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‘The battle was doomed before it began.’
‘My son—Thomas...?’
‘Was taken prisoner.’
A great relief swept over Sir Isaac. ‘Thank the Lord. You, too, have survived the battle and I imagine you are impatient to put as much distance between you and the victors as you can.’
A fit of coughing rendered him speechless and left him exhausted against the pillows. Arlette moved closer to the bed, her young face filled with concern.
‘Father, you will tire yourself. You must rest.’
The trace of a thin smile touched the old man’s lips. ‘I’ll have plenty of rest soon, Arlette.’ He gave another hollow cough and when it was over he looked at his visitor. ‘I am dying, sir—I’ve been dying ever since I was wounded at Dunbar. I have prayed the good Lord in his wisdom would keep me alive until my son came home. I see now that is not to be.’ He shook his head despondently. ‘Thomas was a scholar. He had no enthusiasm for soldiering.’ His eyes met those of the young visitor with perfect understanding. ‘Tell me what happened to him?’
William met his eyes and read his need to know. ‘He fares better than most—but his treatment in the hands of his captors will be harsh.’ Glancing sideways at the girl standing across the bed, he saw pain fill her eyes.
‘The war has dealt ill with those loyal to the King,’ Sir Isaac murmured quietly, ‘my own family having lost brothers and nephews at one battle or another. My daughter Hester lives in London—she married a Parliament man—a mercer. The marriage caused a bitter divide between us. Arlette and my son are all I have left. May the Lord spare them.’ His skeletal hand reached out to touch his daughter’s cheek with a reverence that did not go unnoticed by William. ‘So—tell me. Where is Thomas now?’
‘We were both taken prisoner—along with ten thousand others. We were herded into the cathedral from where we were to be marched to London. I was fortunate. In the mayhem that ensued after the battle I managed to escape.’
Sir Isaac digested this calmly. ‘How was Thomas? Was he wounded?’
‘No—merely exhausted and hungry—but his spirit remains high. Food was scarce. In the final minutes we were together he asked me—if I was able—to come here and assure you that he did not perish in the battle.’
‘I thank you for that. It means a great deal to me knowing he survived. As to how he will be dealt with, that is another matter, but even Cromwell’s army will lack the resources to try so many prisoners. But what of you now? I imagine Roundheads will be searching for those Royalists who escaped Worcester.’
‘They are. It is my belief that the wars are over, the Royalist cause in ruins. The drawn-out conflict has reduced honest citizens to beggars and no corner of this land has been left untouched by the evils of war. The world as we knew it before the wars has gone. England has suffered enough. It’s my intention to go to France.’
‘If Cromwell offers a pardon to Royalists willing to abide by the laws of the Commonwealth, will you accept it?’
‘Never.’ A fierce light burned in William’s eyes. ‘I did not enter the fray until my sixteenth birthday and before he was cruelly executed, I fought hard for King Charles the First. I will not give it all up now. His son, King Charles Stuart, has my undying loyalty. It is unthinkable that I desert him. He needs support now more than ever. I expect Arlington Court will be sequestered along with many other properties of those who supported the King.’
‘And young Charles Stuart? Where is he?’
‘The last I heard he had escaped Worcester, thank God.’
‘The day will come when he comes into his own, I am confident of that—and when he does, all that has been stolen from those who remained loyal will be returned. This time will pass.’
‘Will it? Do you really believe that?’
‘It must. I cannot conceive of the people of England turning permanently against their King. Reason will prevail in the end. I am sure of it.’
‘I pray it will be so. There is nothing we can do but wait and see. But I must take my leave of you. Should I be found here it will not go well with you.’
‘Three times Roundhead patrols have been here—you will have seen the evidence for yourself. Each time the house was searched. You are right to put as much distance between you and them as possible. But I see you are wounded,’ he said, his gaze going to the blood that had seeped into his doublet. ‘You must have it tended to and take refreshment before you leave, but I have a favour to ask of you and, in the light of what has happened at Worcester and my own weakness, it is most urgent. I am almost at the allotted time on this earth. What matters to me now is Arlette. I fear greatly what will happen to her if she remains here.’ He looked at his daughter with loving but worried eyes. ‘It is my wish that Arlette goes to live with her half-sister in London.’
