Bonfire of Trust

PROLOGUE

   John Daverley sat just within the halo of light. Below him, the house was alive with sound. Horses, many horses, stamped and snorted in the courtyard. There were shouting voices, and the heavy thump of booted feet on the wooden floor of the taproom.

   Memory was playing a trick on him and once again he was experiencing the fear and exhilaration of the fugitive. This loft became the tiny space he had hidden in as a youth, the threatening feet below, the tramp of Cromwell’s men hunting him. Automatically he turned down the flame of the lantern so that it gave but a faint yellow glow.

   In the near darkness, memory flooded back so intensely that he could almost smell the freshly cut wood of the rafters enclosing his cramped hiding place. The ache of grief surged through him, undiluted by the years.

   Only three hours before in the time span of his memory, John and his father, Paul, were desperately saddling their horses to flee the country. Word had reached them that the Royalist effort had collapsed, and the Roundheads were coming for them.

   Red coated soldiers surrounded the stables and burst in on them. John reached quickly for his sword, but his father restrained his hand, knowing that resistance would achieve nothing but instant death. Their eyes met for a moment. He recalled that glance, imperatively willing him to evade them, to survive.

   They were dragged to the riverbank and his father tied and blindfolded. Paul, Earl of Daverley had stood erect and dignified as they primed their muskets and took aim.

   The impact of the bullets thrust him violently backwards, and he died very quickly.

   Grief once more overwhelmed John, but he remembered how that had been replaced moments later by burning anger, then by the calm analytical alertness of mind that had made the two Daverleys so dangerous to the Parliamentarian cause.

   He had tricked them and escaped, and hidden in a loft just like this, hearing the pounding of their boots in the room below as they scoured the countryside for him.

   He had been thirteen years old then, and seventeen more years had passed.

   A trap door in the floor opened and two people began to climb the ladder. The glow of their lantern outlined the narrow opening as they ascended, then the first figure emerged to fill the loft space.

   John reached forward and turned up the lamp and those poignant memories evaporated. He smiled warmly in welcome, his face transforming into something magnetic and sociable. “Welcome Charles. There is bread, cheese and ale here to refresh you.”

   A very tall heavy featured man appeared out of the gloom and came to sit opposite him, sighing and stretching his long legs out under the bench. “Excellent, John. Hunting and fresh air make me ravenous, particularly after the gallop we’ve just had. You would have enjoyed it immensely. A good two thirds of our hunt fell behind in the first hour.”

   John laughed ruefully, thinking of the knackered old nag that had carried him here, and the magnificent animal he had left behind in his estate manager’s stable. “Ye Gods, I envy you. It would have been vastly preferable to the broken-down hack I’ve ridden today!”

   Behind him, a female voice spoke from the darkness. “When you wish to leave, Your Majesty, please just pull the rope lying across the table, I will let you out as soon as the way is clear.”

   “Thank you, Marjorie,” the King smiled quickly, but the landlady had already begun to scuttle back down the steep ladder and then the trapdoor closed behind her.

   The huntsmen were still entering the inn below as the King looked slowly around the loft. His expression changed, became haunted, as though his mind were filling with ghosts from his troubled past, just as John’s had before him. “Ah, my friend,” he murmured, “I had hoped never to enter one of these hell holes again.”

   “Nor I. It resurrects uncomfortable memories, does it not?” John murmured and waited for the charged moment to pass. Then as the King relaxed and became himself once more, he continued. “Do I understand that you have need of my services again?”

   The King met his gaze. “Indeed, I do. I’m sorry to bring you ill tidings, but we have been unable to destroy Nexus and I need your help to finish them.”

   John Daverley said nothing. He had been expecting something of this nature. There had been no signs that the Kings Guards had undertaken an operation in London, no news of mysterious deaths. Slowly he poured a tankard of ale for the King and pushed it across the bench along with a slab of bread and cheese. “I had deduced that much. So, what went wrong and what do you need of me?”

   “We have investigated the names you gave us, and there are two that we cannot locate. We cannot move against them until we have identified every one of them. I am reluctant to ask it, but you are the only one who can go among them and provide that information.”

   “God damn it!” John exploded. “This is a difficult moment to be leaving Daverley!” Then he clamped down on his frustration. There were no alternatives to further involvement. If he wanted to bring his family into a peaceful and secure world, then Nexus had to be destroyed. “You know that Elizabeth is expecting our first child?” he said softly.

   The King nodded and his eyes warmed. “Yes, I had heard the news. Congratulations my friend.”

