SIXTEEN

Swyre, Dorset, 9 March 1645

THE BATTLE FOR WEYMOUTH LASTED eighteen days, and news that Parliament had triumphed once again reached Swyre in the first week of March. Few in Sir Henry’s house believed it, however, since rumours of a Royalist victory had been rife from the start of the engagement. In a detached way, Jayne found her family’s excited devouring of each new titbit amusing, because her experience in Lyme had taught her how unreliable perceptions and word-of-mouth stories could be. But she was careful to keep her smiles to herself now that different allegiances and emotions gripped the house.

At the end of January, her uncle had learnt of a conspiracy by Weymouth Royalists to betray the town to Sir Lewis Dyve, one of the King’s generals. Fearful that the plot would be discovered, thereby placing all Royalist sympathisers in jeopardy, Joseph had sent Ruth and Isaac and all his female servants, including those Ruth had taken with her from Dorchester, to the safety of Swyre. Only his wife had refused to leave, saying she was acquainted with but one Parliamentarian—her butcher—and he valued her custom too much to chase her from her home.

The conspiracy had succeeded, and Sir Lewis Dyve had taken Weymouth for the King. But the victory was a hollow one, for nine hundred Parliamentarians, led by Colonel William Sydenham of Wynford Eagle, retreated across the River Wey and set up a garrison of their own in Melcombe, on the eastern bank of the estuary. The intent of both commanders was to secure the harbour at the mouth of the river, and the eighteen-day battle that ensued was savage and bloody, made more desperate for the Parliamentarians when another of the King’s generals, Lord Goring, came to reinforce Dyve’s army with his own, creating a combined Royalist force of six and a half thousand men.

For Ruth, rumours of Royalist victories were reason to celebrate, because it meant her parents would be spared reprisals, but the smiles of her hosts hid more divided feelings. As Jayne had predicted, her father had bedevilled her with questions about Lyme, and she’d been unable to hide her admiration for the people of the town. Matters had come to a head when news reached them in early July 1644 that Colonel Blake and a brigade of men had left Lyme in order to reclaim Taunton, thirty miles to the north. Sir Henry said the venture was doomed because Taunton was too far inland for Lord Warwick and the navy to come to Blake’s assistance, but Jayne had argued strongly in the colonel’s favour. He was a clever commander, she told Sir Henry, and wouldn’t engage in a battle he couldn’t win. Not only would he succeed in taking Taunton for Parliament, but he would hold it for as long as he was instructed to do so.

Andrew had departed in secret that night, leaving only a few lines in a letter to explain his decision.

Dear Sir Henry,

Please understand that, for your sake, I have tried hard to see merit in the King’s cause. Sadly, it has proved impossible, for my head and heart have always been for Parliament.

My intention is to offer my services to the garrison at Weymouth, where I shall join my friends William and Francis Sydenham of Wynford Eagle.

I realise this will cause division between us, and may set me in conflict with my brothers, but I can no longer live a lie. It was never out of laziness or cowardice that I refused to enlist in a King’s regiment, but through deep conviction that power should be vested in Parliament and the people.

Your son,
Andrew

Sir Henry blamed Jayne for his son’s ‘stupidity’, saying she’d filled his head with exaggerated tales of heroism, but Lady Margaret said it had been clear to her for some time that Andrew had been wrestling with his conscience.

‘Look to yourself before you criticise Jayne, Henry. Had you tempered your language towards Andrew these last two years, he might not have felt the need to prove himself. Did you never consider that he might hold different views from yours?’

Jayne watched an angry flush rise in her father’s cheeks and intervened on her mother’s behalf. ‘I do bear some fault, Mama,’ she said. ‘I believe it must have been through me that Andrew met the Sydenham family.’

She described a day in April 1642 when Andrew had accompanied her to Bridport. He had business with a merchant but, being in no hurry, had escorted her to Richard Theale’s house. Richard had invited Andrew inside, where he met Thomas Sydenham, a young medical student.

‘Thomas is brother to William and Francis,’ she went on, ‘and all three are as deeply committed to the Parliamentary cause as you are to the King’s, Papa. I’m ignorant of how Andrew came to know them so well that he claims them as friends, but I imagine he used his introduction to Thomas as an excuse to visit Wynford Eagle.’

