The Monmouth Summer (33 page)

"Eyes cannot hurt, Ann. But you are right, this is no place for a woman. Look, I have friends in Bath. We will be there in a couple of hours and I will find a safe place to for you to stay until this is all over. It will be better than following an army."

"Do you think it will be over soon, Rob? Do you really think it will be that easy?" She kept her eyes on the stream, her voice level, trying to hide the sick fear in her heart. So soon things seemed to have changed, after the euphoria of Taunton. Or was it all nothing but royalist lies?

His laugh was almost embarrassed. "From what Nick Smythe said, it hardly seems that the rebels are making the best of their chances. does it? I almost feel sorry for your father, Ann, even if he did shoot Will Danvers - but perhaps he will have the sense to leave before the end, when he sees the way things are going."

"My father won't run away." Ann remembered the night her father had decided to go to Lyme, and the nights before that, when he had spoken of it. She remembered how solemn the decision had been, how sure he had been that it was right. She remembered Israel Fuller's words.
"Those who die in the service of the Lord shall be saved, but those who abandon His cause shall be lost forever."
She shivered as she thought where that placed her.

"Then your father is a brave fool, like the Duke of Monmouth himself - though Monmouth is more fool than brave, if he gave up Bristol to a handful of troopers as Smythe says." Robert shrugged, an embarrassed pity in his eyes.

Late in the afternoon they reached Bath, and joined the rest of the royal army. The city was buzzing with life, as Ann remembered Taunton had been. But here there were no green branches or Protestant texts in the windows, only the banners of the regular army and militia regiments. Men and women were hurrying everywhere to buy and sell, organise, watch and cheer.

Ann was impressed by the smart uniform coats and orderly drill of the soldiers, but there was none of the eager light or purpose in their faces that she remembered from the soldiers at Taunton. These were merely men doing what they always did, with the casual skill of long practice. Their chief interest in the town seemed to be in spying out the ale-houses, or the girls who passed them in giggling bunches, pretending to ignore the stares they provoked.

Robert left her sitting in a cart outside an inn where he had heard Lord Churchill was, and went inside. It seemed strange to be among such a crowd of townsfolk, who were not connected with the army. For a moment she wondered if she could escape, but she saw how most of the people were looking at her, and heard some of the remarks they muttered to their neighbours as they went past.

"Soldier's fancy piece, must be."

"Poor girl - do you see her dress?"

"Don't look so happy, do she?"

"'Ere, girl! 'Tis me you been lookin' for!"

"See what happens if you run after soldiers."

So she sat quietly, hanging her head and feeling how hopeless it would be to ask for help from strangers here, if that was what they thought of her. She must get back to her father. She could not bear the shame of it; the double shame of everyone thinking she was Robert's whore, and her own shame of knowing she dare not play that part; that she wanted to do what was wrong and dare not, so that she did not even satisfy him.

She got out of the cart quietly, ignoring the sergeant's reproachful eyes, and waited, alone amongst the soldiers, until at last Robert came out. He was relaxed and smiling.

"So, are you ready? I find I have a cousin in Bath, whom you can stay with. I never thought she would be back from London so early, but she is - and her husband has offered to entertain half the officers tonight. We could scarce have come at a better time."

It was as though the incident of last night had not happened. They hurried through the bustling streets, Robert pointing out the uniforms of the different regiments they saw, and telling her of their recent exploits. Several times he saluted an officer he knew, and each time Ann felt the man's eyes linger speculatively on her as they passed.

They stopped outside a tall, terraced house in a smart area near the centre. Robert knocked gaily on the door, which after a delay was opened by a liveried footman in buckled shoes and a white powdered wig. He had a long, melancholy face whose mouth opened into a weak smile as he saw who it was.

"Master Robert, sir!"

"Simeon! How good to see you! I am come with the army, all unannounced and unexpected. Is my cousin at home, or mine host her husband?"

"Your cousin Marianne is here, Master Robert, but Mr Ashley is in town. However he is expected home shortly."

