like again after unpleasant accidents. Both her boys had travelled badly yesterday. Now she was trying to win over relatives while not quite smelling of infant vomit, yet still vaguely aware of yesterday's mishaps.
At least she was not pregnant and queasy, though she almost felt sick with terror. You are as good as them, scoffed her grandmother's voice. Ah, but they do not think so, Grand-mere…
The stern old man, Orlando's father, took the lead in her interrogation. 'So what brings you to our neighbourhood?
'Sir, as I told you in my first letter, I have no relations, or none who can be of comfort, and that means my children have none. I need someone to give me advice.' Advice, Juliana had reckoned, was a better request than financial support. The squire would work out what she meant.
He gave her a long, straight, intimidating stare. 'And where are your children?'
'I left them in the care of my maid, an honest woman who came with me, at the Anchor — ' 'Where? she could see the Lovells wondering. 'I believe it was previously the Crown. A diplomatic name-change.' All over England, signboards were being rapidly refreshed for political reasons.
'The ale has not changed!' muttered Mary's husband despondently.
Squire Lovell showed no amusement. 'Did my son send you?'
'No, sir. I am alone and without his guidance.'
'Would he be content that you came here?'
Never; he would be furious! 'I believe it would gladden his heart.'
'And why have you come?' broke in Mrs Katherine Lovell. She was bursting with anger towards Juliana. 'Intend you to show the squire his infant grandsons and soften his heart?'
'If that were my hope,' Juliana replied levelly 'I should have carried them here with me today, the tiny baby at my breast, my boy running about impishly. I should have kept onion-skins hidden in my hand, to induce weeping, as actors did in plays. Since my purpose is honest' — she spaced it with a very small smile for the squire — 'I hope my tears will only flow naturally, where appropriate.'
'Surely you do not joke?' sneered Aurora.
'No, madam. I am desperate for my children. I was never so serious.'
'And do you weep for Orlando?' asked the squire, cocking an austere eyebrow.
'I do. He has been a good husband and a loving father.'
'If you intend to ask for money' Mary Falconer spoke up frankly, 'then you must return disappointed.' Mary had seemed the least hostile, yet now she burst out with a list of crushing woes: 'My father and brother have given all they had to Parliament. We, like everyone, have been taxed and taxed again to support the war effort. Even so, we were invaded and plundered by soldiers — they took everything: the horses from the stables, my father's sheep and cattle, his draught oxen, the very coach we had — after which they burst indoors and violently broke open every cupboard and chest. They robbed us of all our household goods — sheets and bolsters, all our clothes, even my little babe's smocks and lace caps, and all our kitchen utensils, tubs, pots, pans, meat hooks and pot hooks, spits, bowls, plates, dishes, knives, spoons, the knifebox and my mother's silver fish servers, then pecks of wheat and oats, butter, cheese, bread, salt, bacon — '
I see you did the housewifely duty and compiled the complaints list… 'Were these of the King's party?' asked Juliana carefully.
'No — that is what we endured even from our own. Waller's soldiers, out of Farnham. Two men went to the gallows for it. All the candles I had just dipped! A full six dozen…' murmured Mary, biting back tears as she reminisced. 'And then we had the poor soldiers coming through from Southampton after Lostwithiel, and nothing left that we could give them — You, in your safe refuge in Oxford, cannot know how we in the country have suffered.'
Well, you are the victors now! 'Your trials may shortly be over.' Juliana kept her restraint. 'The King's cause wanes daily. His garrisons are captured, his armies destroyed, his commanders leaving for the Continent. Soon I shall have no refuge. Women and their helpless children should not be blamed for a husband's delinquency.' She sighed, pretending to hide it. 'I am a helpless supplicant, but I must consider my boys. They are innocents. I was hoping for a friendlier reception.'
There was a silence, perhaps slightly awkward.
Next it was Aurora's turn to raise objections. Juliana did not think these people had rehearsed their speeches, but they had all listened to Mary's outburst without surprise. She noticed Aurora nudge her husband with a dainty toe, embellished with a ribbon rosette.