‘They’re Puritans,’ Sir Henry snarled. ‘They prey on gullible boys like Andrew.’

Jayne thought how bitter his prejudice against the sect had become, and for no better reason than that Puritans supported Parliament. ‘Yet I’m sure you’d enjoy their company if you allowed yourself to know them, Papa. They may follow the Puritan path, but they have all the attributes you admire in men: intelligence, strength of character, steadfastness and honour. It’s only your different allegiances that make you strangers to each other.’

‘I question why you’re so well acquainted with them, daughter,’ Sir Henry snapped.

Jayne answered honestly. ‘Most of what I know about them was told me by Richard when he escorted me to Wynford Eagle one day to watch Thomas prepare laudanum, but I spent a pleasant hour afterwards speaking with Mistress Sydenham and her sons.’ She paused, wondering how cruel she could be in challenging his prejudice. ‘Their conversation was lively, wide-ranging and stimulating, and quite different from the monologues in this house. Andrew will have felt at home there if he was leaning towards Parliament before he met them.’

Her father’s colour deepened to purple.

‘Take a breath before you burst, Henry,’ Lady Margaret advised calmly. ‘Nothing Jayne has said is so outlandish that you need have an apoplectic seizure over it. You love to call Andrew a boy, but he’s past thirty years of age. Do you seriously imagine that one so grown is unable to decide for himself how this country should be governed?’

‘Not if he’s listening to Puritans,’ Sir Henry said mutinously. ‘They’re the vilest of abominations, as evidenced by that evil creature our niece married.’

Jayne leant towards him with a teasing look in her eyes. ‘Samuel Morecott’s a poor example, Papa. Consider, rather, how honourable and fine are Colonel Blake and Alexander and Susan Hulme.’

He wagged a finger at her. ‘I begin to understand why Prince Maurice sent you thirty pieces of silver.’

She smiled. ‘He’d have done the same whether I’d accepted his invitation or not. I’m sure he blames everyone for his defeat except himself.’

Sir Henry gave a grunt of amusement. His greatest sweetness was his ability to abandon an argument as easily as he embarked on it. ‘He’ll not be heard kindly by the King if he tries such a trick on him. It’s beyond belief that an army of six thousand, camped on high ground and with all the vantage points, was unable to overwhelm a miserable little enclave like Lyme.’

His words had proved true when a letter came a few days later from his youngest son, Benjamin, speaking of Prince Maurice’s fall from favour and his loss of command of the Western Army. The King couldn’t hide his disappointment in his nephew, not only for the prince’s poorly managed attempt to take Lyme but also for his hasty retreat into Devon, leaving Parliament in control of south Dorset. Shortly afterwards, Lady Margaret received a letter from Andrew, begging forgiveness for leaving without a parting word and assuring her he was content with his decision to join the newly formed Weymouth garrison.

Thereafter, the war had become distant once again. In September, news reached Swyre that one thousand unarmed and starving men from the Earl of Essex’s Parliamentary army had arrived in Poole from Lostwithiel in Cornwall. It seemed Essex had pursued Prince Maurice into Cornwall, only to find himself caught between the prince’s army to the south and the King’s to the north. Essex had escaped capture, but his troops had not; upon surrendering, all, including their officers, had been stripped of their weapons and ordered to march to Poole before attempting to engage with Royalists again.

To survive, they had stolen food from farmers and landowners along the way, and stories of pillaging were rampant. Their route had taken them north of Swyre, but Sir Henry received letters from Royalist friends who spoke of the immoral nature of Essex’s defeated Parliamentary troops, alleging they were as willing to steal a maid’s virtue as take a cow or a sack of grain. For this reason, her father had ordered Jayne to remain in the house until they were sure the danger had passed, but she reminded him that he’d heard the men had reached Poole before he ever received word that they were thieves and rapists. Nevertheless, she was doubly watchful whenever she rode alone to see a patient, for whatever was rumoured about Parliamentarians paled to insignificance beside the tales of Lord Goring’s Royalist soldiers.

