Realistically, she would need a member of Parliament or a respected senior officer to negotiate for her. But first, there should be the straightforward option: Royalists had been offered a chance of a Parliamentary pardon if they would compound for their release by paying a sum, to be assessed, which went to the public relief. Juliana had heard of this before; it had been roundly mocked by Lovell, though she tried to forget that. The offer had been renewed, said Mr Gadd, after the fall of Bristol. There was a committee, the Committee for Compounding, which sat in the Guildhall in London, to which Juliana should apply once she discovered Lovell's whereabouts.
If she still heard nothing, she must seek help from any influential friends on the Parliamentary side. Mr Gadd knew Juliana's position; she had no such friends. He realised her funds must be running out and she would soon be homeless. So he told her that if she became desperate then, whether Lovell would want this or not, she should make an attempt to contact his family.
That meant Juliana must go into Hampshire, introduce herself and beg for help from Orlando Lovell's long- estranged father.
'Take your little sons of course,' instructed Mr Gadd. He always saw how delicate negotiations might best be made to work.
Chapter Thirty-Five — Hampshire: 1646
It would always be daunting for a young woman of twenty, burdened by extremely young children, to meet her hostile in-laws for the first time, especially when all the parties were fully aware she had applied to them because she was desperate for money.
Still hoping to hear from Lovell, Juliana left her journey as late as she dared, but with the lease on the house nearly up, there was no longer a choice. At the turn of the year she left behind an Oxford which was full of distress and discord and, accompanied by Edmund Treves, set out for Hampshire. Her first act of begging had been to screw from the governor of Oxford travel passes for herself, one male escort, her infant children and a maid. Edmund had wanted to obtain a pass from the King, laden with royal seals, but Juliana suspected that in a Parliamentarian county she would meet a better reception if she arrived with a plain civil document and an apologetic manner. She needed a male bodyguard to prevent highway robbery. If Edmund was discovered to be a serving cavalier they would all be arrested. She planned to term him 'my son's godfather', to sound respectable. She managed to make him abandon his flowing shirt and beribboned suit, to dress down in a shabby coat. He refused to be disguised as a servant.
She had to decide whether to write ahead to explain herself, which might harden the family's attitude, or simply to arrive but perhaps spoil her chances by startling them. She compromised by sending a letter to say she was coming, immediately before she set out. They had no time to send a refusal.
Wrestling with such matters of judgement was new to her. It would be strange for most women. Juliana had a grim sense that this was just the start.
Inessential travel — which meant travel that was unconnected to trade or to military manoeuvres — was banned by both sides. Women with piteous stories could manage it, if they were lucky. The safest way was with carriers; they knew the routes and how to space their convoys and time their journeys to avoid being set upon by thieves. Some managed to obtain warrants to pass through military checks. In December the carriers were grumbling more than usual: roads were impassable for carts, horses had been stolen by the armies, everyone was too fearful to want to buy goods or dispatch letters…
Her party rode on two terrible pad horses — she did not want to be stranded, and better beasts might be stolen. Juliana sat behind Edmund on a pillion saddle, holding the baby, while Mercy Tulk followed with little Tom tied to her and a cloak bag bouncing on the nag's fat rump. Once they moved away from Oxford, Juliana knew they would be frequently stopped and questioned. She was disconcerted when they were subjected to searches as well. Fortunately the point was to discover arms, secret papers or items worth stealing. She had none of those. They had very quickly passed into areas that were controlled by enemy militia, but when the soldiers saw she had so little luggage of any kind they softened. When she claimed to be a Parliamentarian squire's daughter-in-law, urgently needing to visit him for family reasons, they lost interest and let her through.
Treves was impressed. He let Juliana do the talking. Although he was the man in the party, her status as a married woman sometimes won her respect. He noticed how she always made him slow the horse to a stop even before the soldiers signalled with their muskets, then how she spoke quietly and politely, however rude the men were.
Beyond the South Downs, they came to rolling country where narrow roads switchbacked between tiny villages with traditional thatched cottages that hid themselves among farmland hollows. Somehow they reached the small village beyond Salisbury that Mr Gadd had named. They took rooms at the only inn. Juliana sent a message to Squire Lovell, asking him to receive her the next day. Edmund strolled out a little before twilight to reconnoitre. He reported that Orlando's childhood home was a large house in the gabled Tudor style, glimpsed through a battlemented gatehouse, lying just outside the village among its own tenanted farmland. Locals had told him that the squire, his son and various sons-in-law were all passionate haters of bishops, anxious to reform the Church, severe men who had raised soldiers for Parliament from the beginning. Ralph Lovell, Orlando's elder brother, was now at home, rumoured to be almost dead of wounds.
Next morning a footman was sent to conduct her and Juliana walked to the manor-house.
The Lovell family had assembled in full force. Perhaps the younger members felt they should protect the father from weakening. That would be in their interests, thought Juliana grimly, though it seemed unlikely Squire Lovell would enfold her in his arms, forgiving Orlando and welcoming this new daughter-in-law and two more grandchildren among those whose toys and pets littered most of his home.
He was a balding old man in a dark suit and plain collar, who leaned with a quivering hand on a slim cane to help him walk; he had an austere expression, though that could be caused by joint pain. He was scrupulously courteous but, by making no distinction of persons, his absolute good manners also made it impossible to assess his true attitude.
The set-faced younger relations who clustered on upright chairs were introduced as two of Orlando's sisters, Mary and Aurora, the well-shod wives of Mr Francis Falconer and Sir Daniel Swayne, together with their brother Ralph's wife, Katherine. None looked like a strict religious bigot although Mrs Katherine Lovell, the most plainly dressed, appeared to be clutching a pocket Bible. The sisters were in the best fashions Hampshire could provide, which was nothing fancy, though they wore silk gowns, pinned on the low neck and flowing sleeve with small jewels; these they must have obtained from the same source, for although one gown was damson-coloured and the other oatmeal, Juliana noticed identical bodice shaping and pinked hems. She envied their tailoress her half-moon pinking tool.
All three young women appeared to be breeding. That increased Juliana's pessimism.
According to the landlady at her inn, there was a third Lovell sister, married to a New Englander called Bonalleck. They had returned to England from Massachusetts to help defy the King and at the moment were staying with the squire. They did not appear. Nor did Major Ralph Lovell, who was in bed upstairs, half dead from wounds he had received two months ago at the siege of Bristol. Aurora was at pains to tell Juliana that.
Juliana replied meekly. 'At least you have the comfort of knowing that he is alive and receiving care. You know where he is — which to me would be a luxury.' She thought a slight shock ran around the assembled Lovells. Perhaps they had not expected her to be robust.
It must be a curious situation for them. None had seen Orlando since he was sixteen, over ten years ago. He had been a forward, difficult boy, but they could only imagine what kind of man he had become. Now here was the woman he had married, turning up on their doorstep, undoubtedly seeming like an adventuress. But Juliana in person may not have matched their expectations. She was young, only just twenty. Since she married Lovell she had grown into her looks, partly through filling out with motherhood, but also gaining confidence from their life together, which had so much forced her to take responsibilities. Her face showed determination, her grey eyes were watchful and undeniably intelligent. True, she was anxious and weary. True, they may have detected discomfiture, though they might not guess the reason. That was purely her awareness that she was wearing her old yellow sprigged gown, so as not to appear well-to-do. She had realised it had grown too tight across the bodice; worse, like most mothers who nursed their children, Juliana possessed rather too many garments which she would never
