TWENTY-FIVE

Dorchester, Dorset, 8 May 1646

BELLS HAD BEEN TOLLING IN joyous celebration of the King’s surrender for three days, and the streets of Dorchester were once again filled with happy people, most of whom were inebriated. Brawls became frequent as the ale levels rose, and Jayne stood up to watch from Alice’s bedroom window as men threw drunken punches at each other. More often than not, Molly joined her and, together, they pondered the mystery of why, when the war was over, men still took pleasure in conflict.

Jayne said it would make more sense if defeated Royalists were lashing out at triumphant Parliamentarians, but for Dorchester Puritans to fight each other seemed to her the height of absurdity. What did they have to argue about? Molly scolded her for being naive. Puritan or not, it was the nature of males to fight. She had nothing but contempt for the whole selfish sex.

In truth, her anger was directed mainly at Sir Francis, who had neither appeared nor sent an answer to her urgent request two days ago that he visit his mother. Jayne had left Swyre within half an hour of Molly’s letter arriving and was shocked to find that Alice was close to death. She had last seen her in the third week of April and, while it had been clear that standing and walking would soon be beyond her through lack of balance, her mind had remained sharp and her speech, though slurred, still understandable.

Now, a catastrophic collapse had rendered her senseless. According to Molly, she’d retired to bed upon hearing of the King’s surrender and hadn’t woken since, as if her only reason for living had been to witness the end of the war. Jayne thought it more likely the news had brought on an apoplectic seizure, but the result was the same. She lay in a deep coma, unresponsive to the chiming bells, the shouts of merriment from outside or the gentle stroking of her hands by Molly and Jayne.

To be certain there was nothing she could do for her, Jayne had written to Richard the previous afternoon, describing Alice’s symptoms. She had received his reply that morning.

What a terrible sadness, but I’m sure Lady Alice would prefer this end to lingering on with ever worsening palsy. I believe you’re right to suspect a seizure, and if the coma’s as deep as you describe, she’s unlikely to live beyond a week. I have no better suggestion than what you’re doing already: keeping her mouth moist and ensuring she can breathe freely. Such seizures cannot be reversed, and the physician’s single task is to assist the patient to pass as easily and comfortably as possible.

I know her death will cause you great grief, my dear. She was an exceptional woman who brought many good things to your life, not least your future husband. Remember her for that and not for the sadness of her departure.

It was good advice but not needed at the moment, for Jayne had yet to experience sadness. Whenever Molly left the room, she took the opportunity to speak to Alice about everything that was in her heart, and it thrilled her when her voice or words caused the corners of Alice’s mouth to lift in a smile. Molly confessed that she did the same when Jayne was away from the bedside, and they felt a shared joy in the idea that Alice was able to hear and understand them.

Jayne’s rational mind told her it wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop her drawing solace from each facial twitch. If she learnt anything from her long hours at the bedside, it was that vigils were more beneficial to the carers than the sufferers, since there was true freedom in being able to express love and admiration without embarrassment. By the third day, she decided it was mention of William that was bringing the smiles. She spoke of him often because of her and Alice’s mutual love for him, and whether her remarks were teasing or sincere, they received a response.

Jayne had written to him after receiving Molly’s summons, explaining that Alice had suffered a collapse and urging him to ride south-west with all haste, but there was no knowing if the letter would reach him. The last she’d heard, he was camped outside Oxford, but, as the King had surrendered to a Scottish army near Nottingham, Jayne felt sure William would have been sent north to discover the terms of the surrender; and the chances of her letter finding him were slim.

Whatever the truth, she was saddened for Alice that neither the son she’d birthed nor the son she’d fostered were at her bedside.

A maid came to the room two hours after noon to say a coachman was at the door asking for Lady Alice. She’d told him Milady wasn’t receiving visitors but he refused to leave, demanding to speak with someone of higher authority. With an angry sigh, Molly accompanied her downstairs, only to return within five minutes, begging Jayne to deal with him. He wouldn’t say who he was or what purpose had brought him to the house and, more mysteriously, although he wore the livery of a coachman, there was no sign of a carriage in the street outside.

‘When he demanded proof that Milady was indisposed, I said her physician was with her and he asked to speak with you, Miss Jayne. I trust you’ll have better luck than I in persuading him you’re telling the truth.’

