Rebels and traitors

Chapter Thirty-Five — Hampshire: 1646

It would always be daunting for a young woman of twenty, burdened by extremely young children, to meet her hostile in-laws for the first time, especially when all the parties were fully aware she had applied to them because she was desperate for money.

Still hoping to hear from Lovell, Juliana left her journey as late as she dared, but with the lease on the house nearly up, there was no longer a choice. At the turn of the year she left behind an Oxford which was full of distress and discord and, accompanied by Edmund Treves, set out for Hampshire. Her first act of begging had been to screw from the governor of Oxford travel passes for herself, one male escort, her infant children and a maid. Edmund had wanted to obtain a pass from the King, laden with royal seals, but Juliana suspected that in a Parliamentarian county she would meet a better reception if she arrived with a plain civil document and an apologetic manner. She needed a male bodyguard to prevent highway robbery. If Edmund was discovered to be a serving cavalier they would all be arrested. She planned to term him 'my son's godfather', to sound respectable. She managed to make him abandon his flowing shirt and beribboned suit, to dress down in a shabby coat. He refused to be disguised as a servant.

She had to decide whether to write ahead to explain herself, which might harden the family's attitude, or simply to arrive but perhaps spoil her chances by startling them. She compromised by sending a letter to say she was coming, immediately before she set out. They had no time to send a refusal.

Wrestling with such matters of judgement was new to her. It would be strange for most women. Juliana had a grim sense that this was just the start.

Inessential travel — which meant travel that was unconnected to trade or to military manoeuvres — was banned by both sides. Women with piteous stories could manage it, if they were lucky. The safest way was with carriers; they knew the routes and how to space their convoys and time their journeys to avoid being set upon by thieves. Some managed to obtain warrants to pass through military checks. In December the carriers were grumbling more than usual: roads were impassable for carts, horses had been stolen by the armies, everyone was too fearful to want to buy goods or dispatch letters…

Her party rode on two terrible pad horses — she did not want to be stranded, and better beasts might be stolen. Juliana sat behind Edmund on a pillion saddle, holding the baby, while Mercy Tulk followed with little Tom tied to her and a cloak bag bouncing on the nag's fat rump. Once they moved away from Oxford, Juliana knew they would be frequently stopped and questioned. She was disconcerted when they were subjected to searches as well. Fortunately the point was to discover arms, secret papers or items worth stealing. She had none of those. They had very quickly passed into areas that were controlled by enemy militia, but when the soldiers saw she had so little luggage of any kind they softened. When she claimed to be a Parliamentarian squire's daughter-in-law, urgently needing to visit him for family reasons, they lost interest and let her through.

Treves was impressed. He let Juliana do the talking. Although he was the man in the party, her status as a married woman sometimes won her respect. He noticed how she always made him slow the horse to a stop even before the soldiers signalled with their muskets, then how she spoke quietly and politely, however rude the men were.

Beyond the South Downs, they came to rolling country where narrow roads switchbacked between tiny villages with traditional thatched cottages that hid themselves among farmland hollows. Somehow they reached the small village beyond Salisbury that Mr Gadd had named. They took rooms at the only inn. Juliana sent a message to Squire Lovell, asking him to receive her the next day. Edmund strolled out a little before twilight to reconnoitre. He reported that Orlando's childhood home was a large house in the gabled Tudor style, glimpsed through a battlemented gatehouse, lying just outside the village among its own tenanted farmland. Locals had told him that the squire, his son and various sons-in-law were all passionate haters of bishops, anxious to reform the Church, severe men who had raised soldiers for Parliament from the beginning. Ralph Lovell, Orlando's elder brother, was now at home, rumoured to be almost dead of wounds.

Next morning a footman was sent to conduct her and Juliana walked to the manor-house.

The Lovell family had assembled in full force. Perhaps the younger members felt they should protect the father from weakening. That would be in their interests, thought Juliana grimly, though it seemed unlikely Squire Lovell would enfold her in his arms, forgiving Orlando and welcoming this new daughter-in-law and two more grandchildren among those whose toys and pets littered most of his home.

He was a balding old man in a dark suit and plain collar, who leaned with a quivering hand on a slim cane to help him walk; he had an austere expression, though that could be caused by joint pain. He was scrupulously courteous but, by making no distinction of persons, his absolute good manners also made it impossible to assess his true attitude.