Even Sir Henry’s friends had nothing good to say about them or their commander. They reported that Goring had adopted the title of ‘Lord’ to enhance his ambitions and refused any order to lay siege to a town where he deemed the pickings too slim to make the effort worthwhile. Instead, his army prowled the border between Dorset and Somerset, killing and plundering at will, and no maid or matron escaped the soldiers’ lust. Jayne would have given as little credence to these stories as every other, had not Sir Henry’s sisters in Oxford added their own warnings. In separate letters, both had urged their brother to be wary of Goring, with one describing him as ‘wicked’ and the other as ‘dissolute’.

Jayne had sensed a growing despair across the county each time she ventured out, for everyone she met, regardless of allegiance, spoke of his or her desire for the war to be over. People were tired of having soldiers billeted in their houses and their stocks of food requisitioned. They were hungry themselves, and it made no difference if reparation was offered, since money had no value when produce was scarce. Sir Henry heard a rumour that a handful of landowners in north Dorset had declared themselves neutral and armed their farmworkers with clubs in order to beat off thieving soldiers from either side. They called themselves ‘Clubmen’, and as word of their resistance spread, it was said that more and more were buying clubs and joining the movement.

In October 1644, Jayne’s brother Benjamin had arrived without warning, saying he’d been given leave to spend one night with his family before returning to his regiment on the morrow. He was dishevelled, dusty and deeply weary, but his joy at seeing his family again was clear. He kissed and clasped them all and then consumed an entire rib of beef before declaring himself full. To Jayne’s eyes, he looked considerably older than his twenty-four years, and she wondered what he had seen and done to age him so quickly.

He was more interested in hearing their news than telling them his, although much of it he knew from the letters his father had sent him. He pressed Jayne for information on Colonel Blake, who was causing problems for the King in Taunton. According to Benjamin, Blake had rallied his garrison to withstand a Royalist encirclement the month before and, despite lack of food and gunpowder, had held the town until a Parliamentary force relieved him. The thrust of all Benjamin’s questions was the same as those Sir Henry had asked—What manner of man was Blake?—but, unlike Sir Henry, he had little difficulty accepting Jayne’s complimentary appraisal. Perhaps defeat was easier to bear if the enemy was a person to admire.

The one piece of information Sir Henry had left out of his letters was Andrew’s decision to join the Weymouth garrison, and it fell to Lady Margaret to make the explanation. Benjamin had told his mother all he could about Philip, her middle son, who was stationed in Oxford, then pressed her for news on Andrew, and she and Jayne were pleasantly surprised by his easy acceptance of the fact that his eldest brother had enlisted for Parliament. Almost every man he knew had friends or relatives fighting on the other side, he told them, and Andrew’s reluctance to side with the King had been obvious from the start. The conversation would have ended there had Benjamin not goaded his father, quite unintentionally, by questioning why Andrew had taken so long to declare his colours.

Sir Henry gave a derisive snort. ‘He feared being disowned.’

Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have declared at all if that were the case.’

Benjamin turned to Jayne. ‘What do you say, sister?’

‘As little as possible,’ she answered with a laugh. ‘The subject is bad for Father’s health.’

Sir Henry’s colour darkened immediately. ‘Answer, girl! Your brother should know of your own Parliamentary sympathies.’

‘Only if you allow him to listen to what I have to say, Papa. He’ll be deafened by your roaring otherwise.’ She waited a moment and then turned to Benjamin. ‘I believe Andrew thought the war would end quickly and that the King would win,’ she told him. ‘You and Philip thought the same when you enlisted, because I remember you telling me it wouldn’t be long before I saw you again.’

Benjamin nodded. ‘It’s what we hoped for.’

‘And if your hopes had come to pass, Andrew would have held his tongue out of respect for Papa and satisfied his own Parliamentary conscience by accepting every insult that was hurled at him.’ She glanced at Sir Henry. ‘But the war drags on without an end in sight, and it needed no more than Lyme’s victory to persuade Andrew to follow his heart. My tales about the siege added nothing to the choice he made except a better understanding of how people who truly believe in a cause can triumph.’

Sir Henry glowered at her. ‘Are you suggesting that those on the King’s side do not believe in their cause?’ he barked.

