The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (7 page)

‘You have served the family well, old man,’ he said in a whisper.‘Be sure I will extend the fruits of your stewardship until the name Delamain rings through the length and breadth of the land.’

George took the still, dead hand and lifted it to his lips. Then he placed it on the old man’s breast and raised his own hand in a gesture of farewell before snuffing the candle and striding purposefully from the room to claim his inheritance.

In the privacy of her own chamber alone with her children, Susan Delamain broke down at last, having maintained so impassive, so serene a face during the long agonizing hours of the old man’s death. This was all changed by the arrival of Tom, whom she hadn’t seen since she made her furtive journey to France for his solemn profession as a monk of St Benedict seven years before, in 1737. She had pretended to be visiting her home, her brother John and his children at Furness Grange in Cumberland, but a desperate voyage from Whitehaven to France had followed and two treasured days with her son until the Church had claimed him forever.

Now she gazed at the tall lean figure of Tom, his ascetic countenance, the hollow eyes. Why, he looked like a saint already, though his hair was long and untonsured and he wore the clothes of a sober merchant, a man perhaps of small property, and not those of a priest.

‘Tom, oh, Tom.’ He held her in his arms, his head resting on hers, his eyes gazing at his brother Brent and sister Emma who stood behind her.

‘There, Mother. There, it is all right. No need for tears. I am safe and well or is it ...’ He stood away from her and looked into her eyes, ‘or is it my grandfather you weep for?’

‘Oh, Tom! How can I mourn that evil old man? No, it is you for whom I weep. My second born whom I have not seen since you foresook the life of man for that of God. Oh, Tom, how has it been with you? You look tired and weary; has the life been too hard for you?’

Tom’s face was transformed by a boyish smile.

‘Why, no Mother! I am weary because I have been travelling for a week, ever since I heard the news that grandfather was not expected to last the month. But I am very happy, both as a monk and ...’

‘Yes?’

His expression grew secretive and he glanced at his mother as though wondering how much he could tell her in front of Brent and Emma. Of his mother’s devotion to the old Faith and the Stuarts he had no doubt; but what had the years done to his younger brother and sister? He knew quite well what they had done to George.

‘Is it something you would not have Brent and Emma hear?’ His mother saw the direction of his eyes.

‘Well ...’

Brent, who had also been delighted to see his brother, looked puzzled. What news could Tom have for his mother’s ears only? What secret that was unfit for him and Emma?

‘If you would rather ... we will leave the room, Tom,’ Brent said beckoning to Emma who clung to the side of the brother she hardly knew, but about whom so much was said, as though she could not bear to leave him. She looked dismayed as Brent gestured to her.

Tom sensed the solidarity that bound his brother and sister to his mother; they were united, as one. Surely his secret would be safe with them?

‘It is just that ... I have been in Rome.’

Brent was the first to react and stepped forward.

‘Rome, brother? You are no longer a monk of Douai?’

‘Oh, yes. You know that a Benedictine monk joins a particular community, not just the Order of St Benedict. My allegiance is to Douai. However, I was sent by my superiors on a mission of the utmost importance at the request of the King ...’

‘The King!’

‘His Majesty James III of England,’ Tom said solemnly, watching the reaction on the faces of his listeners to his words. The expressions, at first puzzled then fearful, suddenly became transformed with understanding, even joy, and Susan went over to clasp Tom’s arm.

‘Oh, Tom. The King! You are serving the true King of England?’

‘I have that honour, Mother. You do not disapprove?’

‘Disapprove? Oh, Tom never fear. We are loyal servants of the same King – Brent and Emma here, and I. All my family too of course. John and Stewart with the exception of ...’

Susan bowed her head.

‘I know, Mother,’ Tom said gently. ‘You do not need to say more. George. I know well how he feels about our sovereign Lord, King James.’

‘He has allegiance, like his grandfather, only to King George. He even announces that he will spend more time in London at the Hanoverian court in order to further his ambitions.’

‘And I am sure he will be successful, Mother! The Hanoverian Elector needs all the supporters he can get. People are restless, now that Walpole has gone and England is at war on the Continent. They are tired of the German influence at court, the licentiousness of the Hanoverian Prince and his mistresses.’

