Lady of the Highway Page 3

  ‘Five days? Six?’ I couldn’t be certain.

  ‘And you only went to the apothecary yesterday?’

  ‘We didn’t think… I mean she just suddenly got worse, and I—’

  ‘Hush! The last thing she needs is you two arguing.’ Mrs Binch settled on the stool next to her, and tried to raise her up.

  ‘She can’t hear us,’ I said, and Cutch glared at me.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Cutch said, putting an arm under Abi’s shoulders.

  Abi felt us trying to move her and a spasm of coughing racked her. She opened her eyes briefly to look at Cutch but then turned over and twisted her head away from him.

  He looked to me, hurt in his eyes.

  Mrs Binch patted Abi’s shoulder and tried to spoon some of the liquid into Abi’s mouth but it made her cough, and after that she kept her lips deliberately shut.

  ‘We have to do something,’ Cutch said, gripping the edges of his jerkin. ‘She can’t go on like this.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘If she won’t open her eyes to hear us, what can we do?’

  ‘Enough. Get out, the pair of you.’ Mrs Binch flapped a cloth at us. ‘I dare say the horses want bedding down, and mistress, you could do worse than go and check the doors are locked. After that hold-up on the road, best not take chances.’

  Cutch reluctantly went out. He took a last lingering look at Abi before he went. I followed him down the stairs, watched him slam out of the door and heard his boots crunch across the yard. I sighed with relief. He’d gone to the stable, and must be intending to stay. He’d sleep outside, in the hayloft, as he always did. He refused to sleep indoors in a bed – ‘I’ve slept rough too many nights to change now,’ he’d said.

  Cutch was a conundrum. He took no wages and would not be ordered. Thomas, my husband, would have set such a rough fellow on the road straight away, but Cutch treated me like his equal. It was awkward not knowing what his station was. Was he a servant, or not? It was hard to know. But with him, I felt my ladylike upbringing and background more keenly than ever. Sometimes I thought him my friend, but sometimes I had the uncomfortable feeling he thought me a fool.

  *

  In the morning I was sick with grief again, vomiting into my chamber pot, and I dare not visit Abi for fear of giving her my contagion. Mrs Binch had stayed overnight, sleeping before the chamber fire in a chair dragged from the parlour. She said the herbs and potions were working. Abi’s breathing had eased, and she coughed less. But still she kept her face turned to the wall, her eyes shut. She had refused to eat the barley mash I had made for her.

  ‘She’s wasting away,’ Mrs Binch said.

  Just at that moment, the back door creaked open and Cutch appeared with Martha clinging to his hand. I had only met Abi’s sister once before, and it was a surprise to see this bonny six-year-old, cheeks rosy with cold, staring curiously up at me. In her hand hung a string from which dangled a turnip carved into a rough face.

  ‘Look at my lantern,’ she said.

  ‘Did you make it?’ asked Mrs Binch.

  ‘Yes, all by myself,’ she said. Then seeming to consider the truth of this, she pointed to Cutch. ‘Except he helped.’

  ‘It’s very well done,’ I said, but Martha interrupted me, ‘It’s for Abi. For All Hallows Eve.’ She looked at Cutch with accusing eyes. ‘You said Abi would be here. Where’s Abi?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ I said. ‘She’s poorly.’

  ‘Where?’ Martha did not wait to be invited in, but ran off through the hall, then bounded up the stairs on her skinny legs and pushed open all the doors until she found the one with the shutters still closed. Cutch and I followed, hurrying to catch up with this whirlwind of flurrying skirts.

  ‘Abi!’ Martha ran and flung herself on the bed and began to shake her awake, bringing on a fresh bout of coughing. Martha made a face, and leapt back at the sudden noise.

  ‘Come away now,’ I said, beckoning from the door, fearful that Martha would make Abi worse. Abi propped herself up in bed, on weak elbows, ‘No let her come.’ Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but just the sound of it made me want to leap with relief.

  Martha pushed the lantern towards her and showed her the grinning face. ‘For All Hallows Eve,’ Martha said proudly, ‘to keep the witches away.’

  ‘Oh Martha,’ Abi pulled her into an embrace, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Martha’s face fell.