Arlette gasped. ‘No, Father. I will not go. Do not ask me to leave here. It’s too cruel. I could not bear it—living in the house of a Parliament man. I am your daughter and my place is here with you.’
‘A daughter’s place is to obey her father,’ her father pointed out, his voice softening.
There was an unusual flush on the girl’s cheeks and the eyes with which she regarded her father were openly defiant. ‘I will not go. Do you really think I would willingly go to safety, leaving you behind to face danger?’
‘Understand me, Arlette. Understand why I am doing this. I am unwilling to subject you to any unnecessary suffering should the Roundheads come here—as they will, I am sure of it. I know you haven’t spent much time with Hester during your childhood, but you will be safe with her and, despite our differences, I believe her husband to be a moderate man. She is a woman of integrity and honesty and she will endeavour to do her best for your welfare and protection. Do as I ask, Arlette. I beg you.’ He looked at William. ‘You will take her?’
William looked at Arlette standing like a miniature statue, feeling her withdrawal from her father. Her dejection pierced his heart. He saw her attempt to struggle to mask her painful disappointment and inexplicable sadness. His gut tightened with the instinctive need to protect her.
‘Will you do it?’ Sir Isaac asked.
William nodded. ‘I will take her,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I will then make my way to the coast and take ship to the Continent. My mother and sister are there already.’
Having reluctantly agreed to Sir Isaac’s request, to ease his unease and to soothe Arlette’s, William met her eyes and smiled, relieved when she met his gaze unflinchingly. He was encouraged by her quiet display of strength.
With a need for haste, just one hour later, after William had eaten and had his shoulder tended by the housekeeper, and Arlette had gathered provisions and a few necessities she would need to see her to London, they left, mounted on Hector.
With her small body nestled close to William’s and tears clogging her throat after saying a final farewell to her father and Blanche—who had been more like a mother to her over the years—Arlette was strangely comforted and reassured by William’s presence and the warmth in his voice. But knowing she would not see her father again on this earth, her young heart ached fit to burst with her loss.
As they rode away she turned and looked back at the house, drawing in a deep breath, willing the scent of the surrounding countryside and the image of the house to remain with her for the long years ahead.
It was a strange kind of existence as they travelled towards London. Arlette rode pillion behind William and when they encountered the odd traveller he implied that she was his sister and that they were going to visit family in London. They kept away from the main thoroughfares, for not only were they more likely to run into Roundheads on the main routes, but they were also notorious for thieves.
On the first night as they settled down to sleep beneath the stars, with the desolation of her loss and hopelessness at the thought that she would never see her father again, Arlette’s tears had flowed. Looking at her huge eyes awash with tears, silently beseeching him for comfort, William had responded automatically and taken the distraught girl in his arms. She was remarkable. Torn from her home and thrust into the unknown with a virtual stranger at such an early age, she showed a bravery and selflessness he admired. She was also strong and healthy and the following morning the tears had dried from her eyes.
William was glad of her company. After the carnage that had been Worcester, seeing his friends brutally slain and his desperate escape which had driven him to the brink of exhaustion, it was Arlette he focused on to escape the pain of those memories. After looking back on the bleakness of that time, he totally lost himself in her sweetness, entering her world where everything was fresh and alive. Should danger confront them, he would protect her with his life.
When they finally reached London after three days on the road their weariness was beginning to tell on them both.
Arlette entered a strange time in her life. Only Hester could understand what torment she was going through, feeling the same cruel loss of her family. William’s presence also gave her comfort for a short time and, whatever the future held for either of them, there would be no escaping the strong bond that had developed between them during the time they had been together on the road.
William was relieved to find Hester’s husband, Richard Arden, was in the Midlands on mercer business, which reduced his fear of being turned over to the authorities. He experienced a deep concern for Arlette. Before he left he voiced his concern to her sister.
‘The leaving of her home and her father has hurt her deeply. The emotional scars will be almost impossible for her to erase for a long time.’
‘She will be well taken care of, but you are right. She is bereft. It will take her a long time, but she is strong. I have every faith she will come through.’
The summer had ended and the encroaching chill of autumn was in the air when William took his leave of Arlette. He was in the yard. She went to him with a heavy heart. That day when he had arrived at Mayfield Hall, she had been meeting a stranger and was filled with anxieties and fears. Now she was facing the painful task of saying goodbye to someone who had become precious to her. She shivered, wishing this day had never come. Not only had a closeness developed between them, but also a tenderness.
