On the morning of September 3rd, Kate woke feeling restless. She stayed at her window a long time looking out over the newly mown fields. It promised to be a humid and oppressive day and as she opened her casement distantly she heard something that sounded like a roll of thunder.
Her heart stopped. She knew that sound. She had heard it before, seven years ago when the King and Parliament had met at Marston Moor, barely a few miles from Barton. Guns. Her mouth dry, she closed the window again and leaned against the wall beside it, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.
She tried to set her mind to the day-to-day running of the house but as the day wore on Kate found she could not settle to any task. It was as if, with each beat of the guns, a thunderstorm hung over the house, ominous and brooding and full of threat but yet to break. By afternoon she sought out Nell, who had pleaded a headache brought on by the warm weather and kept to her chamber.
Nell sat by the open window, gazing out, her lips moving and in her hands a cross with beads that she seemed to be counting. Kate stared at the wooden beads spilling across Nell's amber gown.
Nell looked up quickly and her hands fell still. “There, did you hear? Is that guns? It seems to have been going all day."
Kate nodded. “Yes. That's guns. Once you hear that sound you never forget it."
"You've heard it before?"
"Marston Moor,” Kate replied. “Richard...” her mouth went dry at the memory of that awful day. “David Ashley brought Richard home that night."
Nell placed her hand on Kate's in empathy. “Perhaps if we pray?” she suggested.
Kate nodded and they clasped each other's hands in silent prayer. Catholic or Protestant, it made no difference. It seemed such a small, ineffectual gesture but it brought some measure of comfort.
Anxious to distract herself, Kate picked up the rosary beads, weighing them in her hands. “I know nothing about the Catholic faith,” she admitted.
Nell allowed herself to smile. “Except that we should be banished or burned?"
Kate shook her head. “No, I believe everyone has a right to practice whatever faith they hold to,” she said.
"Well that's very liberal-minded of you, Kate, but you belong to a perfect world which does not exist.” Nell could not conceal the trace of bitterness in her voice. “Did you know the Thorntons maintained their Catholicism until Sir Francis’ grandfather considered it politically expedient to be otherwise?"
"Ah, the first baronet,” mused Kate, who had become well schooled in the Thornton family history, “darling of Queen Bess. It didn't take Tom long to discover the priest holes, Nell. He showed me four of them. Is that sufficient number for one priest?"
The priest holes, Kate had discovered, were ingenious but uncomfortable hiding places. Two of them were barely large enough for Tom. One, from the closet in what had been Sir Francis’ room and was now Tom's room, formed part of the kitchen chimney and must have got rather warm for the poor priest. As he no doubt faced a fiercer fire if he was discovered, the discomfort must have been worth it. However the fourth, in the room she used as a study, seemed to be slightly larger and better concealed than the others; it would certainly fit a grown man with more ease and a modicum of comfort. She wondered with a shiver whether her sudden thought of the priest holes presaged a need for them.
The guns boomed again. The cold memories clawed at her heart and tears welled in her eyes. Not wishing them to be seen, she turned away from Nell. The memory of Richard's broken body had now become intrinsically tied up with the present, and she kept seeing Jonathan, dead or dying amidst the carnage of the battlefield. Unlike Nell she knew the cost of a battle and the terrible injuries a man could die of.
Even as darkness fell, the echo of the guns came faintly through the open casements as the women sat for their supper.
Nell, ever optimistic, looked at Kate. “Perhaps,” she said, “perhaps there is victory?"
"If there is it will not be to the King,” Kate remarked quietly.
"Is that what Jonathan thought?” Nell asked and Kate nodded.
Nell sighed. “I did hope ... I have prayed that there may be a chance.” Her voice was choked.
"No, Nell, this was the very last chance they had and it was such a slender one. There will be no King on the throne of England tonight."
Nell stood up. “I think perhaps I will see to Nan,” she said.
Kate left her and went in search of Tom, whom she had last seen working on his lessons in the library. She found him in his room, the same pleasant chamber that had been his grandfather's. All trace of its previous occupant had been replaced by the muddle that constituted Tom and his possessions. Like Nell he sat by the window, leaning on the sill, his chin on his folded arms.