‘By “prince” you refer to the King I presume?’ Brent ventured.

‘We never acknowledge the Hanoverians as kings of England; they are Electors of Hanover, Princes of Germany.  But rightful kings of England?  Never.  Anyway, to resume my story. I was sent to Rome as Chaplain to Prince Charles Edward. I am a contemporary of his and the names Delamain and Allonby are well known and loved by the Stuarts. Of course I was loath to give up my monastic life, but my superior is a staunch supporter of the Stuarts and he has hopes that, with their Restoration, the Benedictines will be allowed to return to England and re-establish their houses there. Then I will become a proper monk again. So much does the father Abbot have this as his prayer that he was determined to have me further the cause by proximity to the rightful house.

‘Thus I went to Rome just at the time the French were defeated by a force commanded by George II at Dettingen and the spirits of the Stuarts were low. However, since then the French prime minister, Cardinal Fleury, has died and been succeeded by Cardinal de Tencin who is very sympathetic to the Stuart cause, despite the disinterest of the French King Louis XV. The cardinal was once helped by His Majesty King James and is now anxious to be of assistance to the Jacobites.

‘So, in January this year, His Royal Highness, Prince Charles Edward, journeyed to Paris and since then he has been actively engaged in preparations for the conquest of England.’

‘Aye, we heard of it,’ Brent said dispiritedly. ‘How in February this year a French fleet under Marshal Saxe embarked from Dunkirk only to be dashed to pieces by a storm in the Channel.’

‘I was there,’ Tom said, his grave tones echoing Brent’s. ‘We were on the same ship as the Marshal and succeeded in returning safely to port. It was a bitter blow. The French seemed to lose interest after that and Marshal Saxe was sent to Flanders. His Royal Highness was for sailing to Scotland alone in a fishing boat, but we dissuaded him. He even wanted to serve with the French troops against the English, but we said what folly that would be! It would disgust the English that the rightful heir to the throne was taking arms against them.

‘It was Murray of Broughton, who arrived in France last week to find out the truth for himself, who informed me of grandfather’s illness. John Murray is one of His Majesty’s most ardent supporters in Scotland and, on learning that I was to come to Delamain to see my grandfather, he bade me appraise the strength of support for the King here and in northern parts of England.’

‘Among the Catholics and the old nobility support is strong,’ Susan said, ‘but our merchant classes have grown too satisfied and rich under the Hanoverians. They do not yearn for the old way of life as we do. You will find very small support here.’

‘Why, brother,’ Brent said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘Let us
engender
support. Let us whip it up. If we have a small active number surely support will grow? We have connections from here to the border. Oh Tom, is it really possible His Majesty will land in England?’

‘Not His Majesty yet I fear,’ Tom said smiling. ‘He is an old man and he looks to his son to capture England in his name. No, it is Prince Charles Edward, scarce twenty-four years of age and as handsome, as upright and as fearless a man as ever you could wish to see – he already saw fighting at 14 years of age – whom we shall welcome to these shores, and before very long, I’ll warrant you. He kicks his heels in Paris and will do anything to board ship for England; though his advisers would have him land first in Scotland where support is greatest – some of the Scottish clans having been long persecuted by the Hanoverians because of their devotion to the Stuarts. From the north the Prince will journey with an army to join up with supporters in the south and the Elector will be packed back to Hanover where he belongs, you mark my words.’

‘May it please God,’ his Mother said, bowing her head. ‘But Tom, you know how it goes with George? If word of this were to come to his ears you would be dragged off to prison in Carlisle, brother or not. What you do must be very secret.’

‘It cannot be done from here, Mother,’ Brent said. ‘This is no longer our home; we are unwelcome here. George said that the moment grandfather died you and Emma would be banished to the dower house and I must be about my way ...’

‘And where to, pray?’ Tom demanded, his eyes narrowing. ‘Are you not a gentleman? Does he expect you to work like some artisan?’

‘I think he would have me in the Hanoverian army or the navy. George thinks I am good for nothing, Tom, and it is partly true, I must confess. I lack direction, I ...’

