No Lasting City E-Book

Olive Bridge

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 297

Beschreibung

"Can you get your dog away. He's very friendly but he's leaping up and down on my leg and the pain is excruciating". The man's voice was faint but authoritative and Lucy hurried to remove the offending Benjy. She could not see clearly in the darkness of the hut and groping for her dog, she stumbled against the same leg, eliciting more groans. By now, Lucy could make out a white face, a young face with a pair of fine, hazel eyes studying her. Before she could ask any questions, the young man asked her who she was. "I'm Lucy Lutworth." "Richard Lutworth's sister?" "No, his cousin. My father died last March and I now live with Richard and Dorothy at Stair." He looked at her intently. "Do you know Richard then?" asked Lucy. "Yes. We played together as boys. We are about the same age." Lucy was surprised. To her, he seemed younger. "Then I suppose you must live near here?" said Lucy, wondering why he had not been to Stair since she had been there. "I used to" he answered adding bitterly, "but my father was murdered and our estates sequestered. Now, someone else lives in our home." "Oh, how terrible for you. Then this hut is all you have to live in?" He could not help smiling at the naivety of Lucy's remark. Could he trust her? He had no choice now but to take her into his confidence. He had charmed young women into helping him before. "No, I live mostly on the continent." "The continent!" The truth was beginning to dawn."Then you must be one of the King's supporters." How exciting, she thought. More than a supporter, he must be an agent. She had heard about royalist agents from Hester. "Are you going to betray me?" "No, oh no" Lucy warmly reassured him. "My father fought for the King. He survived the war but we gave practically everything to the royal cause. Although it is kind of Richard and Dorothy to give me a home, I don't agree with them...no, not at all. Their father was killed fighting for parliament; I expect you know that. I'd much rather be living with a royalist family."This little burst of loyalty was very reassuring to the young man, but he needed to think through what he should say next and, genuinely tired, he closed his eyes. Lucy, now more used to the gloom, could see that although the sick or wounded man was lying on the ground, he had a pillow and was covered by a blanket. There were also signs that he had some food, too. Someone is looking after him, thought Lucy. I wonder who? There were so many questions she wanted to ask.

Leseprobe

Author’s Preface

I have set my story in the seventeenth century. I wanted my characters to live in a period of change and I wanted to discuss ideas, which, though relevant in any century, were brought to the fore in the seventeenth century. I have not set out to write a historical novel with detailed descriptions of how people lived, ate, dressed and travelled at the time. I have only included such details when they revealed something about peoples’ characters and how those characters developed. Nevertheless, I have tried to avoid anachronisms in this area. The speech, however, is deliberately anachronistic for the sake of readers who would find attempts at seventeenth century dialogue wearisome.

Table of Contents

PART 1: England 1656

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

PART II: The Continent 1657

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

PART III: Back in England 1660

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

PART IV: New England 1663

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

PART V: Cambridge Massachusetts 1674

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

PART VI: Cambridge, England 1676

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

PART VII: More Moves

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

PART I

England 1656

Chapter 1

The room seemed heavy with waiting, for the man in the bed was waiting to die and the girl crouching on the window seat was waiting for the man’s brother to come. It was growing dark and the fire was low, but Lucy felt too drowsy to do anything about wood and candles. She felt as though she had spent half her life in her father’s room. He had been in bed all the winter and now it was early spring. The previous winter he had slowed down considerably and Lucy had thought he was ageing early but he seemed to revive with the coming of summer. It had been a happy summer but towards the end it was obvious that his health was failing. One glorious early autumn day, Lucy was sent out riding with their servant and told not to return for a couple of hours. She knew the surgeon was coming and they wanted to spare her the sound and sight of her father’s suffering. Perhaps she should have insisted on staying: she usually got her own way if she made a fuss. But she had already been frightened by her father’s groaning and she was glad to escape. So she galloped over the North Downs, light headed with her freedom from the house. They ventured once into a village for refreshment but otherwise rode in solitary places where nothing more was expected of her than the occasional courteous greeting or wave of the hand. She returned late feeling exhilarated but guilty for forgetting the reason for her outing. Her father was asleep after his ordeal.