  ‘It’s beautiful. The best. The best I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Will you get up now, Abi? I’ve no one to play with. The vicar says Mother’s gone to heaven. Will she come back for me? She took William and Ralph and I’m the one she left behind.’

  ‘Leave Abi alone now,’ I said. ‘She’s been very sick. But I think you made her feel better. Mrs Binch will be here soon and I think she could use a pair of hands like yours in the kitchen. I heard she might be making currant cakes. You can come back and see Abi again later.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘In a little while,’ I said, ‘when she’s had more rest.’

  ‘Cutch!’ Martha tugged at his sleeve. ‘Piggyback? Please?’

  Cutch hoisted Martha onto his back and held onto her arms as she wrapped her legs round him. He pretended to neigh. Martha giggled and slapped at him to make him go faster. Abi followed their gallop round the room with her eyes, until they galumphed away down the stairs. My queasiness forgotten, I went to her. A wan smile curved her lips, and it gladdened my heart.

  I knelt and leaned against the bed, mouthed, ‘About time too. You’ve been sleeping for days.’

  ‘How long?’

  She was looking at me. Praise God. I held up seven fingers. ‘A week? More. We feared for you, thought you might…’

  ‘I didn’t want to wake up. I can’t believe they won’t come back. Why, Kate? Why my family? Do you think it’s because I burned down our house? I never meant to.’

  ‘No, I’m sure—’

  ‘I was just careless with the candle. It was an accident. Do you think God’s still punishing me? With my deafness, I thought I’d paid that debt already.’

  ‘Don’t talk of debts. It’s nonsense.’ God’s reasoning was beyond me.

  ‘Ralph had promised to give Mr Mallinson my dowry. Now he’s gone, there’ll be no one to find me a marriage portion. Jacob might not want me, and then what will I do?’ She paused as another cough rattled her chest. ‘And someone has to look after Martha. Jacob won’t want to take on Martha too.’ She coughed again, eyes filled with tears.

  I passed her my kerchief. ‘He’ll think of something. Don’t worry.’

  She sank back a little. ‘But what will happen to us when Thomas takes you away to France?’

  ‘I’m going nowhere. I’ve heard not a word from him. Maybe he won’t send for me. Lie back now, and I’ll bring you some more of Mrs Binch’s tisane.’

  ‘But at the burials there was all this talk of closing up the house. It was on everyone’s lips. Constable Mallinson says the County Sequestration Committee is to decide soon—’

  ‘Hush. Enough talking. Rest.’ I had not been privy to the gossip of them closing up the house. It made me bitter, that it was my inheritance, my dwelling house, yet I would be the last to know its fate. Abi had voiced my own fears and they rankled.

  But the civil wars had done some good – my stepfather had gone, and my weakling husband was missing. For the first time in my life I could order my own fate. And I wasn’t going to give up that privilege easily. I would not be blown by the wind. I would carve out my own future, somehow.

  *

  The next morning Abi was a little better, and I hurried to answer the hammering at the door. Jacob Mallinson was standing on the doorstep. He was immaculately dressed in a dark twill doublet and breeches, his dark hair combed away from his face. He looked more the gentleman than ever. It made me edgy, as I was still clad in an old smoke-stained apron and coif. He held a big pannier in his arms which he offered to me.
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  ‘Morrow, Kate,’ he said, his breath steaming in the chill air. ‘Elizabeth told me that Abigail is unwell. I’ve brought her some remedies. I asked Elizabeth what she might need and she was so helpful.’

  I’ll wager she was, I thought grimly, as long as it was you that was asking, and not me. But I kept these thoughts to myself. ‘You’d best come in,’ I said.

  In the background I saw Cutch’s face darken. He turned away and led Jacob’s horse to the trough.

  ‘How is she?’ Jacob asked, removing his hat.

  ‘A little better, but weak. But I’ll fetch Mrs Binch, and let’s see what she can do with what you’ve brought. If you wait a moment, I’ll fetch my purse and—’

  ‘No need. It’s a gift. My pleasure.’

  I exhaled. My purse was empty, but I would not let Jacob know that. Though as soon as he stepped over the threshold, I immediately felt the paucity of our surroundings. Before Thomas had left, he had replaced some of our furniture, but not all. Some rooms were uncomfortably empty, with telltale pale squares where our family portraits used to grace the walls. I pushed these thoughts away.

