Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall

H
EARTS
R
ESTORED

P
RUE
P
HILLIPSON

KNOX ROBINSON

PUBLISHING

L
ONDON
• New York

KNOX ROBINSON

PUBLISHING

1205 London Road
London, SW16 4UY
&
244 5
^th
Avenue, Suite 1861
New York, NY 10001

Knox Robinson Publishing is a specialist, international publisher of historical fiction, historical romance and medieval fantasy.

Copyright © 2012 by Prue Phillipson

Jacket art copyright Cathy Helms 2012

The right of Prue Phillipson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by an means, without the prior permission in writing of Knox Robinson Publishing, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning the reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Knox Robinson Publishing, at the London address above.

You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-1-90848314-0

Manufactured in the United States of America, Australia and the United Kingdom.

www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com

To Alan, my help and support

always.

Also by Prue Phillipson

Vengeance Thwarted

CHAPTER 1

29
^th
May 1660

T
HERE
was nothing now in Daniel Horden’s mind but the unplanned wondrous coincidence of this present moment.

The immediate past had fallen away. His seasickness had vanished. His embarrassment at slipping on the slime at the landing stage was forgotten. He was indifferent to his soiled cloak and breeches, though he must soon appear in them before a gaggle of unknown relations. Even the certainty that the three young ladies among them would eye him as an uncouth country boy had vanished from his thoughts. That terror of an imminent future was lost in the brilliance of now.

He was about to see the King.

His mother had opened her letter before the fireplace in the small parlour back home at Horden Hall in the county of Northumberland.

“Well! I am to see my mother and sister after twenty years. They have learnt that we are to get a King again and they feel safe to come.” She had turned to Daniel’s Father. “Nat, we must go to London to meet them. They expect it. They will stay with the London Hordens and then travel back here with us. What say you?”

Daniel had not waited for his father to speak. “London! Go to London. Oh wonderful. I have never been further than Durham.”

It had not occurred to any of them that they might see the new King Charles with their own eyes. Nathaniel Horden’s verdict, when he had a chance to speak, was: “We might afford it if we go by sea.”

So they had made their preparations and embarked from Newcastle on a day towards the end of May sure that the King would be well established in his chosen palace long before they reached London. But they were no sooner landed than they learnt of his stately royal progress from Dover to Canterbury, on to Rochester where he reviewed the army, and, continuing on horseback, now this very day, would make his entry into his capital.

So here they were in sight of London Bridge, their legs aching from long standing but their bodies held up by the press of people which, impossibly, seemed to be still growing. Surely the King must come soon.

Despite his impatience Daniel kept breaking into laughter at the battering of his senses that London was hurling at him. The noise was the most overwhelming for one raised in remote Northumberland. Cannons thundered, church bells clanged ceaselessly, horses’ hooves rang on the paving stones as more troops and great personages passed by but still the main procession was not yet in sight on the bridge.

His eyes ached too with the brilliance of colour and so much shimmering of silver and gold. Never in his life had he seen such richness of robes and uniforms. Even the thousands of ordinary people had brought out their brightest caps and scarves to wave. Thank God the years of black and drab were being wiped away!

The smells were just as overpowering. While he laughed at the attack on his sight and hearing he held his nose against the stench of the river and the sweat of the crowd. He turned to look down from his six-foot-two-inches at his father and mother standing on tiptoe beside him.

“The Thames stinks worse than the Tyne. And can you see from down there that there are houses on the bridge just like Newcastle’s? How will he get through? The people have been allowed to crowd on.”

“Who could stop them?” His mother was laughing too at the fantastic madness of it all. She struggled to cover her ears when the guns bellowed, but one hand was pinned to her sides by the vast hips of a washerwoman.

“Tell us,” said his father, “the moment that you see him. As he rides by I have vowed to pray rather than cheer. I will thank God for his restoration but pray above all things for peace and freedom of worship under his rule.”

Daniel nodded and turned back, sensing a shiver of excitement stirring the sea of people. There was a leaning forward, a craning upward like a wave, as soldiers, glittering with cloth of silver sleeves, tried to make a passage on the bridge. Horsemen in scarlet cloaks appeared and clattered by.

Then there came a universal in-drawing of breath. He was coming – only one among many riders clad in doublets of silver, but unmistakeable, a towering figure of majesty.

Daniel nudged his father whose lips at once began moving silently.

“He’s bareheaded,” Daniel hissed and snatched off his own hat. I am in the presence of my King, he told himself, scarce believing it.

As the principal three shimmering figures drew nearer he could see the central one graciously waving his large feathered hat in a gesture of love to his people. A great deep-throated roar of cheering rose from the thousands crushed around them.