‘What is it you want to do Brent?’ Tom said softly, his eyes betraying warm affection for his brother.

‘Why, nothing better than to serve the King. Do you think I may?’

‘Come to France?’

‘Why not? With you? When you go back. Let me come with you Tom. Oh, please.’

Tom paused and looked at his mother, his face doubtful. He knew how much she had suffered already. Her life had been one long martyrdom to the Stuart cause, first husband and brother, now maybe her two sons. But Susan’s head was proudly raised and her eyes shining.

‘I know of nothing that would make me more proud, Brent my son. I know how restless you have been; how you have kicked your heels and wanted for direction. In the service of the King your talents can find a home, and then when he comes to his own country he will reward you by ousting your brother and bestowing on you the lands that should rightfully have gone to your father – Delamain, village
and
Castle.’

Her voice rang out proudly and Tom felt his eyes moisten. His mother was like the woman in the Bible extolled in Proverbs: ‘She hath put out her hand to the strong things; and her fingers have taken hold of the spindle ... Her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband, and he praised her.’

Tom clasped his mother’s hands and held them to him. ‘Mother, you will be on your own ...’

‘I ... I will be with her,’ Emma cried. ‘I will take care of Mother, while you and Brent bring back the King to England.’

Tom looked at his sister, grown so comely, so tall since he last saw her. She was a maid ready for marriage, for adorning the house of some great noble. But what future did eighteen-year-old Emma have? What future did any of them have unless the Stuarts were restored to the throne of England?

‘You are a noble girl indeed,’ Tom said, kissing her. ‘I know you will look after Mother and she you. We shall not be far away and we shall see you are both protected. Scotland and the south of England are well taken care of. It is here in Cumberland and Westmorland that we seek support for our cause.’

The silence at dinner the following day was uneasy. Apart from the stealthy movement of the servants, their soft murmurings as they served, no one spoke. At the head of the table George sat wrapped in thought. Next to him his mother kept her face expressionless. Brent and Tom applied themselves to what was on their plates. Emma hardly ate at all.

It had been a difficult day, getting the old man laid out and ready for burial. Taking his body to the vaulted Delamain church that stood in the grounds with the family tomb among the gravestones, listening to the prayers intoned over it. Tom, Brent and George took it in turns to stand guard with the male servants. People came and went, some to pay their respects, others on business.

Now the Delamain family was alone, restless in its solitude. After the last course had been served George motioned to the servants to leave and, as the heavy doors closed behind them, apprehension seemed to hang heavy in the air.

At last George, who had appeared to be warring with some inner turmoil, lifted his head, took a draught of wine and leaned over the table.

‘Let us not mince words. Tom you are not welcome here. Brother you may be, but you have turned aside from your family to an alien cause, a foreign faith. You have forfeited the name of Delamain and I am glad you are known only as Father Anselm. Once grandfather is in his tomb you must go, Tom. I do not want the authorities to hear of your presence among us. They know it already, but there is a reason. Once grandfather is buried that will have gone. I do not want you another night in the castle after tomorrow, the day of his burial.’

Tom seemed about to reply, but observed the caution in his mother’s eyes and he bowed his head in acknowledgement biting his lip. George then turned to Brent.

‘Brent, for other reasons you too are not welcome here. You are idle and good for nothing. You do no honour to our family name. You are twenty-one, without fortune or prospects. I cannot keep you. I refuse to. You are to go for the army or navy or find some other suitable occupation as befits a gentleman. I have no room for you on my estates.’

Brent too seemed about to speak but on seeing his mother’s eyes upon him held his peace.

‘Mother, the dower house is being prepared for you and Emma. I have told you I wish to marry and to this end I want the castle prepared for my bride. Of course I will not marry until a suitable period has elapsed after grandfather’s death.’

‘Have you anyone in mind George?’ His mother enquired with a trace of mockery in her voice. It was not lost on her son who replied with asperity.

‘There are many women in London, Mother, who would consider it an honour to have me ask for their hand. I do not anticipate any difficulty. Indeed I am much sought after as a dinner guest and to accompany young ladies to fashionable balls. You may expect an announcement quite soon.’