Page 8 of Exile's Return
‘I have letters for my family in Worcestershire. Would you undertake to deliver them safely into their hands?’ When Daniel did not reply, he continued. ‘They are just family letters,’ Longley said with a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘My wife has seen me but a very few times in the last ten years. You will find Lady Longley at the home of her brother, Sir Jonathan Thornton, a house called Seven Ways near Kidderminster.’
Daniel nodded. ‘I remember Colonel Thornton from Worcester.’
Longley looked at him and shook his head. ‘Worcester seems a lifetime ago. I see no trace of the boy I met that night.’
‘He died in Barbados,’ Daniel pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I lodge at the Laine Marchant.’
‘I will deliver my missives to you there.’ Longley rose to face him, holding out his hand. ‘I wish you well, Lovell. Good evening to you.’
The men shook hands and Longley turned to leave. He took a few steps before turning around to face him. ‘And Lovell, if you do see my wife, tell her…tell her that I will make amends for these past long years.’
Chapter 4
London, 30 October 1659
Astench of animal and human waste and decomposing vegetable matter rose from the Thames and exuded in waves from the dark, narrow streets that led down to the dock. Standing at the rail of the ship, his hands gripping the weathered wood so hard that the knuckles showed white, Daniel breathed in the fetid London air as if it were the finest perfume he had ever smelled.
He had come home.
The rickety plank that served as a gangway had been run out and now rested on the dock, a frail link between the present and the past. Daniel picked up the box containing all his worldly possessions, heaved it onto his shoulder, and took the plank in two strides. Oblivious to the curious glances from his fellow passengers and the men working on the docks, he set down his box and went down on one knee, placing the palm of his right hand on the mired cobblestones. If he still believed in God he would have given a prayer of thankfulness, but God had deserted him on a battlefield outside Worcester.
He straightened and stood on the dockside looking around. He had never visited London in his youth, and after years away from England the hustle and bustle felt more intimidating than a Spanish warship. He asked a passer-by for directions to the Blue Boar, shouldered his box, and set off in the vague direction in which the man had indicated.
Above him the old, crooked houses leaned out over the street, making the narrow cobbled ways more like tunnels than thoroughfares. Shopkeepers shouted their wares and under his feet, excrement Daniel suspected to be both human and animal covered the cobbles in a noxious slime.
He rounded a corner and was brought up short by a gaggle of men and women crowded around an angry man. The man screamed abuse and obscenities at someone on the ground. Every word was accompanied by a vicious downward blow from the walking stick he carried.
Daniel pushed his way through the crowd and gave an involuntary hiss of disgust when he saw the object of the man’s fury was a child, a thin, ragged urchin huddled in a foetal position with his hands over his head to prevent the rain of blows, while the crowd around cheered the aggressor on.
Daniel set down the box and stepped forward. With one swift movement, he caught the man’s arm as he raised it again.
‘Enough,’ Daniel said.
The man looked at him in surprise. He seemed well-dressed and respectable, but his flabby face was suffused with purple and spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth.
‘Unhand me, sir,’ he said.
‘What has this child done that you should abuse him in this fashion?’
‘He tried to steal my purse,’ the man said. ‘When I’ve finished with him, I will be handing him over to the constable to be putin the stocks. Little thief.’ The man tried to wrench his arm free from Daniel’s iron grip. ‘You are hurting me, sir.’
‘I didn’t do it.’ The boy raised his head, his voice muffled by his tears. ‘I tried to stop him but he took to his ‘eels and I was left standing ‘ere.’
‘Do you have his purse?’ Daniel enquired.
The boy rose to his knees and held out trembling hands. ‘Search me,’ he said. ‘I don’t have no purse. Not a farthin’.’
Daniel released the man’s arm and placed himself between the infuriated citizen and the child who cowered behind him. ‘The boy has been punished enough. Go in peace and keep your purse more secure in future.’
The man rubbed the place where Daniel’s fingers had dug into him. ‘This is none of your business,’ he said. ‘Hand the boy over to me this instant.’
‘Go on your way,’ Daniel’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.
Uncertainty flickered in the man’s eyes and he took a step back. ‘Would you draw your sword on me for the sake of a dirty piece of street refuse?’ he demanded.
‘I’ll not see a child beaten in this fashion, whether he is guilty or not. I wouldn’t treat a dog in such a manner. On your way.’
The man squared his shoulders. ‘Very well. On your head be it, sir.’ Retrieving his hat from a servant standing in the crowd, he stalked off his nose in the air, The gathered crowd dispersed, leaving Daniel with the child.