William pulled his hat down over his ears and hugged Arlette, who was clinging to his hand.
‘I don’t want you to leave,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and vulnerable and shining with tears. ‘I want to go with you.’
‘I can’t take you with me, Arlette. I am going to join the King in France. With my father dead and the rest of my family in France, my estate in Warwickshire seized by Parliament and myself declared a traitor, I have no choice.’
‘But you will come back, won’t you?’
‘Perhaps—in time. But I will not return to England while it is ruled by Cromwell.’ Seeing the pain in her eyes, he placed his hands on her young shoulders and bent down so that his face was on a level with hers. ‘It is right that you are here with your sister.’ As he held her from him, his look was earnest. ‘You do understand why I have to go, don’t you?’
She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat and blinking back the tears that threatened to flow from her eyes at any moment. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘But you won’t forget me, will you?’
‘You have become very dear to me, Arlette. I could never do that.’
Giving him a teary smile, she backed away from him. ‘Wait a moment. I have something for you.’
William watched her scamper off, then, hearing a horse’s hooves clattering on the cobbles, he saw her leading Hector towards him. He smiled.
‘What have we here?’
Arlette glanced at the pathetic-looking horse her sister had managed to find for him, which Arlette rejected. ‘I want you to have Hector.’
‘But Hector was your father’s horse. I cannot take him.’
‘I want you to have him. I know it is what my father would have wanted. Besides, Hector likes you. I know you will take care of him.’
With emotion almost choking him, William wrapped her young body in his strong arms and hugged her hard, then he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.
‘Goodbye, Arlette. I wish you joy and happiness and luck in your life. May God bless you.’
‘William,’ she said as he turned from her. He looked back with a questioning look. ‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she said hoarsely. ‘With your life.’
He was silent a moment and then said, ‘Of course I will. Why? Why would you say that? Is it precious to you?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Will I see you again?’
He smiled. ‘I do have a habit of turning up when least expected. Perhaps I may have cause to come and visit you in London—or better still at Mayfield Hall when all this is over. Would I be assured of a welcome in your house?’
‘There will always be a welcome for you, William—no matter where I am.’
Lowering his head, he turned and walked away. Arlette watched him, wanting to say something more, but she couldn’t. The words were trapped in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. She had been aware that one day he would have to leave her, that his presence in her world was transitory. But it had come too soon. Sorrow and emotion swamped her, wrenching at her heart. He left her then and she watched him ride away. All that remained of his solid presence was the trace of a light kiss on her forehead, the image of his back and the painful noise of Hector’s receding hooves.
Hester came to stand beside her, placing her arm about her shoulders.
‘Will he come back?’ Arlette asked in a low voice.
‘As to that I cannot say.’
Her desolation was as acute as when she had left Mayfield Hall. ‘He has to come back,’ she whispered to herself. ‘He has to. I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t.’
Chapter One (#u530f9860-6af7-56ec-bece-b3b73d7f31fb)
1660
Having been summoned by her sister, after spending the morning sitting by the river watching various craft moving along—which always delighted her—Arlette brushed the dried grass from her skirts, straightened her hair and hurried into the house.
Oaklands House, west of London, was a lovely house. It had been Richard Arden’s family home for generations, built in better, more prosperous times to get away from the plague which descended on the city every year. Its airy halls, parlours and reception rooms were carpeted and tastefully furnished. Beyond the domestic quarters, the buttery, bakehouse and wash house could be found. The gardens were a well-kept delight and extensive, the smooth lawns dropping down to the river’s edge. Hester kept the house in perfect order, ruling the servants with a firm hand.
The Ardens were hard-working mercers. The family’s substantial business premises were in Spitalfields, where fabrics were stored and trained women and apprentices in leather aprons carried out the work of weaving. Hester’s husband, Richard Arden, a harsh, controlling man, went into the City each day, one of the servants rowing him down river. Devoted to business and administration, not for him was life idle and carefree.
Richard had prospered in his trade before the wars and because he had declared for Parliament when the troubles began, he had been allowed to continue with his business unhindered, but it had suffered very badly from lack of trade during the Commonwealth. Now King Charles and his courtiers were returning, with nobles and their ladies flooding the capital once more, trade in finer fabrics—brocades from Milan, silks from Lucca and Venetian velvets of supreme quality—would be in demand once more. But that was in the future and Richard had no capital put by to invest.