Daniel felt a lump rise in his throat. He hadn’t lived till this moment. To be here in his own body in London, gazing upon his restored King and all the world rejoicing at the opening of a new age – it was a miracle.

He swallowed hard as the slow-treading horses came alongside. His eyes were riveted on the benign eyes, the dark brows, the curled moustache, the full, smiling lips, and as the procession moved past he burst into a yell with all the rest, “Hurray, hurray! God save the King!”

He felt the royal eyes turn and look upon him. He was unaware how he stood out from the crowd, flourishing his hat far above the massed heads, his long flaxen hair catching the sunlight, but he received a smile and a wave all for himself and his tears spurted up and overflowed.

“He looked at me. He waved to me.”

His mother managed to free her arms to clutch him round the waist.

“Remember this, Dan,” she murmured. “Oh, Dan, we will all remember this.”

“It came upon me what they did to his father,” he choked out.

“A different age,” she said. “We must believe that.”

I will, he told himself. The new King is a great man and he looked full at me. I am truly alive. On a high peak in the history of England.

Again there was a mass movement as heads turned to stare after the glinting procession till the very last velvet-clad page-boy had disappeared.

Then a great clamour of talk broke out as he heard neighbour telling neighbour how the King had looked. Was he not noble? Was he not head and shoulders above the rest? Who was that by him? Why it was the two dukes, his brothers, don’t you know? And those in the red cloaks were the Sheriff’s men and did you ever see so much silver lace on ordinary soldiers?

Daniel and his parents gazed at each other, Daniel still on his mountain top of ecstasy. He saw his mother looking about at the people beginning to shake themselves and take reluctant steps – where? he wondered. Home or the ale houses or their work places in this vast city? Surely little work would be done on this momentous day. He heard his mother fetch a deep sigh and grin ruefully at his father.

“That’s over then, Nat. We didn’t expect to see that. Well, there will be no hackney carriages to be had even if we could afford the fare. My legs are one great ache from three hours’ standing. But I wager we can find our way to the Strand on foot. My relations – all your new relations, you men of mine – are expecting us.”

Daniel plummeted from his moment of glory. The dread of the encounter to come was back with a vengeance.

“Oh Mother, can we not put it off? Tomorrow perhaps?”

She laughed aloud, reached up her hands to his face and pulled him down and planted a kiss on his nose. “And where would we sleep tonight with scarce the price of a hired bed between us?”

He straightened, glancing about shame-faced. She can smell my fear. Curse her for always knowing. What did my ignorance and inexperience matter just now while I was caught up in great events? Now she knows I am to be painfully exposed before unknown cousins, a fearsome mix of wealthy London merchants and French nobility and me in grubby old clothes.

“Come, come,” she chuckled, “you go to them as Sir Daniel Wilson Horden of Horden Hall in the county of Northumberland. Hold your head high. And if it’s of any comfort to you the three girls will certainly be hoping to marry you.”

“Oh Bel, you should not say that,” cried his father.

“Why not? It will give him confidence.”

Daniel stared at her. He was used to his mother saying outrageous things that shocked his steady, quiet father. That was Mother Bel – she scorned Arabella – blunt, unconventional, a wild taker of risks, her own woman. She stood there looking up at him, her green eyes mischievous, her square jaw jutted forward. The shawl she had drawn over her head to protect her from the hot sun had slipped to her shoulders. Her cheeks were bronzed from the outdoor life she had led all his childhood riding about the Horden land trying to restore the war-ravaged fields. He loved her with a passion. Yet he must break away soon or she would dominate him and Horden for ever. But marriage! Not yet. Not for a long time. He had to live first.

“You’ve
frightened
him,” his father said with a twinkle in his eye. “I would rather encourage him with the thought of his superior learning. Theology, Greek, Latin, mathematics. I doubt if any of these girls can do more than sing a little and play on the virginals and for all we know they may have many suitors already.”

“Nay, I could swear my sister Henrietta wants the baronetcy of Horden for one of her girls. I know her, Nat, though it is twenty years since I set eyes on her. As for the London Hordens they were for Parliament but I am sure old Clifford Horden would like to wed his granddaughter to a baronet. He wanted
me
to marry his boy William when I was Dan’s age but backed out quick enough when misfortune fell on us – so stand your ground, Dan.
I
did and picked your father
myself
on a happy day.” She gave his father a public hug as she said it. Then laughed aloud again. “Mind, I won’t deny we could make good use of the London Hordens’ wealth – but I wouldn’t have Dan marry for it without love.”