Exile's Return (24 page)

He tightened his grip. ‘But James is dead. He chose his own path. You are now all those children have.' He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. ‘I wish I had an ounce of your selfless spirit, Agnes.'

She laughed and pulled her hand away. ‘Selfless? I think not. The day is wasting, Daniel, and if we want to be at Preston by nightfall, we should be on our way.'

Charvaley Castle, Lancashire
27 November 1659

Daniel had not known what to expect from Charvaley Castle. The village of Charvaley lay hard up against the castle walls, where it had nestled for centuries in the protection of the lords of the castle. It boasted a collection of well-kept cottages, a church with a solid square tower, a small inn, and a market square before the old gatehouse of the castle.

The village lay quiet, blanketed in an autumnal mist through which the bulk of the castle loomed above the little houses. It was one of those castles that had long since ceased to be defensible, its crumbling walls transformed into a fine residence by successive generations of Ashbys. Only the gatehouse and a couple of towers remained of the original castle, the walls no doubt softened by wallflowers and ivy in summer. Now only dried stalks clung to the old stones, giving it a bleak and forbidding aspect.

The picture of benign innocence ended at the gate, where he was stopped by two red-coated soldiers. Turner's men, he supposed. He told them his business was with Colonel Ashby and of a personal nature.

‘Colonel's not here,' one said. ‘Gone to London.'

Daniel considered this information. It could be a blessing in disguise if Ashby were away from home. ‘Then I will speak with Captain Turner,' he said.

One of the guards scratched his ear as he considered. He gave a curt nod and stood aside to let Daniel pass.

The residence, built, Daniel guessed, in the early years of James's reign, fronted the courtyard. He was shown through the large, elegant front door into a spacious, tiled entrance hall.

‘What is your business with Colonel Ashby?'

Turner stood at a door with one hand on the handle, as if he meant to deal swiftly with this visitor. For a brief moment Turner frowned, and Daniel wondered if he had been recognized. He had deliberately not shaved since leaving Seven Ways, and hoped the dark stubble concealed his identity from those who remembered a fresh-faced boy.

Daniel fumbled in his pocket and produced Agnes's note. ‘I bring a note from my lady,' he said, affecting the inflections of his native Cheshire.

‘And who is your mistress?' Turner's lips curved in a sneer.

‘Mistress Fletcher.'

Turner relinquished his hold on the door handle and approached him, snatching the note from him.

‘It's meant for Colonel Ashby,' Daniel protested. ‘My lady was most insistent.'

‘In the Colonel's absence I have his complete authority,' Turner said, breaking the seal.

He read the contents and looked up. ‘Where is your mistress now?'

‘Waiting in Preston, sir. She said to say how she knows she's not welcome here but would speak with the Colonel.'

Turner compressed his lips and glanced at the note again. ‘Very well, I will return to Preston with you.'

***

Agnes had been watching for Daniel's return from the window of her chamber, the most expensive the inn could supply. Seeing Septimus Turner riding beside him, she took a step back, her stomach churning. She had been prepared to face Ashby, had all her arguments in place, but Turner was an unknown quantity. How much did he know of his master's business?

At the peremptory knock on the door she turned to greet her visitor.

Turner swept his hat from his head and gave her a cursory bow. She returned his half-hearted gesture with a mere inclination of her head. His gaze flicked to Daniel, who had opened the door to admit Turner and now stood deferentially to one side as if awaiting further orders.

‘I was expecting Colonel Ashby,' she said, ignoring the implication in Turner's gesture. Daniel would not be leaving the room.

Turner's lips compressed. ‘The Colonel has been in London, although we expect his return in a day or so. There is nothing you need to say to the Colonel that cannot be said to me.'

Agnes narrowed her eyes and allowed a thin, humourless smile to play on her lips. ‘Oh, but there is, Captain Turner. When I spoke with the Colonel in London I was in shock, but since I have had time to reflect, I find my memory about certain events of the last year have become a little clearer.'

