A Splendid Defiance Read online

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d realise …’ She paused. ‘If it was Jonas, I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘And I am supposed to know that because … ?’ Captain Ambrose leaned back, brooding on her over folded arms. ‘Mistress Radford. My patience, as you may have noticed, is extremely limited and diminishing by the second. Will you please tell me, in plain language, just who the hell it is you came to rescue?’

  The quiet savagery of his tone shook her and she hung her head, a lump forming in her throat. ‘My younger brother, Samuel. You met him when you came to collect the cloth.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t recall … or no. Perhaps I do.’ He paused and sat up again, his mood shifting a little. ‘The lad who reads Godwin?’ She nodded mutely and he eyed her with misgiving. ‘If you’re going to cry, I’d advise you to go and do it over the gentleman you met downstairs. It works on him.’

  ‘I’m not doing it on purpose!’ Abigail raised an indignantly tearful gaze. ‘If you’re not going to help me, just say so – instead of sitting there making nasty remarks. I’m sorry I made them wake you but this – this isn’t easy for me either.’ She stood up. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know why I did.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ he agreed. ‘It should have been Jonas. Where is Jonas?’

  She sniffed. ‘At home, eating his dinner. He wouldn’t come.’

  ‘Really? You do surprise me.’ For the first time, a hint of interest – albeit mocking – replaced the harsh boredom in Justin’s face. ‘Does he know you’re here?’

  ‘Yes. But he didn’t send me.’

  ‘I never imagined that he did. He wouldn’t take his own life as a favour from me – let alone Samuel’s. In fact, I can’t understand why he allowed you to leave the house.’

  Abigail flushed and toyed with the folds of her cloak.

  Justin’s mouth relaxed a little more.

  ‘Don’t tell me you defied him?’

  She nodded, suddenly dispirited and rather tired.

  ‘And will doubtless suffer for it when you go home?’

  ‘Yes – but I’m used to that. Please … none of this matters. I know you don’t like Jonas but —’

  ‘No. I don’t. Do you?’

  Abigail blinked and said cautiously, ‘He’s my brother.’

  ‘That’s no answer. The same could probably have been said of Nero or Attila the Hun. So sit down again and tell me. Do you like Jonas?’

  She sank slowly back on to the stool, head bent and fingers visibly unsteady.

  ‘No. I should love him – but I can’t. To my shame, I don’t even try. I’m afraid of him.’

  There was a long silence. Then Justin said crisply, ‘I think you had better explain exactly why I should order Samuel’s release. You said he wasn’t part of the riot?’

  ‘No. He went out on some errand and saw our maidservant knocked down and about to be trampled underfoot so he tried to help her. He – Sam doesn’t fight. He never has.’

  ‘What – never?’

  ‘No. And he’s been very ill these last weeks, so he really shouldn’t stay all night in your dungeons.’

  ‘My what?’ In spite of himself, Justin was betrayed into a choke of laughter and immediately felt the better for it. ‘You’ve been listening to the kind of stories people tell to naughty children. We don’t keep our prisoners chained to the walls any more and the dungeons here are knee-deep in water and have been quite unusable these twenty years. I imagine that your brother is probably snug in the gatehouse.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Abigail, deflated.

  ‘Oh,’ agreed Justin, hauling himself to his feet. ‘You’d better wait here. I won’t be long.’

  The great dark eyes flew to meet his.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What do you think? The only thing that promises me any sleep tonight. No. You can’t come.’ This to the spaniel which had leapt up at his first move and was waving its tail like washing in the wind. ‘You can stay here and entertain Mistress Radford.’ He directed a swift, unexpected smile at Abigail. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  He left the room and she sat listening to the receding ring of his boots on the stone steps, her eyes stinging a little. Outside, a distant challenge and the tramp of feet announced that the guard was being changed; inside, the fire crackled merrily and the little dog put his paws on her knee. Abigail slid from the stool to the rug and put her arms around him.

  She was still there when the Captain returned. There was no sign of Samuel and for a moment she stayed where she was, staring up at him. Then he said, ‘It’s all right,’ and the fear drained out of her.