   “These men are brutal and without conscience.” His voice hardened as he spoke. “I don’t want any hint of this near her.”

   “I wish I could shield her for you, but I cannot.”

   John nodded and leaned his long body back, studying the King’s lazy, dark featured face.

   He knew from long experience that Charles was anything but lazy. Behind those impassive features lay a teeming world of politics and intrigue, hidden and belied by the masterly exterior of a pleasure loving and indolent monarch.

   He certainly loved his pleasures, but those futile years in exile, being pushed like an embarrassing parcel from one royal court to another around Europe, had taught him to play a game that his subjects and many of his ministers were unaware of. He was devious, subtle and yet surprisingly kind and loyal.

   The King and his men would have done everything in their power to solve the problem before asking him to become involved again.

John took a sip of ale and leaned forward. “I trust you picked a man of discretion to trace the names I gave you. If any of them become aware they are being watched, it will only be a matter of time before they suspect me, and their retribution will not be pleasant.”

   “I chose a man well known to you, your cousin by marriage, Christopher Aston. He has been discreet.”

   “It was a good choice, although he is young for such intrigue.”

The King laughed outright. “He’s far older than you were when you began such work, John.”

   John smiled and nodded. Then his thoughts moved on. “You were intending to eliminate all the members simultaneously, but I simply don’t believe that will be possible. You could wait many months for the right opportunity, and one or two will inevitably escape the net, simply because human beings are unpredictable creatures. I suspect the only way to destroy them completely will be to summon them to a full meeting and obliterate them in a single concerted manoeuvre of your guard.”

   The King studied him silently for a long while. “You may be right, but that solution presents us with a serious problem. How do we ensure that every member is present before the army moves in? You are the only person who could confirm that. I can’t ask you to take such a risk,” he said sternly. “We will explore all other alternatives first. I will only agree to that as a last resort.”

   “Very well. If that is your command. Aston is coming to visit us in a day or two. We will discuss the details and make some plans. However,” he paused for a moment, and his mind returned to his overriding concern, “...this must be kept as long as possible from Elizabeth. A time will come when she realises the truth. She must have peace until then.”

   The King nodded. “It will not come to her notice by any means that I can control.” He reached for the rope to summon the landlady and gave it a firm tug and then smiled. “Take care of your lady. You are a lucky man, my friend.”

   The King’s summons was answered immediately. There was a scraping sound as the trap door opened, then the landlady’s head appeared. She seemed harassed and anxious, and without waiting to be addressed, she whispered, “Please come quickly Sire. They have been asking for you, and my name is being implicated.”

   John laughed. “Charles, your reputation is outrageous. You will have to devise a good excuse for your absence.”

   The King smiled and followed the landlady.

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CHAPTER ONE

   “Wait here for a moment, Yvonne,” Elizabeth touched her friend’s arm hurriedly. She had just become aware of a heated altercation taking place under the arch that led to the stable block. Raised voices echoed across the brick-paved courtyard, and they were completely alien to the peaceful atmosphere of Daverley.

   “I’m really sorry but I have to deal with this before it gets out of hand.”

   “Zat is fine,” Yvonne Dubois patted her hand. “I will wait ’ere.”

   Elizabeth gave her friend a grateful smile then stepped purposefully across the courtyard towards the fiercely arguing figures.

   All three fell silent on her approach. The groom, red faced and angry, stepped back a pace and bowed deferentially. The head cook Mrs Bainbridge glanced over her shoulder and sank into a deep curtsey leaving the visitor free of restraint.

   The woman turned desperately towards Elizabeth and reached out as though she intended to grab her.

   “Oh no you don’t!” The groom grasped her arm harshly, jerking her back so that she could not touch Elizabeth.

   “Thank you, Mason, please be gentle. That’s no way to handle one of our people.”

   She looked at the intruder and could see she was in a pitiful state. Covered in dust from the road, painfully thin, her clothes old and tattered, she looked starved, wild eyed and desperate. It was shocking that such hardship still existed on the Daverley estate, after all John had been doing to alleviate it.

   However, before she listened to the woman’s story, she needed a few basic facts. She turned to cook and met her eyes questioningly. “What is the problem Mrs Bainbridge?”

   “My Lady…” Cook began.

   “My Lady,” the intruder’s voice was husky but had a carrying quality born of pure desperation. “Please help us!”

   “Silent, woman!” Mason growled and shook her.

   Elizabeth’s eyes flamed with wrath. “Enough Mason!”

