Read sample By the Sword

Chapter 1

In the stone-walled garden of the little manor house at Barton, a fierce battle raged. Robert’s well-aimed snowball caught his cousin Thomas Ashley squarely on the head, knocking off his hat. Unbalanced, Tom fell back into the snow and lay there, laughing while his three cousins stood around pelting him with snow. Tom recovered his feet and, brushing off the fine, powdery snow, he and Robert joined forces against the other two.

Watching the children from her chair by the window, Kate Ashley smiled. Although the same age as Robert, Tom stood nearly a head taller and his dark hair made him instantly recognisable amongst his red-headed cousins. Beyond the walls, a lowering sky threatened more snow and she opened the window, leaning out to call the children in.

‘Look, Mother,’ Tom called. ‘Robert and I are General Fairfax and General Cromwell and Janet and Joseph are the King’s men. We’re winning of course.’

Kate sighed. How easily the games of adults could be mirrored in the innocent games of children, and war was all any of these children had known. They had been born into a country torn apart by a struggle between a King and his Parliament, leaving her son with the bitter legacy of a father he had never known.

‘Kate.’ Her sister’s voice recalled her to the room. ‘You’re not listening. I asked what you intend to do about this letter?’

Kate looked around at Suzanne as she pulled the casement shut.

‘I intend to do nothing,’ she said. ‘I will not go all the way to Worcestershire just so an old man can clear his conscience before he goes to the Lord.’

‘Now, sister,’ Suzanne scolded. ‘The Lord teaches us to forgive.’

‘I’ve nothing to forgive,’ Kate said. ‘As far as I am concerned the quarrel with the Thorntons died with Richard’s father. It is nothing to do with me.’

‘I think you should go,’ her sister responded, ‘Tom is his great-grandson. Doesn’t the boy have the right to know his father’s family?’

‘Really, Suzanne.’ Kate found it hard to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘It is thirty years since Elizabeth Thornton eloped with David. In all that time there has been not one word from the Thorntons. Whatever rights Francis Thornton had in respect of my son were long since forfeit.’

‘I think you are unduly harsh, Kate.’

Kate shrugged. ‘It’s not a matter of being harsh. It is simply of no consequence to me. We don’t need the Thorntons. We’ve never needed the Thorntons.’ She turned back to look out of the window. ‘Just look at that sky. It will snow again before nightfall.’

She rapped on the glass, summoning the reluctant children in from the cold. They tumbled into the warm parlour, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the well-polished floor. Kate’s maid, Ellen, brought a tray of honey cakes, and with only the scantest regard for manners, the hungry children made short work of the food.

Kate sat back watching the scene with a fond smile. Tom’s head bent close to that of his cousin and best friend, Robert, as they spoke in whispers. The two had been inseparable companions from birth, Tom being the older by only a few days. However, there the resemblance ended. In Robert’s face and in his uncertain health was a fragility not found in his sturdy cousin or his siblings. The two sisters never spoke of it, but Kate, glancing up at Suzanne’s impassive face, knew she feared her beloved child might not see manhood.

Suzanne packed away her sewing and stood, easing her aching back. Heavily pregnant with her sixth child, she found sitting difficult.

‘Come, children,’ she announced. ‘We must be home before that snow.’

Ignoring the howls of disappointment, the children were bundled into cloaks, hoods and gloves and distributed between the various mounts they had brought with them. Suzanne and her husband, the sturdy William Rowe, lived at Barton Hall barely one mile distant. The children moved easily between the two houses and Kate did not begrudge Tom the company of his cousins. The life of an only child could be very solitary.

‘Let me know what you decide,’ Suzanne said, leaning down from where she sat pillion behind one of her grooms. ‘I’m sure William will look after things for you, should you decide to go.’

‘You needn’t trouble William,’ Kate replied. ‘I have no intention of going.’

Suzanne glanced across at Tom, who stood stroking the nose of Robert’s pony. ‘Perhaps it is not a matter for you to decide alone,’ she said. ‘It seems to me that perhaps Tom should be consulted.’

Kate waved her sister off and stood in the shelter of the porch as the Rowe family turned out through the gates into the lane.

As Tom ran down to the gate to wave them off, Kate considered her sister’s words. It seemed inappropriate to involve a child in such weighty decisions. He had never asked about his grandmother’s family and Kate would not have known what answer to give if he had. She and Richard had only discussed the Thorntons on a couple of occasions, and in all the years she had shared a house with Richard’s father, she had never heard David Ashley speak of them. Now he too was dead and there was nobody to ask.

