He took a room at one of the inns on a side of town where he thought it most unlikely he would be known. With the company of one of his books and a decent bottle of wine, he took his meal in the parlour. After he had eaten he sat by the fire and tried to read.
The clatter of cavalry boots on the flags announced the arrival of a weary young lieutenant of horse who drew a chair up to the fire beside Jonathan to warm himself. Jonathan set down his book.
"Greetings, friend,” Jonathan said. “May I buy you an ale? You look in sore need of one."
The young man smiled gratefully. “Aye, I have just ridden from London and I plan to go no further tonight."
"Where are you bound?” Jonathan asked.
"My regiment is garrisoned near Kidderminster,” the boy said. “I know I should be back there tonight but my horse can go no further.” He added ruefully, “I'll just have to face Major Prescott's wrath tomorrow."
Jonathan's heart skipped a beat. “Prescott?"
The young man looked at him curiously. “Aye, do you know him?"
"Indeed, I am acquainted with a Nathaniel Prescott, is that the man?” Jonathan covered his slip smoothly.
The boy shook his head. “No, Stephen Prescott, and a hard commander he is too."
"Were you at the fight here?” Jonathan asked, changing the subject.
The lieutenant nodded. “Aye. It was a grim day, but God was with us."
"And what are you doing at Kidderminster?"
"Rounding up the stragglers,” the lieutenant said. “I've just returned from escorting some prisoners to London for trial. The Earl of Derby among them,” he added with a note of pride.
"Indeed?"
Poor Derby
, Jonathan thought. It would not be long before his head adorned London Bridge. Someone had to pay the price for the battle of Worcester.
"I hear that Charles Stuart still roams the countryside,” Jonathan said.
The boy nodded. “Vanished into thin air, but we'll get him, sir, and he'll meet his father's fate."
The grim determination on the soldier's face made Jonathan shiver.
"So, where did you say you were garrisoned?” he asked, returning to Stephen Prescott.
The young man leaned back in his chair and sipped his ale appreciatively. “We are billeted at a house which has the strange name of Seven Ways,” he said. “The major says it used to be the home of a notorious family of malignants but the lady who is there now seems godly enough. In fact I swear she must sleep with her Bible under her pillow. Her conduct of prayer meetings would make the regimental parson proud."
Jonathan schooled his face to remain neutral, although his heart raced. He should have known that Prescott would go straight to Seven Ways in search of him. Kate—Kate conducting prayer meetings meant that she had to be in the gravest danger.
The lieutenant continued. “If you ask me, the Major's a bit sweet on her."
Jonathan's unease doubled. “The Major has a partiality for such godly women?” Jonathan asked.
"Well, I've not seen him look twice at a woman before but he seems in no hurry to leave!” The boy sniggered.
Jonathan summoned another ale and stood up. “Well, my friend, I'll leave you to your ale. I wish you well with your commander in the morning."
Alone in his room Jonathan flung himself full length on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He had learned to live with the enmity Stephen Prescott bore for him but that long-standing bitterness now threatened his family in a way it had never done so before and the one person who mattered most to him in the world appeared to be the object of Prescott's attentions. Those attentions could only serve one purpose, the exacting of the price for Jonathan's folly.
He clenched his fists in impotent rage, although he could not have said whether he directed his anger at Prescott or himself. His family were in the gravest danger. He had no choice, it seemed, but to return to Seven Ways and finish this business with Prescott for all time, even at the cost of his own life.
Not normally a man given to profanity, Jacob Howell swore volubly when he opened the door to his cottage and found Jonathan standing on his doorstep. Without waiting for an invitation, Jonathan stepped into the cottage, divested himself of his wet cloak and hat and stood in front of the fire. As steam rose from his damp clothes he smiled at his gawping bailiff.
"You look like you have seen a ghost, Jacob."
Before he closed the door, Jacob peered anxiously into the damp gloom of the autumn night. “Where's your horse?"
Jonathan lifted the lid on the stew pot.
"I've left her in the old quarry. She'll be safe enough there. Have you anything to eat? I'm starving."
"You must be addled to come back now.” Jacob spooned the last of the stew he'd made for his supper into a trencher. “The house is full of Roundheads."