Jayne doubted it, since he wouldn’t be expecting a female physician; nevertheless, she descended to the hall. He stood inside the open doorway, a handsome young man in a fine livery of maroon jacket and britches adorned with gold braid in the form of a crest. He scowled to see yet another woman approach.

‘I was promised Lady Alice’s physician,’ he said.

‘You have her,’ Jayne answered. ‘My name is Mistress Swift and I have practised medicine for several years. May I have your name and the name of your employer? It’s not my habit to divulge information about my patients to strangers.’

He seemed nervous suddenly. ‘I’m not at liberty to give you a name, ma’am. My employer was expecting to see Lady Stickland.’

Jayne moved past him to search up and down the street. People were still thronging the cobbles but, as Molly had said, there was no sign of a carriage. ‘Where is he?’

‘I was obliged to leave the carriage in High East Street because the crowds were too dense to make further progress, ma’am. A groom holds the horses and my employer sends Lady Stickland his respects and asks that she attends upon him there.’

Jayne smiled slightly. ‘Has he lost the function of his legs?’

‘He’s elderly, ma’am, and too frail to make his way through a drunken mob.’

Jayne shrugged. ‘Then there’s nothing to be done. Lady Stickland is quite unable to leave her bed.’ She placed her hand on the door and began to close it, gesturing for him to step outside. ‘Farewell to you.’

He remained where he was, turning his coachman’s cap in his hands. ‘I believe the master might be willing to converse with you, ma’am.’

Jayne made her disinclination clear. ‘You have peculiar ideas about how ladies behave. I’m no more in the habit of accompanying strangers who refuse to tell me anything about themselves than I am in divulging information about my patients.’ She made a second attempt to close the door. ‘I shall send for the bailiffs if you refuse to remove yourself.’

The coachman took a deep breath, clearly considering the wisdom of what he was about to say, and then blurted out his words in a hurry. ‘I am in the employ of Lady Maria Marston of Thatcham in Berkshire, ma’am. Her father, who lives with her, is the Duke of Granville and he has come to discover from Lady Stickland what manner of man his grandson has become and whether Mistress Swift, the woman he plans to marry, is worthy of the Granville name. His Grace is past eighty-five years old, and the journey has taken its toll on him; I fear for his health if he’s obliged to travel seven hours back to his home without time to recover. Since I believe you may be the Mistress Swift in question, you will do me a great kindness if you agree to accompany me to the carriage.’

Jayne was so wrong-footed she fixed on the obvious absurdity in the story. ‘No man of such advanced age would travel a distance without knowing if he’ll be received,’ she protested.

‘His Grace assured me that Lady Stickland was expecting him, ma’am. My Lord asked for a bed to be set up downstairs, for he cannot manage stairs, and was led to believe he would be allowed to stay the weekend in order to regain his strength before making the journey home again.’

Jayne stared at him, aghast. ‘Even if that’s true, it’s quite impossible now,’ she said. ‘Lady Stickland is in no position to entertain anyone. You must find rooms for His Grace in one of Dorchester’s inns.’

The coachman’s face twisted in agony as he revealed something else he knew he shouldn’t. ‘But he needs the attention of a physician, ma’am. We left Thatcham before dawn this morning and he is desperately weakened by the journey. His daughter refused to supply him with food, water or even blankets when she learnt of his intention to speak with Lady Stickland.’

Jayne would have disbelieved him had his anxiety for his master’s health been less apparent. With sudden decision, she pulled him inside and closed the door. ‘Allow me five minutes to ready myself and then we will go to the carriage together, but be assured you will have reason to regret this summons if I find you’ve led me false.’

She hastened back up the stairs and explained the situation to Molly. Had Alice informed her she was expecting the Duke of Granville? Not a duke, Molly answered, only a visitor, but that had been a fortnight since and all thoughts of the matter had fled her head when Milady collapsed. What did Miss Jayne want her to do? ‘Be ready to instruct the maids to set up a bed in the salon and ask Cook to prepare some nourishing broth and custard,’ Jayne told her. She would send word within fifteen minutes, if the coachman’s description of his master was accurate.

As they made their way to High East Street, the coachman begged her to pretend she was ignorant of his master’s identity; His Grace would refuse to speak with her if he thought she knew his reasons for coming. The matter of his grandson had been consuming him since it became obvious the King could not win the war, but even more so since learning of his grandson’s betrothal to Mistress Swift. Jayne was tempted to say that her own reluctance matched the duke’s, but she was pleased she hadn’t when she saw how frail the old man was.