‘I’m sure the officers do,’ she answered tactfully, ‘but I doubt their commitment is shared by the foot soldiers. The men I treated were reluctant recruits and only stayed on the promise of plunder and through fear of being beaten if they tried to desert.’

‘Does she speak the truth, boy?’ Sir Henry demanded of Benjamin.

‘I’m afraid so, sir. A few enlist willingly in return for daily food and the chance of plunder, but most have to be pressed into service. There’s little appetite amongst ordinary folk for leaving their homes to kill their countrymen. Do you say it’s different for Parliament, sister?’

‘I can speak only for Lyme,’ she told him, ‘and the situation there was different. Every man, woman and child was a willing volunteer because they were fighting to safeguard their homes.’ She paused. ‘Do you not long for home yourself, Benjamin?’

‘More than you know,’ he muttered grimly, turning a bleak gaze on his father. ‘I’ve watched the King at close quarters, sir—the princes also—and none commends himself to me as well as Colonel Blake commended himself to Jayne. I see more petulance and arrogance than honour or decency.’

Lady Margaret caught her husband’s hand before he could form it into a fist. ‘Come, sir!’ she admonished sharply. ‘You have no higher opinion of Prince Maurice than Benjamin does. Have you forgotten how you railed against him for his shameless effrontery in trying to appropriate Jayne as his personal physician?’

‘The King is not responsible for his nephew’s behaviour,’ Sir Henry growled. ‘What do you find to criticise in your sovereign, boy?’

‘I have no wish to upset you, sir.’

‘Speak!’

Benjamin shrugged. ‘Very well. He does not inspire the same loyalty in his troops as Colonel Blake seems to do. The one sets himself apart from the common men; the other, by Jayne’s description, walks amongst them. Since I doubt Colonel Blake loses any authority by greeting those of lower status with warmth and friendship, I could wish the King and his nephews would do the same.’

‘There’s no equivalence between a monarch and a colonel.’

‘There is one, sir: both expect their soldiers to die for them should the need arise.’ Benjamin fell silent for a moment. ‘I’ve lost more friends than I can count these last two years. And for what? Because the King would rather govern alone than with the consent of his people.’

Sir Henry slammed his palm onto the table. ‘The people were turned against him by the Puritan faction in Parliament. You know this, boy, for I showed you the speeches of their leader John Pym before you enlisted. What have you read since that makes you think fanatical Puritans would govern better than your sovereign?’

Benjamin turned a pleading gaze on Jayne, begging her to intercede on his behalf. It was a pattern he and Philip had followed since childhood, for her younger brothers had always looked to her to rescue them from their father’s anger.

She rested her chin on her hands. ‘Benjamin will have read the same pamphlet as you last December, declaring that John Pym was dead, Papa. I remember you twirling Mama in your arms on Christmas Day and shouting with joy that God had struck down the evil bigot whose hatred of the King had caused this terrible war. You went on to argue that the zealots would lose their influence now their leader was gone.’

‘You think Presbyterians any better than Puritans?’ Sir Henry demanded. ‘They’re no keener to have bishops and rectors in their churches than were Pym and his fanatics, and I’m told that’s the faction that now holds sway in Parliament.’

‘I can’t believe the war is only about bishops and rectors, Papa. Surely Benjamin is correct? It was often said in Lyme that conflict would have been unnecessary had the King agreed to govern with the help and advice of Parliament. And what is that if not consent by the people?’

Benjamin stirred. ‘There are many in my regiment who say the same, sir, and the mutterings have grown louder since Prince Rupert’s defeat at Marston Moor in July. The whole of the north is lost to us now, and most believe the King should sue for peace on the terms Jayne mentioned.’

Sir Henry was shocked by such negative words. ‘Have you not taken heart from your victory over Essex at Lostwithiel last month?’ ‘There’s precious little glory in victory when you’re met with dislike wherever you go,’ Benjamin answered. ‘The King’s army numbers over ten thousand, and we cannot feed ourselves unless we steal what we need along the way. We’ve heard tell that Essex’s defeated army did the same, and there’s hatred building for both sides. Have you heard of the Clubmen? We encountered them first in Somerset but we’re told they’re even better organised in Dorset.’

