Page 4 of By the Sword
Kate turned and dropped a hasty curtsy. The frail, elderly man, stooped and leaning heavily on a cane, inclined his head.
‘Grandfather,’ Nell said. ‘I thought you were resting?’
‘There is plenty of time for rest, Nell. Mistress Ashley, welcome to Seven Ways. And unless I am gravely mistaken, this must be young Thomas?’
Tom stood very straight and gave his great-grandfather the benefit of his most formal bow.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Kate hid a smile at the gravity of her son’s demeanour.
‘And I yours, Master Ashley,’ Sir Francis replied.
The trace of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he indicated that the boy should come closer. With crabbed fingers, he tilted the boy’s face towards him.
He frowned and addressed his granddaughter. ‘Nell, is he not like Jonathan at the same age? The resemblance is quite remarkable.’
‘I said as much myself,’ Nell said. ‘Let us hope, for his sake, that is where the similarity ends.’
Sir Frances turned back to Kate. ‘You were admiring the portrait, Mistress Ashley? That is my family in happier days.’
Kate looked back at the family study. Sir Francis’ younger self dominated it, tall, upright and imposing. Only the eyes and the rather long nose, now emphasised by old age, gave the clue to the identity of the sitter.
Sir Francis pointed with his cane. ‘See there, my wife Anne, my son William and his wife Sarah and our beloved Ned as a baby.’ The cane slowly lowered to the ground again. ‘And of course, Bess.’
Kate looked at the first likeness she had ever seen of her husband’s mother, the defiant Elizabeth who had eloped to Yorkshire with the love of her life, David Ashley. Elizabeth Thornton had been no classical beauty, but she had an arrestingface and the hazel eyes, fixed forever on the father who had disowned her, revealed a determined and intelligent woman. She scanned the painted face, looking for some resemblance between this woman and her son, Kate’s husband Richard. Perhaps she could see something about the nose and mouth? Or perhaps, Kate acknowledged bitterly, the memory of Richard had faded to a point where she could no longer recollect his features clearly.
‘See, Tom,’ she said indicating Elizabeth. ‘There is your grandmother.’
Tom cocked his head to one side.
‘It was painted the year Bess…’ Sir Francis paused, then continued in a softer voice, ‘…the year she married David Ashley.’
He turned away from the painting. ‘I’m pleased you have come, Mistress Ashley. I trust my granddaughter has seen you comfortably settled?’
‘Indeed, thank you, Sir Francis. I have a delightful chamber and we have been made most welcome.’
‘The gatehouse was Elizabeth’s chamber. I thought you would appreciate it.’ Moving with difficulty, he crossed the floor to seat himself in a chair beside the hearth.
He pointed his stick at the chair opposite him, and as Kate sat, he said, ‘Tell me of the Ashleys. David Ashley never married again?’
She met his eyes and read the need for reassurance in them.
‘No,’ she said. ‘For David Ashley, there was only ever one woman.’
He held her gaze then nodded slowly.
‘And Richard? Your husband…’ he paused, ‘…my grandson, he fought for Parliament, I believe?’
Kate nodded. ‘He was a captain under Sir Thomas Fairfax.’ She indicated her son. ‘Thomas is named for him.’
Francis nodded thoughtfully. ‘Indeed. I heard only good things of Fairfax. My grandson, Jonathan, had great respect for him. Now, if I recall Jonathan and Richard were much of an age. Jonathan was born to soldiering. His father’s attempts to turn him into a scholar were sadly wasted. What was Richard’s inclination?’
Kate smiled without humour. ‘Richard was a scholar, not a soldier. He hated the war.’
She closed her eyes, remembering the bitterness in her husband’s eyes as he told her of the deaths of the men under his command.
When she opened them again she found the old man’s gaze resting on her face. ‘Forgive me for dredging up painful memories, Mistress Ashley. It is to my sorrow that I do not even know how he died.’