“All the better - it's the lady I need now. Simeon, this is Mistress Ann Carter, a friend of mine whom I have rescued from the rebels. She is in dire need of hospitality."

"I see." The man's cadaverous eyebrows rose in a faint expression of surprise as he looked at Ann. "Then I will announce you to Mrs Ashley at once. Perhaps you could wait in here, sir."

He showed them into a spacious room with pannelled walls, a window overlooking the street, a large fireplace and two carved wooden chairs, as well as several stools and benches around a table.

Ann turned on Robert as soon as the footman had gone out. "Robert! What ever made you tell him that? You have not rescued me from anyone!"

"Have I not? I thought I found you wandering naked in a wood?"

She blushed, unnerved by his air of ironic self-assurance. "You know why that was."

"I know, but I think you will get a much better welcome in this house if we change the story a little. They are my family, after all, and so, I suppose, loyal supporters of the King."

"But ... "

"Robert! What a charming surprise!" The woman who burst into the room and greeted Robert with a rapturous kiss on both cheeks was slightly shorter than Ann, dark and vivacious with curly black hair pulled in ringlets over her head. Her face was soft like a child's, lightly powdered with a patch on her left cheek, and her rich royal blue satin dress, cut low over a swelling bosom decorated by a string of pearls, proclaimed, if the house and footman had not already made it obvious, how far above Ann she was in worldly possessions.

"Marianne, this is Mistress Ann Carter from Colyton, whom I have had the good fortune to rescue from the rebels."

Ann curtsied, terrified; yet she could not help noticing the similarities in the two faces that watched her as she did so. Marianne's face had no freckles, and was more lively; but there was the same slightly earnest frown, that in Marianne's face instantly dissolved into a smile of welcome.

"Then I don't know whom to congratulate first - you on choosing such a charming damsel in distress, or Miss Carter in having found such a dashing knight-errant! But you look tired, my dear, and hungry. Have you travelled far? He hasn't forced you to ride all day, has he?"

"Yes, my lady. Well, nearly, that is ... " Ann's answer was really to the first question, but Marianne's words bubbled out so fast she could not stop them.

"How exactly like Robert! He always had to go over just one more hill when I had already told him a dozen times I was wore out. And I suppose it’s even worse when he is in the army - he treats you as one of his troopers, no doubt! Sit down, my dear, sit down, while I ring for some refreshment."

Ann sat down nervously on the window-seat, fearing to sully the beautiful tapestry cover with her borrowed blue dress, which was stained with the mud of the past few days. She jumped in surprise as Robert's cousin pulled a long, green, tasselled rope that hung from the wall beside one of the chairs. She heard nothing, but a moment later the footman reappeared.

"Cups of chocolate for myself and these poor travelers, Simeon! And some of those honey cakes of Mrs Taylor's. That's the one thing we missed in London, Robert - Mrs Taylor's cooking. You can say what you like about your Whitehall chocolate shops and caffys, none of them could hold a candle to our Mrs Taylor!"

"I am glad to hear it. Marianne. But I'm afraid I shan't be able to stay and taste them if I am to come to see you this evening. For I have to see my men are safely billeted and the supplies disposed of as they should be ... "

"But you have only just come! You can't be in and out like this!"

"My dear Marianne, we
are
at war, you know." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her like an affectionate elder brother, though really she was older than him. "I will come again to your party this evening, but really I have only come now to introduce poor Ann, and beg you to find her a room for the night and perhaps lend her some clothes, so that I may make all Lord Feversham's officers jealous of me.”

"Clothes? Well, I don't know, she is a little larger than me ... but I am sure I can find something."

Ann felt the little woman's eyes on her rather harder now, appraising more than just her size, and the mudstained, threadbare blue dress she had got from the innkeeper’s wife. She remembered the eyes of the passers-by in the street.

"So you are acting more than the gallant rescuer, Rob, are you? Well... "

"No, Marianne." Robert hesitated, a little embarrassed. "Ann and I are old acquaintances, true, but she needs a room for the night out of pure charity. She has already seen more than enough of our soldiers. And you can hardly have her under your roof and refuse her your table, now, can you, Marianne? So where is the harm in making a little stir while we are about it?"