Jayne spoke when Sir Henry remained silent. ‘Are these the men who have chosen neutrality over conflict? We’ve heard rumours, but we didn’t know if they were true.’

‘Believe it, sister. Resistance is growing across the south-west, but the King refuses to take it seriously. The Clubmen of Somerset pleaded with him to negotiate a peace, and he said he would, and then gave orders for the seizure of livestock and the impressment of men.’ He pulled a wry smile. ‘I fear he’s about to do the same in Dorset, though I doubt his lies will be as easily accepted.’

This time it was Jayne who was shocked. ‘Is he here?’ she asked.

Benjamin nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have been given leave for this visit otherwise. The King and Prince Rupert are staying the night at Maiden Newton. The two haven’t met since Prince Rupert’s defeat at Marston Moor, and I warrant the King will be as angry with him for the loss of the north as he was with Prince Maurice for the loss of Lyme.’

He regretted his words immediately, begging his family to swear they would keep His Majesty’s presence at Maiden Newton a secret. Parliamentary spies were everywhere, and his head would be on the block if it became known that Captain Swift had betrayed the King’s location. They did so gladly, if only to lessen his worry, but Jayne asked curiously where the army was quartered, since ten thousand men could hardly pass unnoticed. At Kingcombe, Benjamin told her, some five miles from Maiden Newton, leaving His Majesty and Prince Rupert with but a handful of aides for protection. Any Parliamentarian clever enough to gain entry to the house in which they were staying could end the war by killing them both. Sir Henry said no such Parliamentarian existed, but Jayne found herself wondering where William was.

Benjamin was given leave to visit them once more during the fortnight the King remained in Dorset. He used the occasion to urge his father to order Andrew to return home, because he believed it was the King’s intention to lay siege to Weymouth. There was talk that His Majesty had signed a treaty of friendship with the French and that a foreign army was being amassed on the other side of the Channel. In order to land so large a number of men, he needed a secure harbour, and the best for that purpose would be Portland, which was currently guarded by the Parliamentary garrison of Weymouth.

Since it was obvious to Jayne that Benjamin’s anxiety concerned the unwelcome prospect of having to fight his brother, she found her father’s response surprising. Sir Henry refused his help, saying he would prefer Benjamin to desert his post than Andrew his, arguing that the King would not be forgiven if he won the war with French troops. He told Jayne afterwards that Benjamin had merely been repeating some ignorant barrack room gossip, for His Majesty knew better than to incite a foreign invasion of England, and this had seemed to be proven true as 1644 turned to 1645 without any reports of fighting in Weymouth.

Sir Henry was forced to eat his words, however, when Ruth arrived at the end of January with twenty female servants, and word came two weeks later that the battle for Portland harbour had begun. Thereafter, Swyre held its breath through the many fluctuating rumours about what was happening, torn between concern for Andrew and concern for Ruth’s parents. The few glimmers of light in the hideous gloom came in letters from Philip and Benjamin, who had the sense to inform their father that neither of their regiments was involved at Weymouth, and Lady Margaret shed private tears of relief that her sons would not be required to kill each other.

Confirmation that victory had gone to Parliament came in a letter from Joseph on 9 March. He asked Sir Henry to tell Ruth that he and her mother were safe, adding in a postscript that Lord Goring’s ill-disciplined army had suffered considerably more casualties than the Parliamentary garrison. Sir Henry read the words aloud in the salon and, while his own feelings about another Royalist defeat weren’t entirely clear, Lady Margaret’s happiness was obvious.

An hour later, Ruth asked Jayne why her aunt had smiled to have the garrison’s success confirmed. ‘Does she hold a different allegiance to your father, cousin? Will it please her if Parliament wins this war?’

They were sitting on a bench at the rear of the house, watching a groom use a long halter to teach Isaac to ride a pony in circles around him. Ahead of them, a swathe of grassland ran between shallow hills towards the sea. Had the rising land on either side not obscured their views, they would have been able to see the Isle of Portland to their left and Lyme Regis to their right. Sir Henry had confessed to Jayne that he’d climbed the western knoll many times while she was in Lyme, searching for any indication of how the siege was going, and she knew he’d done the same these last few weeks in order to look towards Portland and Weymouth.

