The Monmouth Summer (43 page)

So why had the boy lied last night about seeing her? Why had they been out of the town together? When he had asked Tom to take care of the girl, that was not quite what he had meant. I ought to get her home, Adam thought. However good she is with the wounded, an army is no place for a decent girl. But while she was here, he had a duty to see she was not harmed. He sighed, knowing he would have to speak to them both as soon as possible.

The opportunity came that night. The army reached Shepton Mallet, which they had already passed on their way east, and the soldiers were mostly billeted free in houses, choosing first those whose men had gone to the militia. After a decent home-cooked supper, Adam made his way to a house in the next street which the surgeon and Ann had been allocated. They had only just finished eating, for they had had the wounded to see to, but Adam was glad to find Tom there before him, although the surly look on the boy's face did not make him feel welcome.

Ann helped the housewife to clear the table, while the older men took out their long clay pipes and inhaled the smoke gratefully. Tom whittled at a piece of wood with his knife. For a while Adam and Nicolas Thompson talked generally about the progress of the day and the state of the wounded, and then, as Ann came back into the room, wiping her hands on an apron she had borrowed, Adam said:

"I hope you won't think me rude, friend Nicolas, but I have a few family matters to talk over with these youngsters. Is there any little room or parlour in this house, do you know, where we could retire for a private talk?"

The lanky, white-haired surgeon drew in smoke reflectively, and looked at Adam and Tom from under his bushy eyebrows. "'Tis a poor do, Adam, if a man can't get a rest from his family troubles when he goes to war!" He got up, knocked his pipe out at the grate, and smiled at the three of them from his great height. "But if you'm taking my nurse, I shall have to go out to see to my poor charges, so I shan't bother 'ee for a while."

When he had gone Adam looked at the young couple, wondering how to begin. Tom gave him a quick glance and then dropped his eyes sullenly. His big hands were whittling at the piece of wood, which was taking the shape of a pike-blade between his fingers. Ann glanced at her father calmly, a slight flush on her face, and then came and sat down on the bench at the other end of the table.

"Family matters, father? Have you had some news from home?"

"No, of course not. I wish I had though." He pressed his left hand down on the surface of the table, examining the spread fingers carefully. "I wish I had news that you were safe at home with your mother."

"Oh, father! I would much rather be here, and I am far more use to you, I'm sure! Who would have looked after you when you were wounded, if I had not been here?"

"The Lord would have sent someone." Her face clouded and he saw his mistake. "No, Ann, that is not fair. The Lord sent you to me and I am most grateful, truly. And so I am sure are those other poor wretches. But I would still rather send you home."

"But it wouldn’t be safe, father!"

"Not safe? Whatever do you mean, girl?" He had a sudden awful vision of his house being pillaged and burnt, Mary and the children being driven out at swordpoint. "You have no bad news of home?"

"No, father, how should I? I meant it wouldn't be safe for me to travel, that's all. I'm safer here." She smiled, and saw his stern face relent a little, as she had hoped it would.

"I suppose so, for now. But if the chance arises, I shall send you. The army is no place for a decent girl, you know that."

"I have you and Tom to look after me." The words were a question to Tom, who sat without looking up, his eyes darkly concentrating on the wood, as he had sat all evening. When he had first come to the house, she had thought he wanted to speak to her alone, but he had just sat and whittled, and glanced at her occasionally with a deep, sullen look which she feared to interpret.

Adam glanced at Tom as well. "So you have. But I've heard whispers about a quarrel between you two."

He could see by their reaction that there was some truth in it. Ann blushed, and Tom looked up from his wood, his eyes glancing from one to the other as though he were frightened of something. But a lover's quarrel was nothing to be afraid of, Adam thought.

"Who told you that?" Tom found his voice at last.

"Someone who saw you coming back from the woods outside Frome last night. I am surprised that you should find that a fit place to walk together."

"What do you mean, father? There's no harm in walking in a wood!"