  ‘Would you like to come up and see her?’ Perhaps it was what Abi needed, to see Jacob. It might give her another reason to get well.

  I gestured to him to follow, but I sensed some reluctance, a hanging back. ‘Sorry Kate, but I’m not good with sick people,’ he said, with a grimace. ‘You can tell her I called, though.’

  ‘It’s Abi,’ I said, ‘not just anyone. And she’ll want to see you.’ I set off upstairs, so he had to follow. I glanced back to see him running a hand round the inside of his stock to loosen it. I took him to where Mrs Binch was bent over, one hand on Abi’s shoulder.

  ‘Ssh,’ she said, looking up. ‘Don’t wake her.’

  ‘Come and sit by her,’ I said, beckoning to Jacob.

  He perched himself on the stool that Mrs Binch had just vacated, looking uncomfortably stiff in his starched cravat and fine doublet. I saw him cast a horrified glance to Mrs Binch’s bruised face, before his attention went back to Abi. ‘Is it catching?’ he whispered to Mrs Binch.

  ‘No,’ she reassured him. ‘At least nobody else has shown any signs of ailing. Why don’t you hold her hand?’

  Jacob stretched out his hand and took hold of Abi’s but he did not seem to know what to do with it. He held it gingerly, as though it might bite him. Abi was sound asleep; her face was pale, her breath laboured.

  Suddenly, she coughed and opened her eyes. Seeing Jacob she shut them again tight.

  ‘Talk to her,’ I said, in desperation. ‘Tell her she’s to get well. That we all need her.’

  ‘Can she hear me?’

  ‘Of course she can’t hear you! But you need to tell her through your touch.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Your sister sends her best wishes. She sent you some potions from the apothecary.’

  ‘Don’t suppose she said she’d visit, though,’ I muttered.

  ‘You’ll soon be up and about,’ Jacob continued lamely. He seemed unable to imagine how to talk to her without using words. Abi turned over, dragging the blanket over her head.

  Jacob sighed, and stood up. I did not like the way he rubbed his own hand on his breeches as if it was contaminated. ‘Can I speak to you in private a moment,’ he said.

  I let him follow me out onto the landing.

  ‘There was a coach held up two nights ago on the main London road, that’s why I haven’t been before. We’ve been too busy. Two of Cromwell’s right-hand men were shot dead by highway thieves on the way to London, and their coach was stolen too. It’s a big investigation.’ His face glowed with enthusiasm. ‘Father and I are working on it together. You need to lock your doors and—’

  ‘I know,’ I said. I told him in whispers about how we had been held up by the two men.

  ‘You were robbed? Why did I not know of this? What did they take?’

  I did not want to tell him the humiliation of being stripped to my shift. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘We had no valuables with us, and they hit Mrs Binch when they found no gold. Then they let us go. They saw the other coach coming, and lost interest in us. We heard shots, but we didn’t stop, we just wanted to get ourselves away.’

  ‘But you should have told us.’ His brown eyes held a hint of accusation. ‘We could have been hot on their trail! Why didn’t you come for the constable?’

  ‘Keep your voice down. I’ll tell you why – because Abi was all alone here and ill, and I feared she might die if I did not get home soon.’

  ‘We could have caught them,’ Jacob insisted. ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘Would you have left Abi all alone in this big house with no one to look to her?’

  ‘Well no, of course not.’ He frowned. ‘I shall expect you to come over later and tell me a full description of these men. Lock all your doors, and make sure no one travels without an escort.’

  ‘Oh we will,’ I said as we went back down. ‘As you can see, the house is full of people waiting to escort us.’ I gestured bitterly at the bare walls and empty hall.

  As Jacob reached the door and swung it open, he suddenly turned. ‘My father and I have been talking and we wondered… what will happen to Abi, when you… if you have to leave here? I don’t think we can—’

  ‘What do you mean?’ My heart had turned to ice. He was the second person to talk of me leaving.

