Page 68 of Exile's Return
The ancient oak door still hung drunkenly on its hinges, and despite its parlous state, it groaned as Kit pushed it open. Birds and animals had made their homes in the corners and among the rafters and the flagged floor lay thick with dust and leaves. The monumental tombs of Midhurst ancestors had felt the full fury of the Parliament soldiers, the faces destroyed beyond recognition.
Daniel crossed the floor to the stone altar that still stood in its place. Hunkering down, he swept the dried leaves from the flags.
‘We laid him here,’ he said. ‘There is no memorial stone, but if there was it would readHere lies Thomas Lovell, foully murdered on the steps of his home by one Tobias Ashby, of the Army of Parliament.’
‘We will ensure his place is marked, Dan,’ Kit said.
Her too-long skirt brushing the dried leaves away in a soft sigh, Agnes knelt beside him, laying a bunch of yarrow flowers on the unmarked grave. Her gloved hand rested for a moment on the cold stone and she closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer.
When she was done she looked up at him, laying her hand on his sleeve. Daniel laid his hand over hers for a fleeting moment. Their gaze met in a moment of quiet understanding.
‘I’m sorry about the yarrow, it was all I could find, apart from gorse,’ she said, rising to her feet.
At the far end of the chapel, Kit shivered and rubbed his hands together. ‘We have tarried long enough in this mournful place,’ he said.
They walked back to the horses, and as he swung into the saddle, Daniel gave the ruins of his home one last look. ‘I will rebuild it,’ he said.
Kit cast him a sideways glance. ‘It will take a fortune.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I have, if not quite a fortune, enough.’
Kit nodded. ‘I would like to see it a home once more.’
Jonathan’s nondescript mare capered with impatience. ‘Time we were gone. We are clear on the plan? Daniel, you and Agnes go ahead to Preston and send Ashby a note to say you have recalled something of interest and you would meet with him.’
‘Make him come to you,’ Kit had suggested. ‘He needs to dance to your tune.’
Agnes nodded and glanced at Daniel. ‘Well, Lucas, are you ready?’
Daniel touched his fingers to the battered brown felt hat he had purchased off one of the Thornton grooms. They had taken care to ensure that their roles were convincing. Agnes, wearing a once-elegant but outmoded riding habit borrowed from Nell Longley, rode the black gelding.
He had to admit that she managed the animal with considerable skill. He had the bay mare and carried no sword, only two pistols, necessary for the defence of his mistress from the predations of the road.
‘We will see you at Charvaley,’ Jonathan said.
‘You know where to go?’ Agnes enquired of Jonathan.
‘Your directions should be adequate. Just make sure the good lady is expecting us. I do not like surprising old ladies unnecessarily,’ Jonathan remarked.
According to Agnes, Margaret Truscott, or Old Peg, as the family called her, had been nursemaid to James and then to Henry and Lizzie. Agnes had told them that when Old Peg had broken an ankle falling downstairs, James had judged her too old to continue actively in his service and had settled a grace and favour cottage on her, a little way out of the village.
‘Can this woman be trusted?’ Kit enquired.
Agnes nodded. ‘With my life. As soon as we reach the castle, I will send Daniel with a note to Peg to tell her to expect you.’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Until we meet again, Mistress Fletcher. ‘He doffed his hat in farewell as Daniel and Agnes put their heels to the skittish horses. Agnes glanced at Daniel, her eyes bright. ‘I’ll race you to the crossroads,’ she said.
‘That’s hardly fair —’ Daniel began but she was gone, crouched low over the horse’s neck, her wide-brimmed hat, secured only by a string, flying out behind her.
‘Damn you,’ Daniel muttered, startling the placid bay into action with a hefty kick. She sprang forward but stood no chance of catching her stablemate.
***
They stopped for lunch, turning aside from the road to find a quiet dell where boulders covered with a patchwork of bright green moss and orange lichen tumbled down to a stream, swollen now with the autumn rains. In summer it would be a pretty place, with old, gnarled trees for shelter and soft grass.
Daniel spread his cloak on a large, flat boulder and Agnes set out the simple repast of bread, cheese and ale she had purchased in the last village they had passed through. She perched on the boulder, swinging her feet like a small girl.
‘Tell me about Henry,’ Daniel said.
