The King's General Part 10

"Good night then, Honor."

He helped me turn my chair into the pa.s.sage and then, very softly, closed the door behind me. I got to my room a few moments before Matty came upstairs to draw the curtains.

13.

Although there never were any ties of affection between me and my brother-in- law, I certainly held him in greater respect and regard after our encounter of that evening. I knew now that "the King's business" on which he travelled to and fro was no light matter, and it was small wonder he was often short-tempered with his family.

Men with less sense of duty would have long since shelved the responsibility to other shoulders. I respected him, too, for having taken me into his confidence after my unwarrantable intrusion into his locked chamber. I was left only with a sneaking regret that he had not shown me the staircase in the b.u.t.tress nor the cell beneath it, but this would have been too much to expect. I had a vivid picture, though, of the flapping arras and the black gulf behind.

Meanwhile, the progress of the war was causing each one of us no small concern.

Our Western army was under the supreme command of the King's nephew, Prince Maurice, who was in great need of reinforcements, especially of cavalry, if he was ever to strike a decisive blow against the enemy. But the plan of the summer campaign appeared unsettled, and although Maurice's brother, Prince Rupert, endeavoured to persuade the King to send some two thousand horses into the West, there was the usual obstruction from the council, and the cavalry were not forthcoming.

This, of course, we heard from Richard, who, fuming with impatience because he had as yet no guns that had been promised him, told us with grim candour that our Western army was, anyhow, worn with sickness and quite useless, Prince Maurice himself with but one bee in his bonnet, and that to sit before Lyme Regis, waiting for the place to open up to him. "If Ess.e.x and the rebel army choose to march West," said Richard, "there is nothing to stop him except a mob of sick men all lying on their backs and a handful of drunken generals. I can do nothing with my miserable two men and a boy squatting before Plymouth." Ess.e.x did choose to march West and was in Weymouth and Bridport by the third week of June, and Prince Maurice, with great loss of prestige, retreated in haste to Exeter.

Here he found his aunt, the Queen, who had arrived in a litter from Bristol, being fearful of the approaching enemy, and it was here at Exeter that she gave birth to her youngest child, which did not lessen the responsibilities of Prince Maurice and his staff. He decided that the wisest course was to get her away to France as speedily as possible, and she set forth for Falmouth, very weak and nervous, two weeks after the baby had been born.

My brother-in-law Jonathan was amongst those who waited on her as she pa.s.sed through Bodmin on her way South, and came back telling very pitiful tales of her appearance, she being much worn and shaken by her ordeal. "She may have ill-advised His Majesty on many an occasion," said Jonathan, "but at least she is a woman, and I tremble to think of her fate if she fell into the hands of the rebels." It was a sore relief to all the royalists in Cornwall when she reached Falmouth without mishap and embarked for France.

But Ess.e.x and the rebel army were gathering in numbers all the while, and we felt it was but a matter of weeks before he pa.s.sed through Dorset into Devon, with nothing but the Tamar then between him and Cornwall. The only one who viewed the approaching struggle with relish was Richard. "If we can but draw the beggar into Cornwall," he said, "a country of which he knows nothing and whose narrow lanes and high hedges would befog him completely, and then with the King's and Rupert's armies coming up in the rear and cutting off all retreat, we will have Ess.e.x surrounded and destroyed."

I remember him rubbing his hands gleefully and laughing at the prospect like a boy on holiday, but the idea did not much appeal to Jonathan and other gentlemen, who were dining at Menabilly on that day. "If we have fighting in Cornwall the country will be devastated," said Francis Ba.s.sett, who, with my brother-in-law, was engaged "T? at le *n trym pounds o ra'se troPs for me King's service and finding it mighty hard.

The land is too poor to feed an army; we cannot do it. The fighting must be kept the other side the Tamar, and we look to you and your troops, Grenvile, to engage the enemy in Devon and keep us from invasion."

My good fool," said Richard--at which Francis Ba.s.sett coloured, and we all felt Uncomfortable--"you are a country squire, and I respect your knowledge of cattle and pigs. But for G.o.d's sake leave the art of war to professional soldiers like myself. Our aim at present is to destroy the enemy, which we cannot do in Devon, where there is no hope of encirclement. Once across the Tamar, he will run his head into a noose.

My only fear is that he will not do so but will use his superior cavalry on the open Devon moors against Maurice and his hopeless team of half-wits, in which case we shall have lost one of the greatest chances this war has yet produced."

"You are prepared, then," said Jonathan, "to see Cornwall laid waste, people homeless, and much sickness and suffering spread abroad. It does not appear to be a prospect of much comfort."

"d.a.m.n your comfort," said Richard. "It will do my fellow countrymen a world of good to see a spot of bloodshed. If you cannot suffer that for the King's cause, then we may as well treat with the enemy forthwith."