With a sigh, she placed her arm about Ruth’s waist and explained that a Parliamentary victory, coupled with Joseph’s postscript, meant that Andrew, too, might be safe. ‘He enlisted in the Weymouth garrison last July, but Papa thought it kinder to keep you in ignorance that our loyalties have been divided.’

‘But I knew this already,’ said Ruth. ‘Andrew came to visit us when he first arrived in Weymouth. He felt he should inform Papa in person that he’d given his allegiance to Parliament.’

Jayne eyed her with surprise. ‘Why did you not tell us?’

‘Because Sir Henry made no mention of it in his letters. Papa assumed he must have disowned Andrew and advised me to stay quiet on the matter.’ Ruth’s gaze followed Isaac. ‘Will it please Lady Margaret to hear that Andrew visited us every week with his friends William and Francis Sydenham, and that a firm respect has grown between them and Papa? I wonder sometimes if they haven’t persuaded him of Parliament’s cause, for he’s not as favourable to the King as he used to be.’

Jayne thought of Sir Henry’s mounting criticism of the way the war was being fought. ‘What of you, cousin? Do you still have a hankering for Puritanism and Parliament?’

Ruth gave a low laugh. ‘For the sake of peace, I play whatever role is expected of me.’

‘But in your heart?’

‘I would have what my sweet Mary wants—a world where every voice is heard. She was most flattered that you remembered her, Jayne. As, indeed, were Sarah and Rose. They speak of you often because your entry into their lives was so startling, but they never believed you would hold their names and images in your memory.’

Jayne would have answered that Ruth’s servants had made as great an impression on her as she on them, had angry shouts not reached them from the grazing land to their left. Both women turned to see what the argument was about, and rose together at the sight of uniformed cavaliers laying into Sir Henry and his field workers with riding whips. Shocked, Jayne urged Ruth to take Isaac inside and then, without pausing to consider the wisdom of her actions, picked up her skirts and ran towards the melee, screeching at the top of her voice.

She told Sir Henry afterwards that she did only what the women of Lyme would have done in the same circumstances. Being female was no excuse to stand back when one’s men and property came under attack, and she’d seen for herself how effective caterwauling could be. The disagreeable high-pitched howling broke a man’s concentration, and it certainly worked on the cavalier who was lashing at her father’s face. He turned to see where the sound was coming from, and Sir Henry, infuriated, grasped at the whip and wrested it from his hand.

‘Thieving scoundrel!’ he roared, swinging the crop in a backwards arc at the horse’s muzzle. Frightened by the sudden sting of leather, the animal reared, throwing its rider to the ground, and then bolted towards the road. With a torrent of oaths, Sir Henry stamped on the cavalier’s groin before turning to attack another horse with the crop.

Jayne’s pounding feet and incessant caterwauling brought her mother to the kitchen window at the eastern end of the house. Pausing only to see if her daughter was running to or from a threat, Lady Margaret flung open the door, raised her own skirts and set off in pursuit with cooks, maids and footmen close behind. In short order, the thirteen Royalists who had entered Sir Henry’s property with the intention of stealing his livestock found themselves assaulted by farmhands on one side and howling women and footmen on the other. Unable to control their mounts amidst so much confusion, some beat a hasty retreat towards the road while others were dragged from their saddles and dumped unceremoniously upon the ground. Lady Margaret instructed her household to sit on their chests and legs to prevent them rising, while Sir Henry and the labourers rounded up the horses. Meanwhile, the cavaliers’ intended target, a herd of Devonshire Ruby Red cows, stood in docile indifference some twenty yards distant, chewing their cud.

Jayne saw the same exhilaration in her father’s face as he disarmed and counted his prisoners—six—as she’d seen in the faces of Lyme’s defenders each time they’d repulsed an assault. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to spoil his fun by pointing out that the men’s comrades had retreated only as far as the road. ‘We’ll not fight them off if they come back with their swords drawn, Papa.’

