. “You've my word on that, mistress. It's more a question of whether we'll be safe with ‘im. Seems to me that he's trouble, that lad."

"We'll be fine, Ellen. Anyway,” she added brightly, “it will be good to have a man travelling with us. Much safer."

"If you say so,” Ellen remarked.

As Kate had predicted, Tom was delighted to see his cousin and thrilled with the subterfuge involved. As they gathered in the inn courtyard early the next morning, Jonathan cast a disapproving eye over the boy's pony.

"No wonder your progress is so slow,” he commented.

Kate stiffened. “Holly has done very well,” she said. “You forget Tom is only nine and I'm loath to let him have a larger horse."

Jonathan exchanged a deeply sympathetic look with his young cousin. His own grey mare, Amber, nudged him affectionately and he gave her a piece of carrot, before swinging easily into the saddle.

"Would booksellers normally ride quite so obvious a horse?” Kate inquired once they were on the road.

"They would if they liked horses,” Jonathan said and gave his handsome mare a pat on the flank.

"Where did you get her?” Kate asked.

He smiled at her. “I won her at cards if you really want to know."

"Is cards one of your vices?"

"Not generally. I lack Giles’ ability to cheat convincingly,” he replied. “My vices are love of good horses, good wine and attractive women."

"So I hear.” Kate recalled her conversations with Nell.

He gave her a sideways glance. “You shouldn't believe all you hear about me."

Kate turned her own level gaze on him. “I don't. I prefer to make my own judgments about people."

"And what have you concluded about me?” he asked teasingly.

She blushed slightly and fixed her gaze on the road ahead. “I don't think that you fit the description of the Jonathan Thornton of family legend. I don't see the scapegrace grandson in you."

"Maybe not. There are things about me even my family do not know,” he commented but did not elaborate. “And what about you, Mistress Ashley? What sort of person are you?"

"You tell me,” she challenged him.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “It seems to me that either there is a lot of Puritan in you or you have forgotten what it is to have fun. You have a tendency, Mistress Ashley, to view life far too seriously."

Kate laughed. “Maybe a little bit of both. My mother came from Puritan stock, and as I was left a widow with a son at the age of twenty with the responsibility of running an estate, it is most probable that I have forgotten what it is to have fun."

Before he could respond, Tom came barrelling up between them. He pointed up the road. “What's that?"

Kate paled, recognizing the silhouette against the grey sky. “A gibbet,” she said quietly.

As they drew abreast, they could see the decomposing remains of a man, swinging from the hastily constructed scaffold that stood at the crossroads. A crudely painted sign hung from the man's neck. Kate looked away, pressing her gloved hand to her nose while Tom stared with ghoulish fascination.