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  ‘We are not here by mere chance, my dear,’ he told Elizabeth, whilst Charmian stood beside her mother’s stool and listened quietly.

  ‘I came here purposely because I thought that your husband would be most likely to seek the support of his sister and her somewhat fortress-like home. Elizabeth, the Puritans are being pursued as they once pursued us and I am afraid some Royalists whose own families were cruelly treated by Cromwell’s men are now extracting their own revenge. That is not my way, but I am powerless to prevent it. All I could do was to ensure that you—and Charmian—did not fall into the hands of those now lusting for vengeance.’

  There was only Charmian and her mother and Sir Geoffrey by the huge roaring log fire at one end of the great hall. Despite the vast coldness of the room, there was suddenly a curious intimacy between the three of them.

  ‘We returned from France only three weeks ago from exile,’ Sir Geoffrey continued. ‘My wife stayed here in England all the time, but our estate was confiscated and given to a Puritan. Luckily Georgina was taken in by a yeoman farmer.’ He smiled a little. ‘A man who once worked for me and whom I helped some years back to obtain his own farm. He repaid his debt of gratitude in full by caring for Georgina in my absence. Not all old loyalties were forgotten—thank God—though the Parliamentarians have made life as difficult for them these past years as they possibly could.’ He paused. ‘And Georgina has been remarkably courageous in the way that she has managed all this time without either husband or son for help, not even knowing whether we still lived.’

  Deliberately, it seemed, he glossed over the long years he and his son had spent in exile whilst not knowing how his wife fared under the rule of the Protector. But those years had left their scars on both father and son, even the innocent eyes of Charmian Radley could see and understand that much.

  A shudder ran through Elizabeth and she looked down at her hands lying in her lap and murmured, ‘ Georgina has been a good wife to you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, she has. I’ll not deny that, but, if only …’

  Charmian saw her mother look up quickly to meet his intense gaze. But then Sir Geoffrey sighed softly and whispered, ‘Ah well, ’tis best left unsaid, eh?’

  A small smile flickered across Elizabeth’s face. It seemed as if she had the answer she sought, that she knew his meaning even if the words had not been spoken aloud.

  But Charmian was mystified.

  Sir Geoffrey was speaking again. ‘They—Cromwell’s men—tried poor Georgina sorely. They demanded fines and heavy taxes and such like acts of harassment. But now, we are back and very soon our young King will be here too and we shall have the monarchy restored.’

  ‘What—what will happen to—to the Parliamentarians then?’ Elizabeth Radley asked.

  Sir Geoffrey sighed heavily. ‘I put my faith in His Majesty. I trust that, like me, he wants no more bloodshed, but …’

  ‘But …?’ Elizabeth Radley prompted. His gentle eyes looked into her lovely face and he took her hand in his. ‘My dear, the years of Puritan rule have wrought vast changes amongst many Royalists. Many have lost everything—their families, their homes and possessions. Some have been cruelly used, excessively so. The mood—the—the—’ he hesitated, searching for the right word of explanation. ‘The character of the Cavalier—the romantic, honourable figure, defending faith and virtue and freedom—has been obliterated by the years of harsh reality. And many—I regret to say—have become disillusioned and—dissolute. They seek revenge upon their oppressors. But I remain hopeful that when we once more have our King as our head, then things will improve. They are in the main good men at heart but have been sorely used.’ He glanced down at his own useless right arm briefly, but even then he did not dwell upon his own afflictions. His gaze came back once more to Elizabeth Radley. It was as if his whole aim, his one thought, was to secure her safety.

  ‘But surely,’ Charmian spoke up for the first time. ‘ The King will demand an oath of allegiance from the Parliamentarians, will he not?’

  Sir Geoffrey started and then turned to look at her. It was as if he had forgotten her presence for all the while they had been talking his gaze had been upon her mother’s face.

  ‘Yes, yes, my dear. I expect he will want that at the very least.’

  ‘And if—if Cromwell’s men will not give such a promise?’

  Sir Geoffrey raised his shoulders fractionally. ‘ I’m afraid I cannot answer for the King, my dear.’