"None in the world." Marianne's eyes sparkled with sceptical amusement at Robert's embarrassment. But the face she turned to Ann was quite friendly, as though they were all part of a delightful conspiracy. "A room you shall have, my dear, and better clothes as well. Now begone, Robert, back to your soldier's games. Ann and I will have a little talk over our chocolate, and then see what we can do. When you come back you will scarce recognise her."

"I ... I only need simple clothes, Mrs Ashley. A clean dress, perhaps, that is all." Ann had almost felt afraid to speak, when her fate was being decided so capably without her; but now Robert had gone, she felt she had to say something. And she had the uneasy feeling that things might go further than she intended.

"Don't worry, my dear, I know just the thing." Marianne stopped talking and sat down on the window seat beside her. Ann felt herself blushing under the friendly, conspiratorial gaze, and looked down awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"So my cousin Robert has found a wild country rose, has he? It seems not all the excitement is in London, after all. Tell me about your dramatic rescue, my dear."

Ann's blush deepened. How absurd she had been, to think Robert might want to marry her The whole situation was hopelessly false. She had only the haziest idea of how to behave in a house like this; and surely that must be apparent to everyone. If she was welcome here, in this lady's house, it was clearly not as a prospective bride. She was just a plaything in Marianne and Robert's game. Surely she should break out of it, smash their silly games with the truth. But then, if she told the whole truth she would only embarrass him, and perhaps end up outside, alone on the street or with the soldiers again.

She was saved by Simeon bringing in a tray with the cups of chocolate and a plate of the honey cakes which he set on a little table near them. When he left she had recovered herself and decided. What did the truth matter to Marianne? She was not interested in Ann for herself, but only in the game, as Robert was. Perhaps they were not the only ones who could play games.

"I was caught by soldiers, Mrs Ashley. I was out with three friends in a wood, when they came and … and caught us. It was horrible!" She covered her confusion in tears, not all of which were feigned. Marianne Ashley cooed in sympathy, and offered her a scented handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Ashley, I shouldn't weep. But I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind. Anyway, afterwards I was alone in the wood, and Robert came along with his troopers and found me."

"But why did he bring you with him to Bath? Surely your family must be anxious to know where you are?"

"I ... yes, I am sure they are, Mrs Ashley. But … Lord Churchill could not spare any men to take me home, and Robert would not let me travel the roads alone, in case I should be attacked again." It was the second lie: she was committed to this story now. But the tale seemed to appeal to Marianne. She smiled ironically, clearly finding it more exciting and amusing than sad. Ann noticed the artificial patch on her left cheek, and wondered how it stayed on.

"How very thoughtful! So he found a poor country maid and took her under his wing! My young cousin seems to be profiting by this rebellion. Tell me. Miss Carter, what do you think of him?"

"He is very kind, Mrs Ashley."

"Indeed. But I mean, as a man, girl. Do you find my cousin handsome, for example? It is always hard for me to tell, being his cousin."

Ann felt herself blushing again, and looked down at her hands awkwardly, exaggerating her innocence as she had once done with her father. "I ... don't know."

But Marianne was not so easily put off. "Don't you find his freckles rather spoil his face? And he always looks so solemn, I think. I prefer a man to more open in the face, more merry. Like Lord Churchill, for example. You wouldn't say Robert is as handsome as him?"

"No, I suppose not. I'm not sure. I had not thought of it." In truth she hadn't. She felt a fierce protective jealousy as Marianne spoke. She had never thought to compare Robert to other men like this, as though he were a portrait in a picture gallery. She loved his face because it was how he was, it was part of him. To think of him in this way seemed to make him into a thing, a picture on a wall rather than a person. "I had never thought of him like that."

Marianne's laughter bubbled over. "Oh, but you must! How serious you are - you are just like him! This is how men think of
us
, you know - surely we should be allowed to think of them in the same way?"

"Perhaps. But 'tis vanity to think just of that. The face is the window of the soul."