"That's guns, isn't it, Mother?” he asked rhetorically.
She nodded and he looked up at her
"Will they be all right?"
"I wish I could say for certain, Tom, but I can't.” she said flatly. “Their fate is in God's hands. Come, it's time for bed."
Even after the rest of the household were in bed, Kate still prowled the house unable to rest. She kept telling herself that she would know if Jonathan were dead, that she would sense it somehow but her ruthlessly logical side dismissed that notion for the folly it was. She had not ‘known’ about Richard. Why would it be any different now?
The figures for the harvest that she had turned to in an effort to distract herself wavered and tears blurred her eyes. She dried her tears like a child on the sleeves of her dress and forced herself back to the books.
Through the open window of the study where she sat and the silence of the night came the distant, unmistakable beat of horses’ hooves on the Kidderminster road. She sprang to the window, hearing the hooves skittering on the gravel of the forecourt and men's voices coming towards the house.
Unable to move she waited, facing the study door as she heard heavy boots on the stairs then in the corridor. The door opened and to her unutterable relief Jonathan stood there. Kate saw his face beneath his hat, unshaven and dirty, his buff coat streaked and stained, and smelt the unmistakable smell of powder and sweat.
She all but fell into his arms, pressing against the leather of his coat, her fingers meshing in his dark hair, damp with sweat from the hard ride north. They kissed desperately and urgently but their coming together was momentary as Jonathan pushed them apart.
"My darling girl, I've no time,” he said. “I have the King and some of his men in the kitchen."
She stood transfixed with a sudden anger. “The King? You fool. Why bring him here? This will be the first house they would search!"
Irritation flashed back from his bloodshot eyes. “Kate, we will be gone within the hour and I do not have time for any lectures from you. We need a respite. We have fought and lost and it has been a long and brutal day. Few of us have had any sleep in twenty-four hours. Now come and tend to your guests."
This was an order. The man who stood before her now was not her lover but a soldier giving a command. She nodded helplessly and the look on his face softened.
He caught her arm as she passed him. “Sweetheart, I would not have brought danger to this house if it could be helped but the King has fought bravely today and is weary beyond measure. We just need a little time to work out what we are to do."
She looked up at him. “Jonathan, what of Giles?"
He turned back towards her, his eyes full of pain. “I don't know, Kate. Giles stayed to cover our escape. We can only pray that he is a canny enough soldier to look after himself."
A suppressed gasp came from the doorway and they both saw Nell, her hand over her mouth. She had heard the last of the exchange. Jonathan took her gently by the shoulders and held her in his arms.
"Nell, I'm sure Giles will be fine."
She looked up at him her eyes, full of tears. “But you cannot be sure, can you?"
Slowly he shook his head and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come, Nell, you have a kitchen full of tired, hungry men who need the sight of a pretty face to cheer them."
Kate followed and as he put his hand on the banister of the stairs, she noticed the bloodstained remnants of a scarf tied around Jonathan's left hand.
"You're hurt,” she said.
He looked down at his hand as if noticing it for the first time. “Just a cut, nothing serious,” he said. “Ellen will be able to patch it in a moment."
The kitchen seemed to be full of men, all, like Jonathan, tired and filthy. The cook and the kitchen scullions already circulated amongst them with cold pie, bread and cheese and ale while Ellen tended the assorted cuts and scratches.
A tall, dark young man, his face already old beyond his years, stood by the fire, staring into its depths. He looked up at their entry. From his clothes and his demeanour and the deference shown to him by his companions, he could only be the King.
"Mistress Ashley.” A smile lit the King's saturnine face. “I am truly grateful for your hospitality. Sir Jonathan has been singing your praises since we so unceremoniously departed the fair city of Worcester."
Kate and Nell swept into deep curtsies and, tired though he must have been, the King stepped forward and graciously offered Kate his hand, as if he were at court and she was a fine lady in a beautiful dress, instead of a plain, ordinary housewife in a faded russet gown. As Kate looked into his eyes she knew why these men had been so willing to lay down their lives for this man.