She stood aside as the coachman opened the carriage door, then leant in to study the two occupants. One, a tiny person dressed in a servant’s uniform, sat cross-legged in the corner of the seat; the other, much taller and clad in fine attire, sat upright, staring forward. The coachman had told her that His Grace’s valet was travelling with him, and Jayne had no difficulty distinguishing between them, though she was shocked to see that each was as ancient as the other.

She bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and addressed the duke. ‘Your driver tells me that Lady Stickland is expecting you, sir, but, with regret, I must tell you she was confined to her bed three days ago and is unable to greet you. I have come in her place to offer what assistance and explanations I can.’

The cross-legged valet eyed her with disfavour. ‘Are you a maid?’ She shook her head. ‘I am Jayne Swift, daughter to Sir Henry and Lady Margaret Swift of Swyre. I am also physician and friend to Lady Stickland and cannot be away from her side for longer than thirty minutes.’ She looked again at the duke. ‘May I enquire who you are, sir? Your coachman asked me to converse with his employer but would not give your name.’

He turned to look at her, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

‘He can’t speak for cold,’ whimpered the valet. ‘What’s to be done? What’s to be done?’

The crest on the carriage door had attracted a group of wide-eyed children, and Jayne beckoned the tallest forward, taking a penny from her pocket-purse. ‘Do you know Lady Stickland’s house in Church Street?’ When he nodded, she pressed the coin into his palm. ‘Run there as fast as you can and tell the maid who answers the door that Milady’s guests will be arriving before the hour is out.’

She instructed the coachman to drive to the White Horse Inn, which was two hundred yards ahead, and accepted the help of the groom to mount the step and settle herself on the seat opposite the duke. His lips were blue and the skin of his face so thin and pale that it was almost transparent, but his grey eyes were bright with curiosity. ‘As a physician, I strongly advise that you remain in Dorchester for the night in order to restore your strength, sir. The inn has beds and good food, but you will also be welcome at Lady Stickland’s house. I believe she would want her invitation honoured.’

It was evident the old man wanted to answer because his mouth writhed in an attempt to form words, but no sound came out.

‘Would water help, sir?’ she asked, lifting the flap on her satchel and removing a stoppered bottle and a silver cup. ‘I carry it to quench my thirst when I travel to see patients.’

His hands were trembling so violently that she leant forward to hold the filled cup to his mouth, replenishing it twice before his tongue was loosened enough for speech. ‘Thank you,’ he managed. ‘What ails Lady Stickland?’

Jayne saw little sense in withholding the truth. ‘I believe it to be an apoplectic stroke, sir. She had a seizure three nights ago and hasn’t woken from it. Had I known you were expected I would have sent word not to come.’

A glimmer of humour appeared in his eyes. ‘Where would you have sent it, since you don’t know who I am?’

‘Alice is a prolific letter writer and keeps her correspondence in fine order, sir. I would have found your acceptance of her invitation.’

He looked out of the window as the coach turned onto the forecourt of the White Horse Inn and drew to a halt. The continued dryness of his mouth and throat meant his voice was croaky, but the words were fluent. ‘You would have found a letter from the Duke of Granville, inviting himself, Mistress Swift. Lady Stickland had no choice in the matter once I named today for my arrival. Knowing this, do you still wish to offer me a bed for the night?’

Jayne poured a cup of water for the valet and watched him slide to the floor to snatch it from her hands. ‘Learning your name and title doesn’t alter my opinion that you’re in need of rest, my lord. Your manservant also. He’s as much in need of attention as you are.’

The duke addressed the groom who had leapt from the driving seat and presented himself at the window. ‘I’m in this lady’s hands, Harold,’ he said, motioning to Jayne. ‘You must take your orders from her.’

Doubting the groom would succeed in acquiring what was needed as effectively as she could, Jayne descended from the coach to make the arrangements herself. Rather than give His Grace the impression that she was used to entering taverns alone, however, she asked Harold to accompany her. They had advanced barely three steps before she was stopped by a hand clutching at her skirts.

‘Don’t be alarmed, ma’am,’ muttered Harold. ‘It’s only Mister Adams. His wits are scrambled but he means you no harm.’

She reached behind her to take the valet’s hand. ‘Do you wish to come with us, Mister Adams?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I’m sure the innkeeper’s wife will have sweetmeats for you.’