How dare Richard’s Thornton grandfather choose this moment to write.

She looked up as the first swirl of snowflakes drifted down from the bulging clouds. She let them fall onto her face, cold and stinging, and turned back to the warmth of the house.

‘Did your grandfather ever talk to you of the Thorntons?’ Kate ventured as she sat on the edge of her son’s bed that night.

Tom regarded her from her under his heavy, dark fringe. ‘No. Who are the Thorntons?’

‘Well…’ Kate took a deep breath and dredged her memory. ‘Your grandmother, Elizabeth, was a Thornton.’

Tom yawned. ‘Was she? Is this going to be a boring story, mother?’

Undeterred by her son’s lack of interest, Kate continued. ‘She married your grandfather against her father’s wishes.’

‘Really?’ Curiosity sparked in Tom’s eyes.

‘Her father, Sir Francis Thornton, swore he would never have anything to do with her again.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘Well, as far as I know, the story, your grandmother died when your father was born. And we have heard nothing from the Thorntons before or since.’

Tom snorted. ‘That’s it?’

Kate bit her lip and considered leaving it at that, but Suzanne had been right. Tom deserved to know.

‘I’ve had a letter from your great-grandfather, Sir Francis Thornton. He heard that your grandfather Ashley has died and he has invited us to visit.’

‘Where does he live?’ Tom’s eyes were bright with interest now.

‘At a house called Seven Ways in Worcestershire.’ Kate replied.

‘Worcestershire?’ Tom’s eyes widened. He had never been further than York. He frowned. ‘Seven Ways is a funny name for a house.’

‘I recall your father once told me it was called Seven Ways because one of your ancestors was told the King would be passing by and he constructed seven entrances to his property to make it easier for the King to find him.’

‘And did he?’ Tom asked.

Kate laughed and shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Seven Ways.’ Tom tried the name out again. ‘I suppose Sir Francis is very old?’

‘I suppose he must be,’ Kate agreed.

Tom pushed his thick hair out of his eyes and looked up at his mother. ‘Do you think we should go, Mother?’

Kate thought for a long minute, remembering her conversation with Suzanne. ‘I think, perhaps, if your grandfather were still alive he would want you to go. For all he never talked of them, I doubt he would prevent you from meeting them. It is your right.’

‘What else do you know about them?’ Tom hugged his knees.

She shook her head. ‘I know nothing more than what I have told you.’

Tom looked up at her. ‘Then I think we should go, Mother. Shall we? It will be an adventure.’

Every instinct within Kate screamed resistance. She had lived through a bitterly fought war and had no need for further adventures in her life.

She leaned over and kissed her son gently on the forehead. ‘If that’s what you want, Tom. I will see what can be arranged. Now sleep. You’ve had a busy day.’

Tom lay down and closed his eyes. ‘Seven Ways,’ he murmured drowsily. ‘It is a funny name for a house.’

Kate drew the curtains around the boy’s bed to keep out the cold draughts and crossed to the window. The snow had passed, obliterating the signs of the afternoon’s battle and laying a fresh, white crust on the trees and the walls. She looked out across the garden, lit by the cold light of the winter moon, to the familiar dark shapes of the hills and woods beyond.

Seven Ways, she thought, echoing Tom’s comment. It is indeed a very strange name for a house.

Chapter 2

An ache of homesickness, every bit as physical as her sore, weary muscles, clawed at Kate’s heart as she looked from the long, low window of the pleasant bedchamber across the unfamiliar Worcestershire countryside. She thought longingly of her own parlour and the little garden bursting with spring life that she had left behind and fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

The moment she had sent the letter to Sir Francis Thornton, accepting his invitation, she had regretted the decision. She had travelled little in her life, and the thought of making the long journey to Worcestershire filled her with dread. Using her sister’s confinement as an excuse, she had delayed the journey as long as she could, but Suzanne had been safely delivered of another girl, the weather had improved and the promised visit could wait no longer.

Knowing she must feign some sort of cheerfulness while she prepared herself and her son for their first meeting with the mysterious Thorntons, none of whom had been at the door to greet them on arrival, she turned back to face her son. Tom turned an anxious face up towards his mother as Ellen, who had travelled with them, dragged a brush through his obstinate locks.

‘Will they like me?’ he asked.

‘How can they not?’ Kate smiled at him and planted a kiss on his forehead.

He cringed away from her.

‘Please don’t do that, Mother,’ he protested.

She smiled with a little regret. Only a year ago her son would have covered her in kisses.