   Then she turned once more to Mrs Bainbridge for clarification.

“My Lady, she’s not one of ours,” Cook explained. “If she had been, I would have sent for you as I normally do. She comes from Southam, a good fifteen miles away. She’s not our responsibility, My Lady! With your permission, I will have the cart hitched up and one of the grooms can take her back to her own parish. That’s where she should have gone for help.”

   “Oh God, no!” the woman shrieked. “My Lady, please don’t send us back to that bastard.”

   Elizabeth’s heart sank. This was going to be extremely difficult. If the ‘bastard’ in question was the woman’s husband, he legally had a right to beat her. It infuriated her that women were treated thus, but it was the law. And Cook was perfectly correct. If the woman was here seeking food and clothing, then legally she should be returned to her own Parish where they were obliged to take care of her. There was nothing Elizabeth or any of her household could do.

   “I had nowhere else to go, My Lady,” the husky voice was saying, and Elizabeth turned now to listen. But the fight had gone out of the woman and she was no longer struggling to break free. Instead, she held out a small bundle that had been concealed beneath her shawl and looked pleadingly at Elizabeth. “He is close to death My Lady, and nothing I do makes any difference.”

   Realisation hit Elizabeth and her breath caught in her throat. This was another distraught mother bringing a desperately sick child to her in the hope of a cure. She could feel an overwhelming wave of sympathy rising through her and she knew she could not turn the poor soul away. To do so would be inhuman.

   “Come forward and let me see him,” she said gently.

   The woman tried to move but Mason still had her by the arm.

   “You can release her, Mason. There’s no need for restraint.”

   “I don’t mean no harm,” she said miserably. “I just thought if you would touch him My Lady… it might help. We’ve heard that you’ve got healing hands.”

   Elizabeth gently took the tiny bundle that was held out to her. The child settled naturally into her arms, just as her own baby would in five months’ time. But this tiny mite, swaddled in tight linen bands, weighed hardly anything. “What is your name and how did you get here? You are a long way from home.”

   “My name is Mary and I walked, My Lady. We’ve slept in the open for the last two nights.”

   Elizabeth glanced quickly at the woman’s gaunt face. Beneath the dirt and pallor, she could see the sheer grit and character that had enabled this mother to carry her infant such a distance when she was near starvation herself.

   Elizabeth cradled the tiny bundle in her arms and knew she had a difficult choice to make. She already had a great deal to do for her own tenants. What would happen if she gave help beyond their borders? Other landowners and magistrates would not welcome such interference. Moreover, it could open the flood gates to a deluge of appeals from around the county. They could be utterly inundated.

   Whatever the pros and cons, she could see this poor little soul would die without help, and she simply could not allow that to happen. She could feel Yvonne coming to her side and looking down at the tiny, pinched face, curiosity getting the better of her. “Oh, ze poor little thing,” she whispered.

   Elizabeth made up her mind and prayed that she would not live to regret the decision. “Mrs Bainbridge, would you lead the way please? Let’s see what we can do to help.”

   Cook bit her lip. It was plain to see she knew this was not right, but she nodded and led them towards the kitchens. They descended a flight of narrow stairs into the gloomy lantern-lit basement and entered a room that was bathed in sunlight that came pouring in through leaded windows high on the wall. This was Lady Elizabeth’s room, especially adapted for taking care of sick tenants.

   Elizabeth put the little bundle gently on the bed and turned to cook. “Could you instruct one of the maids to bring food please? I suspect Mary and her baby have not eaten since leaving home two days ago.”

   “My Lady, I don’t like leaving you alone here.”

   “I will be perfectly safe, Yvonne is with me,” she smiled towards her French friend who had followed her down into the bowels of the house, a place she would never normally have come. Such scenes as these were usually handled away from the guests who were enjoying themselves above stairs.

   Yvonne came to join her at the bedside and frowned in perplexity. “Why are you doing zis, Elizabet’?” she gestured towards the dirty pile of bindings that was the tiny swaddled child. “’Ee is filthy. In France, we assign such tasks to our agents. I understand not.”

   “Stay and watch, Yvonne, then perhaps you might understand,” Elizabeth gently unwrapped the bindings that held the babe secure. Suddenly the acrid odour of soiled loin cloths rose pungently around them.

   The boy was probably less than six months old, but thin and emaciated, his little tummy rising and falling as he gasped for breath. His eyes, abnormally big in his skeletal face, were staring up in terror.

   “Shhh little one,” she rested her hand reassuringly on his tummy. “You’re safe now.”