There was some atmosphere of strain in the dining chamber when he had spoken, and shortly afterwards my brother-in-law gave the host's signal for dispersal. It was an oddity I could not explain even to myself that since Richard had come back into my life I could face company with greater equanimity than I had done before and had now formed the habit of eating downstairs rather than in my chamber. Solitude was no longer my one aim. After dining, it still being light, he took a turn with me upon the causeway, making himself attendant to my chair.

"If Ess.e.x draws near to Tavistock," he said, "and I am forced to raise the siege of Plymouth and retreat, can I send the whelp to you?"

I was puzzled for a moment, thinking he alluded to his dog.

"What whelp?" I asked. "I did not know you possessed one."

"The Southwest makes you slow of brain," he said. "My sp.a.w.n, I mean, my pup, my son and heir. Will you have him here under your wing and put some sense into his frightened head?"

"Why, yes indeed, if you think he would be happy with me."

"I think he would be happier with you than any other person in the world. My aunt Abbot at Hartland is too old, and Bevil's wife at Stowe is so slung about with her own brood that I do not care to ask her. Besides, she has never thought much of me."

"Have you spoken to Jonathan?"

"Yes, he is willing. But I wonder what you will make of d.i.c.k. He is a scrubby object."

"I will love him, Richard, because he is your son."

"I doubt that sometimes when I look at him. He has a shrinking, timid way with him, and his tutor tells me that he cries for a finger scratch. I would exchange him any day for young Joe Grenvile, a kinsman whom I have as aide-de-camp at Buckland. He is up to any daring scheme, that lad, and a fellow after my own heart, like Bevil's eldest boy."

"d.i.c.k is barely turned fourteen," I said to him. "You must not expect too much.

Give him a year or two to learn confidence."

"If he takes after his mother, then I'll turn him off and let him starve," said Richard.

"I won't have frogs' sp.a.w.n about me."

"Perhaps," I said, "your example does not greatly encourage him to take after yourself. Were I a child I would not want a red fox for a father."

"He is the wrong age for me," said Richard, "too big to dandle and too small to talk to. He is yours, Honor, from this day forward. I declare I will bring him over to you this day week."

And so it was arranged, with Jonathan's permission, that d.i.c.k Grenvile and his tutor, Herbert Ashley, should add to the numbers at Menabilly. I was strangely happy and excited the day they were expected and went with my sister Mary to inspect the room that had been put to their service beneath the clock tower.

I took pains with my toilet, wearing my blue gown that was my favourite and bidding Matty brush my hair for half the morning. And all the while I told myself what a sentimental fool I was to waste such time and trouble for a little lad who would not look at me....

It was about one o'clock when I heard the horses trotting across the park and I called in a fever to Matty to fetch the servants to carry me downstairs, for I wished to be in the garden when I greeted them, having a firm belief that it is always easier to become acquainted with anyone out of doors in the sun than to be shut fast within four walls.

I was seated, then, in the walled garden beneath the causeway when the gate opened and a lad came walking across the lawn towards me. He was taller than I had imagined, with the flaming Grenvile locks and an impudent snub nose and a swagger about him that reminded me instantly of Richard. And then as he spoke I realised my mistake.

"My name is Joe Grenvile," he said. "They have sent me from the house to bring you back. There has been a slight mishap. Poor d.i.c.k tumbled from his horse as we drew rein in the courtyard--the stones were somewhat slippery--and he has cut his head. They have taken him to your chamber, and your maid is washing the blood."

This was very different from the picture I had painted, and I was at once distressed that the arrival should have gone awry.

"]s Sir Richard come with you?" I asked as he wheeled me down the path.

"Yes," said young Joe, "and in a great state of irritation, cursing poor d.i.c.k for incompetence, which made the little fellow worse. We have to leave again within the hour. Ess.e.x has reached Tiverton, you know, and Taunton Castle is also in the rebels' hands. Prince Maurice has withdrawn several units from our command, and there is to be a conference at Okehampton, which Sir Richard must attend. Ours are the only troops that are now left outside Plymouth."

"And you find all this greatly stirring, do you, Joe?" I asked.

"Yes, madam. I can hardly wait to have a crack at the enemy myself."

We turned in at the garden entrance and found Richard pacing up and down the hall. "You would hardly believe it possible," he said, "but the whelp must go and tumble from his horse, right on the very doorstep. Sometimes I think he has softening of the brain, to act in so b.o.o.byish a fashion. What do you think of Joe?" He clapped the youngster on the shoulder, who looked up at him with pride and devotion. "We shall make a soldier of this chap anyway," he said. "Go and draw me some ale, Joe, and a tankard for yourself. I'm as thirsty as a drowning man."

"What of d.i.c.k?" I asked. "Shall I not go to him?"

"Leave him to the women and his useless tutor," said Richard. "You'll soon have enough of him. I have one hour to spend at Menabilly and I want you to myself."

We went to the little anteroom beyond the gallery, and there he sat with me while he drank his ale and told me that Ess.e.x would be at Tavistock before the week was out.

"If he marches on Cornwall, then we have him trapped," said Richard, "and if the King will only follow fast enough on his heels the game is ours. It will be unpleasant while it lasts, my sweetheart, but it will not be for long; that I can promise you."