Lucy’s mother died giving birth to her only child and Hester Dunton had come soon afterwards. Hester was Lucy’s mother’s cousin. Hester’s own parents had died when she was a young girl and the Dunton home in Canterbury was then ruled over by an elderly sister. Hester was the least aggressive of women but she found herself so often in disagreement with her sister, Catherine that she was grateful to Lucy’s father for offering her a more independent position. She was not an ideal housekeeper. She combined a reluctance to make any decision with an occasional outburst of energy in entirely the wrong direction. Lucy’s father sometimes maintained that she intentionally did not see unpleasant facts but she was genuinely unobservant and both Lucy and the servants took full advantage of this trait. She made the home comfortable enough, however and was very fond of Lucy. She nursed the sick man with devotion, if not always with good sense and only engaged a woman from the village when he needed someone with him day and night. Lucy usually took her turn in the sick room in the afternoon and early evening. She spent many hours reading to her father but for some time now he had been too sick for reading and they spent most of their time together in silence. Lucy had never grown accustomed to the physical and mental deterioration illness had brought. Theirs had been a close relationship. In many ways, he had treated her like a son and she was filled with shame and disgust, pity and irritation as she watched him daily grow more feeble and querulous. Even when she was riding her beloved Prince (named after Prince Rupert), or lying awake in her own room at night, she could not forget her father for more than a few moments nor her great fear that she would be alone with him when he died. A couple of days ago his breathing suddenly became even harsher than it had been in the last few weeks and he had opened his eyes and looked so wild that she felt sure the end had come, so rushed to rouse Cousin Hester, who was having a well-earned rest after a night in the sick room. But the spasm passed and he was still with them. He asked once or twice if there was any news and if Lucy was sure she had sent the message asking her uncle to come.

Lucy had not seen her uncle or the aunt who had died some ten years earlier, or her two cousins since she was a very young child and had no recollection of them. The two brothers quarrelled many years before Lucy was born, over the young lady who became her aunt, so Cousin Hester had once told her. But Lucy had not wanted to know the details or discuss them with her father, in case the story in some way belittled her own mother. In any case, the different temperaments of the brothers and the different political and religious views strongly held by each, had kept the two families apart, until Lucy’s father had asked to see his younger brother before he died. So Lucy waited this March afternoon in apprehension and excitement: in apprehension because her father had said some hard things of his brother in the past and Lucy wondered how she would react to someone so different from her father and his friends: excitement because her life had been restricted for so long that an unknown uncle’s visit provided a welcome distraction. She hoped he would come soon, for her father’s sake. In his ramblings he had often returned to the things that he and his brother had done together as boys. Cousin Hester had muttered that the brothers ought to discuss Lucy’s future, but young Lucy was not too concerned about her future and doubted if her father would be fit enough to do more than voice his brother’s name. Now, as she leaned her forehead against the window pane looking down into the courtyard below, she wondered idly what they would do if her uncle did not come. The estate was in financial difficulties and Lucy knew that she might have to leave her home. Perhaps she and Cousin Hester would go to Canterbury, but that prospect was not one she liked to dwell on. A faint moan from the bed made her leave the window seat and she took her father’s claw like hand, hating herself as usual for the slight shrinking of her flesh as she did so.

In less than half an hour, the room was quite dark except for the now very dim glow of the fire. I’m going to get some light, Father”, whispered Lucy, gently withdrawing her hand. As she moved toward the door, she heard sounds outside. Dashing back to the window, she could just make out in the evening gloom, a figure in the courtyard and Tom (the only male servant they had kept) leading off the visitor’s horse. “He’s come” she called to her father. “It must be uncle”, and she hurried out of the door and down the stairs. The only light in the hall came through the big, open main door, by which the visitor stood peering in. “Just a minute. I’ll get some light. I’m sorry it’s so dark”. But when the light came, Lucy was surprised to see the visitor could not be her uncle. He was too young. They stood blinking at each other for a few minutes.

“Good evening” said the visitor. “I’m Richard Lutworth, your cousin. I suppose you must be Lucy”.