As he kissed her hand, Kate cast a glance at Jonathan, reminded of her terse words. He winked at her and smiled. She had the grace to blush.
"Your Majesty,” she said, “may I present Lady Longley?"
The King took Nell's hand and kissed it as he had done Kate's. “Ah, Lady Longley,” he said, “I only wish I had your husband with me but he insisted on staying behind."
"I am sure he'll be safe, Your Majesty. Giles has always been blessed with the luck of the devil,” Nell said, unsuccessfully trying to disguise the fear in her voice.
The other men were quickly introduced. Buckingham, Derby, Lauderdale, Wilmot ... the names all merged among the faces.
As Ellen seemed pre-occupied with more serious wounds, Kate sat down with Jonathan and gently unwound the bloodstained cloth. It may not have been serious but it was still an awkward, nasty cut and would take a while to heal. While she dressed it Jonathan bent his head towards the little man who had been introduced as Lord Wilmot. They talked hurriedly in whispers and Kate closed her ears. It was not in her interest to know their plans.
She was concentrating so hard she did not see Tom until she felt a tug on her sleeve. The boy was half dressed, with his nightshirt tucked into his breeches, his hair tousled from the bed.
"Mother, what's happening?"
Jonathan turned around when he heard the boy and smiled with a real and deep affection. “Tom! What are you doing out of bed?"
Tom looked down at Jonathan's bandaged hand. “Are you hurt again?” the boy asked.
Jonathan laughed and rumpled the boy's hair. “It's an occupational hazard, Tom. If you've finished, Kate, the boy must meet his King."
Tom bowed deeply and gravely when he was introduced to the young man by the fire. From somewhere the King produced a smile. Then slowly and thoughtfully he took off the Order of St. George from around his neck.
"Master Ashley,” he said, “can you find somewhere in your house where this will be safe until I have need of it?"
Tom flushed red to the roots of his hair. “Oh yes, Your Majesty. I'll keep it quite safe,” he said, holding the precious George close to him.
His wound dressed, Jonathan became the commander again. He ordered the others to divest themselves of their heavy amour, which they did, leaving a large pile of metal in the middle of the kitchen.
Jonathan turned to Kate. “When we are gone, drop all this into the moat and you will never know we have been here."
He clapped his hat, which had incredibly survived the day, onto his head and joined the small band of men in the stable yard where the Seven Ways stable lads had fed and watered the horses.
Kate wanted to remonstrate with him, beg him to stay by her side, plead with him to surrender—anything as long as she knew where he was and that he was alive, but the words would not come out. Instead she had to content herself with a last, brief, loving kiss before the night swallowed the men up and she and Nell were left alone in the empty courtyard.
The last helmet and breastplate lay at the bottom of the moat and the two women sat in the kitchen. They were too absorbed in their own thoughts and too tired to talk. Kate had not seen Tom since the men had left and she assumed he had gone back to bed but as she rose to go to her own bed, he emerged by her side, dirty and smelly but with a huge grin on his face.
She looked at him, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “Tom, where have you been?"
"Hiding the George, like I promised,” he said triumphantly. “I've put it in a place where they'll never look."
"Where?” asked Nell.
Kate's nose wrinkled. “I can guess,” she said. “You've hidden it in the refuse heap!"
The boy nodded and the women laughed. The first and possibly the last time they would have cause to laugh for many days to come.
In the long, relentless ride northward away from Seven Ways, the King's small party stopped for a respite of a few minutes to water their mounts. Buckingham, his malicious mind undulled by exhaustion, turned to Jonathan and said languidly.
"Mistress Ashley is a little different from your usual taste in women, Thornton."
Jonathan, too tired to heed his own advice to Giles, to leave George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, alone, snapped. “What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Well, it can't be her looks, so she must be a goddess in bed."
The Duke's handsome, smiling face was clear even in the dark and for the first time in many years, Jonathan's rigid self-control snapped. A well-aimed right hook under the chin sent the elegant nobleman sprawling. As Buckingham rose to his feet, snarling and spoiling for a fight, Wilmot, small and furious, came between them.