He clutched her fingers as tightly as a child. ‘Will Milady see me?’

Harold obliged with a whispered explanation. ‘He means His Grace’s daughter, ma’am. He has a powerful fear of her.’

Jayne assured Mister Adams he was safe and then led him and Harold down the side of the building to the kitchen quarters, where she was greeted warmly by the innkeeper’s wife, whose children she had treated for measles fever. The room was full of servants busy preparing food, and Mister Adams pranced with joy at the heat that came from the fires and the fragrant scents that perfumed the air.

‘I’m in need of your sedan chair, May,’ Jayne told the innkeeper’s wife. ‘Also a plate of food and some ale for my friend Mister Adams.’ She sat the little man on a stool at the kitchen table and knelt beside him. ‘These kind people will look after you until I can send the sedan back to bring you to your master. You have nothing to fear from Lady Maria, for she is in Berkshire and you are in Dorset. Do you understand?’

He pulled open a drawer in the table. ‘Where’s the food?’

May plucked a sweetmeat from a bowl and popped it into his mouth, before raising her eyebrows in query. ‘Mind gone?’ she mouthed at Jayne.

Jayne nodded and took a half-crown from her pocket-purse. ‘Will you watch him until the chair returns, May? They have but to take his master to Lady Stickland’s house in Church Street, so the wait shouldn’t be long.’ She rose to her feet and placed the money on the table. ‘May I borrow some blankets also? His master is of even greater age and so cold that he can barely speak. They’ve driven for more than seven hours, so the bearers may have to lift him from the coach, since I doubt he’ll be able to descend unaided.’

Clicking her tongue in concern, May sent a servant to summon the two burly chair-bearers, another to fetch blankets and a third for a flagon of ale from the bar. Meanwhile, she spooned stew from a steaming cauldron into a bowl and placed it in front of Mister Adams.

‘Sixpence will suffice for two chair rides and the food, Mistress Swift. If you don’t have pennies in your purse, I’ll send a maid to fetch change for your half-crown.’

‘There’s no need, May. I was hoping the rest would cover the cost of housing and stabling His Grace’s carriage and horses, and a room for his coachman and groom.’

May noted the title with an ironic lift of an eyebrow. ‘Can he not pay himself?’ she asked, casting her gaze over Harold’s smart livery.

Harold, clearly thinking the question was addressed to him, shuffled his feet in embarrassment. ‘I fear not, ma’am, for his daughter refused him money for the journey. He wouldn’t be in such a weakened state if we’d been able to purchase a room and provisions along the way, and nothing we said persuaded him to turn back.’

May’s response to this statement was a choice word for the daughter, followed by instructions to Harold on where to house the horses and carriage once the duke had departed. By then, the chair and its bearers were waiting outside the kitchen door and, taking the blankets, she accompanied the party to the front of the inn. It was hard to say what she made of the stiff, upright figure staring straight ahead, nor indeed what Granville made of her, for he merely shook his head when she asked if he was able to step from the carriage himself.

‘Then allow the bearers to lift you out, my lord. They carry ale casks for a living, so your weight will be small by comparison.’

In the event, it required only one to scoop him into his arms and transfer him to the sedan. Once he was safely seated, May wrapped two blankets about his shoulders, tucking them down his back, and then another two over his knees and around his feet. ‘Do you feel secure?’ she asked, closing and bolting the door. ‘I’ll ask the bearers to walk slowly so that you don’t suffer nausea.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you, mistress. You’re most kind. May I ask where Mister Adams is?’

‘Eating and drinking in my kitchen, my lord. He seems happy enough being spoilt by my maids, and Mistress Swift has promised him a ride in the chair when it returns from Lady Stickland’s house.’

‘I fear you’re making a rod for your own back, mistress. He’s unused to kindness and will likely refuse to leave your kitchen when the time comes.’

May chuckled. ‘He’ll not refuse me, sire. If needs be, I’ll carry him to the chair myself and feed him sugar drops while the bearers bring him to you.’

The duke studied her with amusement. ‘Could you not have made the same delightful offer to me?’

She wagged a playful finger at him. ‘There’s a difference between carrying a leprechaun and a man of your stature, sire. I warrant you were above six feet when you were younger … and handsome to boot, if your present good looks are anything to go by.’