“We received your message,” he went on as Lucy was still speechless. “My father died eight years ago. He was killed at Preston”.

“I’m so sorry,” stammered Lucy, “we didn’t know that. Oh, father will be so upset not to see him. He’s been waiting and waiting.” The tears came into her eyes as she thought of his disappointment. “I know,” said Richard gently. “But I thought he might like to see me. I can perhaps tell him something of my father’s last years and I might be able to help in other ways.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Lucy realised she had not been very welcoming so far. “You are better than nothing,” she added warmly! Then, remembering he had come some distance, she took him to the fire and fetched him some refreshment. She studied him shyly as he warmed himself, his long legs stretched out towards the burning logs. He was taller than her father or any other man she knew, but much too thin to be handsome, she thought. He looked very serious. She felt a little afraid of him. Richard did not relax for long but asked if he might be taken to the sick man as soon as convenient. When they reached the door, Lucy suggested that she went in first to prepare her father. It was easier than she feared. In fact, she wondered if her father realised that the young man bending over him was his nephew and not his brother. Perhaps Richard looked like his father when young, she thought. She felt quite comfortable leaving them together when she went to wake Cousin Hester and make arrangements for Richard’s stay.

Although they had already eaten their main meal for the day, Hester was able to produce a dinner for Richard who had not eaten since breakfast and something lighter for her and Lucy, so that they could join him at the table. It had been a long time since any guest had eaten at their table and they looked forward with some delight to Richard’s presence. They were full of questions. Hester wanted to know what was happening in the outside world and Lucy wanted to hear about her cousins. Richard was shocked by their prattling. He had come from the bedside of a dying man and was in no mood for social chatter. He failed to consider that Hester and Lucy’s lives had been circumscribed by that same bedside for many months and that it was not lack of respect but a legitimate desire for some relief which motivated them. Richard gave short answers to their questions; excusing Lucy on the grounds of her youth but concluding that Miss Dunton was a silly, shallow woman. The last part of the meal was eaten in almost total silence and immediately afterwards, Richard excused himself and returned to the sickroom.

Hester and Lucy looked at each other. “He’s a very grave young man,” commented Hester. “But then, that is no different from what I would expect from the son of a sanctimonious rebel.” She had sensed contempt and was angry. Lucy blushed… she realised they gave Richard the wrong impression. She wished she could go now and explain to him that Cousin Hester was kind and loving and conscientious but felt, somehow, that explanations would only make things worse. She found that she cared what Richard thought and suspected that Miss Dunton did too, in spite of her comment. When the time came to make her usual goodnight visit to her father, she was still feeling embarrassed. But Richard gave her a kind smile and her father looked more peaceful than he had looked all winter.

Richard stayed with his uncle far into the night and was with him again early in the morning. “It isn’t necessary for him to be so much with your father,” Hester told Lucy on her return from exercising Prince. She had not forgiven Richard and besides had suspicions which she hesitated to reveal to Lucy. “Naturally, he tries to talk to Richard and exhausts himself.”

“Father looked very calm when I saw him first thing,” mildly returned Lucy. “Richard’s presence seems to benefit him”.

Hester was concerned lest Richard should gain a hold over the sick man which would not prove to Lucy’s benefit but thought it would be wiser not to say so, yet. She had to acknowledge there was a change in the sick man and made some comment on this to Richard when she took him something to eat at noon. She was disconcerted, however, by Richard’s reply that his uncle had made his peace with God and was ready to die. Lucy was equally bewildered when Hester reported what Richard had said. Her father seldom talked about God and he had not been to church since the old priest was forced to leave and replaced by a minister sympathetic to the new regime. He had refused to see this same minister when he tried to call on him at the beginning of his illness, declaring that he would have no canting puritan in his house. Lucy was amazed that Richard had been able in one evening to get further than the ordained clergyman. She was grateful to anyone however, who could help her father find peace. When she said goodnight to him that evening, he told her faintly but distinctly that everything was going to be alright. Edmund, her uncle would see to it.