  At that moment the strident voice of Mary Mason rang out from the far end of the hall ‘Elizabeth, I have only just been informed of your arrival.’

  Charmian saw Sir Geoffrey’s expression harden as Mary Mason crossed the hall and came towards them.

  ‘Well, Denholm, you may have inveigled the support of Elizabeth but you will never sway my brother or myself to your side. Of that I can assure you.’ Scarcely pausing for breath, she rounded upon Charmian. ‘And I trust, dear Niece—’ The words of endearment were spoken mechanically with no tone of affection. ‘That you are ready to fulfil your betrothal promise and unite our two families even more closely in the cause of our Faith.’

  Charmian saw Sir Geoffrey’s expression grow even more grim. ‘Charmian,’ he asked her. ‘Do you wish to marry your cousin?’

  Before she had even the time to think of a reply, Mary Mason cried, ‘How dare you, sire? You may hold us prisoners, but you have no right to interfere in a family matter. No right at all.’

  ‘I have no wish to see a girl as lovely as Charmian forced into a marriage she does not desire. Too much unhappiness has already been caused by such actions. What say you, Elizabeth?’ His tone was noticeably more tender when addressing Elizabeth Radley.

  ‘I …’ Elizabeth began, but Mary Mason was not to be beaten.

  ‘The betrothal was entered into many years ago. You witnessed it yourself, Sir Geoffrey—uninvited—did you not?’

  ‘I did indeed,’ Sir Geoffrey replied drily. ‘When Charmian was but a child, scarcely aware of the implications of the promises she was being obliged to make. But now she is a woman and should be allowed to decide her future for herself.’

  ‘Pah! Whoever heard of such a thing?’

  Angrily Mary Mason turned away and walked back across the room with long, unfeminine strides. Sir Geoffrey watched her go. ‘Poor Edward!’ he murmured, referring to Mary’s docile husband and his brother-in-law. ‘How ever did he come to ally himself with such a scold?’

  Joshua Mason had grown from being a fat boy to grossly overweight manhood. He was small and stockily built, his face round and florid—like his mother and his uncle, Joseph Radley. His face wore a perpetually sly expression and, meeting him again, Charmian shuddered with revulsion. Was this coarse glutton to be her husband?

  ‘We are to be married then?’ he remarked to Charmian as they dined later that evening. Charmian watched him hold a chicken bone with his fingers and tear the meat from it with his short, yellow teeth. Then deliberately he licked each finger so as not to miss the merest morsel. The action prompted a vague memory from their last meeting. Joshua’s manners had not improved with the years between.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied now in a small voice.

  From across the table she could feel Campbell Denholm’s mocking eyes upon her, but she dare not look up. She dared not meet his gaze.

  ‘Sooner the better, eh?’ Joshua was saying.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps we should wait. I mean, my father …’

  ‘Your father will be taken off to London as soon as the King returns,’ Joshua said callously. ‘We’d best get it done now. Denholm will let us hold the ceremony.’

  ‘You—you think so?’ Fear was flooding through her. She was caught helplessly in a trap and there was no one to help her.

  Suddenly she rose from the table. ‘Pray excuse me. I don’t feel well.’ She turned to leave the room.

  Slyly, Joshua grinned. ‘A maiden’s modesty at the thought of becoming a bride, eh?’ he leered, as Charmi
an hurried away feeling physically sick at the thought of becoming Joshua Mason’s wife.

  Chapter Five

  Charmian had found the swing in the tree down by the river. Hunting around she found a long piece of broken branch and after a few moments’ prodding and levering she had managed to make the swing fall down. Although the day was damp and cold, the mist still hanging over the countryside, Charmian had felt the need to escape from the confines of the castle walls. Now, happier than she had felt since her father’s arrival home to their house in Boston, she seated herself on the swing and propelled herself backwards and forwards.

  Unseen by Charmian, Campbell Denholm stood in the shelter of the trees watching her. He had seen her leave the castle and had followed, but now he hesitated to approach her. Her attitude towards him had been unfriendly—indeed it seemed she had tried to avoid him—for she seemed to spend most of the day in her bedchamber either alone or with her mother.