Turner's face betrayed nothing, but his body stiffened and she knew she had hit the mark. Turner knew about the gold.

‘What do you want?' he enquired.

‘Of you, nothing. I will return with you to the castle and await the Colonel,' she said.

‘But … ' Turner began, but she raised a hand.

‘I will see the children,' she said. ‘If you deny me that, I leave Preston today and that will be an end of it. Ashby will never know what it was I came to tell him.'

Turner's jaw worked. She could almost hear his brain churning through the conflicting orders. He was a man who only responded to orders and his were plain. Agnes Fletcher was not to be admitted at Charvaley.

He looked down at the hat in his hand and cleared his throat. ‘Very well. Do you have a horse? I brought no coach.'

She nodded and he gave a curt inclination of his head. ‘I will be waiting downstairs.'

She heard Turner's boots on the stairs and let out a heartfelt sigh as Daniel closed the door.

‘You did well,' he said, turning to her.

Agnes shivered. ‘He scares me more than Ashby.'

He crossed the floor to her and for a long moment they stood facing each other. The weeks in an autumnal England, and his illness, had faded his tan, but the dark stubble on his chin and the scar on his cheek only served to make him look more exotic, more piratical, as Henry would have said.

She longed for him to touch her, to fold her in his arms and tell her all would be well, but she had set the barriers between them and there they would remain.

‘I'm not a conspirator,' she said. ‘I just want my children and my home. Should we leave a message for Jonathan and Kit?'

Daniel shook his head. ‘They know where to go. I think we can trust them to find their way. Now, I'd better be a good manservant and go and organise the horses. I shall see you downstairs … madam.' He gave her a low bow, and picking up Agnes's travelling satchel, Daniel left the room.

Gathering up her cloak and hat, Agnes took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown.

***

Was it possible for Charvaley to remain so completely unchanged?

It had only been three months since she had left, hurrying to reach London, as James had sent news that his captors had indicated that he would die. She remembered every moment of that hellish journey with two miserable, fretful children. She had left with no thought except for James and no expectation that she would not be returning.

Then it had been late summer; now the chill winds of autumn lifted the edges of her cloak as they rode under the gatehouse into the well-maintained courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the residence and on the fourth by a high wall that led out into the gardens that had been James's pride and joy.

Agnes did not recognise the servant who helped her dismount from the black gelding and she looked at him curiously. The
major domo
of the Charvaley Castle staff had been a cheerful, round-faced man, not this dour, unsmiling minion.

‘Where's Gibbs?' she asked Turner.

Turner shrugged. ‘The Colonel preferred to have people he knew around him and brought his own people from Broughton.'

Agnes stared at him, thinking of the elderly but loyal Charvaley staff who had served the family. A small, nagging doubt insinuated itself into her mind. She had imagined returning back to joyful acclaim from the staff and servants. Not this cold reception from people she did not know.

What had become of them? Had Tobias cast them out to make their own way in advance of winter?

‘He has replaced them all?' she asked.

‘Not all,' Turner replied.

Leah Turner waited at the massive oak door, dressed in a gown of a sombre russet colour with plain collar and cuffs unrelieved by lace or embroidery, her hands clasped in front of her, the keys of the house hanging from a heavy ring at her waist. At the sight of Agnes, the woman's lips compressed with disapproval so as to be nothing more than a slit in her face.

‘What is she doing here?' she demanded of her brother. ‘The Colonel gave orders … '

Turner held up his hand. ‘Peace, Leah. She is here to await the return of the Colonel.'

‘You could have sent me word to expect a visitor,' Leah complained.

‘I do not intend to inconvenience you, Mistress Turner. I have come to see Colonel Ashby – and the children,' Agnes said, collecting up the too-long skirts of Nell Longley's riding gown.

‘You are not welcome here,' Leah Turner said.

‘Sister,' Septimus Turner spoke. ‘Mistress Fletcher has good reason to see the Colonel and we must accommodate her until he returns. Please extend her the courtesy of a guest.'