It seemed to Lucy that she had only just dropped off to sleep when Hester woke her. She did not need to explain. She hurried to her father’s room and leaned over him. Richard stood on the other side of the bed and Hester stood at the foot. Although her father’s breathing was distressing to hear, he still looked more peaceful and, at long last, in a strange way, seemed to be in control of the situation. He could not speak but he gave Lucy one of his old smiles and then died. Lucy’s first reaction was neither grief nor relief but gratitude. For the father she had known before his illness had been briefly restored to her. She had been able to forget the rotten flesh and the irritating self-pity. For a moment or two she looked across at Richard who had helped her father make a good end and she was deeply grateful. Then she burst out sobbing.

Richard stayed on and was a bulwark of strength during the funeral. Even Hester acknowledged it! Lucy had worked it out that he was seven years older than she; but because of all the responsibility he was taking on, the age difference seemed greater to Lucy. Richard would have been disconcerted to know that when he asked questions about the estate, she sometimes confused him with her father! Although he was busy with lawyers and land agents, he made time to talk to his bereaved cousin, answering all her questions about his sister, Dorothy, although he was at a loss to describe her appearance.

“Has she got eyes like yours?” asked Lucy. “Cousin Hester says that you and I have the Lutworth eyes”. They were a light, almost golden brown.

“I think so”.

“And what about hair?” persisted Lucy.

“Oh! Much lighter than yours, and straight. Not so pretty as yours. More like mine”. There was nothing very attractive about Richard’s lank, straw-coloured locks! Lucy had thick, chestnut curls.

She was disappointed that Richard could tell her so little at first-hand about the civil war. He had been too young to fight, being just fifteen when the news came of his father’s death in battle. They had no mother, so Richard had to grow up quickly. The area where they lived had not seen very much actual fighting, so he had inherited an estate intact and free of debt. His father’s friends had given support and good advice, most of which he had taken. It could have been worse and Richard considered himself fortunate. The first time Lucy saw Richard laugh, was when she asked if he had ever met Prince Rupert, completely forgetting that if he had, it would have been on opposite sides of the field! Hester had been an enthusiastic devotee of the Prince, and although he left England when Lucy was five, she had been brought up to believe he was the epitome of gallantry and heroism. Richard spoke little when Hester was present. He was soon acquainted with her high church and royalist sympathies and was careful not to provoke an argument which would be unseemly in his royalist’s uncle’s house so soon after his death. Lucy was more open.

In less than two weeks, Richard was able to announce that he was ready to discuss his late uncle’s affairs and Lucy’s future. Hester insisted on being included in the discussion. She was not convinced that Richard was being entirely altruistic in his concern for Lucy and suspected he might get something out of the estate for himself. She said as much to Lucy and urged her to take a closer interest in what Richard was doing. Hester had to make her own plans too. She was by no means poor and could set up a modest establishment of her own. She doubted whether Lucy would wish to be included in such an establishment however, and since she loved Lucy and was prepared to put Lucy’s welfare before her own comfort, she waited to hear what proposals Richard had to make first. So here were the three of them sitting in a small parlour at the back of the house. The room was potentially attractive and had once been used by Lucy’s father as an office, but had not been so used for many years until Richard had taken to working in it. There was a smoking fire, for it was still cold, in spite of the pale spring sunshine filtering through the high windows. Richard began by explaining Lucy’s present straitened circumstances. This came as no surprise, since Lucy’s father had sold plate, jewellery and practically every other asset except land, to raise funds for the royal cause. Lucy, as a young child, had become used to being told when she questioned why some of the servants had left or why their stables were being depleted, “the King needs them,” so that she always had a picture of King Charles riding Faithful, her father’s horse and the royal meals being cooked by Mrs Wood, who had cooked for them and the royal children eating off the silver plate and drinking out of the silver mug she had been given as christening presents. Hester sat silent while Richard set out this expenditure, for while the eating away of Lucy’s inheritance was regrettable, especially as it had turned out to be in a lost cause, she approved of the cause and could say nothing. She was not so silent, however when Richard moved on to more recent encroachments. Lucy’s father, as a known royalist, had been fined by the Commonwealth and this last year had been heavily taxed by the Protectorate to pay for the Spanish War. Richard was surprised the estate had not been sequestered outright but did not say so for fear of provoking even more muttering from Miss Dunton.

