Page 113 of By the Sword
‘I can wait,’ he said. ‘Come little lass, it is time you were in bed.’
He lifted Tabitha in his arms, ignoring the scream of protest from his shoulder and followed Henrietta up the stairs. He was gratified to see a freshly made fire in the hearth and a warm brick in the bed. As all her clothes were soaked through, Henrietta found an old shirt of Nathaniel’s to use as a makeshiftnightdress and Jonathan laid the child in the bed and pulled the covers tight over her.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ she asked.
‘Lucy?’
A look of distress crossed her face. ‘My dolly,’ she said. ‘Mama made her for me before she died.’
Jonathan reached into his jacket and pulled out the disreputable object he had rescued from a puddle earlier in the day. Fortunately, the warmth of his body had dried the doll. He straightened the doll’s limbs and skirts, which had been made with such love by the child’s mother.
The thought of Mary’s small hands, lovingly plying a needle to make this toy for her unborn child, brought a fresh stab of pain. He tucked the doll into the bed beside the child and she drew it to her, snuggling down in the big, warm bed.
‘Close your eyes, kitten,’ he said.
A small hand crept out from under the covers and found his hand. ‘I used to dream about you,’ she said. ‘Bet said you were very brave and handsome. I thought one day you would come for me but you never did.’
‘But I have now,’ he said, his voice choked with regret.
‘Promise me you won’t go away again?’ she asked.
At that moment Jonathan would have promised her the moon if she had asked for it but that was one promise he couldn’t make. He bent and kissed her. She tightened her grip on his hand and he sat without moving, still holding her small hand, long after she had fallen asleep.
This small wonder. My daughter.
Conscious of his own damp and weary state, he tucked her hand beneath the bedclothes and stood up. He smoothed the dark hair away from her forehead and gently kissed her again.
‘I could never leave you again,’ he whispered. ‘Not willingly.’
Downstairs, Henrietta and Nathaniel sat by the fire, their heads together engaged in earnest conversation. Jonathan leaned against the door. It occurred to him that even after thirty years of marriage and the death of their son, they were as close to each other as young lovers. He hoped, prayed, that one day someone would say that of Kate and him.
‘She is asleep. You can send for the soldiers now.’
Nathaniel rose to his feet and stood facing Jonathan, his back to the fire. ‘Why would I do that?’ He paused, his eyes searching his nephew’s face. ‘I take it you were part of that affray at Worcester?’
Jonathan nodded.
‘Come and sit down and Henrietta will fetch you some supper. You are done in, Jon.’
He stumbled into a chair by the fire.
‘I’m not sending for the guard and if ever I’m asked, I’ve not seen you for ten years,’ Nathaniel said. ‘You are quite safe here, Jon.’
Jonathan lowered his head. ‘Thank you.’
Nathaniel poured him another brandy. In his current state of exhaustion, he would be foxed before he could even make his bed. Henrietta set a bowl of soup and fresh bread down on a table but he was almost too weary to eat.
‘You know they’ve still not caught Charles Stuart?’ Nathaniel said.
Jonathan tried to keep his face impassive. ‘God grant they never do,’ he said. ‘England will never survive the judicial murder of another King.’
Nathaniel wisely changed the subject. ‘How are things at Seven Ways?’
‘I’ve told Kate to write to you again. I know you helped her before. That man Price has been causing trouble again and shehad a troop of Parliament horse billeted on her for several weeks without recompense.’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ve yet to meet Kate, but I knew David Ashley.’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘I didn’t know that.’