"Not at home, perhaps, where everyone knows you are betrothed. But I asked Tom here to take care of you, and when we are in the middle of an army of many thousands of men who do not know you, I hardly think it is taking good care of your reputation or your safety for you to be seen walking alone in the woods with any man."

There was a long pause, while Ann waited for Tom to speak. But he said nothing, and so at last she spoke for him, her hair half-hiding her face as she looked modestly down at the table.

"I am sorry, father. You are quite right. It was my fault - I asked Tom to come with me so ... so that I could get away from the army for a little."

Her humility surprised Adam, after all the quarrels they had had about such things at home. And the guilty, hunted look in Tom's eyes worried him more.

"So what did you quarrel about?"

"Nothing, father. We didn't quarrel about anything."

"Tom?"

"There was no quarrel."

"You don't look so happy now."

"How should I be happy, when we have spent all day marching away from the enemy we have come to fight? Is this the way to get the Lord's blessing on our cause?"

"I didn't come to discuss that, Tom. And at least it is safer for Ann; you should be glad of that."

"I didn't ask her to come! She shouldn't be here - 'tis no godly army that has a girl dragging her skirts behind it, like some devil's temptress!"

"Tom!" Ann's voice was sharp with pain, but he ignored her. "A man should keep his soul pure if he is to fight for the Lord, not be tempted and held back by women. Listen to your father, girl, a man who is happy to retreat just because it keeps you safe. Is that any way to fight? 'Tis more than likely Monmouth's brought us back here just because he fancies some drab like you!"

"Thomas Goodchild! You will not speak of my daughter like that!" Adam half rose to his feet, furious, then thought better of it and sat down. He passed his hand across his brow to calm himself, and then began again. "What is the matter with you, boy? Everything seems wrong for you now - the war, King Monmouth, and now Ann! When we were in Taunton you were glad she was there. Your own father would not believe it if he heard you talking like this. You used to be a tower of strength to us; now you seem more likely to destroy us!"

"I am out to destroy the works of the Devil, whereever I find them. And he is amongst us now, Mr Carter, though you are too blind to see it. Other men can see it; godly men, who listen to Israel Fuller, and study the works of the Lord and pray to Him daily. 'Tis the Devil in our leaders that has denied us victory, and given them over to pride and vanity. There's even the Devil in your daughter, Mr Carter!"

"What do you mean, boy?" Adam's voice was unnaturally level and warm, balanced as it was between the white heat of fury and an icy doubt. Ann stared at Tom, speechless. For a moment he hesitated, but it came out at last.

"I mean that she ... only that she would hold us back from fighting out of fear for her safety, as you have said. I cannot give my heart to the Lord's work if I am worried about what she may be doing with our own men, or with the enemy." He looked down at his hands, confused, embarrassed now that he had said it. Then he lifted his eyes in sullen defiance.

"Do you call my daughter a whore, boy? Is that what you mean by the Devil in her?"

"I only say what I think to be true."

"But it's not true, Tom! You know it isn't!" Ann's voice was high and wild with shock, so that Adam felt sure it could be heard in the street outside.

"I know that you tempted me in a way any honest woman would be ashamed to do!"

"I
tempted
you?
"

"I don't like to say it in front of your father, but the Lord knows it to be true. Such conduct can only be some devilish trick that you have learned at the hands of your Papist captors, who sent you back to infect us with it!" Tom spat the words out with a venomous fury as though he were indeed infected, and then turned abruptly away from them both, to begin fiddling nervously with the wood again.

Adam and Ann sat silent, stunned by the outburst, neither daring to look at the other. At last Adam broke the silence, a terrible sadness in his voice, as though his whole life were wasted.

"Is there any truth in this, Ann?"

She turned and looked at her father, desperately seeking his eyes, his understanding, but he only stared down dully at the wood in front of him, the terrible male conspiracy isolating her in guilt, as it had done before at Chard.

"I only ... he
is
my betrothed, father!"

"You only
what?
You are not yet married, girl, you should know that!"

"Ask him. He knows it was not just me."

Adam turned to Tom, his face grim as an executioner's. "What exactly is this Devil's work that you complain of?"