Sir Daniel spoke for his wife pompously: 'We have no room for strangers. Squire Lovell's house is overflowing — my wife and I live over at the next parish, but Mary and Mr Falconer make their home here, so has Ralph always done, with Katherine and all their children. Then Mr and Mrs Bonalleck from Massachusetts are staying here at present — though Isaac Bonalleck is bound for the New Model Army to be a chaplain there, which means Bridget must remain with her father — and our sister Jane, whom we call Jenny, who has never married — ' So where is Jenny? Do they force their spinster daughters to stay out of sight beside the kitchen fire? If they take in widows or fugitives, must that be their fate too? 'Jenny is sitting with poor Ralph, helping to nurse him.' Sir Daniel seemed to read Juliana's mind.
He was a heavy man, jowly, with a soft wet mouth, whose gaze lingered on Juliana momentarily. She saw how things were. Marrying a knight or baronet would have been a coup for Aurora, a squire's daughter. Before war put pressure on finances, the eldest Lovell girl would have had a good dowry. As Lady Swayne, Aurora had settled into her rank very comfortably, adding to the high-handed manner she must always have had. Her husband was probably satisfied that he had made a good match, as well as one where he could ply his courtship merely by strolling across a few fields, sparing himself any interruption to his hunting.
Juliana was sure if he and she had been alone in the room, Sir Daniel Swayne would have dropped some hint to the effect that she was too good to be penned up in a kitchen inglenook, meaning she should accept overtures from him. Even with his wife present, Juliana read insinuation in his eyes: one more problem that unprotected woman had to face. Some kinds of friendly reception were too unpleasant to contemplate.
Unable to face answering, Juliana waited patiently for the next onslaught.
It came unexpectedly. The parlour door crashed open. In burst a man in a long creased nightshirt, pale and distraught. Without doubt, Ralph Lovell.
Once, he must have looked very like his brother Orlando — a resemblance that gave Juliana a pang — yet he had recently been cruelly deprived of handsome features. A young woman who must be the spinster sister, Jane, scuttled in after him and attempted to place a blanket around his shoulders, only to be shaken off roughly.
The sight was horrific. Juliana had to force herself not to squeal with horror. Major Ralph Lovell's right arm had been shot off above the elbow and half his face blasted away. His life had been saved — at a terrible cost. A good surgeon must have done what he could to mend the damage; the results were still raw. Ralph's face was now twisted, with one eye socket dragged from its proper place — the eye missing — his burned flesh cobbled back together with terrible distortion and scars. When he struggled to speak it was evident he had lost pieces of his jaw and part of his tongue.
'Po-echt!' cried Ralph. It took Juliana a while to understand he was wanting to protest. She had already been struggling with the Hampshire accents of his relatives. Ralph could no longer form clear words, he had lost all ability to make tongued consonants, and was even hampered with his vowels.
Jane screwed her eyes shut and shook her head helplessly, telling her sisters she had not been able to prevent him coming downstairs. Probably they had instructed her to conceal Juliana's visit. Jane was still a girl. Now that the money had run out and taken her marriage chances with it, she was probably pushed around by everyone. Even her disabled brother bullied her while she dutifully nursed him.
'Ralph!' cried his father. 'Be easy. Do not trouble yourself.'
Ralph made more agitated, indecipherable sounds.
Mary leapt up and went to him. 'Oh this is not right. Never mind what Orlando did years ago — though that was bad enough! — His obstinate delinquency cannot be borne. We should not be asked to bear it!'
Ralph still forced out noises while gesticulating wildly. Jane, who must be used to it, interpreted. She spoke rather formally because it was so difficult: 'Orlando and Ralph can never be reconciled. Our brother's foolish adherence to the King must for ever cause grief to our father, and all of us. Fathers are fighting sons, brothers fighting brothers, cousin against cousin — men have sacrificed their lives in our cause. Ralph has shed his blood for the cause. He has endured grievous hardships and would have given his life. Orlando is resolute on his malignant