May was a master at using flattery to tease money from reluctant payers, but this time she spoke only the truth. Despite his advanced years, the duke was as tall as his coachman, and in the shape of his eyes and mouth Jayne saw a resemblance to the sketches Alice had made of Ralph. Unexpectedly, she found herself warming to him. She had imagined Granville to be a bitter and vengeful man, not one who tolerated senile valets and overfamiliar innkeepers’ wives with kindness and courtesy.

Molly, thoroughly strained to have guests added to her anxiety over Lady Alice, peppered Jayne with questions once another bed had been added to the salon and Mister Adams had joined his master for a sleep. Would they expect more food later, having already consumed several bowls of custard and broth? Should the cook prepare dinner? Who would host the occasion? Did Miss Jayne plan to wear a more appropriate gown? And what of poor Milady? Must she be abandoned in order that a duke might be entertained?

Jayne squeezed her hand. ‘Nothing needs changing, including my gown, Molly. His Grace must accept us as we are or seek a bed and entertainment at the White Horse. May told me she has three empty rooms, so he’ll not go wanting.’

A twisted smile lifted the corner of Molly’s mouth. ‘You should have left him there.’

Jayne sighed. ‘I didn’t feel I could. You’ve seen for yourself how frail he is. We’ll pretend His Grace is a man like any other, show him what hospitality we can and continue to give our full attention to Lady Alice. In truth, I suspect we’ll have more trouble from his valet, whose mind is so muddled he’s likely to start wandering the house.’

She was proved right some three hours later, when the little man began haunting the kitchen in search of ale. Jayne was summoned from Alice’s bedside when the cook lost patience with his intemperate rummaging through her cupboards. To restore peace, she gave a maid a penny to purchase a flagon from the nearest hostelry, and once Mister Adams was assured he would have his drink in five minutes, he agreed to sit obediently at the kitchen table while Jayne went to check on his master.

She found him in the parlour, standing upright behind Alice’s chair and watching the passage of people through the window. He was using the high back to support himself, and Jayne wondered how he had managed to walk from the salon unaided in view of his inability even to step down from his coach. He’d clearly had no help from Mister Adams, for he was dressed only in a long, loose shirt which was rumpled from being worn in bed.

She moved alongside him, ready to reach out if her sudden appearance caused him to lose balance. ‘Would you not be happier sitting, my lord?’

‘I would,’ he murmured, ‘but I’m not confident about making my way around this chair. I was doing quite well until I reached it.’ ‘Amazingly well,’ she said, cupping her right hand inside his armpit and her left beneath his forearm. ‘When you feel you can trust me to hold your weight, release your grip on the chair and I’ll assist you to the front.’

‘You’re tall for a woman.’

‘I am, sire. My father puts it down to good food and a healthy appetite in childhood.’

Without warning, he let go of the chair. ‘This being Sir Henry Swift of Swyre?’

‘Indeed.’ She drew him gently towards her. ‘There’s no hurry. Be sure to find your balance before you take a new step.’ It required only three before she was able to lower him onto the cushioned seat. ‘Do you wish me to summon your coachman and groom to dress you?’ she asked, kneeling to position his feet on a stool. ‘Or would you prefer to remain as you are with blankets to keep you warm?’

‘Blankets will suffice for the moment,’ he said. ‘I’m enjoying watching Dorchester celebrate her victory. I can’t recall seeing so many inebriated Puritans before.’

Jayne smiled. ‘You’re not alone, my lord.’

‘Do you share in their delight, Mistress Swift?’

‘In so far as it means the war is over, I do, sire.’

‘And you’re not angry to be forced to entertain a Royalist? You should know that my daughter and son-in-law will not allow a Parliamentarian into their house.’

‘Well, thankfully, Lady Alice holds different views, sire,’ Jayne answered easily. ‘She recognised very early that her life would become intolerably boring if she only conversed with those who agreed with her.’ She rose and stepped away. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch the blankets myself. Everything’s been at sixes and sevens since Alice’s collapse, and I’d rather be certain you were warm than leave the task to a maid.’

More truthfully, she was worried about the iciness of his skeletal feet and the lack of flesh on his arm and shoulder. Dressed in a simple shirt, he appeared even less substantial than he had when he was fully clothed at the inn. She returned to the kitchen and asked the cook if His Grace’s coachman and groom were in the house. Directed to an anteroom, she found them eating plates of cold meat in their shirtsleeves. They rose hastily to their feet as she entered, pulling on their jackets and rebuttoning them.