Arlette found her sister in the parlour. With more constraints than excesses, when Arlette had come to Oaklands House, she had soon realised that life was not going to be easy for her, but she wearily accepted the way Richard treated her without complaint. In the beginning he had welcomed her into his home with a genuine warmth, glad that Hester would have the company of her sister and to have an extra pair of hands to help with the everyday chores.
Hester had a desperate yearning for a child of her own. In the early days of her marriage she had lost a child and, as the years went by and she failed to conceive another, being deprived of this natural function enjoyed by most women of her acquaintance had left her feeling deeply disappointed and inadequate in some way as a woman. She was tense at the moment—she had been for days—she was always like this when she was going to visit Richard’s sister, Anne Willoughby, who had a large brood of children, which only exacerbated Hester’s own sorry situation.
Hester lifted her brows and stared disapprovingly at her sister’s attire, her eyes lingering overlong and with exasperation on a rip in her skirt, caused when it had become snagged on a thorn bush. Arlette was aware of Hester’s displeasure over her friendship with James Sefton—in her sister’s opinion the time she spent with James could be more usefully spent. The Sefton family of Willow Hall were neighbours. With his fair hair and boyishly handsome face, James had a precocious and open manner. Arlette valued his friendship, but their relationship was no more than that. Direct from his travels abroad, he had returned to England ahead of his father, who was to return from his years in exile with King Charles Stuart. His mother, of Puritan stock, had remained at Willow Hall throughout the wars.
‘Mary said you wished to speak to me, Hester.’
‘I sent for you half an hour ago, Arlette. Have I not enough to do without worrying about you all the time? As you well know we are to travel into the city tomorrow and there are a thousand and one things to be done. Anne and her husband are expecting us in good time. Since we are to stay with them overnight I have much to pack—which is something you can help me with when you have cleaned yourself up.’
Arlette knew exactly what Hester was thinking when she looked at her. Her pale blue eyes were narrowed with annoyance as she darted sharp disapproving glances at her, having burst into the house shattering the peace. Arlette knew she must present a frightful vision in her stained and crumpled skirts. Shoving the untidy mop of hair back from her face, she sank into a chair in a most unladylike pose, doing little to appease Hester’s displeasure. She prided herself on being intelligent, quick-thinking and sharp-witted, but much as Hester loved her she was always accusing her of being problematical and a constant headache. She heard Hester sigh heavily, as if tired of her burden.
News had reached them shortly after William Latham had brought Arlette to London that their father had died following a visit from Cromwell’s soldiers searching for Royalists who had fled Worcester after the battle. Like hundreds of Royalist properties, Mayfield Hall had been sequestered by Parliament. Neither of them had been back to Mayfield since, although Blanche sometimes wrote to Arlette with news of friends and neighbours who had been a part of her life, and the elderly Parliament man and his wife who now lived in Mayfield Hall. They had learned that their brother Thomas, along with over a thousand English and Scottish captives and some foreign mercenaries, had been sent to Barbados as virtual slaves. Whether he lived or had died they had no way of knowing.
Arlette was more beautiful than Hester had ever hoped to be, but she lived for the moment and had little interest in anything that was not to do with outdoor pursuits.
Following his ten-year stay in France, the King’s exile was over. His ship, the Royal Charles, along with the rest of the fleet, had arrived in Dover, where he had been received with obeisance and honour by General Monck, commander-in-chief of all the forces in England and Scotland, the man who had played the most crucial part in his restoration. The King was expected to enter his capital during the next few days. It was for this reason that they were going to stay with Anne and her husband, who lived on the Strand. Anne and her brother Richard had been raised in a Puritan household and when the troubles had started between the King and Parliament they had supported Parliament, but Edward, Anne’s husband, was a staunch Royalist and he welcomed the return of the monarchy and was insistent on celebrating it.
Mortified that she had upset her sister and keen to make amends, Arlette swept her hair back from her face and stood up. ‘I will help you, Hester. I’m sorry. It was remiss of me to leave you to do it all. It completely slipped my mind. Was there something else?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Sir Ralph Crompton has approached Richard again. Do you forget that soon you are to be betrothed?’
