The Herb of Grace (3 page)

Since she was almost gagging at the smell of the rue water, Emilia could believe this. She abandoned the idea rather reluctantly.

‘Don't let that monkey drink it,' Martha advised, looking at Zizi who was sniffing at the jar in curiosity. ‘It's poisonous as anything.'

Luka at once snatched up his monkey and snuggled her into his neck, and Emilia got up and screwed the lid on the jar again. She was
caught unawares by a yawn so huge her jaw cracked.

‘Well, thank you for helping out,' Martha said, smiling at her, ‘but you get to bed now. It's very late. In the morning you can give me a hand with a few more chores around the place.'

‘All right,' the children said.

‘Come, and I'll tuck you up in bed. Luka, I've put you in Lord Jeremy's old room, and Emilia, you're just next door in what used to be my room, when I was his nurse. I thought you'd like to be near one another.'

As she spoke, Martha picked up her lantern and a couple of hot bricks wrapped in cloths, as she led them out into the draughty corridor. Rollo got up and followed them, ears pricked.

‘Not you, dog,' Martha said. Rollo's ears drooped and he whined.

‘Oh, he has to come with us,' Emilia said quickly. ‘He's never slept by himself. He'd howl
and howl, and scratch and scratch at the door . . . besides, I'd be scared without him, all alone in such a big, dark house . . .'

Martha shot her a sceptical look, but said in resignation, ‘Very well. At least he's had a bath. He's not to sleep on the bed, though, do you hear? There's a perfectly comfortable hearthrug he can lie on.'

Emilia nodded, smiling, as Rollo bounded before them, his claws clicking on the wooden floor. They climbed up a flight of steps, and huddled close behind Martha as she led them down a long corridor to a little suite of rooms at the back of the house. The rooms both opened out into some kind of sitting room, rather bare, except for some shelves laden with some rather forlorn-looking toys. A fire had been lit in the hearth, shielded by a tall metal grate, and Rollo obediently lay down on the moth-eaten hearthrug while Martha showed the children into their
rooms. All Emilia could see was a big bed with tall posts at the four corners, hung with some kind of heavy, musty-smelling material. She had to climb up three wooden steps to get into the bed, which was icy cold. Even the hot brick that Martha tucked in beside her did nothing to dissipate the chill.

Emilia sat up, her nightgown tucked about her legs and feet, and said goodnight in a small voice, not wanting to admit how scared she was. She had never slept on her own. She had always shared a bunk with Beatrice, with Noah curled up in the other bunk, only an arm's length away, and Maggie sitting bolt upright in her chair near the stove. Maggie said her rheumatism was too bad for her to sleep lying down, but Emilia knew her grandmother just did not want to banish any of the children to sleep outside. Maggie had always slept in a bunk before Beatrice, Emilia and Noah had moved in with her.

The light from the lantern retreated as Martha showed Luka his room, and then brightened again as Martha went quietly back across the sitting room to the door.

‘Martha?' Emilia said.

‘Aye, my dear?'

‘Couldn't you leave us the light?'

‘What, at the cost of lamp oil these days? Certainly not! Besides, I don't trust that wicked monkey not to knock it over and send the whole
place up in flames. Now, go to sleep, dear. There'll be light enough from the fire to see by for a while, don't you worry, and by the sound of those yawns, you'll be asleep in a trice.'

Martha went out and shut the door behind her. Emilia lay quietly for a while, hugging the hot brick to her, then she whispered, ‘Rollo?'

Immediately the big dog came bounding across the room, leapt up into the bed with her, and lay down in the crook of her knees. Emilia patted his rough head and whispered, ‘Good dog, good dog!'

She put her head back down on the pillow and thought unhappily to herself that it was all wrong that she should be warm and comfortable when her brother and sister were lying on the filthy floor of the Kingston gaol.
I'll never be able to sleep
, she thought to herself,
for worrying about them
.

But the very next moment, she was fast asleep.