‘I need one of you to help me dress His Grace,’ she said, closing the door, ‘but first I want answers to some questions. How long has he been residing with Lady Maria?’

‘Four years,’ said Harold after a brief hesitation. ‘His estate in Somerset was overrun by Parliamentarians in the first weeks of the war, and Lady Maria deemed it safer to bring him to live with her.’

‘Does he spend time with her family or is he confined to his room?’

The coachman, who’d given his name as Peter, shook his head. ‘We can’t tell you, ma’am. Lady Maria threatened us with dismissal if we talked about the household.’

‘How will she know?’ Jayne asked reasonably.

‘She won’t,’ said Harold. ‘There’s little communication between any of the family members, ma’am. Sir Anthony inhabits the east wing, Lady Maria the west, and His Grace stays in his rooms at the rear of the house with only Mister Adams for company.’

Which would explain why he was so curious about what was happening in the street outside, Jayne thought. His life must have been starved of interest if he’d been restricted to a back room with only a senile valet for company. ‘Does the family eat together?’

Harold shrugged to express ignorance. ‘We’re outside workers so live and eat above the stables, ma’am, but I’ve heard tell His Grace can’t manage the food Milady orders for him, it being too tough for the few teeth he has left.’

‘And I’ve heard tell she does it deliberately,’ said Peter, apparently feeling that discretion was no longer necessary. ‘She’s not a kind person, Mistress Swift. Every one of us would leave her service if we could find a place elsewhere.’

Jayne nodded thoughtfully. ‘May I ask why she allowed you to bring him here today? She could have refused him the use of the carriage as easily as money and blankets.’

‘The carriage belongs to His Grace, ma’am, as do the horses. He said he’d drive it himself if she refused to supply a coachman and groom. Our instructions were to turn around as soon as he fell asleep … but he never did.’

Jayne thanked them for their answers and then asked which of them was stronger. When both agreed that it was Peter, she led him to the salon and instructed him to take every spare item from the duke’s bag, along with the boots, hose, britches, jacket and cloak he’d worn on the journey. For her part, she took the blankets from the bed before opening the connecting door to the parlour and ushering Peter ahead of her.

‘We’ve come to dress you, my lord,’ she said. ‘Peter your driver will lift you while I clothe you in double layers to give you warmth.’

She had expected thinness but not a frame so skeletal that every bone could be felt beneath the skin. Nevertheless, she hid her concern behind light chatter, and, once he was clothed in two of everything with a blanket across his lap and another about his shoulders, she asked if he’d mind being left alone while she sought out a maid to light a fire in the hearth.

He looked at her for a moment and then nodded towards two framed pictures hanging to the left of the door to the hall. ‘Which artist painted those?’

Jayne followed his gaze and saw with surprise that they were the promised portraits of herself and Ralph. Having not been to the parlour since her arrival, she’d had no idea Alice had finished them or displayed them so publicly. ‘Lady Stickland, my lord.’

‘She’s captured your likeness very well—my son’s also. Were they made for my grandson?’

Such an idea had never occurred to Jayne. ‘I don’t believe so, sire. I think Alice merely wanted to prove she could still hold a brush.’ He seemed to lose interest immediately and turned back to the window. ‘I don’t require company, Mistress Swift,’ he said. ‘The antics in the street are keeping me entertained.’

Peter moved ahead of Jayne as they walked down the corridor, and turned with a bow to persuade her to stop. ‘My Lord is more in need of a physician’s attention than I realised, ma’am. Please believe I had no knowledge of how truly frail he is.’

‘You’ve no reason to chide yourself, Peter. It was you who found him a physician.’

‘Even so, ma’am, no daughter should be so cruel to a father.’

Jayne agreed with him but didn’t pursue the matter. She could think of only one reason for the woman to neglect her father so shamelessly, and it couldn’t be said aloud. With Ralph’s son disinherited, Lady Maria’s family stood to inherit the entirety of the Granville wealth, and that placed a higher value on His Grace’s death than on his life.

Unwilling to abandon Alice, she asked permission of Molly to have Granville brought to Milady’s chamber, explaining that he, too, needed attention. Molly protested that it wasn’t her place to make such a decision, but Jayne assured her it was. She was Alice’s most loyal friend, and if she preferred to spend the last hours alone with her mistress then that was how it should be. Molly shook her head. It would amuse Milady to have a man in her bedroom, she said.

