Conflict and Courage (28 page)

* * * * *

Lady Anne Baker
lay down on her daybed at the window embrasure and gazed out of the
window at the activity in the courtyard at Fort. She almost never
set foot outdoors any more. This last pregnancy had been a
difficult one; she was exhausted and could barely summon up the
energy to care for the children.

She did, of
course, have maidservants to help her, as mother to the young king
she had three on permanent duty, but was finding their attentions
more and more burdensome as the months progressed. She found their
cloying attention more nuisance than help and she could not forget
that, as her husband had appointed these women, she must not trust
them. She was lonely. The letters and pictures smuggled in to her
helped but a little.

She lifted her
head at the sound of the respectful knock at her door.

“Enter,” she
said.

Her new maid
entered, a pretty little thing. Sam Baker changed her maids
frequently, wanting to keep her as isolated as possible. He
disliked her forming attachments with anyone but the children and
himself.

“Doctor
Kurtheim wishes to see you my lady,” said the girl, “will I let him
in?”

At Anne’s nod
she stepped back and Arthur Kurtheim stood at the door.

“You may go,”
said Anne to the girl as he entered. The two listened for the sound
of her footsteps departing. Anne had learned long ago to be
careful. Here at Fort, words spoken without caution had a habit of
making their way back to her husband.

“How glad I am
to see you Arthur,” said Anne, “what news?”

“How are you
this morning?” he asked in return, sidestepping her question. “Did
you sleep well?”

“Well
enough.”

“You don’t look
as if you have, let me take your pulse.”

“Never mind all
that,” said Anne. “Is there any news?”

Arthur Kurtheim
bent over her wrist.

“More than just
news,” he grinned. Like a conjuror, he extracted a small packet
wrapped in oilskin from one of his many pockets and handed it to
her.

“A letter,”
Anne exclaimed as she received the package with trembling fingers.
Her hands shook as she opened it. Smuggled letters from Jessica,
Cherry and Joseph were few and far between.

Opening one
end, she slid the paper from its wrappings and opened the sheet
with care.

The paper was
folded twice. What was revealed were pen and ink drawings of five
faces. A young woman’s smiling face was set in the very centre of
the sheet. Anne had no trouble recognising Jessica, her eldest. The
faces of four children were drawn at each corner, one of a very
young baby, the others of varying ages from seven downwards, all
boys.

“Jessica,” she
gasped, “my Jessica and her children.” For safety reasons there was
no writing anywhere on the sheet but Anne knew who they were. She
pointed with a thin finger at the boy top right. “He’s the very
image of my Peter,” she murmured.

“Hide it safe,”
said Doctor Arthur from the door. “I must go. I’ll tell your maids
that you are resting and don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Wait,” Anne
commanded. “I need to speak to you about something important.”

He returned to
her bedside.

“Thank those
who got this to me. You have no idea what this means.”

“I can
imagine,” he answered with a gentle smile.

“I don’t regret
what I did, you know,” she added, lifting her head up from the
pillows a little way; the better to see him.

“You must
rest.”

“I will get
plenty of rest where I am going,” she whispered with a sad smile,
“you will remember what you promised? She is so young, it is so
hard to leave her.”

“I will keep my
promise,” he averred, “like a daughter she will be to me.”

Anne’s head
dropped back on to the pillows.

“Now, take some
time to look at your letter. I’ll try and make sure you’re not
disturbed.”

“Thank you,”
breathed Anne, gazing at the pictures.

Worth the
danger to bring her some joy
, he thought as he closed the door.
He was surprised to see the young maid waiting for him. His old
ears hadn’t heard her light footsteps.

“Leave your
mistress alone for a while,” he instructed. “She needs her
rest.”

“Yes sir,
doctor sir,” she muttered and took a quick glance round. Seeing
they were alone she added, “she is a nice lady. I look after her a
lot.”

“Good girl,” he
said and reached out to ruffle her hair, noticing for the first
time the slave band round her wrist. He knew there would be another
tattooed on her ankle.