Jonathan took the proffered trencher and spoon and said calmly, “So I hear and that is exactly why I have came back, Jacob.” He sat down on a stool by the fire and stretched his legs out towards the fire. “Now tell me, what has happened?” he asked between mouthfuls, adding, “And why is the quarry full of livestock?"
Jacob resumed his chair and picked up his discarded pipe. He poked at the tobacco and took several sucks on the long stem before he said, “That Colonel Price, he came by with an order to sequester the bulk of the harvest and the stock. I managed to get some of the best beasts away, but he drove off the rest and took most of the harvest, too."
Jonathan set the spoon down on the trencher and sighed. “Revenge, is mine, saith the Lord,” he said.
"Aye,” Jacob agreed, “as if it weren't bad enough having that Prescott and his men up at the Hall."
Jonathan looked up. “Now—Prescott! What has Prescott been up to?"
Jacob frowned. “Hard to say. Sometimes he's here and sometimes he's not. Been asking a lot of questions about you."
"Prescott and I have had a long acquaintance,” Jonathan said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I've no doubt I'm entirely the reason he is here. He hoped to find me skulking at home."
"'Tis ‘45 all over again.” Jacob sighed. “You should've stayed away, sir. Mistress Ashley don't need you around to add to her woes!"
"Ah, Mistress Ashley. How is she?"
"Poor lady,” Jacob said with feeling, “beset all around she is, and having Lord Longley under the roof don't help."
"Longley? Here?” Jonathan looked up sharply.
"He's laid up with a twisted knee."
"That's the best piece of news you've given me, Jacob."
"Well he's not good for much,” Jacob conceded, “and a terrible worry for the poor lady."
"Can you get a message to him?"
Jacob shook his head. “Maybe. Prescott always leaves a guard on the house. They're used to me coming and going, but it mayn't look right if I starts traipsing through the house. If you needs message getting through to his Lordship, the lass, Ellen, she can be trusted."
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Aye, Ellen can be trusted but on no account, Jacob, is she to say anything to her mistress.” He caught the flush that had risen to the bailiff's thin cheeks, and shot him a quick smile. “Sweet on her, are you, Jacob?"
Jacob coughed awkwardly. “Not me, Sir Jonathan. Women bring naught but trouble in my experience."
"You always were a poor liar, Jacob,” Jonathan said.
Jacob smiled a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “She's a terrible, vexsome wench, that Ellen."
Jonathan smiled. “I would agree with that!"
Jacob knocked out his pipe on the heel of his boot and as he refilled it he looked up at Jonathan with a sly look. “If you don't mind me askin', sir, but it seems to me that you're more than a bit sweet on Mistress Ashley."
A muscle twitched in Jonathan's cheek. “More than a bit sweet,” he conceded.
"Then why don't you want her to know you're here?"
Jonathan ran a hand through his recently cropped hair. “You said it yourself. I don't want to add to her worries, and I'd like to see what Prescott is up to before I decide my next move."
"This Prescott, would he hurt her?"
"If he saw her as the way to get to me, yes, he would."
Jacob shook his head. “This is a bad business,” he said. “So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know,” Jonathan conceded. “I need time to think. Do you have a weapon of any kind, Jacob?"
Jacob indicated an old-fashioned musket propped up behind the door. “Just that."
"That's not much use to me. I need a pistol."
Jacob rose to his feet and rifled in a large wooden chest. He produced a long bundle and handed it to Jonathan.
"This may be some help,” he said
Jonathan turned back the wrapping and revealed a sword. He pulled it from the scabbard and held it up to the light. He recognized it as the serviceable weapon Jacob had carried in the late wars. Not a gentleman's weapon, but better than nothing.
"Needs cleaning and sharpening,” Jacob observed.
Jonathan nodded. “It'll do well. Thank you, Jacob."
Jacob surrendered his bed for the night, but Jonathan lay awake for a long time, staring at the bed hangings. A house full of soldiers, Prescott, Giles, Kate ... the thoughts jostled together in his tired mind. The time had come to face his nemesis.