Arlette’s face fell. The effect of Hester’s remark was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over her and was a reminder that soon she would have the mundane affairs of a wife to fill her days—soon, but not yet—and she continued to resist. ‘I do not forget, Hester, but...’ She sighed. ‘I don’t see why I have to marry him.’
‘He is taken with you, Arlette. You know perfectly well he is.’
This was true. Sir Ralph was also a mercer and nothing would please Richard more than for his sister-in-law to marry an important and respected member of the guild, a man who played a prominent role in London’s civic life. Along with other members of the guild, Richard had suffered because of the restrictions austerity imposed on him by the Commonwealth. He felt the humiliation of his reduced status and when Sir Ralph expressed his interest in making Arlette his wife, it was like balm to his wounds. She did not have the dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of the men seeking wives, those able to provide her with standing and security, would turn their attention elsewhere. Marriage to Sir Ralph would provide Richard with an important connection and raise his standing with the guild. Sir Ralph had offered a sizable stipend to be paid for Arlette’s hand in marriage, which would not be forthcoming if she turned him down. Richard had readily accepted on Arlette’s behalf.
The instant Arlette had set eyes on Ralph Crompton she had taken a dislike to him, but she had thought she sensed the trace of a satisfied smile on his smug face. She had moved away when he had positioned his hand on her waist as though he had the right. He had appraised her, studied her with the sure eye of someone who knows exactly what he likes and is used to getting what his desires dictate. She had never believed herself capable of stirring such a desire in anyone, but just as an animal scents danger, with the same primal instinct she knew that Sir Ralph Crompton had decided to pursue her.
‘There must be hundreds of women he could choose from. Why me?’
‘Just thank your lucky stars that he still wants you.’
‘Of course he does. Who else would he get to take care of his two motherless daughters?’ Arlette replied, unable to hide her bitterness at such a prospect.
Hester waved her objections aside. ‘Nevertheless, your defiance and the gossip directed against this family, brought about by your friendship with James Sefton of late, are all too much. Your behaviour has upset Richard. If Sir Ralph did change his mind, I would not blame him.’
‘Then to escape his attention perhaps I should damage my reputation some more,’ Arlette retorted, tossing her head rebelliously. The moment the words had left her mouth she had cause for regret, for her flippant remark only angered Hester further.
‘Do not even think of doing that,’ Hester snapped, breathing deeply in an effort to control the anger that seemed to erupt more quickly of late no matter how hard she tried to temper it. ‘Think yourself lucky that marriage to Sir Ralph Crompton will provide you with the standing and security you deserve.’ Noting Arlette’s defiance, she sighed, shoving her hair tiredly from her brow. ‘You are my sister and I love you dearly and I do understand that you are set against the marriage—but...’
‘Richard would be not so understanding. Where your husband is concerned, my opinion counts for nothing.’ Arlette sighed. ‘Worry not, Hester, I know I am duty-bound to marry Sir Ralph and I have committed myself to doing what is right. I will not go back on my word,’ she said, no matter how distasteful she found the consequences.
‘Richard is only doing what he thinks is best for you,’ Hester said in his defence. ‘You have to marry as your circumstances demand and Sir Ralph is the only one offering. It’s high time you were married. This alliance is important to Richard—more than you realise. You should be grateful he is doing this.’
Arlette took a deep, tight breath. That she was being sacrificed for Richard’s ambition angered her, but she had learned to know her place in Richard’s house and knew better than to defy the rules and make her own destiny. All her life she had hoped she would have the freedom to choose her own husband, but, when it came to it, Richard had chosen for her. A good alliance, he called it—but the last person she’d ever have chosen was Sir Ralph Crompton.
‘I had hoped you might repent of the folly of your ways,’ Hester went on, ‘but it seems that is not so. I have tried so hard since you came here, Arlette, hoping to find more submission in you—obedience, even—but I have come to realise it is not in your nature. With no one to steer you, you were left too much to your own devices at Mayfield Hall. I love you dearly, but you do try my patience to the limit.’
‘I am deeply sorry to have caused you so much grief, Hester, truly, and I am most grateful for everything you and Richard have done for me. But,’ she said, with a note of defiance, ‘I am twenty-two years of age and even though I know I have to marry Sir Ralph, I would like to have had a say in my choice of husband—and Sir Ralph it would not be.’