  Justin leaned against the door, thinking how very young she looked sitting there on the floor with the dog. Young, fragile and vulnerable … her one potential beauty tortured and hidden beneath that unflattering white cap. Her clothes were ugly too, despite being of good quality cloth. The broad linen collar encircling the slim throat was too starkly white for her pale skin and the dark blue damask gown was cut to conceal rather than flatter. He thought distantly, She ought to wear apricot or jade … then instantly dismissed the notion.

  His scrutiny making her suddenly aware that she was sitting on the floor like a child, Abigail scrambled up to resume a more dignified position on the stool. Rex, not ready to let his new friend go just yet, jumped on to her lap and, when her arms closed instinctively round him, reached up to lick her chin. Unprepared for it, Abigail was startled into a delicious gurgle of laughter; equally unprepared, Captain Ambrose’s gaze widened suddenly.

  Keeping his voice perfectly neutral, he said, ‘There seemed no point in dragging your brother all the way up here so he’s waiting for you below with my friend, Lieutenant Frost. Why didn’t you tell me he was a cripple?’

  ‘I didn’t think of it. He isn’t a cripple to me. Is he all right?’

  ‘Perfectly. He’s been educating both his fellow prisoners and my guards with the teachings of Free-born John.’ He lifted one brow in gentle enquiry. ‘He appears, so I am told, to have been speaking as if from first-hand knowledge.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Abigail, torn with guilt and wishing the dog hadn’t chosen that precise moment to decamp back to the rug. ‘Yes. It seems only fair to tell you that Colonel Lilburne was our guest while he was here last month. And Colonel Fiennes lodged with us all the time.’

  Something flickered in the grey eyes.

  ‘Did he indeed? That must have been cosy.’

  ‘Not particularly. Do you want to change your mind about Sam?’

  ‘Could I be blamed if I did?’

  ‘No.’ She stared down at her hands. ‘I never realised before quite how bad things must have been for you here. Everyone looks as though they’ve been ill – especially you.’

  ‘My finicky appetite. I find it hard to stomach horse-meat when I’m acquainted with its source. But there’s no need to look so stricken. I don’t hold you personally responsible.’

  ‘That’s generous of you.’ She looked up and said abruptly, ‘I hate this war. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But I don’t hate what I do – I merely regret doing it in England. Also, although I can’t say I enjoyed being sealed up for fourteen weeks under siege, I can scarcely blame you for it – even if you did feed John Fiennes while we were starving.’ His face held a gleam of humour. ‘You may have your brother, with my compliments.’

  She examined him wonderingly with eyes that gathered sudden, unsuspected brilliance. Then the pale mouth widened into a disconcertingly sweet smile and she said, ‘You’re very kind. Thank you.’

  Faintly stunned, for the second time in five minutes, by the metamorphosis, Justin said carefully, ‘No. Merely malicious. I want to see Jonas cringing under the knowledge that he owes me a favour.’

  She didn’t believe him. And because she didn’t, she gave him the only thing that she thought might please.

  ‘Colonel Fiennes didn’t like Jonas either.’

  Her reward was a choke o
f laughter.

  ‘Then that must have made his stay enjoyable for both of them. What a happy household you must be when you’re all together. I gather Samuel isn’t enormously in tune with Jonas either? Ah … and that reminds me. I thought you said he never fights?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘Only that he has badly skinned knuckles and a rather spectacular black eye,’ replied the Captain blandly. ‘Anyone who didn’t know better would undoubtedly be convinced that he’d been knocking seven bells out of someone.’

  ~ * ~

  NINE

  ‘It’s looking good, isn’t it? asked Ned of Justin as the latter paused beside him on his way across the outer ward. ‘Or, at least, better than it did?’

  Justin’s gaze travelled round the restored neatness of the courtyard and came to rest on the nearly-completed stables.

  ‘Yes. The men have done well – a fact for which we may all live to be grateful.’

  ‘But hopefully not. It’s a pity about the weather, though. I reckon there’s snow on the way and, if I’m right, it’s going to put a stop to all our fine plans.’