Sir Henry followed her gaze. ‘Damned heathens,’ he muttered, before instructing the farmhands to take the horses and weapons to the stables. ‘Stand guard at the doors and arm yourselves with pitchforks. No one’s to enter without my permission. I’ll send word if and when I decide to release their mounts and swords back to them.’ He turned to Lady Margaret. ‘Do we have rope in the house, madam? These men will cause us injury if we take them into the house unbound.’

Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘We store such things in the stables, sir.’ She looked at her maid, who was sitting across a fallen cavalier alongside another maid and a thirteen-year-old footman. ‘Is there something else we can use, Agnes? Even with Sir Henry’s help, a dozen women and two young lads cannot restrain six healthy men.’

‘We have old bedsheets, milady, but they’ll need fetching and tearing into strips.’ Agnes turned to see if a servant was free, but all were sitting on the prisoners. ‘Perhaps Miss Jayne can go.’

Jayne was watching the road. ‘I doubt there’s time,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler to remove their boots and britches, and use their hose for bindings? I doubt Royalist soldiers hide anything inside their trousers that we ladies haven’t seen before.’

Mary, erstwhile cook to Samuel Morecott, was straddling the thighs of the first man to be felled. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, ma’am,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Whatever this one has between his legs has shrivelled away to nothing. If it wasn’t for the hairs on his chin, I’d think he was a girl.’

‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Jayne, stooping to grasp the heel of his left boot.

The man tried to kick her away, but Mary thumped the side of her fist onto his groin, while Lady Margaret’s weightier cook, who was sitting astride his chest, pinned his arms beneath her knees.

‘Enough!’ he snapped. ‘Will you accept our parole?’ he demanded of Sir Henry. ‘We’ll not resist or attempt to escape if you allow us to stand. You have my word on it.’

‘Do you command these men?’

‘I do.’

‘Your name and brigade.’

‘Sir Edward Hamway of Lord Goring’s Regiment of Horse.’

Sir Henry gave a grunt of disapproval. ‘Lord Goring is a man without morals. I’m told he’s already ravaged and plundered most of the West Country. Why should I have confidence that your parole is worth anything?’

‘Because I swear it by God as a high-ranking gentleman, sir. We do what we must to support the King’s cause, but dishonesty is as foreign to our natures as it is to yours. I beg you to believe that.’

Jayne saw her own scepticism of this honeyed plea mirrored in the face of every woman there, including her mother’s, but Sir Henry seemed satisfied with it. He instructed the maids to rise and then gestured for Sir Edward and his companions to follow him into the house. Jayne’s faith in her father’s judgement had never been strong—he persisted in believing that a gentleman’s word was his bond—but it weakened considerably as she watched Sir Edward signal to the men on the road. He spread his hands wide and then brought them together to form a circle with his arms. To Jayne, the message was clear: Move apart and station yourselves about the house.

Jayne and her mother were prevented from entering the salon by Sir Henry, who dispatched them to fetch refreshments for his guests. They heard him invite the men to seat themselves, followed by Sir Edward’s warm praise for Swyre House and the magnificence of the furnishings.

Lady Margaret shook her head in irritation as they crossed the hall. ‘High-ranking gentleman, indeed! He’s a practised trickster. He’ll have your father eating out of his hand within two minutes, and he and his men will have vanished with our silver by the time we return.’

Jayne shook her head. ‘I doubt it’s silver that interests him, Mama. Lord Goring’s troops need food, so I’ll wager he’s looking to charm Papa into gifting him the Ruby Reds.’

‘Sir Henry’s not so foolish. We’ll have no means to feed ourselves if our stock is taken.’

‘Then Sir Edward will break his parole and take what he wants by force. Never forget there are seven more of his men outside, still armed with swords. We’ll not stand a chance if he summons them inside. They have but to hold a blade to Papa’s throat and you’ll give them whatever they want, Mama. We should have armed ourselves with clubs like the Clubmen.’

Lady Margaret paused before the kitchen door. ‘What can we do to stop them?’

Jayne glanced towards her satchel, which sat on a table to the right of the front door. ‘Use a different kind of club. Are you willing to return to the salon and ask Sir Edward if he and his men would like a tankard of ale while the cooks prepare food for them? They’ll be thirsty after their ride, so I doubt they’ll do anything rash until they’ve drunk it.’