  Higher and higher she swung, breathing deeply, feeling joyously free. Suddenly there was a crack as one of the ropes snapped and Charmian went hurtling through the air. Almost before she had hit the ground, Campbell was running towards her, ‘ Charmian!’

  She was already stirring when he reached her and moaning. ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ in a shaking voice.

  With unexpected gentleness his strong hands felt her arms and shoulders, but his tone as he spoke to her was sharp. ‘You foolish child! Didn’t you realize the swing would be rotten? It won’t have been used for years. Probably not since …’ Fondly he was remembering the last time she had used that very swing.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Charmian muttered crossly. Her senses returning, she tried to scramble to her feet but she swayed unsteadily. Without another word Campbell swung her into his arms, ignoring her cry of protest and carried her up the slope towards the castle. He carried her into the main hall and immediately they were confronted by Mary Mason, who wore a gleeful expression which quickly turned to anger at the sight of Campbell with Charmian in his arms.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded.

  ‘Charmian has had an accident,’ Campbell told her shortly. ‘The swing broke and she has suffered a nasty fall.’ He set Charmian down on the floor, but still he kept his arms about her.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ The question from her aunt lacked genuine concern.

  ‘Merely shaken, I think,’ Charmian replied.

  ‘ ’Tis as well for I have found a magistrate who has agreed to marry you and Joshua the day after tomorrow.’

  Pale already from her fall, Charmian gasped. The surroundings seemed to fall in upon her and everything went black. She would have crumbled to the floor had not Campbell’s strong, supporting arm prevented it. Picking her up once more in his arms, her head resting against his broad shoulder, Campbell faced her aunt.

  ‘Madam—if a Puritan magistrate sets foot in this castle, I shall arrest him!’ And before she could make a reply, he was gone, leaving her open-mouthed whilst he carried Charmian to her bedchamber.

  When Charmian opened her eyes again it was to see Campbell bending over her and her mother standing anxiously beside him. Charmian was lying on the truckle-bed where she slept. She struggled to sit up but her mother put her hand upon her shoulder and gently urged her to lie down again. ‘ Rest, my love,’ she murmured.

  Charmian glanced from her mother’s worried face to meet Campbell’s eyes. The tenderness faded from his brown eyes as he realized she was not hurt. Abruptly he turned away. ‘Perhaps next time you will not be so thoughtless,’ was his parting shot.

  As he left the chamber, Charmian could not know of the agony in Campbell Denholm’s heart as he thought of her intended marriage to Joshua Mason. All through the terrible years of exile Campbell had kept the memory of the bright-haired girl locked within his heart. Yet now they were together again, he could not reach out to her, not like before. Perhaps the fault was his in part. The years had made him bitter, yet through it all he loved her still. He could not allow this marriage to take place. Somehow he would have to put a stop to it.

  ‘My dear son, I sympathize with your feelings,’ Sir Geoffrey was saying a short time later when Campbell had told him of Mary Mason’s plans for Charmian’s marriage and his own threat to her if she should try to carry them out. ‘But I am not quite sure we have the power to arrest a priest.’

  ‘It is not a priest coming, but a magistrate, if you please. She is not even to be given a marriage in church,’ he said, glowering, but then added, ‘but perhaps that is all to the good.’

  ‘Poor child, poor child,’ Sir Geoffrey murmured sadly. ‘Just like her mother—sacrificed to satisfy her peers.’

  ‘I shall not allow it!’ Campbell stormed with the fierce confidence of youth. ‘She is not going to marry that—that—aah!’ Frustrated he clenched one fist and smacked it against the palm of his other hand. ‘What can we do, sire?’

  His father sighed and lifted his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. ‘ There is nothing we can do by law until the King returns. However,’ he added with a sudden grin. ‘Mistress Mason is not to know that, now is she? Perhaps your threat will be sufficient to make her think again.’

  It seemed, for the time being at least, that it was, for the magistrate did not appear the following day nor for several days and though Charmian passed the time in fear of his arrival, nothing happened.