‘Come, Tom. It is time to meet this mysterious family,’ she said, opening the door to admit the elderly steward who had come to conduct the visitors to meet the residents of Seven Ways.

Their feet echoed on the polished boards of the ancient house as they followed the man. He stopped before a panelled door and knocked. Tom slipped his hand into his mother’s and Kate squeezed it as the man opened the door admitting them into a bright, cheerful parlour.

The only occupant of the room, a young woman intent upon some intricate embroidery, sat perched on the broad windowsill of the long, low window. She set it down as Kate and her son entered and rose to her feet. Tom looked up at his mother, who released his hand and dropped a dutiful curtsy.

Before she could rise, the young woman had crossed the floor and embraced her.

‘Mistress Ashley, I’m so pleased you have come.’

She released Kate, who, unbalanced by the effusive welcome, took a step backward to recover her composure. The woman turned to Tom, who bowed stiffly.

‘And you must be Thomas. I am your cousin Eleanor.’ The woman returned his bow with a low curtsey.

As she rose, she looked at Kate, a warm smile lighting the pretty, heart-shaped face.

‘Lady Eleanor Longley, but please call me Nell. We are kin after all. May I call you Katherine?’

Kate blinked. This lack of formality had caught her by surprise.

‘K…Kate,’ she stuttered.

‘Kate it is then. Now, let me look at you, Tom.’ Nell placed her hands on Tom’s shoulders and appeared to study him intently. ‘I do declare you are the image of my brother, Jonathan, at the same age. See, there behind you, Kate is a small portrait of my brothers done when Ned was about fifteen and Jonathan twelve or thirteen. I can’t recall exactly, although I do remember Jonathan got into terrible trouble for turning up late.’

Kate turned to look at a charming head and shoulders study of two boys. The older one, whom she assumed to be ‘Ned’, shared his sister’s golden hair and wide, sunny smile. The younger one, dark-haired Jonathan, glowered sulkily from the canvas. Even allowing for the sullen expression the resemblance to Tom was, as Nell had observed, striking.

‘Nell, please forgive me. I’m afraid I know nothing of my husband’s family,’ Kate said. ‘Will I have the pleasure of meeting your brothers?’

Nell’s mouth drooped. ‘Of course. I took it for granted that you would know of whom I spoke. We lost Ned at Edgehill, the first battle of the war, my father at Naseby and Jonathan…’ She waved her hand, dismissing Jonathan’s fate. ‘We are a very sad family as you will come to see. My husband, Giles, is an exile in France and our home, Longley Abbey, is sequestered for his debts. If it were not for the generosity of my grandfather, my daughter and I would be quite homeless.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate said. The words seemed inadequate to cover the extent of this woman’s loss. ‘You have a daughter?’

Nell smiled, ‘Ann. She’s but three years old. You will meet her later.’

‘Where’s Sir Francis?’ Tom asked, looking around the room as if he expected his great-grandfather to jump out from behind a chest.

‘Grandfather is not in the best of health, Tom, but he will join us for supper tonight. He is very much looking forward to meeting you. Now would you like to see the house? It would be my greatest pleasure to show it to you.’

Following in her guide’s wake, Kate concluded that Seven Ways had never been a grand house, but in its shabby gentility, it gave the sense of a much-loved home. The war had left physical scars: boarded windows, broken wainscoting – no doubt where axes had torn looking for hidden silver – and bare walls where once fine pictures or tapestries had hung. The furniture was ordinary, workaday stuff. Anything of value, including the better furniture, Nell told her in a matter-of-fact tone, had gone as plunder when the forces of Parliament had occupied the house at the end of the war.

‘You cannot have failed to notice, Kate,’ Nell said, her fingers twisting the gold chain around her neck, ‘that this house is but a shadow of its former self. Our family has paid dearly for loyalty to the King.’

They finished the tour in the Great Hall, which occupied the centre of the house on the first floor. A fine chimney breast carved with the Thornton coat of arms – three golden leopards’ heads on a crimson field – dominated the room and unlike the bare walls of the other rooms, a large family portrait still hung on one of the walls. Kate stood back to study it in greater detail, speculating on the identities of the stiff, formal group of people wearing the fashion of thirty years earlier.

‘All gone save for me, Mistress Ashley.’

Kate turned and dropped a hasty curtsy. The frail, elderly man, stooped and leaning heavily on a cane, inclined his head.

‘Grandfather,’ Nell said. ‘I thought you were resting?’

