Squire Lovell was startled when Juliana suddenly asked for an introduction to his land agent, John Jolley. Unsure of herself, she gave no reasons. Though curious, the squire subsequently arranged for the agent to visit her.
John Jolley was inevitably known behind his back as Jolly Jack, though it hardly fitted him. He was a man of plain habits who gave little away. His hair was too long as if he had better things to do than gossip with a barber; he wore a russet coat he was slightly bursting out of, over moleskin britches, with a great satchel slung around him. His broad belt and other leather accessories were all curled at the edges like objects of long service.
At first Jolley was diffident about dealing with a woman. Juliana squared up and convinced him that she was as reluctant as he was. But she must go forward. Wives had to undertake strange new roles, as a consequence of war. Chewing a long clay pipe, Jolley listened to her request. What she wanted was simple: a list of the tenants on the land her husband had bought for himself in 1642. John Jolley provided this within a few days, then as an extra courtesy took Juliana around to meet them. She would herself catalogue their rents so her husband could be fined and released.
Since she would have to stay in Hampshire for some time, Edmund left her and went back to Oxford, though he promised to return for her. Once her intentions were known — with the proviso that her stay must be temporary — the squire allowed her to move into a tiny cottage on his estate, adjacent to an elderly retired governess who had taught his daughters.
Initially all Orlando's tenants were hostile. When Juliana reassured them quietly that she was not asking for rents twice over, but merely hoped to compile a list of what they had paid, most of them changed. They scrabbled awkwardly in the backs of drawers for dirty receipts. Juliana was twenty years old, extremely well mannered and spoke of her personal situation with a brave, rather appealing smile. How useful this was, as the land agent dryly commented. Some tenants remained gruff, but that was the habit of farmers. Even the gruffest sent a lad running after her with a brace of dead rabbits.
She offered one of the rabbits to Jolley. He shook his head, saying she had more need of it. So she took both to simmer in a pot and share with the retired schoolteacher. These gifts were natural courtesies of life in the shires, where at some levels the civil war might not be taking place.
'The tenants think themselves hard men, but you will see them all dance to the tune of a pretty widow!' chortled John Jolley.
Juliana drew back. 'I am not quite a widow yet!'
'Oh but they think so, Mistress Lovell! They believe that your husband is locked up in the Tower of London and will never emerge. Do you know how to skin rabbits, by the by?'
'This will surprise you, but I do!' responded Juliana, a little coldly.
Lovell was not in the Tower. The squire had told Juliana he was held at Lambeth House, formerly the London palace of the Archbishop of Canterbury. In the new world of the Covenant-takers, it had been requisitioned by Parliament. Knowing where Orlando was fired Juliana; she made haste to present herself and her list before the local committee.
It could have been worse. She managed not to lose her temper. She claimed womanly reluctance to make pleadings and suits. The squire had declined any personal support at her hearing — though all the men on the committee must know him, know of his long-standing support for Parliament, know what had befallen Ralph. They were unfriendly to Juliana but would be reluctant to offend the Lovells.
Squire Lovell had given Juliana one piece of critical advice. The committee granted her a rent certificate, but then she requested more:
'I am deeply grateful. And I believe, sirs, as a wife, who is blameless of her husband's sins, I am entitled to up to a fifth of his income in order to provide for myself and my infant children. If you give me just a little to work with,' pleaded Juliana, 'I can manage it well — feed us and house us — eliminate debts — avoid becoming a charge upon the parish where we live — '
They humphed, but allowed her three pounds and six shillings as her statutory 'fifth'. Lovell's estate was meagre.
Juliana, who had been brought up to press to the limit in a shameless French manner, then asked for the 'fifths' from the preceding three years. It was indicated that she should think herself lucky already and take herself off. Which, with a pragmatic French shrug of her shoulders, Juliana did.
Had the committee ever realised that she had popish French blood, then her chance of squeezing concessions from them would have been nil.
The Hampshire certificate would now enable her to negotiate Lovell's pardon with the Committee for Compounding in London. Exhilarated by her success, she was preparing to go there when unexpected news came to the squire from a friend at Westminster. Bored with waiting, Orlando had escaped from prison.
Well, that convinced his family that he was an unrepentant reprobate.
Chapter Thirty-Seven — Oxford: 1646
Juliana knew Lovell would not present himself to his father as a refugee. She decided to return to Oxford.
The one person she was sorry to leave was the governess in the next-door cottage, whose lonely life on the estate had been brightened by Tom's antics and who loved to coo over the baby. When Juliana told her of her decision to leave, the two women shared yet another rabbit stew, sucking on the joints informally, with their bowls on their knees at the fireside.
'I confide in you, Mistress Lovell, whenever the squire is sent a carp pie it always comes from the house to me — they are very much full of fishbones so the squire will not attempt to eat them, and honestly they are not to my taste either, but I must be grateful…'
Juliana tried to lure the faded old lady into providing some picture of Orlando in his youth. 'I taught the girls; I never knew the boys…'
'Will you have a spoon for your gravy?'
Under the influence of a good rich gravy, discretion dissolved: 'Well, he was very much an inward, solitary youngster. Nobody was surprised at what he did, though it broke his mother's heart. He was a very pretty little man — much like your Tom — and she always made a great pet of him — which you, of course, have too much good sense to do with your boys — it may be why he gave himself expectations of an inheritance, despite not being the first-born. But then the squire set him straight in his delusions, telling him plainly that Ralph must have the estate, with dowries for the girls — of whom there are so many — you may think Jenny is not to have anything, but wrongly, for an allocation was set aside for her, and would be hers when she wanted, but her liking was for a young man who fights for the King; I believe he lives yet, but has married another, despairing of our squire's ever unbending — and that — (I mean, when the squire was so firm with Orlando) was when they fell to quarrelling, the squire and he. His late mother was a most kind, virtuous lady; her great passion was blackwork embroidery — if you saw Ralph in his nightshirt it is likely he wore a piece of his mother's stitchery.'
'Very fine on the high collar and in bands over the chest, patterned with meanders and carnations… Orlando caused a scandal, he told me?'
'Yes, he did. But we never talk of that.'
At the squire's house next day, news of Juliana's departure was a visible relief. Orlando's father took a small Venice glass of claret with her, to show his gratitude that she was making a quiet exit. Mary Falconer, who had been boiling sweet soap in the closet, rushed out in a long apron to give Juliana a wish for luck and a little lawn bag of rose-scented soap balls. More usefully, Lady Swayne parted with baby-clothes and cot-bedding, managing to do so like an empress condescending to a peasant. Although he had sworn against it, the squire in strict private pressed five pounds into Juliana's hand; he warned her off asking for any more ever, then advised her to keep the gift from her husband.
She had to bring it home safe first: in the time-honoured manner, that evening she sat up and she sewed her money into her petticoat.
To be rid of her faster, a travel pass had been obtained from the Hampshire Committee. She had planned to make her own way with the carriers, but the Lovells were anxious about danger from the clubmen — bands of
