Page 184 of Feathers in the Wind
‘So you really are a Colonel?’ I struggled to keep lightness in my tone.
‘Of course. It was my regiment,’ Nathaniel snapped. ‘What else would I be?’
He turned sharply on his heel and marched out of the chapel, sending daylight streaming into the gloomy building as he opened the door.
‘You’re the one with the PhD in the subject,’ I said to my brother. ‘What do you know about him?’
‘Preston’s Regiment of Foot,’ Alan said. ‘A minor regiment, but it played a considerable part in the battle of Chesham Bridge, a precursor to Naseby.’
The village of Naseby lay just five miles distant and every year Alan’s re-enacting group would participate in some form of muster to commemorate the battle. I had attended a few, and like any local, had become quite familiar with the stories of the battle that had been the last great set piece battle of the Civil War and marked the end of the King’s cause.
We found Nathaniel leaning against the car, arms and feet crossed, staring at the gray stone house that had once been his home. He said nothing as I unlocked the car.
‘I think we could all do with a drink,’ Alan said as I turned the vehicle onto the road.
I glanced at Nathaniel. He stared straight ahead, his face white and drawn. ‘I second that,’ I agreed.
We found The Bear open, the wooden tables outside already populated with the early lunchtime crowd. We settled ourselves in a secluded corner of the bar and Alan went to fetch three beers.
‘I used to come here,’ Nathaniel said at last. A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth. ‘It has changed little.’
‘Fourteenth-century and proud of it,’ I said.
Alan set the beers down and opened a packet of crisps. As one, we lifted the glasses and took long draughts.
‘So--’ Alan spoke first. ‘Nathaniel Preston of Heatherhill Hall, I believe you.’
Every logical instinct in me cried out in resistance. This defied the laws of physics--of nature--but with a small, shaking voice I said, ‘So do I.’ Nathaniel looked from one to the other of us. ‘And I, you.’
Alan frowned. ‘What I want to know is how you come to be here?’ Nathaniel picked up his beer and took a swig
‘What happened yesterday?’ Alan asked. ‘Anything...peculiar?’
Nathaniel looked at the table and shook his head. ‘Nothing of significance. I told you I had set off for Oxford in the morning, when I encountered the enemy.’ He touched his injured arm. ‘As Master Shakespeare would say, I decided discretion was the better part of valor and--’ That fetching smile caught at his lips again. ‘Withdrew.’
‘You mean, you ran away?’ I said.
He fixed me with an amused smile. ‘They shot my horse from under me. I got a little way before it went down and then I was on foot. I was making my way home along the lane that runs beside your cottage with six of the scurvy knaves in hot pursuit and,’ he shrugged, ‘decided to take cover behind your wall.’
‘Did you feel anything? See anything unusual?’ Alan leaned forward.
‘Yes. I went over a wall and came across a half naked woman,’ Nathaniel said, revealing a sense of humor that transcended the centuries.
‘I was not naked,’ I protested.
‘To my eyes you were, but I now see you were quite properly dressed.’ He looked around the bar at the other drinkers. ‘My mother would be appalled to see such immodesty.’
‘Well, I’m grateful to have been born in the twentieth century.’ I raised my glass. ‘Here’s to the twentieth-century woman.’
Nathaniel smiled and lifted his glass. ‘A truly wonderful creation.’
He turned to Alan. ‘To answer your question. No, I simply went over the wall.’ But even as he spoke, he glanced sideways, not quite meeting Alan’s eyes. I wondered if, perhaps, there was more to the story than he was prepared to tell us.
‘This is extraordinary. A genuine seventeenth-century resource. Imagine what we could do…’ Alan sat back, and I recognized the look of excitement on his face. Alan was formulating a plan.
‘Alan.’ I thumped him on the arm. ‘Whatever you are thinking, the answer is no. You’re not turning Nat into a side show, and who would believe you anyway?’
Alan stared at me. ‘Of course, you’re right. Nat--do you mind if I call you that? Nathaniel is such a mouthful--I am a professor at the university. My subject is seventeenth-century history, particularly the English Civil War.’
