Page 39 of By the Sword
‘Where’s Rupert?’
Tom pulled a face. ‘Mother said he had to stay in the stable until he is older,’ he said. He looked up at Jonathan and his eyes sparkled. ‘But I’ll smuggle him into the house when she’s not looking.’
Jonathan suppressed a smile. The more he had to do with the boy, the more he saw himself as a lad.
They played in silence for several moves. Jonathan moved Tom’s king into check.
Tom frowned as he contemplated his next move.
‘Jonathan…’ Tom began.
‘Tom?’
‘Are you married?’ the boy asked.
‘No,’ Jonathan said.
Tom looked up. ‘Ever?’
‘Not ever.’
‘So you don’t have any children?’
‘No,’ Jonathan replied. ‘You’re asking a lot of questions, Tom, you need to concentrate.’
‘I was just wondering,’ Tom said in a tone that was far too casual.
‘Why?’
Two innocent hazel eyes met his own. ‘No reason,’ he said.
Chapter 11
Suzanne and her family waited for their guests in the great hall of the pleasant and prosperous manor house. A handsomely carved mantle dominated the room, and the table had been set with the best linen. The Rowes, Jonathan concluded, had done well with the wool trade and their support of the Parliamentary cause.
He took Suzanne’s hand and kissed it with all the grace of the most accomplished court gallant.
‘Mistress Rowe,’ he said. ‘You look charming. The colour of that gown is perfection.’
A blush spread across Suzanne’s cheekbones and she smiled as she said, ‘Your charm is wasted on me, Sir Jonathan, but you’re welcome to Barton Hall. Indeed it’s a pleasure to see you so much recovered.’
‘A tribute to your patient care,’ he replied.
‘I’m not sure if you remember my husband, William.’ Suzanne turned to the portly, good-natured man by her side.
‘Sir Jonathan, it’s a pleasure to have you with us. Looking a damn sight better than when last we met.’ William declared, clapping Jonathan heartily on the left shoulder.
Jonathan subsided onto the nearest chair, biting his tongue against the profanity that sprang to his lips. It took a few minutes to recover while William, apologising profusely, produced a glass of the best brandy Jonathan had tasted for a long time.
It was hard not to like the bluff, cheerful Yorkshireman, and once Jonathan’s good humour had recovered, they introduced the children. The eldest son, Phillip, a sturdy young man of about twenty, was a carbon copy of his father. Sam and Joseph, it was explained, were absent at school. Then there were the girls, Janet and the baby, Elizabeth.
Tom had already told him that Robert had been ill and the boy sat huddled by the fireplace, his thin face pale and drawn, coughing spasmodically. Tom sat beside him, playing with the ears of one of the several large dogs sprawled in front of the hearth.
Jonathan crouched down beside the boy’s chair. ‘So, Robert. What’s this? I thought I’d not seen you in the past week. Are you better?’
Robert smiled, a wan little smile. ‘I’m much better. Mama said I should keep to my bed but I wanted to see you tonight.’ He cast a reproachful glance at his mother.
‘What’s this?’ Jonathan reached behind the boy’s ear and produced a shiny groat. He dropped it into the hand of the astonished boy. The other children laughed and clapped.