Peter carried the duke upstairs, still wrapped in blankets, and His Grace expressed himself satisfied to be sitting as comfortably at Milady’s window as downstairs in the parlour. He studied Alice’s face for several long moments. ‘Her sleep seems peaceful. Do you think she hears you?’

Jayne glanced towards the bed. ‘Molly and I believe so, my lord. Would you like us to absent ourselves for a quarter-hour so that you may speak with her in private? She’ll not be able to answer you but her smiles suggest she understands some of the words being said.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say, Mistress Swift, except to express regret for my discourtesy in not replying to her letters. She wrote to me several times in the early years of my grandson’s life, and I considered each communication to be a meddlesome intrusion into matters that didn’t concern her. I took offence that a woman thought she had the right to tell me how to behave.’

Jayne smiled. ‘Would you have found it less offensive if her husband had chided you, sire?’

He grunted a laugh. ‘He wouldn’t have dared. No man would. Only this lady felt able to lecture me on my shortcomings as a grandfather. Is my grandson everything she told me he was, Mistress Swift?’

‘I don’t know, my lord, for I’m ignorant of what she wrote. All I can say with certainty is that she’s a true and honest friend.’

‘Do you say the same about my grandson?’

‘I do, my lord, but my word will have no more sway with you than Alice’s did. You must form your own opinion of Ralph and Estelle’s son.’

‘And how am I to do that?’

Molly felt emboldened to speak. ‘Pray that Miss Jayne’s letter has found him, sire,’ she said. ‘I feel in my bones that Milady is waiting for his arrival.’

The prediction had hardly left her mouth when a knock came upon the chamber door. The sound heralded the entrance of two maids with a bowl of tender mutton stew, another of sweet frumenty, and a platter of bread, butter and soft cheese. Nevertheless, the coincidence caused the duke to start nervously and clap his hand to his heart in shock, and it was clear to Jayne that he was more fearful than desirous of meeting William. To settle his anxiety, she said she believed William would have come by now if her letter had reached him.

Molly excused herself to eat downstairs and Jayne encouraged His Grace to quiz her about her family, since talk of Swyre was unlikely to provoke disagreement. She kept her stories deliberately frivolous, but, even so, his curiosity about her father’s and elder brother’s different allegiances raised the issue of war. He found it difficult to believe that Sir Henry didn’t harbour animosity towards Andrew, but Jayne assured him he did not.

‘He has no wish to see the division in the country replicated inside his house, sire. Had Andrew chosen to support Parliament out of spite, Papa might have felt differently, but he knew the decision was made in good conscience and after long thought. The same was true of our servants and farmhands, a good half of whom preferred Parliament’s cause to the King’s. Had Sir Henry felt obliged to dismiss them because of it, he would have lost his best workers.’

Granville appeared shocked. ‘I wouldn’t countenance such a lack of respect in my household. How could he trust employees who held a different allegiance from his own?’

‘Through knowing and valuing them for far longer than the war has lasted, sire. Do you think your daughter’s servants share her views? They may not voice them aloud, but I’ll warrant there are more than she realises who would rather the King ruled with their consent than without it.’

Granville laid down his spoon, having cleaned his plate of the easily chewed mutton. ‘Is that what you think the war has been about?’

Jayne rose from her seat to wring out a napkin in a bowl of cool water and lay it across Alice’s brow. ‘It is, my lord,’ she said, dipping her finger into the bowl and running a trickle of liquid across Alice’s lips. ‘The gift of peace has always been in the King’s hands. He had but to accept Parliament’s terms.’

Food and warmth had revived both his colour and spirit. ‘He’ll never do it,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s God’s anointed and believes in the righteousness of his actions.’

Jayne placed her finger on Alice’s wrist and marvelled again at the steadiness of her pulse. ‘As do Sir Thomas Fairfax and General Cromwell believe in theirs,’ she answered. ‘The country’s awash with virtuous men in search of authority. How can we find a peaceful resolution if both sides persist in the belief that God favours them?’

‘The King will never bow to Parliament’s will. He may have abandoned the war, but he’ll not vacate his throne. Will that annoy my grandson, Mistress Swift?’

Jayne resumed her seat. ‘I wouldn’t think so, my lord. Like most Parliamentarians, his aim has always been to replace absolute power with shared power.’

He eyed her for a long moment. ‘He comes from a noble line and you’re a squire’s daughter. What interests can you and he possibly have in common?’