‘There is plenty of time for rest, Nell. Mistress Ashley, welcome to Seven Ways. And unless I am gravely mistaken, this must be young Thomas?’

Tom stood very straight and gave his great-grandfather the benefit of his most formal bow.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

Kate hid a smile at the gravity of her son’s demeanour.

‘And I yours, Master Ashley,’ Sir Francis replied.

The trace of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he indicated that the boy should come closer. With crabbed fingers, he tilted the boy’s face towards him.

He frowned and addressed his granddaughter. ‘Nell, is he not like Jonathan at the same age? The resemblance is quite remarkable.’

‘I said as much myself,’ Nell said. ‘Let us hope, for his sake, that is where the similarity ends.’

Sir Frances turned back to Kate. ‘You were admiring the portrait, Mistress Ashley? That is my family in happier days.’

Kate looked back at the family study. Sir Francis’ younger self dominated it, tall, upright and imposing. Only the eyes and the rather long nose, now emphasised by old age, gave the clue to the identity of the sitter.

Sir Francis pointed with his cane. ‘See there, my wife Anne, my son William and his wife Sarah and our beloved Ned as a baby.’ The cane slowly lowered to the ground again. ‘And of course, Bess.’

Kate looked at the first likeness she had ever seen of her husband’s mother, the defiant Elizabeth who had eloped to Yorkshire with the love of her life, David Ashley. Elizabeth Thornton had been no classical beauty, but she had an arresting face and the hazel eyes, fixed forever on the father who had disowned her, revealed a determined and intelligent woman. She scanned the painted face, looking for some resemblance between this woman and her son, Kate’s husband Richard. Perhaps she could see something about the nose and mouth? Or perhaps, Kate acknowledged bitterly, the memory of Richard had faded to a point where she could no longer recollect his features clearly.

‘See, Tom,’ she said indicating Elizabeth. ‘There is your grandmother.’

Tom cocked his head to one side.

‘It was painted the year Bess…’ Sir Francis paused, then continued in a softer voice, ‘…the year she married David Ashley.’

He turned away from the painting. ‘I’m pleased you have come, Mistress Ashley. I trust my granddaughter has seen you comfortably settled?’

‘Indeed, thank you, Sir Francis. I have a delightful chamber and we have been made most welcome.’

‘The gatehouse was Elizabeth’s chamber. I thought you would appreciate it.’ Moving with difficulty, he crossed the floor to seat himself in a chair beside the hearth.

He pointed his stick at the chair opposite him, and as Kate sat, he said, ‘Tell me of the Ashleys. David Ashley never married again?’

She met his eyes and read the need for reassurance in them.

‘No,’ she said. ‘For David Ashley, there was only ever one woman.’

He held her gaze then nodded slowly.

‘And Richard? Your husband…’ he paused, ‘…my grandson, he fought for Parliament, I believe?’

Kate nodded. ‘He was a captain under Sir Thomas Fairfax.’ She indicated her son. ‘Thomas is named for him.’

Francis nodded thoughtfully. ‘Indeed. I heard only good things of Fairfax. My grandson, Jonathan, had great respect for him. Now, if I recall Jonathan and Richard were much of an age. Jonathan was born to soldiering. His father’s attempts to turn him into a scholar were sadly wasted. What was Richard’s inclination?’

Kate smiled without humour. ‘Richard was a scholar, not a soldier. He hated the war.’

She closed her eyes, remembering the bitterness in her husband’s eyes as he told her of the deaths of the men under his command.

When she opened them again she found the old man’s gaze resting on her face. ‘Forgive me for dredging up painful memories, Mistress Ashley. It is to my sorrow that I do not even know how he died.’

The old, familiar pain clutched at her heart. It had been a great victory, the wounded had told her as they had trickled into the village after the battle at Marston Moor. Prince Rupert had been routed, the forces of the Parliament triumphant. Kate cared nothing for Parliament or victory. The broken man beneath her hands commanded all her attention that night.

‘He died of the wounds he received at Marston Moor,’ she said. ‘His father brought him home after the battle. He took two days to die.’

Richard’s grandfather shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he said. ‘The war has dealt ill with us all. Nell and her little Ann, you and Thomas are all that remains of this family and I am nearing the end of my allotted time on this earth. It is long past time to put away the differences born only of a stubborn man and his equally stubborn daughter.’ He shook his head. ‘Such a petty feud to cause all these years of division, and I regret every day that has passed. I hope, Mistress Ashley, and you Thomas, that your coming here is the start of a new chapter in the life of this family.’