The Monmouth Summer
Read The Monmouth Summer Online
Authors: Tim Vicary
The Monmouth Summer
Tim Vicary
First published as an ebook by White Owl Publications Ltd 2012
Copyright Tim Vicary 2012
ISBN 978-0-9571698-3-8
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention
No reproduction without permission
All rights reserved.
The right of Tim Vicary to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
Author’s Note
These events, or something very like them, really happened in the south west of England in the summer of 1685. Many of the characters in this book have the names of real people. The Duke of Monmouth was real, of course, as was Lord Feversham, his opponent, and John Churchill, Winston Churchill’s famous ancestor, who later became the Duke of Marlborough. But the actions of these great men influenced, very dramatically, the lives of ordinary men and women. Many of them lived in the small town of Colyton, which Judge Jeffries later called ‘The most rebellious town in England’. There really were men called John Spragg, (or Sprake), Roger Satchell, William Clegg, Philip Cox, and John Clapp, and the things they did and which happened to them were very similar to the events described in this book. It’s not possible to know exactly how they spoke and thought, of course; like any writer I’ve had to use my imagination to try to bring them to life. But the battles they fought in, the marches they made, the equipment they used, and the choices they had to make, are described here as accurately as possible.
There was no real young woman, so far as I know, called Ann Carter, or her father Adam. But there easily could have been. All these men had wives and mothers and daughters, and the events of that summer of 1685 overturned the women’s lives, just as much as they did those of their men.
Other e-books by Tim Vicary
Historical novels
The Blood Upon the Rose
(Love and terror in Ireland, 1920)
Cat and Mouse
(Suffragettes and Rebellion in 1914)
Legal thrillers
A Game of Proof
(The Trials of Sarah Newby, book 1)
A Fatal Verdict
(The Trials of Sarah Newby, book 2)
Bold Counsel
(The Trials of Sarah Newby, book 3)
Website:
http://www.timvicary.com
Blog:
http://sarahstrials.wordpress.com/
Twitter
@TimVicary
Table of Contents
"L
ET ME loosen it."
"No, Rob. I..." She turned her head slightly but his hand followed, touching her cheek and the ribbons of her white bonnet.
"It's a warm day, you know. Let the breeze cool you."
The girl sat on the grass at the top of the hayfield, her back arched, her head thrown back slightly to catch the soft summer breeze. The young man knelt beside her, caressing the neck which her posture showed to such advantage. The horses which had brought them here – a dark bay hunter and a chestnut pony – grazed peacefully behind them, near the wood which, the young lovers hoped, shielded them from prying eyes.
His fingers began to undo the ribbons below her chin. The fingers were careful, rather awkward with the knot, and as she sat still letting him do it Ann felt the blood rush into her face.
I am a fool,
she thought,
I am being used.
Then the ribbons came free and Robert smiled at her, his lean freckled face a few inches from hers. The corners of his brown eyes crinkled with amusement.
"So now ... what do we see?" He lifted the bonnet off her head and embarrassment overcame her. Not being a girl who spent hours dressing, that morning she had simply wound her hair loosely round her head, pushed a pin through it, and tied the bonnet on top. She lifted her hands and felt loose wisps of hair everywhere.
"No. Let me." He reached out a hand, to help.
"'Tis all right." She ducked out of his reach. "There's a pin, here ... somewhere." She found it, pulled it out, and felt the long thick auburn locks tumble around her shoulders. She shook them free, combed them roughly straight with her fingers, and looked back at him, half-amused, half-ashamed.
"So. This is the real Ann Carter. A model of high fashion indeed!" He lifted a long tress and let the breeze blow it back. "Do I embarrass you? I'm sorry. It's beautiful, Ann - you should always wear it like this!"
"So you could laugh at me."
"No. Not laugh at you. Never. It's more that I mock myself, for being unworthy. Ann, when I am with you, you seem so good, so beautiful, I feel sometimes I have died, and am in Heaven with the angels."
She knew his words were blasphemous as well as foolish. Courtier's words, nonsense - the sort of talk that charmed and frightened her at the same time. No-one in her family would speak like that. But then, that was the thrill of being with him: to dare to play foolish, dangerous games, to say things that should not be said. To let him loosen her hair, call her an angel.
"And then, to prove it is not so ... " He bent forward and kissed her. It was the first time that day; in fact, only the fifth time ever. For a moment she responded, just her lips touching his; then, as his arm reached round her waist, she twisted away swiftly and firmly before any more could come of it.