Kate woke feeling as exhausted as she had when she went to bed. There seemed no respite from the tension, and every night she lay awake, waiting for the next calamity. Prescott alternated unpredictably between civility and outright hostility. Today he had insisted on yet another search, pulling the furniture away from the wall, tearing at the wainscoting in increasing ferocity.
He didn't find Giles. She and Nell had insisted he remain in the priest hole while the soldiers were in the house. On days when they were away, they let him out, but never further than the study. With the strain of enforced confinement and the ever-present danger of discovery, tempers were fraying.
She rose from her bed, wrapped a shawl around herself and walked over to the window and looked out at the grey, drizzly sky. She wondered had Jonathan made France or did he still roam the countryside under this same grey sky, still trying to make his way to a safe port? Outside on the forecourt, the morning patrol had assembled. She watched as Prescott briefed his lieutenant and the men ordered their horses. Wheeling together they turned for the road. She thought of Jonathan's motley troop of men. They would not have stood a chance against these hardened, well-equipped soldiers.
Behind her, she heard Ellen enter the room and turned to look at her maid. Ellen looked unusually pinched and drawn. Like the rest of them, the strain had begun to take its toll, even on Ellen's dour reserves.
"Anything wrong, Ellen?"
Ellen's eyes widened. “No, mistress. No, nothing's wrong. Let's get ‘ee dressed."
Kate tried a reassuring smile. “They'll be gone soon I'm sure."
All she got for a response was a grunt.
The day involved putting right the carnage of the previous day. Kate ran her hands over the damaged wainscoting and sighed. Her resolve had strengthened. As soon as they were rid of these soldiers, she intended to shut the house up and return to Barton.
By evening, the soldiers had not returned and it seemed that the usual sentries had not been posted, but Kate had other concerns. Annoyance had begun to give way to genuine concern as she scoured the house looking for her errant son. It would seem that no one had seen him since luncheon.
Her anxiety was not alleviated when one of the maids told her Major Prescott wished to speak with her.
"Damn the man,” she muttered to herself.
She found him in the lower parlour, standing in what had become a familiar pose, with his back to the fireplace.
"You look distracted, Mistress Ashley,” he remarked, his tone pleasant.
"I am,” she said. “I cannot seem to find my son. After your men's work yesterday, I am ill disposed for pleasantries. What can I do for you, Major?"
"I came to tell you that our work here is done. We've found new quarters and will not be requiring your gracious hospitality any longer. My men have gone, and I plan to join them in the morning."
"Well that at least is good news,” said Kate churlishly. “I suppose it's too much to expect some remuneration for the feeding of your soldiers?"
"I am sure if the appropriate representations are made to Colonel Price you will be rewarded for your loyalty,” Prescott said.
As he spoke he left his position by the fireplace and crossed the floor towards her, placing himself between her and the door. He took her by the arm and drew her towards him.
"Take your hand off me,” Kate protested, but his grip tightened and she winced.
"Indeed Mistress Ashley you can make whatever protestations you wish, but I'm sure that once Price learns the truth about where your loyalties really lie, you may find the rewards are not what you expected."
"What do you mean?” she asked.
Still holding her firmly, Prescott thrust a paper at her. With trembling fingers she took it and read the few short words. It said simply. “
Long Barn after nightfall. Come alone. This ends tonight.
"
"You recognize the writing?"
Kate shook her head.
"Well I do. I was right. You've been hiding him all this time."
"Who?"
"Don't play any more games with me, Mistress Ashley. Jonathan Thornton."
She looked up at him, her eyes widening. “No,” she breathed. “As God is my witness, I've not been hiding him."
His eyes narrowed. “You are an accomplished liar, Mistress Ashley. I know you're Thornton's whore. Now if you value your son's life, you will do as I say."
Kate's breath caught in her throat. “Tom?"
Prescott smiled. “A little insurance for your cooperation as you will be my insurance when I meet up with Thornton. Now it is past nightfall. Do you wish to see your son and your lover? If so I suggest you come quietly. We have no wish to alarm the household."
Kate forced herself to breathe slowly and calmly as he guided her towards the door.
"Remember not a word or the boy will die,” Prescott hissed in her ear.