  ‘For the moment, perhaps. But it will also deter Colonel Fiennes and his associates from returning to sit at our gates – so we shouldn’t lose anything by it.’

  ‘You might not,’ grinned Ned, ‘but spare a thought for others, will you? After fourteen weeks of incarceration and six spent shifting rubble and plugging up holes, I can do without being cut off from Oxford by heavy snow.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ said Justin acidly. ‘For a moment there you actually had me believing that you were eager to implement our designs for the outer defences.’

  Ned cast him a shrewd glance. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing that can possibly compete with the loss of your love life. Simply that the Lieutenant-Colonel is going to Oxford, presumably to be rewarded with a promotion.’

  ‘So? He deserves it, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he does,’ snapped Justin. ‘But would you necessarily say that Charles Walrond deserves to go with him and, in all likelihood, come back a Major?’

  ‘Ah.’ Ned’s eyes grew thoughtful. ‘Well, no. If seniority counts for anything, it ought to be Hugh. Naturally.’

  Five minutes later he found himself rather regretting this piece of tactlessness but by then it was too late for Justin had stalked off without a word the instant it was said. Ned sighed and decided that the poor devils who had the misfortune to be working with the Captain that morning were deserving of sympathy.

  In this he was mistaken for it was not Captain Ambrose’s practice to vent his moods on the men and he took particular care to be no more exacting than usual. It did not occur to him that, after one look at his face, the troopers were also employing their own brand of caution. He merely noted their reserved formality and put it down to a dislike of digging.

  Once the charred remains of the burnt-out houses had been cleared away from the south wall, it had seemed only sensible to use the space to the Castle’s advantage and the excavation of a second moat was clearly the best means of doing so. It was a large undertaking and, despite having a hundred men working on it for the last month, Justin saw no possibility of it being more than half finished before the winter set in. As for Sir William’s plans to modernise the outer defences by building two new bastions that would bring the curtain wall forward to run parallel with the original moat, these could not effectively begin until the spring came.

  However, with the general pattern of the war looking brighter than it had since before Marston Moor, the work seemed justified. The Parliament might have won an inconclusive victory at Newbury but it had failed to take Banbury and the warp and weft of its high command was currently being torn apart by the extremely public quarrel between Oliver Cromwell and Lord Manchester. It had been defeated in the South-West and, best of all, its Scots allies were being lured homewards by the Marquis of Montrose and his band of mad Irish who had reputedly defeated the Covenanters at Fyvie Castle with bullets made of melted-down chamber pots. All in all, it was small wonder that the Committee of Both Kingdoms had decided to send commissioners to treat with the King at Oxford. But then, thought Justin with cynical realism, they probably don’t realise that we’re fighting on credit.

  His own pay was two months in arrears and some of the men were owed even more. The only way many of them kept body and soul together was by using legitimate tax-collecting missions as an excuse for wholesale plundering. It was a situation that bred brutality and indiscipline but which could not be helped – since the alternative was a high rate of desertion. Justin himself was responsible for collecting the taxes from the Maxwells of Thorne Ash. He was fairly sure that Kate Maxwell was cheating by supplying him with false figures – but he couldn’t prove it. Nor, since her brother’s wife had apparently run off with the Captain previously charged with this duty, did he feel inclined to delve too deeply.

  A cloaked and hooded figure on horseback came slowly across the Market Place from the bridge and made its way to the south gate. Justin surveyed it with absent interest and then restored his attention to the duty rosters and requisition lists that had just been handed to him. The rider was no messenger but a woman; someone’s sister or mother or wife, no doubt. He scrawled his name at the foot of each page and handed the papers back to Sergeant Cole.

  ‘We don’t seem to be getting very far very fast, Sergeant.’

  ‘No, sir.’ Ramrod stiff, the sergeant kept face and voice strictly expressionless. ‘Shall I speak to the men, sir?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Digging faster, sir.’

  A disquieting gleam informed the pale grey eyes.

  ‘Can they? After five days’ frost and with the ground hard enough to break three spades this morning? You must make a few allowances, Sergeant.’