The set-faced younger relations who clustered on upright chairs were introduced as two of Orlando's sisters, Mary and Aurora, the well-shod wives of Mr Francis Falconer and Sir Daniel Swayne, together with their brother Ralph's wife, Katherine. None looked like a strict religious bigot although Mrs Katherine Lovell, the most plainly dressed, appeared to be clutching a pocket Bible. The sisters were in the best fashions Hampshire could provide, which was nothing fancy, though they wore silk gowns, pinned on the low neck and flowing sleeve with small jewels; these they must have obtained from the same source, for although one gown was damson-coloured and the other oatmeal, Juliana noticed identical bodice shaping and pinked hems. She envied their tailoress her half-moon pinking tool.

All three young women appeared to be breeding. That increased Juliana's pessimism.

According to the landlady at her inn, there was a third Lovell sister, married to a New Englander called Bonalleck. They had returned to England from Massachusetts to help defy the King and at the moment were staying with the squire. They did not appear. Nor did Major Ralph Lovell, who was in bed upstairs, half dead from wounds he had received two months ago at the siege of Bristol. Aurora was at pains to tell Juliana that.

Juliana replied meekly. 'At least you have the comfort of knowing that he is alive and receiving care. You know where he is — which to me would be a luxury.' She thought a slight shock ran around the assembled Lovells. Perhaps they had not expected her to be robust.

It must be a curious situation for them. None had seen Orlando since he was sixteen, over ten years ago. He had been a forward, difficult boy, but they could only imagine what kind of man he had become. Now here was the woman he had married, turning up on their doorstep, undoubtedly seeming like an adventuress. But Juliana in person may not have matched their expectations. She was young, only just twenty. Since she married Lovell she had grown into her looks, partly through filling out with motherhood, but also gaining confidence from their life together, which had so much forced her to take responsibilities. Her face showed determination, her grey eyes were watchful and undeniably intelligent. True, she was anxious and weary. True, they may have detected discomfiture, though they might not guess the reason. That was purely her awareness that she was wearing her old yellow sprigged gown, so as not to appear well-to-do. She had realised it had grown too tight across the bodice; worse, like most mothers who nursed their children, Juliana possessed rather too many garments which she would never like again after unpleasant accidents. Both her boys had travelled badly yesterday. Now she was trying to win over relatives while not quite smelling of infant vomit, yet still vaguely aware of yesterday's mishaps.

At least she was not pregnant and queasy, though she almost felt sick with terror. You are as good as them, scoffed her grandmother's voice. Ah, but they do not think so, Grand-mere…

The stern old man, Orlando's father, took the lead in her interrogation. 'So what brings you to our neighbourhood?

'Sir, as I told you in my first letter, I have no relations, or none who can be of comfort, and that means my children have none. I need someone to give me advice.' Advice, Juliana had reckoned, was a better request than financial support. The squire would work out what she meant.

He gave her a long, straight, intimidating stare. 'And where are your children?'

'I left them in the care of my maid, an honest woman who came with me, at the Anchor — ' 'Where? she could see the Lovells wondering. 'I believe it was previously the Crown. A diplomatic name-change.' All over England, signboards were being rapidly refreshed for political reasons.

'The ale has not changed!' muttered Mary's husband despondently.

Squire Lovell showed no amusement. 'Did my son send you?'

'No, sir. I am alone and without his guidance.'

'Would he be content that you came here?'

Never; he would be furious! 'I believe it would gladden his heart.'

'And why have you come?' broke in Mrs Katherine Lovell. She was bursting with anger towards Juliana. 'Intend you to show the squire his infant grandsons and soften his heart?'

'If that were my hope,' Juliana replied levelly 'I should have carried them here with me today, the tiny baby at my breast, my boy running about impishly. I should have kept onion-skins hidden in my hand, to induce weeping, as actors did in plays. Since my purpose is honest' — she spaced it with a very small smile for the squire — 'I hope my tears will only flow naturally, where appropriate.'

'Surely you do not joke?' sneered Aurora.

'No, madam. I am desperate for my children. I was never so serious.'

'And do you weep for Orlando?' asked the squire, cocking an austere eyebrow.

'I do. He has been a good husband and a loving father.'