Richard proposed, therefore, that what was left of the estate should be sold. He had already found a prospective buyer. He was not one of whom Hester would approve, being very much a new man who had risen socially through service in the parliamentary cause, but as Richard pointed out there was hardly likely to be any loyal royalist in a position to buy. The money could then be put in trust for Lucy. Richard also proposed that as Lucy would now be homeless, she should make her home with them. These proposals were not a shock to Lucy. Although she had appeared to Hester to be taking no notice of Richard’s enquiries, she had been thinking hard and was ready for changes along the lines Richard was proposing. She was more than ready; she was quite excited at the prospect of new scenes and meeting her other cousin. But what would Cousin Hester do? She and Lucy had already come to an understanding that they would stay together, if possible, but it was awkward to say so in front of Richard who seemed to have pointedly left Miss Dunton out of his invitation. Richard sensed from Lucy’s smiling face that his proposals were acceptable and for a moment was nonplussed by the silence which followed. But then, noting the anxious look which passed between Lucy and Hester, he realised what was needed and hastened to include Hester in the invitation to his home.

Richard, who had already left his sister alone longer than he liked, urged Lucy to hurry the final arrangements. To Lucy’s delight he salvaged Prince from the general sale for her and so, on a fresh April morning, she rode him out of the gates of what had been home for nearly seventeen years. She turned for one last look. The house had been built on monastic land in the last century, and incorporated part of the abbey buildings. It was considered the most attractive property in the county and Hester was weeping openly at the thought of leaving it. Lucy did not weep; with the optimism of youth she felt sure that she could return one day if she so wished and it was with a light heart that she caught up with Richard and the three of them left the Surrey hills behind and headed north.

Chapter 2

June that year was sunny and the roses at Stair were in their full glory. Richard’s father had built the house for his bride shortly before the war started, for, although the younger son, he had married some eight years before Lucy’s father. Stair lacked the romantic charm of Lucy’s old home but its proportions were pleasing and it had plenty of large windows, with the main rooms facing south. There was a wide gravel walk running the length of the front of the house, ending in a flight of stone steps down to the lawn on a lower level. These steps had always been a favourite spot. After a frost the sloping stone wall made an exciting and dangerous slide for the young Richard and both Lutworth children had enjoyed seeing how many steps could be jumped at a time onto the soft, springy turf. Now they were grown up, it was still a favourite place to sit in summer. Richard would sit on the topmost pillar with his long legs stretched down on the wall in front of him, while Dorothy perched on the top step with some sewing in her hand. There was a lovely view from here, across the lawn to a clump of elms, with a glimpse of water beyond. Lucy had taken to sitting on the opposite pillar from Richard, with her hands clasped around her knees. When Richard’s friends came, more often than not, they joined them on the steps, for a quite a number of them could sit at different levels and conversation darted across and up and down. Occasionally, one of them, usually ‘Philip of the flashing eyes’, as Lucy had named him, would leap onto the turf and turn to address the rest, as though making a desperate appeal to the crowd in some ancient arena.

What wonderful discussions they had! Ideas on reform in church and state were introduced, challenged and hammered out, here, on the steps in the summer sunshine. Letters from friends in London were speculated on and problems arising from their varied responsibilities were mulled over against the smell of roses. Lucy loved being a part of it all. She perched there gazing down on them, her face rosy in the heat and some silk thread in her white dress, glinting in the sunlight. The glances turned up to her were frankly admiring, for she made an attractive picture. But there was no urgency to touch or possess. What brought them together and kept them on the steps, was another kind of urgency; the pressing need to profit from the costly victory which their fathers had won. For most of them had been too young to fight. They could sympathise with the older generation’s quest for settlement, for a broader base of authority; for none of them liked the present reliance on the army and the introduction of the controversial major general system was hotly debated among them. For though they agreed with many of the ‘reforms’ being implemented by the Major Generals, most of them felt that such changes had to come from the hearts of the people, not enforced by government, especially not enforced by some of the dubious characters who had got themselves appointed! But some of these young men, like Philip, felt that opportunities for reform were being sacrificed to ‘settlement’ and were beginning to despair. Not that he or any of them had sympathised with the Levellers or Fifth Monarchy men. But like those fanatics, they held to a traditional belief in the possibility of bringing in the millennium. How this could be done and what kind of millennium it would be, were the subjects most frequently discussed in endless detail. Cromwell’s contention that he was but the parish constable set up to keep the peace, was too negative for their liking.