The abruptness of the question and the derogatory stresses that Granville put on the words suggested a move away from friendliness, and Jayne found it ironic that food, kindness and companionship were allowing his authentic voice to emerge. ‘Nothing that would excite you, my lord. We talk more about our work than anything else.’

‘And that contents you?’

‘A great deal more than being handed a trinket and told I have pretty eyes, sire. I appreciate your grandson’s curiosity. Every other suitor I’ve had shied away from discussions about the effectiveness of maggots on gangrene.’

He closed his eyes briefly. ‘You’re not what I was expecting, Mistress Swift.’

‘May I ask who told you about me, sire?’

‘My daughter learnt of your betrothal from Lady Cooper, whose own daughter, Emmeline, is acquainted with Sir Francis Stickland.’ He nodded towards Alice. ‘This lady’s son. Between them, they’ve been most forthcoming on my grandson’s intentions towards you and his plan to make you mistress of Winterborne Houghton. Are they as correct on the second count as on the first?’

Jayne nodded.

‘Then you’ve been deceived, Mistress Swift. You can never live in Winterborne Houghton. The property belongs to me, and only I may decide its future.’ He gave a dismissive flick of his hand. ‘My grandson knows this perfectly well.’

Jayne wondered briefly if she should let the issue go, but decided for William’s sake that she couldn’t. ‘With respect, my lord, the property has never belonged to you. You gave it to your son at the time of his marriage, and in law a gift cannot be taken back. William won his case fairly in court, establishing his right to inherit the estate as Sir Ralph’s heir on the condition that he redeem the outstanding mortgages. This has now been done, and the deeds of entitlement granting him sole ownership have been authorised by the court.’

‘My rights granted me by the King take precedence.’

‘Not in law, sire. Only the court that confiscated the estate at the time of your son’s suicide had jurisdiction. The King moved outside his authority when he approved your petition, as Lady Alice and her husband argued in the legal objection they lodged on William’s behalf. Being a minor, he couldn’t lodge it himself, but he was able to refresh it on his return from Europe.’

Anger sparked in his eyes, but whether at the mention of ‘suicide’ or Alice and her husband’s advocacy for William, Jayne couldn’t tell. ‘My daughter believes Lady Stickland is to blame for your family’s future connection with mine. Is she right?’

Jayne stared at her hands so that he wouldn’t see her own anger. ‘If you explain why it’s a cause for blame, I’ll endeavour to answer, sire.’

‘Lady Maria is closely acquainted with Lord and Lady Hamway, whose son Edward had reason to visit Swyre on official business. The portrait he paints of you and your parents is most unflattering, and my daughter is persuaded that you and they have used your influence with Lady Stickland to entrap my grandson into an inappropriate marriage.’ He paused. ‘What do you say to that?’

Jayne raised her head. ‘Nothing, sire, for I don’t choose to waste my breath.’

He gave another dismissive flick of his hand. ‘That’s a foolish response. In the absence of denial, you will force me to accept that what Lady Maria says is true.’

Jayne considered for a moment. ‘Then allow me to defend Alice, since she can’t speak for herself.’ She leant forward to stare into the duke’s eyes. ‘The idea that she might be susceptible to another’s influence is both laughable and insulting. Her intelligence is superior to that of most men and greatly in excess of anything enjoyed by small-minded, malicious gossips like your daughter and Lady Hamway. Far from my parents influencing her, she interceded on your grandson’s behalf to influence them. Had she not, my father would have rejected William’s offer out of hand, since he assumed a man who had been disowned and disinherited by his family must be the worst kind of fortune-hunter.’

Granville was unimpressed. ‘And what argument did she use to persuade your father to the contrary? The promise of ennoblement through marriage?’

Jayne gave an abrupt laugh. ‘She’s not so dishonest, my lord. It’s only you who sees merit in your title. William has no interest in it, and Alice would never betray his trust by using it as a lure to win over a reluctant parent. You make a grave mistake judging women by your daughter and families by your own.’

He made a perfunctory gesture of apology. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Mistress Swift. My single aim in coming here was to discover the truth.’

‘But you have offended me,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘It’s of no interest to me if you choose to believe Lady Maria and Sir Edward Hamway, but I will not allow you to slander Alice. It remains a source of inspiration to me that William’s decency and honesty were forged by a powerfully free-thinking woman—and not the weak, degenerate line from which he springs.’