Page 32 of Exile's Return
‘No.’
She studied him through narrowed eyes. ‘So how did he die?’
Daniel huffed out a breath, watching it cloud in the cold, damp air. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Agnes.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m a curious woman, Daniel.’
No point in hiding the truth when it was public knowledge. ‘If you must know, he was hanged five years ago for his part in a plot to kill Cromwell.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Agnes, do you mind another night in an inn? It’s too late in the day to go on to Seven Ways.’
Agnes nodded and pointed to a neat half-timbered inn. ‘The Black Cross. We can lodge there.’
Daniel saw the horses stabled and tramped into the inn. The landlady met him at the foot of the stairs.
‘Your sister’s already gone up. Leave yer boots, sir. I’ll have ‘em cleaned.’
Daniel sat down on the steps and pulled off the mud-encrusted boots. No doubt the good woman did not want mud tramped across her well-scrubbed floors.
‘Where are you bound?’ the woman asked.
‘I’m seeking a house called Seven Ways, near here, I believe. Can you give me directions?’
A grin lit the woman’s amiable, once-pretty face. ‘Seven Ways? Yer after the Thorntons?’
At Daniel’s affirmation, she nodded. ‘Aye, I know the house well. An hour’s ride, no more. Take the Kidderminster Road and ye’ll not miss it. Red brick gates with round stones on the gatepost, and when you gets there tell Sir Jonathan that Sal at the Black Cross sends her love. Now, if you don’t mind me sayin’, you look dead on your feet, sir. I’ll have hot water and supper sent up to your room if that suits you.’
Daniel ran a hand through his hair and nodded. Picking up the disreputable footwear, Sal bustled away in the direction of the kitchen. Daniel pulled himself to his feet. Turning he saw Agnes standing at the head of the stairs.
‘She’s right, you don’t look at all well.’
‘I’m fine. Just a little tired,’ Daniel said curtly.
He wanted his bed, not a conversation, but Agnes seemed not to notice and followed him into the bedchamber. Daniel set his bag down on the floor and collapsed into a chair by the cheerful fire and pulled off his damp stockings, setting them to dry on the hearth.
‘Please do me a favour and pass me my bag,’ he said.
Agnes complied and, handing him the bag, said, ‘Daniel. Is there anything…’
‘I’m fine!’ he snapped. ‘Just tired. Leave me, Agnes, and tell the landlady I don’t want any supper. I would rather be well rested to meet with Sir Jonathan tomorrow.’
She studied him, her head slightly cocked to one side. She knew he lied. He was not well. Daniel knew the symptoms, knew what they presaged, and just prayed he would make it to Seven Ways the next day.
‘This Sir Jonathan, how well do you know him?’ she asked.
‘I met him once, a long time ago,’ Daniel replied. ‘Worcester…’ he tailed off, remembering Colonel Thornton, a tall man with a lean, handsome face, leaning forward in the candlelight, his mouth a grim line, his eyes glinting with the reflection of the flame as he said:
“Daniel, war has nothing to do with glory and honour. Have you ever smelt the stench of death? Have you ever seen a man with his guts hanging out and still living, or a man with his face shot away? Have you watched a friend die of gangrene?”
Daniel had dreamed of glory and honour but Jonathan Thornton had been right. By the end of the following day, Daniel had seen all of those things and had cause to wish more than anything else that he had done as his brother had told him, and stayed at home.
Chapter 13
Seven Ways, Worcestershire, 12 November 1659
‘This must be it,’ Agnes said. ‘Red brick gateposts and round things?’
The landlady of the Black Cross had been correct in her description, although the red brick gateposts had seen better days and one of the finely carved stone balls had fallen off its lopsided support and lay on the verge of the road with long strands of dying grass winding around it. Two iron gates hung drunkenly from the leaning supports, the coat of arms that had once been painted on a central oval long since faded and flaked away.
Agnes glanced at Daniel. He had turned breakfast away when it was offered and she knew he had not eaten the night before. His face had a sallow hue, his eyes sunken, the whites tinged with yellow. He shivered and hunched his shoulders, drawing his cloak tighter around him.