'If you intend to ask for money' Mary Falconer spoke up frankly, 'then you must return disappointed.' Mary had seemed the least hostile, yet now she burst out with a list of crushing woes: 'My father and brother have given all they had to Parliament. We, like everyone, have been taxed and taxed again to support the war effort. Even so, we were invaded and plundered by soldiers — they took everything: the horses from the stables, my father's sheep and cattle, his draught oxen, the very coach we had — after which they burst indoors and violently broke open every cupboard and chest. They robbed us of all our household goods — sheets and bolsters, all our clothes, even my little babe's smocks and lace caps, and all our kitchen utensils, tubs, pots, pans, meat hooks and pot hooks, spits, bowls, plates, dishes, knives, spoons, the knifebox and my mother's silver fish servers, then pecks of wheat and oats, butter, cheese, bread, salt, bacon — '

I see you did the housewifely duty and compiled the complaints list… 'Were these of the King's party?' asked Juliana carefully.

'No — that is what we endured even from our own. Waller's soldiers, out of Farnham. Two men went to the gallows for it. All the candles I had just dipped! A full six dozen…' murmured Mary, biting back tears as she reminisced. 'And then we had the poor soldiers coming through from Southampton after Lostwithiel, and nothing left that we could give them — You, in your safe refuge in Oxford, cannot know how we in the country have suffered.'

Well, you are the victors now! 'Your trials may shortly be over.' Juliana kept her restraint. 'The King's cause wanes daily. His garrisons are captured, his armies destroyed, his commanders leaving for the Continent. Soon I shall have no refuge. Women and their helpless children should not be blamed for a husband's delinquency.' She sighed, pretending to hide it. 'I am a helpless supplicant, but I must consider my boys. They are innocents. I was hoping for a friendlier reception.'

There was a silence, perhaps slightly awkward.

Next it was Aurora's turn to raise objections. Juliana did not think these people had rehearsed their speeches, but they had all listened to Mary's outburst without surprise. She noticed Aurora nudge her husband with a dainty toe, embellished with a ribbon rosette.

Sir Daniel spoke for his wife pompously: 'We have no room for strangers. Squire Lovell's house is overflowing — my wife and I live over at the next parish, but Mary and Mr Falconer make their home here, so has Ralph always done, with Katherine and all their children. Then Mr and Mrs Bonalleck from Massachusetts are staying here at present — though Isaac Bonalleck is bound for the New Model Army to be a chaplain there, which means Bridget must remain with her father — and our sister Jane, whom we call Jenny, who has never married — ' So where is Jenny? Do they force their spinster daughters to stay out of sight beside the kitchen fire? If they take in widows or fugitives, must that be their fate too? 'Jenny is sitting with poor Ralph, helping to nurse him.' Sir Daniel seemed to read Juliana's mind.

He was a heavy man, jowly, with a soft wet mouth, whose gaze lingered on Juliana momentarily. She saw how things were. Marrying a knight or baronet would have been a coup for Aurora, a squire's daughter. Before war put pressure on finances, the eldest Lovell girl would have had a good dowry. As Lady Swayne, Aurora had settled into her rank very comfortably, adding to the high-handed manner she must always have had. Her husband was probably satisfied that he had made a good match, as well as one where he could ply his courtship merely by strolling across a few fields, sparing himself any interruption to his hunting.

Juliana was sure if he and she had been alone in the room, Sir Daniel Swayne would have dropped some hint to the effect that she was too good to be penned up in a kitchen inglenook, meaning she should accept overtures from him. Even with his wife present, Juliana read insinuation in his eyes: one more problem that unprotected woman had to face. Some kinds of friendly reception were too unpleasant to contemplate.

Unable to face answering, Juliana waited patiently for the next onslaught.

It came unexpectedly. The parlour door crashed open. In burst a man in a long creased nightshirt, pale and distraught. Without doubt, Ralph Lovell.

Once, he must have looked very like his brother Orlando — a resemblance that gave Juliana a pang — yet he had recently been cruelly deprived of handsome features. A young woman who must be the spinster sister, Jane, scuttled in after him and attempted to place a blanket around his shoulders, only to be shaken off roughly.

The sight was horrific. Juliana had to force herself not to squeal with horror. Major Ralph Lovell's right arm had been shot off above the elbow and half his face blasted away. His life had been saved — at a terrible cost. A good surgeon must have done what he could to mend the damage; the results were still raw. Ralph's face was now twisted, with one eye socket dragged from its proper place — the eye missing — his burned flesh cobbled back together with terrible distortion and scars. When he struggled to speak it was evident he had lost pieces of his jaw and part of his tongue.

