Page 14 of Exile's Return
‘Would you believe it? This ‘ere’s Kit Lovell’s brother, Dan’l, back from the dead,’ Jem responded.
The colour drained from the woman’s face and she stared at him as if he truly were a ghost. ‘But you’re dead and buried somewhere in the godforsaken Indies.’ Nan sank on the bench beside her brother and stared at Daniel. ‘Daniel bloody Lovell. Who’d have thought it? What’s up with your family? Descended from Lazarus?’
‘Now, Nan.’ Jem elbowed his sister into silence. He leaned forward on the table, his hands clasped. ‘So, Daniel, what brings you ‘ere?’
‘I am looking for news of my brother,’ Daniel said. ‘They told me that Kit used to come here.’
The woman’s face closed like a door slamming. ‘Didn’t they tell you? He’s dead. They ‘anged him in ‘54.’
Jem shook his head and looked down at his big hands, clasped together on the tabletop. ‘Dead,’ he echoed.
Daniel cleared his throat. ‘I know Kit’s dead,’ he said. ‘I just thought maybe you could tell me a little more about the circumstances.’
Jem Marsh heaved a sigh. ‘Got ‘imself tangled up in some sort of plot to kill the Lord Protector.’ He shook his head. ‘He was ‘ere when they took ‘im.’
Nan glanced at her brother. ‘You’ve said enough, Jem Marsh. Truth is there ain’t much more to tell. We was right fond of ‘im but he’s dead. Don’t know and don’t care where you’ve bin all these years. Ye’ve got your own life to lead. Forget ‘im.’
Daniel looked from one to the other. Neither appeared to be any more forthcoming, so he drained his ale and stood up.
Nan rose and faced him. She looked him up and down and her face softened as she shook her head. ‘Ye’ve certainly got the look of your brother about you. Not as tall I wager but ye’ve the same eyes. Can’t forget Kit Lovell’s eyes; would make a woman wet ‘erself if he looked at you the right way.’
Somewhat taken aback by the description, Daniel smiled. ‘I’ve not heard him described in quite that way before.’
‘Then you didn’t know your brother,’ Nan said, with what was probably intended as a saucy wink but looked rather more threatening on Nan’s hard face.
No, I didn’t.
Ten years his senior, Kit had been eighteen when he had ridden off to war, and they had seen precious little of each other during the weary years of fighting. It had only been in ’48 that Kit had returned to Eveleigh and embroiled the family home in a futile action that had subjected the house to the bitter month-long siege that had ended in the death of their father and the destruction of the house. Kit had returned to England again in 1651, bringing with him the hopes of the young King Charles II, and this time Daniel was not going to let his brother ride away. Despite Kit’s every effort to dissuade him, Daniel had followed him to Worcester.
That had been a foolish and fatal decision.
He handed over some coins for the ale. Nan bobbed her head as her fingers closed over the coins.
‘That’ll do nicely.’
She looked up at him and her eyes narrowed. He gained the impression that she may have been about to add something, but a rowdy group of ‘prentices fell through the door demanding ale. Nan gave Daniel a cursory nod and went to see to her customers.
Chapter 7
They kept Agnes waiting for more than an hour in a cold anteroom in the bowels of the old palace of Whitehall. Sour-faced clerks and red-coated soldiers passed in and out of the great oak doors, behind which a committee sat deciding the fate of two small children. With every moment that passed, her hopes faded.
The door opened and a clerk indicated for her to enter. Her heart fell as she saw not only the Committee of three men but Tobias Ashby. Ashby lounged against the fireplace, impeccably dressed in a scarlet coat trimmed with gold lace, which strained at the buttons across his stomach. The highly polished, metal gorget of an officer rested beneath his impeccable lace-trimmed collar. His brown, thinning hair curled to his shoulder and his moustache and beard were neatly trimmed. It had been a few months since she had seen him and it occurred to her that the peacetime army suited him a little too well.
While James gave every show of his loyalty to the new regime, his cousin had visited Charvaley many times in the last few years. James’s general ambivalence to all matters political has been so fervent that even Agnes had not suspected his more recent involvement in the royalist plans to restore the King.
Tobias looked her up and down and inclined his head. She looked away from the supercilious smile he gave her.
A small, balding man sat between the two other commissioners. He neither looked up nor offered her a seat as she entered but continued to peruse the papers in front of him, which she hoped included her petition. She tried to read upside down but failed.
A clerk seated at the far end of the table sharpened his quill before dipping it in the inkpot.
‘In the matter of the traitor the late Lord Elmhurst’s children,’ the chairman of the committee began, looking up at her at last. The clerk began to write. ‘Are you Mistress Agnes Fletcher?’
Agnes clasped her shaking hands in front of her in an effort to control her nerves.
‘I am,’ she said, embarrassed by her high, tight voice.
‘I have before me a petition by you for custody of the children of the traitor, one Henry James Ashby aged four, Marquess of Chesterton, and the Lady Elizabeth Ann Ashby, aged seven years. I am given to understand that you are the children’s aunt?’
