Marriage Under Siege. Anne O'Brien

to my mother, that Lord Edward ordered my father out of the house at the point of a blunderbuss and threatened to fire without warning if he ever set eyes on him or my mother again. Or their children! I believe he described us as hell-born brats. Which was, as I recall, in all honesty the truth!’ A flash of a grin lit his face in the sombre light. ‘It did not trouble my sire overly. He never had any expectations of inheriting, after all. And he hated Edward like the Devil.’

      The two men turned towards the outer staircase which would take them up to the main door.

      ‘Medieval or not,’ the new, albeit reluctant, lord continued, ‘I shall be glad to get out of this wind. I presume you will stay the night, Josh.’

      Sir Joshua Hopton laughed. ‘Nothing would get me to travel on tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Lead on, Francis. As this is one of the strongest Royalist areas in the country, I do not fancy my chances if I travel on alone and am recognised. My family is too well known for its disloyal sympathies in this locality.’

      ‘Come, then. I will be glad to give you the freedom of Brampton Percy’s hospitality. Don’t look too closely to your left, but the rat that has just run along the wall is as large as an Irish wolfhound. Are you sure you wish to stay? Your bedchamber might boast a similar occupant.’

      On a companionable laugh, the two men stepped through the doorway into a vast high-beamed room that had been constructed as the Great Hall of the twelfth-century border fortress of Brampton Percy. It was vast and echoing, still in the state of its original construction with an open minstrels’ gallery at the far end and any number of wooden screens, strategically placed in an attempt to deflect the prevalent draughts. Apart from a carved oak chest and two oak chairs with high backs and carved arms, the room was empty.

      ‘Welcome, my lord.’ A quiet voice spoke from behind them and a dark-suited individual emerged from the doorway, which would undoubtedly lead to the servants’ quarters, to bow with grave courtesy and respect. He was of slight build, elderly, with close-cropped white hair, clad in black. He addressed his next words to the new owner, clearly recognising him. ‘We have been expecting you, Sir Francis. My Lord Mansell, as I should now say. You will most likely not remember me. I am Foxton, Lord Edward’s Steward. If I may say so, my lord, I remember you from your visits here as a boy.’ His face remained solemn, but the wavering light from the candle that he carried caught the faintest of twinkles in his dark eyes.

      ‘Foxton. Yes, of course.’ A smile crossed Lord Mansell’s dark features, lightening his somewhat bleak expression as memories of happier times touched him. ‘The years pass, do they not? I believe I have one painful memory.’ His smile took on a wry twist. ‘Did you not cuff my ear for breaking a pane of rare coloured glass in the chapel?’

      ‘Indeed I did, my lord,’ the Steward replied with placid acknowledgement. ‘Children can be most high spirited. As you say, it is many years ago.’ Foxton placed the candle on the oak chest and stepped closer. ‘Allow me to take your cloaks and hats.’

      ‘This is Sir Joshua Hopton.’ Mansell indicated his fellow traveller. ‘He will stay tonight and then travel on to Ludlow tomorrow. I presume we can accommodate him?’

      ‘Of course, my lord. There will be no difficulty.’

      They unfastened mud-caked cloaks, shaking off excess moisture, and handed over hats and gloves. Mansell looked askance at his boots and breeches, also liberally spattered and stained with signs of hard travel. ‘We are not fit for company, Foxton, but I believe that food and drink would be most welcome before anything else—and a fire. We have travelled far and fast today.’

      ‘Not to mention a comfortable seat.’ Sir Joshua groaned as he stretched his arms, flexed his shoulders. ‘I was becoming welded to that animal to my detriment. Anything with a cushion will be an answer to a prayer.’

      ‘Of course, Sir Joshua. All has been prepared in the old solar. Robert here will show you the way, my lord, if you have forgot. I hope you will accept my condolences on this sad occasion. All at Brampton Percy are relieved that you could come here so rapidly, given the unexpectedness of Lord Edward’s death and the dangers that threaten God-fearing folk when they set foot outside their homes.’

      ‘Thank you, Foxton. It is good to be here.’ Mansell’s words were politely bland, but he refused to meet Josh’s eye, deciding that it would not be politic to inform his new Steward of his true sentiments towards his inheritance.

      ‘I doubt they will be so delighted with your presence when they realise that your views on the present state of affairs in general and His Majesty in particular do not match so well with those of Lord Edward.’ Josh’s words were quietly spoken, for Francis’s ears only. ‘Or those of the rest of this county.’ His brows rose in anticipation. ‘It will be interesting to see the reaction when your neighbours discover that they have acquired a Parliamentarian fox in their comfortable Royalist hen-coop.’

      ‘Very true.’ Mansell grimaced, but refused to be drawn further. ‘I think that perhaps I will not mention that tonight—it is likely to be an inflammatory subject, as you say, and I have not the energy for anything more than food and a bed. Tomorrow, we shall see.’ He turned back to Foxton, who was preparing to carry off the garments in the direction of the kitchens. ‘Lord Edward’s burial, Master Foxton. Have arrangements been made for it to take place?’

      ‘Indeed, my lord. The Reverend Gower—the recent incumbent in the church here—has it all in hand. It is to be conducted here tomorrow, Wednesday, at St Barnabas’s, if that is to your convenience.’

      ‘I do not see any reason why not.’

      They turned to follow in the wake of Robert—a soberly dressed servant whose lack of co-ordination and interested glances towards the newcomers betrayed his youth—heading towards the staircase at the far end of the Hall. Their boots sounded hollowly on the oaken boards of the vast room.

      ‘There is no need for you to feel that you should stay for that event.’ Mansell turned towards his friend, returning to the previous conversation, understanding Sir Joshua’s desire to reassure himself of the safety of his family in Ludlow. ‘And on first acquaintance, I doubt that I can offer you much in the way of comfort here.’ He raised his head to take in the hammer beams above with their festoons of cobwebs and shivered a little as the draughts permeated his damp clothes. There was clearly no form of heat in the room, no warming and welcoming fire, in spite of the vast cavern of a fireplace built into one wall. ‘I would think that nothing has been spent on this place, and certainly no major improvements made since it was built—when?—over three hundred years ago.’

      ‘Your first impression is most astute, my lord.’

      The voice, calm and well modulated and distinctly feminine, took Mansell by surprise. He came to a rapid halt and looked round, keen eyes searching the deep shadows. He could not see the owner.

      ‘Most of the castle dates back over three hundred and fifty years, my Lord Mansell,’ the observation continued from his right. ‘And I can vouch for the fact that there has been little, if any, attempt to either improve, refurbish or extend it—to the detriment of all comfort and pleasure.’

      He swung round. And saw a figure, certainly the owner of the voice, partly concealed in the shadows by the carved screen that ran along the north side of the Great Hall. Her clothes were dark; a glimpse of the pale skin of hands and face being the only sign that initially caught his attention. Presuming that it was merely a servant girl, if an unusually outspoken one, engaged in conducting her own household tasks, he would have continued his progress with merely an inclination of the head in her direction and a lift of his brows, but a discreet cough from Foxton behind him drew Mansell’s attention.

      ‘My lord …’

      The lady approached with graceful steps to stand beside Foxton, her eyes never leaving Mansell’s face. As she emerged from the shadows he glimpsed a movement beside her which soon transformed itself into a large hound. It remained close to the lady’s skirts, as if it sensed her need for protection, its pale eyes fixed on Mansell, its lips lifted into the faintest of snarls, exposing long teeth.