   He was so frail and troubled that a new emotion began to stir in Elizabeth, and she was shocked at the strength of it. Anger. One of their fellow landowners was failing his people catastrophically, and this was the result. They were starving. It was wrong.

   “Who is your master?” she asked casually. “Which estate are you from?”

   “Taylor’s,” the woman said harshly. “Please don’t let him know that I’ve been here, My Lady. He’ll whip me for causing trouble.”

   Elizabeth’s lips tightened and heat rose in her cheeks. Men like that should be made to experience hunger and hardship for themselves. “Fear not, Mary. No word of this will reach him. You will be safe here.” She glanced at the mother’s thin sunken features. “Now tell me, are you having difficulty producing enough milk for him?”

   The woman swallowed and nodded. “And I’ve nothing else to give him.”

   “Then let us see if some food and warm milk will help you both.” Elizabeth ruffled the baby’s fine hair tenderly, watching his eyes open again and fix on her. She could not help but respond with an encouraging smile. “In the meantime, clean him and wrap him in one of those blankets. I’ll have warm water sent to you and there are fresh clouts in the chest over there. Make him comfortable, and I will come and see you again shortly.”

   “Thank you, My Lady, thank you so much!”

   Elizabeth beckoned Yvonne out into the dark corridor, and the moment the door closed, indignation finally broke free of the restraints she had been holding it under. “Did you see the condition of that mother and babe, Yvonne? The child is dying! How could Taylor allow things to become so desperate?”

   Yvonne touched her arm anxiously. “Sh. You must not become distressed over a peasant. John would never forgive me if I let any ’arm come to you while ’e is away.”

   “I tell you this,” she said vehemently, “if he had witnessed what we have just seen, he would be as incensed as I am.”

   There was a look of complete incomprehension on Yvonne’s face, and it dawned on Elizabeth that there was an enormous gulf between English rural customs and those of their French guests. Some of her anger abated and she took Yvonne’s two hands in her own. “Listen. Do you know where John is today, and why he’s not here enjoying the good weather with his friends?”

   “Mmm, yes. He is with ’is estate manager, ’e told me this morning.”

   “That’s correct. He’s taking measures to prevent disasters like that happening again here. Come, we’ll just make sure food is being prepared for them, then I’ll show you what John and I are doing.”

   Half an hour later, reassured that Mary and her son were being cared for, she was able to relax at last. Her face was alive with enthusiasm as she described their plans to Yvonne.

   “This is a particularly important meeting today. John is making the final decisions and preparations for a new estate farm. Once we have it operational, we’ll be completely self-sufficient in food and will have surplus to distribute to the needy.” She looked at Yvonne to gauge her reaction and was encouraged to see intense curiosity on the pretty, animated face.

   Perhaps there was hope that she could share her enthusiasm with Yvonne. She smiled. “He’s also been experimenting with new farming methods and irrigation systems. And…,” a small smile played around her mouth, “he’s going to finalise my project. So, he has a busy day ahead of him.”

   “Your project?” Their eyes met and Yvonne laughed affectionately. “You and John are so busy, Elizabeth. ’Ow do you ’ave time to spare for all of us bothersome visitors?”

   Elizabeth laughed. “Our work does not occupy that much of our time. And we love having you here. Indeed, ours would be a very barren existence if you did not come to visit each summer. Whatever would we do with our time?”

   “I could ’azard a guess!” Yvonne laughed saucily. “I know what I would do if John were my ’usband and I were in your shoes. Now, tell me about your project. I can see zis means a great deal to you.”

   “It does, but I don’t want to bore you.”

   “You won’t,” Yvonne smiled.

   Elizabeth nodded and rose to unroll a long scroll on the map table, weighing it down at the four corners with a candlestick, an ink pot and two books. “I’ve been working on this since we returned from London. At the moment the villagers come here if they need help. Like the woman you saw today, they bring their sick children to me. I am planning to open a small children’s hospital in the village. Here! This is what I envisage,” she pointed to a set of carefully penned drawings that showed two large rooms crammed with beds, a spacious kitchen, treatment rooms and a parlour.

   “Zat looks amazing!” Yvonne breathed suddenly. “Eet is a real ’ospital!”

   “Yes, and we’re close to making it a reality. John and Henry are finalising the agreements today. It’s going to make an enormous difference to families on the estate. They’ve had a tough time in recent years. I can’t wait to get started.” She smiled. “I hope John has good news for me when he returns tonight.”

●♥●