"If we are in Heaven, Rob, then we must behave like the angels. Sit here beside me and listen to the heavenly music - of the larks, up above us, there!"
He sat down and she leant back against him, partly to avoid the kiss. But his arm came around her, brushing her breast, and they both thrilled to the unacknowledged touch. For a while they said nothing, listening to the larksong overhead, and the sound of their horses grazing nearby. Ann's bonnet lay on the grass beside them, and the sinful breeze blew freely through her hair.
"Perhaps you are right - perhaps we
are
in Heaven, and do not know it," she murmured thoughtfully. “I think Heaven must be full of times like this, when we do nothing, and yet are happy. The Saints must live like this.”
Robert laughed, looking down the valley to the fields far below. “And those sheep, and those yeomen down there - are they in Heaven too?"
Ann smiled, following his gaze.
"Those sheep? Oh, they are the holy lambs of God, don't you see? Poor dumb creatures that never know the temptations of evil, and are happy in their innocence! And the yeomen - they are making hay for the Lord's granary. Then up there, look - the larks! They are the angels - that's why their song's too high and pure for us to ever understand. Listen."
She moved away from him and leant back on her elbows, her head back, her auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, trying to see as well hear the lark that was singing so tumultuously overhead. She found it, lost it, found it again; and then deliberately unfocussed her eyes and let them wander in the depths of the endless blue sky - nothing but blue above her, near and far and forever, until it seemed that her soul was floating out of her body, into the boundless blue of the heavens.
"But there are joys on earth as well."
He bent over her, and she could no longer see the sky. He kissed her neck, softly, under her ear, and then suddenly he was kissing her full on the lips, her head arched backwards, his hand stroking her hair.
And this time they kissed for a long, long moment, her lips parted, his tongue exploring, in a way she had not known before. She felt her body go limp and fluid, all concentrated in the kiss, as he laid her back gently on the grass, and a thrill went through her as his hand found her breast once again, and slowly, with infinite daring, began to slip inside the bodice. For a long age she lay there, at once completely relaxed and trembling with life, in every moment of time and utterly lost to it; then his thigh began to press on hers, and his hand move down to fumble with her skirts, and slowly, she returned to herself.
"No, Rob." She pulled her face away from his and smiled up at him in gentle reproach. But his face, darkening with disappointment, looked so comic and solemn, like a young preacher rather than a cavalier, that she burst out laughing, and then on a sudden impulse pushed him off and rolled him over. Surprised, he fought back, but she was a strong girl and when she had the advantage he found he could not throw her off without hurting her. She held him down, startled and a little scared by her own triumph.
He did not look amused.
"What sort of minx's trick is this? Are you to play the man because you dare not play the woman?"
"A
man
, Rob?" The effort of holding his arms down swung her full breasts before his face, and his eyes followed them hungrily. Teasing, she broadened her accent to sound like a proper Devon milkmaid. "No
man,
squire. But us country maids must save us honour, bein' as 'ow there bain't no gentlemen around to save it for us!"
"Your honour, indeed!" With a great heave he forced her off, and sat up, brushing the grass off his coat. "Where's your precious honour in forever leading a man on, and then turning him away, as you do?"
She was surprised and hurt by the bitter tone in his voice. "Rob, that's not fair, now! 'Twas you that come after me outside Beer, and asked to meet again. My father would whip me if he even knew I was with you! You can hardly expect me to - to couple with you here, in full view of the whole county!"
She gestured down the valley. The wood behind them hid them from the road, but the view in front of them was open. They were sitting in a field of uncut hay at the brow of Colyton Hill, looking down the valley of the river Axe where it meandered its last lazy mile to the sea. Far below them, the methodical ant-like figures of haymakers cut their swathes steadily, their backs burnt brown in the sun. Beyond them, the sea glittered and sparkled in the mid-afternoon sunlight, and two small fishing luggers rocked lazily in the swell. Ann and Robert were out of sight of Colyton, and too far away from the haymakers to be recognised by them even if they were noticed, but nonetheless it was a huge risk for Ann to be alone even talking to a man like Rob, never mind going any further.
The whole affair was a close secret, which tormented her with guilt as much as it thrilled her with her own daring. She had seen Rob every year of her life, riding through the village with his father, or occasionally attending their church instead of the chapel at Shute Manor. But the first time she had spoken to him was last month, when he had stopped to help her with her pony, which had gone lame. After that, they had met again, apparently by accident at first; or so each would have claimed, had they been asked. But they both took care that such accidents should occur well away from the Puritan folk of Ann's village; and Ann had spoken of him to no-one in her family.