  ‘Father’s on the sequestration committee. They’re deciding what to do about the manor. It seems you have few friends in the neighbourhood. It doesn’t look good for the Fanshawes, not when there’s talk of enforced sales of Royalist houses – to raise money to rebuild in St Albans.’

  ‘Who said this? Who’s making these decisions?’

  ‘The Justice of the Peace, Hodgson. And my father of course, as he’s responsible for law and order. One or two others too, like myself and Jack Downall.’

  A draught blew in from the door, chill as winter. Downall. I did not want to hear that name again.

  Jacob put his hand on my arm. ‘I know you don’t like him, but your stepfather approves. I guess he sees the advantages of appearing sympathetic to Cromwell’s views.’

  ‘Downall’s only after lining his own pockets. He’d be on the side of the devil if it paid him.’

  ‘Hodgson’s a staunch Puritan, and Downall’s made a friend of him. I must warn you that he’s fuelling the fire that you’re a nest of papists here and—’

  ‘Papists? Don’t talk such foolishness. You know that to be false.’ I cut him off. My heart had turned into a knot of tension in my chest. This was real. My husband was missing. Without the house I would have no inheritance, no stake in my own future. I drew myself up. ‘When do this committee meet?’

  ‘They won’t see you.’ He’d read my mind.

  ‘Why not? Downall is a bully and a liar. He changes sides so quickly you can’t see him for dust. They’ll see me. I’ll make them.’

  ‘You won’t. Because you’re a woman. Women aren’t allowed in these meetings, they get too emotional.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ I was on fire with anger, I advanced on him so he backed away.

  ‘No.’ He held up his hands. ‘Of course not. But it’s the way the law works. You have to follow along with it, not stir up more heat.’

  ‘I thought you were my friend, Jacob.’

  ‘I am. Any good friend would give you the same advice. The Royalists have lost. In your position I’d be humble. Stay in line, don’t upset the apple cart. Wait for the wheel of fortune to swing round.’

  ‘It’s fine for you to talk, from your perch as constable’s boot boy, laying down the law, with no one to answer to except your father.’

  I’d insulted him. His face grew rigid and he placed his hat firmly back on his head.

  ‘Take care, Kate. You’ve enemies enough.’ He walked to the stable where Cutch was standing holding his horse. Cutch got no thanks, but stood back as Jacob dug his heels into his horse’s flanks an
d galloped away, divots of mud flying back from his horse’s hooves.

  I held up my hands in a hopeless gesture of frustration. What had I done? Abi was only just coming back to health, but she’d turn round and die if she knew Jacob had galloped away in such a temper.

  *

  Back in the bedchamber, Abi sat up in a welter of coughing. ‘Why did you have to let him in? Look at me, I’m not fit to be seen.’

  ‘I thought it would cheer you, to see him.’

  ‘Like this? In a sweat-soaked chemise with my hair all in rats’ tails? How could you?’ She scrubbed away an angry tear.

  ‘He was pleased to see you getting better.’

  ‘Rot. It was so embarrassing. You should’ve waited until…’ Coughing prevented her from finishing.

  I tried to hand her a drink but she pushed it away so it slopped over my wrist. ‘Just go away. I don’t want you here.’

  ‘I was only trying to help. And I’ll have you remember, this is my house, and I’ll go where I please.’

  I slammed the door on the way out.

  Immediately I regretted it. I took a candle and wandered the empty rooms. There was an ache in my heart from Abi’s harsh words, but I wasn’t going to let her see how much it hurt. I had so few friends, I realised. I hadn’t been allowed the easy camaraderie of the children on the village green. I remembered Ralph’s words, that wealth could be a blessing or a curse.

  I walked along the long echoing gallery where portraits of my forebears had once gazed coolly from their frames, past the library, now empty of books, into the sitting room where now only two chairs stood like islands in a sea of space.

  This was all I had. In a sense, the house was me. At my stepfather’s insistence, Thomas had married the house and my inheritance, caring nothing for me as a person. Fate had stripped the manor of its assets, and now even Thomas had run away from it. I ran my hand over one of the chairs and rubbed the silt of dust between my fingers.

  A shadow passed across the wall, fleeting, like a bird flying past the window. The movement was disturbing in this quiet room. I could not help but turn, but I knew before I even looked, that the room would be empty.