  Charmian suffered no injury from her fall except for a bruise or two, and on the second day she looked out of her bedroom window to see Timothy Deane being allowed to take exercise in the enclosed courtyard, though he was guarded by three Royalist soldiers. He looked a lonely figure, little more than a boy though he must be about her own age, she thought. He was slightly built with fair hair, grey eyes and a pale skin which looked even more sickly after his days and nights in the dank dungeon. Reaching for her cloak she went down to join him. The soldiers made no move to prevent her from falling into step beside their prisoner, though Charmian was conscious of their eyes upon them as she and Timothy walked around the courtyard.

  ‘Charmian!’ Timothy’s face was alight with pleasure. ‘How good it is to see you.’ He held out his hands to her and briefly clasped them. Then embarrassed, he let them go. ‘Are they treating you w-well?’

  ‘Yes, yes, they are. But you—and the others, my father and your brother—are they treating you well?’

  He gave a wan smile. ‘Tolerably so. We have plenty to eat though the surroundings are not exactly comfortable.’

  ‘If only my father had not been so—so obstinate, maybe none of you would have been imprisoned.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ But there was doubt in his tone.

  ‘Is my father still as—as determined in his beliefs?’ she asked, hesitating over her choice of words, wanting to say fanatical and yet fearing the word would sound disloyal to her own father.

  There was a pause while Timothy appeared to consider. ‘It is strange you should ask that b-because—I can’t be sure, but I wonder if they—your father and my brother, I mean—are beginning to—I don’t know, not give up their cause exactly, but they have talked and discussed the situation all the time and often they talk in whispers and deliberately exclude me.’

  ‘Why should they do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Oh I expect they think I am just too young—or too weak. I have always just b-blindly followed my b-brother.’

  They walked on in silence.

  ‘Do you think they could be considering swearing allegiance to the King?’ Charmian asked at last. ‘ Surely with King Charles’s return the Parliamentarian cause must be lost?’

  ‘I really do not know.’ Timothy glanced at her, a question in his eyes. ‘You—you sound as if you believe that to be so. Have these—these Cavaliers—’ He still used the derisory name with a vehemence which surprised Charmian coming from the lips of the shy young man. ‘—persuaded you against us already?’

  Charmian felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Under Sir Geoffrey’s gentle prot
ection, watching his obvious caring attitude towards her own mother, and—despite her protestations otherwise—drawn by Campbell’s flamboyant handsomeness, Charmian realized she had begun to compare the rigidity of her father’s Puritanical ways with the easier—Joseph Radley would say sinful—life-style of the Royalists. They were her enemies, Charmian reminded herself. It was wicked of her to have allowed herself to be duped by their kindness.

  Her chin came up stoutly, ‘Of course not,’ she declared, ‘But what can I—we—do? We are their prisoners just as much as you, even though we are not confined to the dungeons.’

  At that moment a voice rang across the courtyard. ‘Here, Puritan, get below again. Too much sun will damage your sinless soul,’ the soldier laughed vulgarly. ‘And walking with this lovely maid’ll give you lustful ideas.’ He laughed again.

  ‘Charmian,’ Timothy cried eagerly as the soldier pushed him towards the steps leading down into the dungeon. ‘Please—will you meet me here again tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she smiled at him. As she turned towards the door into the castle, they waved once more to each other before he disappeared from the sunlit courtyard into the dank coldness underground.

  From a small window above Mary Mason watched them with growing resentment. She was even more determined that the marriage between her son and her niece should take place as soon as possible.

  ‘If it were not for these damned Cavaliers,’ she muttered angrily to herself, ‘they’d be married by now.’

  And Mary Mason was not the only one who had watched the meeting between Charmian and Timothy Deane. At a window on the opposite side of the courtyard stood the silent, motionless, figure of Campbell Denholm watching them walking together.

  He was powerless to still the jealousy which tore at his heart.

  The next afternoon Charmian watched for Timothy to appear in the courtyard and as soon as she saw him she hurried down to join him, but this time a soldier barred her way. ‘Sorry, miss. We’ve had orders that the prisoner is not to be allowed to talk with you.’