Inwardly Agnes seethed.
A guest?
In her own home?

She picked up her skirts and mounted the steps but Leah Turner did not move, remaining an immovable obstacle to the entrance.

‘It will not be possible to see the children,' Leah Turner said. ‘Not while the Colonel is in London. Our orders are quite explicit on that subject.'

Agnes studied the woman through narrowed eyes. She had to be careful which battles she picked, and however much it grieved her to be so close to the children, for the time being this might be one she would have to concede.

‘It has been a long, tiring journey,' she said. ‘Be so good as to conduct me to my room, Mistress Turner.'

Leah's mouth twitched. ‘As we were not expecting guests, there is no bed made up, but if you care to follow me. You … ' she addressed Daniel, ‘see to the horses.'

The woman turned and proceeded into the house.

‘I know the way to my own bedchamber,' Agnes said.

She received no response, and her heart sank as the woman turned right instead of left at the top of the stairs, leading her toward the old part of the castle, to a badly lit, cold room with heavy stone walls, only partly relieved by a couple of heavy tapestries and a small half tester bed.

No fire burned in the fireplace and the room smelled musty and damp. Protest would be pointless. It was not unreasonable to have expected her not to be returning to Charvaley. No doubt the pleasant, airy bedchamber that had been hers for the past eight years had been reassigned.

Leah Turner pointed at the wooden chest at the end of the bed.

‘That is yours, I believe. Your belongings were set aside should you send for them,' she said. ‘I will have the bed made up and a fire lit.'

Agnes removed her hat and gloves, setting them on the chest.

‘Mistress Turner, Leah, I would like to see the children.' She repeated the request in a soft, placatory tone. A woman appealing to a woman.

Leah's face betrayed no emotion. ‘I will send food and drink for you and water to refresh yourself. Good day, Mistress Fletcher.'

Agnes sank down on the edge of the bed and pulled at the strings of her cloak. What had she expected? To be welcomed back with open arms?

She looked at the heavy, iron studded door and rose to her feet. To hell with Leah Turner – she would see the children. She opened the door, only to find one of Turner's soldiers lounging against the far wall. He straightened on seeing her.

‘Who are you?' she demanded.

The man whipped off his hat and shuffled his feet. ‘Trooper Brown, ma'am.'

‘Am I under armed guard?' she enquired.

The man frowned and scratched his chin. ‘My orders are to see you get a good rest,' he said, ‘And to take you to Mistress Turner or the Captain when they sends for you.'

‘Am I not permitted the opportunity to stretch my legs?'

‘Not in my orders, ma'am,' the man said almost apologetically.

Her heart sank. She'd not come home, she had walked into virtual, if not actual, imprisonment, subject to the whims of the Colonel or Captain Turner, and stood little chance of either seeing the children or investigating the hiding place for the gold while she remained trapped in this room. She wondered how on Earth she would even get a message to Daniel.

Agnes retired back into the chamber and stood for a long moment looking at the heavy chest, the only item of furniture she had brought from her childhood home. She knelt down beside it, running her hands over the smooth wood, now black with age. With her finger, she traced the familiar figures of David and Goliath on the lid. No need to look in her belongings for the key. The old lock had been prised open.

With a heavy sigh, she opened the lid and found her possessions had been thrown in with no order or respect. The only thing she treasured, a Bible box that had belonged to her father, sat at the top of the pile. She it lifted out, noting with distress that, like the chest, the lock had been prised open. Had they been looking for something that may have given them the clue to the gold, she wondered?

Mercifully, it looked as if everything within the box remained intact, albeit bearing the evidence of having been disturbed. Letters from her father and brother, her father's Bible, and the sorts of trinkets and mementos a young girl collects in her lifetime, ribbons and broken bits of jewellery of no value. She lifted them out one by one, a sense of violation washing over her. These were her special, private things, and the thought of Ashby or Turner or one of his rough soldiers handling them made her feel quite ill. She carefully repacked the box, adding
The Faerie Queen
to the contents, and set it on the small table, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room.