Richard had the knack of making friends with men of different views. He found exciting Philip’s ideas for Utopia, but Richard admired Cromwell greatly and especially endorsed the Protector’s views on toleration and the limits of the government. Sir Henry was the most conservative of the group. He firmly believed that the traditional local authorities, the landed gentry, for all their faults, ensured greater individual freedom and security. Young Sir Henry was a frequent visitor to Stair and Lucy believed that he came to see Dorothy as much as to talk to Richard. Henry looked up now and watched Dorothy come out of the house with a couple of the servants bearing tankards of ale to soothe throats parched with talking. Lucy too, watched Dorothy with admiration. How well she walked and held her head. At least six inches taller than Lucy, she looked quite queenly in her simple, grey gown. Lucy remembered when she first arrived at Stair. Dorothy had come out to welcome her, but before she could greet her, Lucy had burst out, “Why, you’re not at all as Richard described you. You are lovely!” The embarrassed Dorothy had muttered something about brothers not being expert at describing sisters. It was true, as Richard had said, her hair was fair and straight, but it was heavy and shining and worn like a halo, so different from the current worldly fashion of curls clustered on each side of the head. When Lucy knew Dorothy better, she realised Dorothy neither followed nor flouted fashion; she wore her hair in the style she found least troublesome. Lucy had tried to tease her cousin about Henry, but Dorothy had first looked startled and then miserable, so Lucy soon stopped.

Richard and Dorothy naturally included their cousin in all their activities and how delightful were those early weeks at Stair. What a joy for Lucy to sing again, to blend her rich young contralto with Dorothy’s clear soprano. How surprising to find that Richard sang bass, that the somewhat staid Henry was a warm baritone and that Philip, who could not sing a note, had learned to accompany them on the viol! The cousins had access to the latest song sheets from the London printers and the high hall at Stair echoed to the sounds of madrigals and the latest rounds, interspersed with psalms and hymns. A group of them visited in the next county to see a performance of Milton’s “Masque” and returning late, tried to recapture Lawes’ music as they rode through the warm, summer night. Richard and Dorothy both enjoyed making verses and in the evenings played rhyming games. Lucy had small talent for poetry and soon declined taking part, but was always ready to hear the results of the others’ efforts. Lucy welcomed every new experience with open arms, even, at this stage, those she found strange or distasteful. The local minister had been a chaplain in Cromwell’s army and following his practice then, he called a prayer meeting on every possible occasion. Or so it seemed to Lucy. She went to a few out of curiosity, until they made her feel uncomfortable and she went no more. Hester had declined to go from the beginning, declaring them to be indecent.

“I don’t mean there are immoral goings-on,” she explained to Lucy, “but it’s not decent for ordinary men and women to set themselves above the rest of us, especially above God’s anointed priests, and think they can talk to the Almighty on intimate terms and pretend to know his will.” Lucy found Cousin Hester’s protestations as boring as the prayer meetings and tried to avoid both.

Hester Dunton was not happy at Stair, which was what she had expected. In charge of a household ever since she arrived in Lucy’s home, it was hard for her to fill a minor role now. From force of habit, she tried to take control at Stair, but from the beginning, Dorothy, gently but firmly made it clear that she would not tolerate any interference. She had held the reins in her own young hands for only a short time and she was not going to submit them to a relative of Lucy’s whom she hardly knew. There were conflicts and one day when Hester and Dorothy had reduced each other to tears, Dorothy had sought out Richard and appealed to him. While making it clear that he would give Dorothy any support she needed, Richard did mildly suggest a compromise. Perhaps she and Miss Dunton could decide some sphere for which Miss Dunton would be entirely responsible and then Dorothy would be more free for her teaching and charitable activities. Dorothy saw the force of Richard’s argument, since she especially loved teaching a small group of village children, two or three of whom were bright and rewarding. So Hester was given charge of certain household affairs and in connection with these, the servants came to her for instructions. It was a humbling process for the older woman, but she accepted it with good grace for Lucy’s sake; so much so, that Richard revised his early opinion of her and admitted to Dorothy that Lucy’s cousin had more depth to her character than he had first supposed.