Tom too kept his eyes down as he spoke, as though what he spoke of were too shameful to be openly acknowledged.

"She ... she put it in my mind that I might easily die in the next battle, and ... that if I did so, we ... she would never have had conjugal relations with me, as man and wife. And so she offered herself to me, brazenly like a strumpet, there in the wood!" His voice rose to a high sob as he finished, as though he himself had been raped.

"And what did you do?"

"It was a temptation of the Devil!"

"And you accepted it!" Ann could keep quiet no longer. "Oh yes, father, he did! He coupled with me, and pretty roughly too! It didn't take much tempting to get your breeches down, did it?"

"Be quiet, Ann!" Adam banged the table in rage. "How can you speak like this, girl? My own daughter! My own daughter a whore!"

"But it was only with Tom, father - we
are
betrothed!"

"You did not learn to kiss like that from me!" Tom said. "You learnt that Devil's art from other men - from those Papists and idolaters you coupled with before! From Robert Pole!"

"No!" She looked to her father for support, but his eyes were stern and distant, withdrawn into deep, unreachable sadness. "I didn't ... "

"Be quiet, Ann. You will only further endanger your soul by lying, and anyway I do not want to hear what you did or did not do with other men. It is enough that you have sullied yourself with Tom." Adam paused, and passed his hand across his eyes, searching for the words to go on. "I never thought I would live to hear a daughter of mine had behaved so ... shamefully with a man. It is your part to resist temptation, girl, not encourage it."

"Yes, father." She bowed her head, hopelessly. It was useless to resist.

"At least, as you say, you are betrothed, and you will be married as soon as this business is over. So perhaps only the three of us here will know of your shame."

"And what if I do not wish to marry her now, when she has brought these strumpet's tricks into the army of the Lord? I agreed to marry an honest girl, not a …"

"You will marry her now, Tom!" Adam cut across Tom, before he said the hateful word. "You have no choice. You admit that you have succumbed to temptation and lain with my daughter when you should not; now you must accept the responsibility for it, and care for her and the child, if there be one!"

"But it may not be my child! If 'er's been with some idolatrous Papist let him look after it!"

"Oh, Tom, I never did it with anyone else. You are the first, God help me!"

"But how ...?"

"You hear what my daughter says, Thomas. I believe her and so should you, if only for your own peace of mind. She may have sinned, as you say, but you sinned with her, and it would be a greater sin by far if you were to abandon her now. I hardly think your father or friend Israel would support you in that, and by the Lord God, Tom, if you abandon my daughter and sully her good name after this as you have sullied her body, I shall see to it that you never dare set foot in Colyton village again!"

Ann remembered later how magnificent her father had looked then, in the strength of his conviction, and how cowed and sullen Tom seemed in comparison.

"Consult your conscience, Tom, and see if you cannot find some of the good Lord's love and charity in your heart as well as His wrath, for we are all sinners, you know; you as well as the rest."

"But we will not all be redeemed," Tom muttered surlily. Adam got to his feet, and stood for a second, shocked that his own fear should come from the boy's mouth. But his anger was flowing too quickly for him to hesitate long.

"Redemption is in the hands of the Lord, boy, and best left there. Our task is to live our lives on earth as best we can according to His precepts, whatever may happen to us after. And it seems to me that the best way for you two to do that now is to sit quietly together here in this room and try to recover something of that which you have lost. I hope I can leave you alone safely, at least. I will speak to you later, Tom, to see what you have decided."

When he had left them they sat for a while without talking, like strangers put by accident in the same prison cell. Tom stared at the wall, and Ann watched him, wondering if it would be like this when they were married, and whether she could bear it if it were. Perhaps, she thought, if you sit still long enough your heart turns to stone, and ceases to ache. Or do love and hope just go bad through lack of use and turn to hatred and despair, like wine to vinegar? She had never loved Tom as she had Robert, but until yesterday she had thought they could at least marry and be friends. She had never hated him until now. Now she only wanted to hurt him, for his treachery.