Lady Margaret’s gaze followed hers. ‘And what will you be doing?’

Jayne’s eyes filled with mischief. ‘Preparing the tankards,’ she said.

She chose half-pint earthenware vessels for the cavaliers and stood them around the edge of a large circular salver with an embossed silver tankard in the middle. Next, she instructed one of the cooks to fill a flagon from a keg of the frothiest ale and summoned her mother’s maid Agnes to accompany her. ‘You must carry the tray and offer a tankard to each man in the salon,’ she said. ‘I will walk beside you and fill them one at a time. The silver tankard is for Sir Henry and you should serve him last. Do you understand?’

Agnes peered at the half-inch of liquid at the bottom of each of the earthenware tankards. ‘I believe so, Miss Jayne, but I hope you’re not making me party to murder.’

‘Nothing so dire,’ said Jayne with a laugh. ‘My intention is to send them to sleep.’

She apologised profusely when her clumsy handling of the flagon delivered more head in Sir Edward’s tankard than liquid. He and his men appeared fully at ease in the salon, lounging on her mother’s prized sofas and chairs in their dirty uniforms. ‘Are you able to handle so much froth, sir?’ she asked with nervous concern. ‘Allow me to serve your men, and I will attempt to be more proficient in my pouring when I come back to you.’

He gave a gracious wave of his hand. ‘A good head speaks to a good beer,’ he said.

The other cavaliers were as gracious, happily lining their lips with foam as she and Agnes moved from one to the next. She took more trouble with her father’s vessel, tilting it to minimise the head, and taking time to ask questions while she did so. Had Sir Edward satisfied Papa’s curiosity about the battle for Weymouth? Did he understand now how one thousand men had defeated six thousand? It seemed so, for Sir Henry was less displeased with Sir Edward’s excuses than he’d been with Sir Walter Hoare’s after Lyme. Jayne stood politely in front of Sir Henry, listening to tales of bad weather and treachery, and when she judged that a good five minutes had passed, she made a second round to refill the cavaliers’ empty tankards.

She had added five times the dose of valerian root tincture she’d normally use to help a patient sleep, because she was quite ignorant of whether diluting it with ale would render it ineffective. She hoped that by giving a small first dilution and waiting a few minutes the tincture would begin to work, for she was even more ignorant about what a second, larger dilution would do. Sir Edward remarked that the ale seemed less bitter on a second tasting.

Sir Henry blamed it on the froth. ‘Your mother should have sent servants who know how to pour correctly,’ he told Jayne.

‘She was worried for their safety, Papa,’ Jayne answered. ‘We’ve heard so many stories of rape and assault in connection with Lord Goring’s troops that she didn’t want to place them in danger.’

Sir Edward gave a grunt of amusement. ‘Are you not worried for yourself, Mistress Swift?’

Jayne glanced at one of his companions, who was yawning. ‘Not any more, Sir Edward.’

‘The stories you’ve heard are falsehoods, invented by Parliamentarians to blacken Lord Goring’s name,’ the cavalier said lazily. ‘You shouldn’t give them credence.’

‘You assaulted my father, sir. Does that not prove the tales to be true? You must be accustomed to taking what you want without permission or you wouldn’t have done it.’

Sir Edward stifled a yawn of his own. ‘I’m a soldier, mistress. Do you question me for following orders?’

‘I do, sir, for you’re using the same excuse that every soldier gives for the crimes he commits.’

‘There are no crimes in war, only casualties.’

Jayne smiled slightly. ‘That must be Lord Goring’s philosophy. I’m told he sees war as a means to enrich himself and cares nothing for the people he destroys in the process. Do you have no mind of your own, Sir Edward, but must always ape your superiors?’

Sir Edward scowled. ‘You take too much licence, woman. Your father may tolerate your forwardness, but not I.’ He made an effort to rise but slumped back when his legs refused to take his weight.

Jayne stooped to look into his eyes. ‘You’re weary, sir. Allow yourself to rest.’

He glanced in sudden alarm towards his men, two of whom were already asleep. ‘Are we poisoned?’

‘Deeply so,’ she said, ‘but not by me.’