B
LACKHEATH
, S
URREY
, E
NGLAND
16th August 1658

E
milia woke and stretched, very cosy under her counterpane. Birds were singing loudly, and Luka was looking round the door of her room, his hair sticking up all over the place, Zizi on his shoulder.

‘Come on, Milly! Let's get going before anyone wakes up.'

Emilia sat up, yawning. ‘But we have no clothes. We can't go running around the
countryside in these flappy things.' She shook the sleeves of her nightgown, which hung loosely, hiding her hands.

‘The old lady said she would give us some clothes. I'll have a scrounge around and see what I can find,' Luka said, opening the cupboard door. He pulled out a boy's coat of cherry-red velvet and made a face. ‘We can't wear anything like this, they'll think we're Cavaliers! Didn't this boy have anything plainer? Oh, look! This might do.'

He found a couple of pairs of buff breeches, some fine linen shirts, a jerkin, and a plain brown coat with baggy pockets, which, by the scorch marks on the right shoulder, looked as if it had been used for shooting.

‘They're rather old-fashioned, but they'll do,' he said. ‘At least there's not a ruff!'

The house was dim and silent, and the floor was cold under their bare feet. Rollo's claws clicked loudly, and Emilia put her hand on his ruff,
trying to quiet him. Zizi crouched on Luka's shoulder, her paws under his collar.

‘I feel bad about the old lady,' Emilia whispered as they went down the stairs. ‘We promised to chop some wood before we left.'

‘Well, aye, but we'd be here all day once she set us to doing chores,' Luka said. ‘We've got to go and find the Wood family, and see if they can help us.'

‘We don't even know if they're still in the New Forest,' Emilia said dolefully. ‘Baba said no one's heard of them for a while. Except one got hanged as a witch.'

‘Well, if we can't find them, we'll head on into Sussex and find the Smiths,' Luka said. ‘We know where they are, at least.'

‘But what about the Woods' charm? They have the sprig of rue, remember?'

Luka shrugged. ‘Let's not worry about that yet, let's worry about getting there. Maybe we can hitch a ride.'

‘Maybe Coldham will have given up and gone home to Kingston.'

‘Maybe pigs can fly.'

As Luka spoke, he pushed open the kitchen door and was disconcerted to find Martha standing at the kitchen table, kneading dough. She looked far more alarming in her plain black dress, her hair pinned up under a cap, than she had in her nightgown with her snowy-white hair in a braid.

She nodded her head at them. ‘Up with the birds, that's what I like to see.'

‘Ah . . . good morning,' Emilia said.

‘I see you've found yourselves some clothes,' Martha said. ‘You will have to get changed, though, young Emilia. Lasses do not get about dressed like boys under this roof. Most ungodly. Now, I'm guessing you're hungry. If you want to go and look in the henhouse, you may be lucky enough to find some eggs for your breakfast. Otherwise, there's nothing but porridge, I'm
afraid. Luka, why don't you go and chop me some wood for the fire?'

Luka's shoulders slumped, but he did as he was told. Martha might be skinny and old, but he had no desire to cross her.

A little while later, the fire on the hearth was roaring, and the two children were enjoying soft-boiled eggs and fresh bread. Martha had found Emilia a plain grey dress to wear, and had quickly and neatly taken up the hem so that it did not drag on the floor. With a white cap on her head, and her hair braided back tightly, Emilia looked the very image of a good little Puritan girl. Even Luka was quite respectable, with his hair combed and the brown coat he had found in the cupboard worn over a pair of well-cut breeches. Only the small monkey on his shoulder and his nut-brown skin gave him away.

Martha bustled about, laying a tray with pretty china and buttering a few slices of bread.

‘Is that for Lady Anne?' Emilia said. ‘Would you like me to carry the tray up for you? It looks heavy.'