'Po-echt!' cried Ralph. It took Juliana a while to understand he was wanting to protest. She had already been struggling with the Hampshire accents of his relatives. Ralph could no longer form clear words, he had lost all ability to make tongued consonants, and was even hampered with his vowels.

Jane screwed her eyes shut and shook her head helplessly, telling her sisters she had not been able to prevent him coming downstairs. Probably they had instructed her to conceal Juliana's visit. Jane was still a girl. Now that the money had run out and taken her marriage chances with it, she was probably pushed around by everyone. Even her disabled brother bullied her while she dutifully nursed him.

'Ralph!' cried his father. 'Be easy. Do not trouble yourself.'

Ralph made more agitated, indecipherable sounds.

Mary leapt up and went to him. 'Oh this is not right. Never mind what Orlando did years ago — though that was bad enough! — His obstinate delinquency cannot be borne. We should not be asked to bear it!'

Ralph still forced out noises while gesticulating wildly. Jane, who must be used to it, interpreted. She spoke rather formally because it was so difficult: 'Orlando and Ralph can never be reconciled. Our brother's foolish adherence to the King must for ever cause grief to our father, and all of us. Fathers are fighting sons, brothers fighting brothers, cousin against cousin — men have sacrificed their lives in our cause. Ralph has shed his blood for the cause. He has endured grievous hardships and would have given his life. Orlando is resolute on his malignant course. Therefore he and those who belong to him must stay apart from us!'

Exhausted, Ralph collapsed on a chair brought to him by Sir Daniel. While Jane sank onto a footstool, their sister Mary wiped dribble from Ralph's chin with a handkerchief from her pocket. Her gesture was automatic; Ralph struggled with swallowing and would have to be mopped up for the rest of his life. Who knew what other intimate attentions he would require or how any of the parties would endure it.

Juliana assessed the damage that Ralph's terrible injuries had caused to his relatives. His wife, Katherine, was sitting silent and rigid; Juliana now recognised her complete devastation. Katherine had kept her husband, yet lost her marriage. She could not cope with what had happened and was barely hiding her disintegration. Juliana read the father's despair, the sisters' misery, the brothers-in-laws' discomfort. She could only imagine how children reacted. How the servants shuddered, the tenants whispered. How Ralph himself would alter, as pain and frustration embittered him.

All eyes turned to Juliana accusingly.

She was so shocked she had leapt to her feet. They would not want her sympathy, though they had it. Ralph's disfigurement and disablement were so dreadful they must have thought his death would be easier to bear. For him and for all of them. But no; he was going to struggle on and they were going to care for him. Nothing within this large, close family would ever be the same again.

Ralph's situation should make no difference. Her pleas on Orlando's behalf remained just as valid. Yet Juliana knew her suit was blown away.

Somehow she found words. 'I am appalled, Major Lovell, to see your suffering. You may not wish to hear this, but your brother will be heartbroken; he has always spoken most kindly of you — ' Well, except when he said you had died in an explosion, so he could masquerade as heir… ' I plead with you only to remember this: just as you chose your cause according to your conscience, so did honest men on the other side. Both parties claim they fight to preserve the freedom and safety of the kingdom. That is the tragedy. Royalists' opposition to you was never ignoble; they serve the King because they believe it is the proper thing to do. They did not choose it as some path to wickedness. I know there are even those in the King's party who serve him out of ancient loyalty of subject to monarch, yet who still desire that Charles should yield to Parliament's demands. Some who always did wish it so, some who are even now pressing him to make a peace.'

This speech certainly was unexpected to the Lovells. Juliana had surprised herself.

'I do not take sides,' she added quickly. 'My coming here was for two earnest reasons. One was to give my boys an opportunity to know their grandfather — which is their right, as it is every child's right. The rest of you may decide how you regard them, but I beg you, do not interfere between the squire and Tom and Val.'

'Tom!' murmured Squire Lovell, his face irresistibly softening. Then Juliana realised for the first time that Orlando had named their elder boy after his own father. She knew at once: Orlando had done it deliberately.

'And I was hoping — ' Unexpectedly, she stumbled. 'I hoped that since you have influence with Parliament and I do not, you might be willing to assist me. I have been told that my husband is a prisoner since Naseby. I am desperate to find out where he is.'

Again, there was that odd riffle of movement among the Lovells.

'Oh we know where the scoundrel is!' scoffed the squire. 'His first action on finding himself penned up in London was to write here and tell me!'