Lucy had taken no part in this controversy. She was fond of her mother’s cousin and happy that she had come with her to Stair, but she was too absorbed in her own feelings to notice Hester’s problems. Nor did she spend much time with her, partly because she had more interesting things to do at Stair and partly because Hester would keep talking about the past. The day of the King’s execution, when Lucy was nine, was, for Hester, the end of the world. Unless and until his son took his father’s throne, things could only get worse. And this was, perhaps, Hester’s greatest disappointment. She had thought that at Stair, she and Lucy would form an alliance against the rest. Hester had not allowed for the fact that the only royalists Lucy had known were of a past generation and at Stair she was surrounded by people of her own age, all puritan in their outlook. It was not surprising that in the exuberance of youth, Lucy was becoming one of them. She had made no heart commitment and, indeed, by July Lucy herself was becoming aware of the gulf which existed between her and her cousins. She still sat in on their discussions and shared most of their occasions, but she was no longer ignorant of the personal demands which their religious beliefs were making on her, and became morbidly anxious lest Richard, or more likely, Dorothy, might speak to her about the state of her soul. To avoid being too much in their company, she took to rambling about the estate on her own or riding further afield with one of the grooms, claiming that Prince needed more exercise than she gave him by accompanying Dorothy on her rides. It was at this critical stage she met Francis.

Chapter 3

Dorothy’s beagle whelped the day Lucy first arrived at Stair and Dorothy had warmly pressed Lucy to have one of the puppies as a welcoming gift. Lucy had chosen the smallest of the litter, because he was bravely trying to push his way through his much larger siblings, and called him “Benjy” after a dog she owned as a child. Benjy went with her everywhere he was allowed. This particular afternoon in early August, they had ventured to the far south-eastern corner of the estate, which they had not explored before. Beyond the boundary was a small quarry which had not been worked for many years and was quite overgrown. It was a marvellous place for rabbits and Benjy was soon dashing ahead with yelps of delight loud enough to warn the entire rabbit population of the county to take to their burrows. “Be quiet, you stupid dog!” laughed Lucy stumbling after him. It was good to relax on her own, away from the house and the tensions which had appeared to her to have grown up there recently. Benjy had disappeared from sight but she could still hear him yelping. “I wonder if he has found anything,” thought Lucy, following the sound. She came out of a grove of trees to the edge of a quarry. There was a broken down stone hut there and Benjy had obviously gone inside, for she could hear someone talking to him. Without hesitation, Lucy went to investigate.

“Can you get your dog away. He’s very friendly but he’s leaping up and down on my leg and the pain is excruciating”. The man’s voice was faint but authoritative and Lucy hurried to remove the offending Benjy. She could not see clearly in the darkness of the hut and groping for her dog, she stumbled against the same leg, eliciting more groans from the owner. Rather to her surprise, since she had never taken the trouble to train him properly, she finally left Benjy panting outside the hut. By now, Lucy could make out a white face, a young face with a pair of fine, hazel eyes studying her. Before she could ask any questions, the young man asked her who she was.

“I’m Lucy Lutworth.”

“Richard Lutworth’s sister?”

“No, his cousin. My father died last March and I now live with Richard and Dorothy at Stair.” He looked at her intently, as though what he said next depended on what conclusions he drew from his study of her face.

“Do you know Richard then?” asked Lucy.

“Yes. We played together as boys. We are about the same age.” Lucy was surprised. To her, he seemed younger. Richard’s position as head of a household made him seem aged in Lucy’s view.

“Then I suppose you must live near here?” said Lucy, wondering why he had not been to Stair since she had been there.