Both Martha and Luka looked at her in surprise. Emilia smiled sweetly at them. She felt no reason to explain that she was curious about the bad-tempered young woman, or that she wondered whether some more help could be found in this odd little household. Emilia always liked to explore possibilities.

‘Lady Anne does not care for strangers,' Martha said shortly.

‘How come?'

Martha's hands stilled for a moment. ‘She's had a lot of grief.'

Emilia nodded. ‘So have we all.'

‘Happen so,' Martha said. ‘These are evil times. But my lady . . . her grief is uncommon cruel, and she just does not seem to get over it. It's been years now, but she will not go out, nor stir
herself to ask for help, and it's all I can do to keep our bodies and souls together.'

‘Not go out? You mean she doesn't go outside?' Luka asked in surprise.

‘She has not set toe outside the door for seven years,' Martha replied.

‘But why? Why is she so sad?' Emilia wanted to know.

Martha sighed and sat down suddenly, as if her legs had grown too weary to hold her. ‘Her family, the Morrows, were king's men, you see,' she said. ‘When the war first broke out, her father, Lord Sheldon, he fought for the king and was wounded at Edgehill. Lady Anne's older brother, who was called James, he was there too. The only problem, though, was that he was all for the Parliament. Father and son fought on opposite sides of the battle, and it just broke poor old Lady Alice's heart.'

Emilia made an encouraging noise. Often
people longed for a chance to share their burdens, so her grandmother had told her, and a few well-chosen words and a sympathetic silence could make even the most taciturn person talk.

‘The thing is, you see, Miss Anne, as she was then, she had married her brother's best friend, Lord Jeremy Willard. It was a love match, but Lord Sheldon was always an indulgent father and it was a good enough match. The Willards and the Morrows were neighbours, you see, and so Miss Anne moved just a few miles away from her home. Lord Jeremy fought for Cromwell too, and so poor Lady Anne was torn between her father and her husband. It was a bad time, and there was much anger and bitterness between them all.'

Luka mopped up the last of his egg with his bread, but Emilia was listening so intently she had forgotten her food.

‘Then they cut off the old king's head,' Martha went on, ‘and poor Lord Sheldon was heartbroken,
and spoke out against those that had done it, and cut his son cold, and Lady Anne too. There was a younger brother, Harry, who was loyal to the king, and Lord Sheldon tried to have James disinherited in favour of him.'

‘So what happened?' Emilia asked, her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Well, the young Charles Stuart, he marched down from Scotland and tried to win back his throne, but he was defeated at Worcester, and had to run for his life, as I'm sure you know. It was the last great battle of the war.'

Emilia and Luka nodded. Everyone knew that story.

‘After the battle, the Roundheads hunted down all those who had fought for the king. Master Harry barely escaped with his life. He managed to get back here, only to find the Roundheads had seized Morrowmere Manor, arrested poor old Lord Sheldon and Lady Alice, and burnt down the
house. He was sorely wounded and exhausted and so he fled here, to ask Lady Anne's help. But Lady Anne had just heard that her husband had died in the battle and was beside herself with grief. So when her brother came here asking for help, she turned her face to the wall and said nothing.'

‘How sad,' Emilia said. Luka, looking troubled, stroked Zizi's soft fur. The little monkey sat on his lap, licking the butter off a piece of toast.

Martha dabbed her eyes. ‘It was sad,' she agreed. ‘Master Harry only just managed to get away, for one of the servants sent a message to the soldiers at Morrowmere Manor, and they rode here to seize him. He escaped, though, God knows where, and we've heard nothing of him since. He's the lord now, for his brother died at Worcester too, and Lord Sheldon died in prison, but there's nothing left of Morrowmere Manor but a burnt-out ruin.'

She sighed and rearranged the knife and spoon
on the tray. ‘Anyway, that was seven years ago, and Lady Anne hasn't left the house since, not even to go to church. She's had no money from the government, for all her husband died fighting for the Good Old Cause, and so we struggle on with what I can grow here. All the servants have gone, save me, and I'd have gone too if I had not thought Lord Jeremy would want me to look after his wife.'