The girl’s
accent was strange.

“Where are you
from?”

“Pirates took
me and my family years ago,” she whispered, “when I was young.”

“And what age
are you now?” he asked.

Cara thought
for a moment. “Fourteen I think.”

“Your master is
Lord Baker?”

Her eyes
hardened and her mouth settled in a straight line. “Yes Doctor, but
it’s my misfortune, not yours.”

“I understand,”
he said, “but you’re safer with Lady Anne than anyone else.” Sam
Baker’s penchant for young girls was well known.

“If there’s
anything I can do for her, I won’t tell him,” she whispered,
greatly daring. Arthur had no trouble working out who ‘he’ was.

He looked down
into her face. What he saw there was sincerity and intelligence,
also an unbroken spirit, despite what she must have suffered at her
master’s hands.

He heard
footsteps in the far passage. Cara heard them too and drew
back.

“Tell your
mistress I will be back to see her tomorrow.”

“I will. She
likes it when you come. It cheers her up. She is so sad-looking
always.”

“Perhaps you
and I can find some ways to cheer her up a little more?”

The girl’s face
broke into a smile.

“I’d better
go,” she said. Schooling her face into the submissive mien as
befitted a lowly female slave-maid she added, “they’ll be looking
for me.” With that pronouncement she sped away on light feet, her
rope sandals flapping on the stone floor.

Doctor Arthur
schooled his own face into impassivity and went on his way. He had
much to think about.

In another part
of the palace, the slave-maid’s master was talking to one of his
closest adherents.

“It’s time
Elliot was crowned,” said Lord Regent Baker to Lord Henri Cocteau,
dropping the bombshell in his usual abrupt style. “He’s been long
enough in the care of his mother. Too much mollycoddling is bad for
him.”

“He’s only
eight,” warned Henri Cocteau.

“Country needs
a figurehead. There’s dissatisfaction around, too much and it
starts at the top. I intend to use the occasion to consolidate our
power base, bring the Lords into line.”

“You still
trying to tie the others to us?”

“Alliances,”
corrected Sam Baker, “we need alliances; with our King at the
head.”

“You are the
king in all but name.”

“True,” Sam
grinned, “it hasn’t done you any harm though has it? I intend to
use what our fellow Lords hold most dear?”

“I’m not sure
it’ll work.”

“Oh it will,
Henri, it will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Sam Baker
smiled at his associate. “As you know, I mean to tie them to us
through their sons and daughters. I have worked out a mesh of
betrothals and marriages. When the Lords and their families come to
the crowning, they will bring their children with them. Each and
every one of these children will be betrothed, one to another.”

“You think
they’ll agree to it?”

“They are not
stupid and this idiotic rivalry between them will be the death of
us all. This way I make them toe the line. The only thing they do
have in common is love for their children. Let’s use it to our
advantage.”

Anne had dozed
off, after hiding the sheet of precious drawings under her pillow
and when she woke, the first face she saw was a well loved one.

Her daughter
Ruth was sitting beside her bed.

“Ruth,” Anne
whispered, “my little Ruth.” A frail arm came up and she touched
Ruth’s face with the tips of her fingers.

“Lady Cocteau
has the children with her in the nursery,” Ruth told her mother,
“Auntie Ulla is coming over later to keep you company but she said
I could stay with you until she came.”

“That’s nice,”
said Anne. Ulla Pederson, Carla Cocteau’s mother was one of the few
people here at Fort who Anne could trust. She coughed.

“Is your cough
not any better Mummy?”

“Not yet,” Anne
confessed reaching out a thin hand to clasp her daughter’s. Better
than anyone Anne knew she was dying and that there was not much
time.

“Lean closer,”
she whispered, “I have some important things to tell you. Cuddle in
beside me and listen carefully to what I have to say.”

Snuggled in,
Ruth waited.

“No matter what
happens,” Anne began, “you must always remember that I love you
very much. You have been such a comfort to me these last
years.”

“I love you too
Mummy.”