  Sergeant Cole’s chest heaved but he repressed his natural indignation and responded with only a wooden, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Justin grinned. ‘Oh – come off it, Archie! What have I done to make you sulk? Think pioneer work beneath your dignity, do you?’

  ‘No, Captain Ambrose, I do not!’ snapped the sergeant, goaded beyond endurance. ‘But I do think you’ve got no right coming out to my boys looking ripe for murder. It makes ‘em edgy.’

  There was a pause and then Justin’s mouth twisted wryly.

  ‘Was I? I wasn’t aware of it. But I know I haven’t said anything to reinforce the impression.’

  ‘No, sir. That’s just the trouble,’ offered Archie Cole with a hint of grim humour. ‘You didn’t say anything at all.’

  Justin did not see Lieutenant Frost until the pair of them met in the officer’s common room a few minutes before the dinner hour. A wary look entered Ned’s eyes but it was Justin who spoke first.

  ‘Ned – I beg your pardon. I was bloody rude, I know. But I hope I don’t have to tell you that it was neither personal nor intentional.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ned faintly. ‘No. Neither did I.’ And then, pulling himself together, ‘Let’s forget it and have a drink. How’s your ditch?’

  ‘My moat,’ corrected Justin, ‘is going to be a masterpiece and the pride of my existence. What of your stables?’

  ‘Finished. When the war is over, I think I’ll apply for Inigo Jones’ job and offer them as a testimonial.’

  ‘To what?’ asked Hugh Vaughan, newly come in. ‘You do realise that your beautiful new roof is leaking?’

  ‘What?’ howled Ned, hurling himself across to the window. Then, with good-humoured relief, ‘You lying devil. It isn’t even raining.’

  ‘No.’ Captain Vaughan sat down, crossing one elegant leg over the other and looking critically at his colleagues. ‘I do think the two of you might have dressed for dinner.’

  Justin gazed mockingly down on Hugh’s lace-edged tawny velvet.

  ‘Do you? But what price then your moment of glory? And you’re looking pretty enough for all three of us.’

  ‘Speaking for myself,�
� said Ned, passing Justin a cup of wine, ‘I’m saving what little decent clothing I have left for an occasion worthy of it.’

  ‘Ah.’ Hugh smiled. ‘You’ll be sorry. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Intrigued, Ned was still pressing for an explanation when the door opened and it walked into the room on Will Compton’s silk-clad arm.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Sir William demurely, ‘allow me to present Mistress Anne Rhodes.’

  Smiling like a cat with the cream, Hugh rose and bowed. Ned simply stared and Captain Ambrose drew a long breath of pure appreciation.

  She would have been beautiful in any circumstances but in the mundane clutter of the room she was sensational. A magnificent, queenly creature in her mid-twenties, she had skin like magnolia and hair the colour of burnished chestnuts and she was exquisitely and provocatively gowned in pearl-trimmed, delphinium taffeta. Dense, slate-blue eyes set under heavy, long-lashed lids rested first on Lieutenant Frost and then, with brief but visibly increased interest, on Justin.

  The air was charged with elusive vigour, and dinner – usually a light-hearted and rather haphazard affair – was suddenly transformed.

  ‘So you’ve come from Warwickshire,’ remarked Hugh a little later as he refilled her glass. ‘A perilous journey to make alone, surely?’

  ‘I had no choice.’ Huskiness touched the low contralto. ‘My late husband’s family have been very good but, with the house seized by the enemy, how could I stay?’

  Ned gazed at her with dazzled sympathy.

  ‘And where will you go now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought perhaps Oxford – but I have heard that it is desperately overcrowded.’

  ‘It is,’ Ned assured her. ‘It’s impossible to find a half-way decent lodging these days, even if one is willing to share.’

  Will Compton hid a smile.

  ‘I’m sure Mistress Rhodes is immensely comforted by that information.’

  Ned flushed. ‘Actually, I was about to —’

  ‘So it is just as well that she already knows that she may count on our hospitality here for as long as she needs it.’