‘Why doesn't she go to Guildford and ask the committee there for help?' Luka asked. ‘I've heard that lots of women have been going to court and asking for their land back, or to be released from the Royalist tax once their husbands are dead. Isn't there some kind of pension for Roundhead widows? I've heard Old Ironsides is very sympathetic to the plight of the widows and children.'

‘I cannot see Lady Anne doing such a thing,' Martha said wonderingly.

‘Why not?' Emilia's imagination was fired by the idea of standing before the magistrates and pleading her family's cause. She imagined them listening gravely, nodding their heads at the force of her arguments, and ordering her family to all be released. It was an intoxicating dream. Would they listen to a thirteen-year-old gypsy girl? It hardly seemed possible. But Lady Anne was a woman grown, and one of the gentry. She had been married to a Roundhead soldier. Surely the magistrates would listen to her?

Martha lifted her hands helplessly in response to Emilia's question. ‘She is overcome by melancholy. Some days she cannot even rise from her bed and dress. She just lies there and weeps. When she does get up, all she does is sit and write poetry, page after page of it, which she will show to no one.'

Emilia screwed up her face. She did not think much of Lady Anne. By Luka's expression, he
thought the same. Then something made her look up. Lady Anne was standing in the shadows of the doorway, listening. Her mouth was twisted and ugly.

‘How dare you sit and tell tales of me to a pair of grubby gypsy brats, like a nasty old gossip?' she cried. ‘My grief is my own!'

Martha jumped as if she was stuck with a pin. ‘I . . . I'm sorry, my lady,' she stammered.

‘I'd never have thought you could stoop so low,' Lady Anne said. ‘To think that you could so malign me, when you know what I have suffered. Do you tell the whole neighbourhood my private business too?'

‘No, no, my lady,' Martha cried, almost weeping.

‘Why be so mean to poor old Martha?' Luka snapped. ‘You think you're the only one in the world to have lost someone you love?'

‘You don't understand,' Lady Anne burst out, and covered her face with her hands. Martha made
a little sound of pity, and went to her, putting her arm about her thin shoulders.

Emilia took a deep, sighing breath. Unconsciously her fingers sought the golden coin hanging from her wrist. She saw clearly that matters could swing either way. Either Lady Anne would throw them out, and perhaps even inform on them to the local magistrates, or, if Emilia could just find the right words to say, they could perhaps help Lady Anne find her way free of this swamp of misery and, in turn, gain her help. Thoughts, words, metaphors tumbled through her head. She rubbed the ancient crown, then the little silver horse, and suddenly knew what to say.

‘No, you're not being fair,' she said to Luka, who stared at her in angry disbelief. Emilia hardly noticed. She focused her attention on Lady Anne, remembering all her grandmother had ever taught her about reading someone's inner thoughts and desires through their posture, their expressions,
their reactions. ‘You're like a little hurt creature that needs to creep into a cave somewhere and lick its wounds and wait to heal.'

Lady Anne looked up in surprise and sudden wonder.

‘You've been caught in a winter of the soul.' Emilia spoke as softly and gently as she would to a hurt and terrified animal. ‘All seems dead to you, grey and bare and lifeless.'

‘Aye,' Lady Anne whispered. She groped her way to a chair and sat down, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief.

‘But winter cannot last forever. Spring always comes in the end. Surely it's time for you to begin again too?' Emilia leant forward, fixing Lady Anne with an intent gaze, willing her to hear and understand.

Lady Anne wrapped her arms about her, rocking back and forth, shaking her head. ‘Not for me,' she murmured. ‘Never for me.'

‘But why not? I know that you grieve for your husband. I know you feel like a big hole's been torn inside you that can never heal. I lost both my mumma and my dado, you see, so I know a little of what you feel. But you've got to stop hugging your grief to you like it was a newborn baby . . .'