“You must keep
what I am about to tell you a big secret,” Anne began, “do you
promise? Your stepfather would be very angry if he knew. You
mustn’t even tell your brother.”

“Not even
Elliot?” whispered Ruth in surprise.

“Not even him.
He might feel that he has to tell the Lord Regent.”

“I promise,
Mummy, tell me.” No more than her mother did Ruth like or trust Sam
Baker, Anne was content that what she was about to say would go no
further.

“You know that
before I married Lord Baker I was married to someone else?”

“Yes, my
father, Murdoch the Great Founder. We have learned about him in
lessons.”

“No, before
then, before I married your father.”

Ruth raised
wide surprised eyes to her mother.

“Yes, little
daughter, it is true. My first husband and I were married a long
time ago.”

“What happened
to him?”

“He died.”

“So you married
my Father?”

Anne saw no
need to go into the sordid details of the first year.

“My Father died
before Elliot and I were born. He was killed by the evil Lind of
the north,” Ruth informed her.

“He was killed,
but the northerners are not evil. That is something you are being
taught but it is not the truth. I am going to tell you about
something.”

“Go on
Mummy.”

“You have
another two sisters and a brother, half-sisters and brother to be
exact, older than you.”

“Where are
they?” asked Ruth with excitement.

“In the north,”
answered Anne.

“Then I can
never meet them,” Ruth sighed with disappointment, “the northerners
are our enemies.”

Anne let that
go. “This is the important bit you must remember. Their names are
Jessica, Cherry and Joseph. Jessica is married now with children of
her own.”

“Then I am an
Auntie.”

Anne chuckled,
bringing on another fit of coughing and Ruth passed her the glass
of water that lay on the bedside table.

Anne sipped it
with care.

“You are very
young, only eight and I wish I did not need to burden you with
this. You may not understand yet, but you will when you are older,
when I am gone.”

Ruth’s lips
opened.

“Hush, when I
am gone you will be on your own. Elliot is the important one; he
will be your King. Your stepfather will try to marry you off to one
of the sons of the other Lords, probably David Gardiner’s eldest,
he is the right age and Lord Baker needs to keep him on his
side.”

“That’s years
away,” Ruth dismissed Anne’s pronouncement with a wave of her
hand.

“Years have a
habit of passing quicker than you think and your stepfather has big
plans.”

“There’s
nothing I can do about it though. Is there?”

“I have spoken
to Doctor Arthur and if it is possible and he can manage it, he
will try to get you north to your sister Jessica, if that’s what
you want. She will look after you for my sake.”

“I don’t see
why,” protested Ruth. “It is a woman’s duty to marry and have
children. My tutor tells us.”

“Your tutor is
wrong. He is telling you what he has been told to say. I don’t want
you forced into marriage. I don’t want you to suffer as I have
done. So remember what I have said. Remember, but tell nobody.
Perhaps you will be quite happy to marry the man your stepfather
selects for you, but if not, then remember and tell Doctor Arthur.
He will help you. He is your friend.”

“You’ll get
better. You
must
.”

“Perhaps I
will,” Anne lied, “but if I do not, remember, trust no one except
Doctor Arthur.”

Ruth snuggled
in again. “I’ll remember,” she promised.

Ruth was asleep
when Ulla Pederson entered. Anne raised an imploring face to her
friend as the older woman stretched over to wake the little girl.
Knowing what was ahead of her, she took pity on them both and left
her sleeping beside Anne.

Mother and
daughter slept side by side until morning when Ruth had to leave,
kissing her mother goodbye as she sped away to the Cocteau nursery
to help Carla Cocteau with the little ones.

Anne’s eyes
followed Ruth as she skipped away, promising to return that
evening.

Anne would
never see her daughter again.

* * * * *

Dr Arthur
Kurtheim made his careful way down the paved road that marked the
route to the Sailors’ Arms, a seedy dive of a tavern that catered
to the needs of the men who ran the trade-barges up and down the
river. He noted again how quiet both Fort and the encampment were
with the regiments on manoeuvres in Brentwood.