"Shall we see fighting in this district?" I asked with some misgiving.

"Impossible to answer. It depends on Ess.e.x, whether he strikes north or south. He will make for Liskeard and Bodmin, where we shall try to hold him. Pray for a dirty August, Honor, and they will be up to their eyes in mud. I must go. I sleep tonight in Launceston if I can make it." He put his tankard on the table and, first closing the door, he knelt beside my chair. "Look after the little whelp," he said, "and teach him manners. If the worst should happen and there be fighting in the neighbourhood hide him under your bed--Ess.e.x would take any son of mine as hostage. Do you love me still?"

"I love you always."

"Then cease listening for footsteps in the gallery and kiss me as though you meant it."

It was easy for him, no doubt, to hold me close for five minutes and have me in a turmoil with his love-making and then ride away to Launceston, his mind aflame with other matters; but for me, left with my hair and gown in disarray, and no method of escape and long hours stretching before me to think about it all, it was rather more disturbing. I had chosen the course, though; I had let him come back into my life, and I must put up with the fever he engendered in me which could never more be stilled.

So calling to his aide-de-camp, he waved his hand to me and rode away to Launceston, where, I told myself with nagging jealousy, he and young Joe would in all probability dine overwell and find some momentary distraction before the more serious business of tomorrow, for I knew my Richard too well to believe he lived a life of austerity simply because he loved me.

I patted my curls and smoothed my lace collar, then pulled the bell rope for a servant, who, with the aid of another, bore me in my chair to my apartment. I did not pa.s.s through the front of the house, as was my custom, but through the back rooms beneath the belfry, and here in a pa.s.sage I found Frank Penrose, my brother-in-law's cousin and dependent, engaged in earnest conversation with a young man of about his own age who had a sallow complexion and retreating chin and who appeared to be recounting the story of his life.

"This is Mr. Ashley, Mistress Honor," said Frank with the smarming manner peculiar to him. "He has left his charge resting in your apartment. Mr. Ashley is about to take refreshment with me below."

Mr. Ashley bowed and sc.r.a.ped his heels.

"Sir Richard informed me you are the boy's G.o.dmother, madam," he said, "and that I am to take my commands from you. It is, of course, rather irregular, but I will endeavour to adapt myself to the circ.u.mstances."

You are a fool, I thought, and a prig, and I don't think I am going to like you, but aloud I said, "Please continue, Mr. Ashley, as you have been accustomed to at Buckland. I have no intention of interfering in any way, except to see that the boy is happy."

I left them both bowing and sc.r.a.ping and ready to pull me to pieces as soon as my back was turned, and so was brought to the gatehouse. I met Matty coming forth with a basin of water and strips of bandage on her arm.

"Is he much hurt?" I asked.

Her lips were drawn in the tight line I knew meant disapproval of the whole proceeding.

"More frightened than anything else," she said. "He'll fall to pieces if you look at him."

The servants set me down in the room and withdrew, closing the door.

He was sitting hunched up in a chair beside the hearth, a white shrimp of a boy with great dark eyes and tight black locks, his pallor worsened by the bandage on his head.

He watched me, nervously biting his nails all the while.

"Are you better?" I said gently.

He stared at me for a moment and then said with a queer jerk of his head, "Has he gone?"

"Has who gone?" I asked.

"My father."

"Yes, he has ridden away to Launceston with your cousin."

He considered this a moment.

"When will he be back?" he asked.

"He will not be back. He has to attend a meeting at Okehampton tomorrow or the following day. You are to stay here for the present. Did he not tell you who I am?"

"I think you must be Honor. He said I was to be with a lady who was beautiful.

Why do you sit in that chair?"

"Because I cannot walk. I am a cripple."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not very much. I am used to it. Does your head hurt you?"

He touched the bandage warily. "It bled," he said. "There is blood under the bandage."

"Never mind, it will soon heal."

"I will keep the bandage on or it will bleed afresh," he said. "You must tell the servant who washes it not to move the bandage."

"Very well," I said, "I will tell her."

I took a piece of tapestry and began to work on it so he should not think I watched him and would grow accustomed to my presence.

"My mother used to work at tapestry," he said after a lengthy pause. "She worked a forest scene with stags running."

"That was pretty," I said.

"She made three covers for her chairs," he went on. "They were much admired at Fitzford. You never came to Fitzford, I believe?"

"No, d.i.c.k."

"My mother had many friends, but I did not hear her speak of you."

"I do not know your mother, d.i.c.k. I only know your father."

"Do you like him?" The question was suspicious, sharply put.

"Why do you ask?" I said, evading it.

"Because I don't. I hate him. I wish he would be killed in battle."

The tone was savage, venomous. I stole a glance at him and saw him once more biting at the back of his hand.

"Why do you hate him?" I asked quietly.

"He is a devil, that's why. He tried to kill my mother. He tried to steal her house and money and then kill her."