“Only, my children,” said Philip, “do not wait for my coming, for if I am not here at the appointed day it will be because urgent business keepeth Jack and me elsewhere. I shall be with you in spirit if not in the flesh. For you know, Will, that his Majesty hath been very generous to me in the past, and I will not desert him now that he hath fallen low.”
And with that he gave us his blessing and kissed Rose many times and shook my hand, and later in the afternoon he and Jack rode away, promising to return in six weeks’ time so that they might see us married.
“We are for Newark first,” said Jack, “but after that God knows where we shall go. However, lads, it shall go hard with us but we strive to ride northward when you are made Benedicts.”
And so they rode away and we settled down to our quiet farm life. With the fall of the Castle, military operations in our parts were almost over, and people were permitted to attend to their own matters in peace. Sir Thomas Fairfax had been appointed Governor of the Castle by the House of Commons, and for a while he busied himself in making strict inquiry as to those of our neighbourhood who had resisted the Parliament, and in dispersing such Royalists as gathered together in any numbers. Us, however, he was pleased to let alone, probably because he found that we were engaged in our own pursuits and had no mind for further fighting. This suited Ben and myself, for with August the harvest began and we were at work early and late. Nevertheless, we were watched pretty closely by the Parliamentary authorities, as were all men who had retired to their own homes after leaving the Royalist army.
As the harvest drew to an end the two girls were busily occupied in preparing much finery for the wedding. My mother, who had many old-fashioned ideas on this subject, had set apart a chamber for them, wherein they shaped and sewed and had the help of a woman who was skilled in fine sewing. Into this chamber Ben and I did often try to peep, but were jealously excluded, all the comfort we got being an assurance that we should see our brides very fine on the wedding-day. Presently it became time for us to put the banns up at church, and Ben was mightily tickled at hearing his own name read out in conjunction with Lucy’s. Indeed, as the time drew near there was no prouder man than Ben Tuckett in all the country.
Upon the third day before the wedding, Ben and I were coming from Wentbridge, when we heard a horse climbing the hill behind us. It was drawing towards night, and there was a thick mist in the valley, so that we could not make out the face or figure of the horseman until he was close upon us. But when the horse and its rider came out of the mist a great sinking of heart stole over me, for I saw that it was Jack Drumbleforth, and he was alone. He recognised us at the same moment, and spurred his tired horse forward. Then we saw that he himself was careworn and in evil plight, for one arm hung loosely at his side, and there was a wound across his cheek that had lately bled.
“Jack!” I cried, as we ran up to him. “Jack, you have evil news?”
“The worst, Will,” he answered, speaking with difficulty. “The worst. Philip Lisle is dead. He was killed last night near Newark, and so was Captain Trevor and many another.”
And with that a great darkness seemed to fall across us, and I could only think of what my dear Rose must suffer when she heard the sad news.
“I am hurt,” said Jack. “My arm is broke, I think. Let us go on, Will, for I am like to fall off my horse.”
We went homeward sadly enough, Ben leading Jack’s horse, while I walked at the side and let Jack lean on my shoulder. We were debating how we should break the news to Rose, when she and Lucy suddenly came out of one of the fields by the roadside and ran to meet us. Suddenly Rose caught sight of Jack’s face, and all the colour went out of her own. But she came forward and laid her hand on his, and looked at him with such pleading eyes that I saw the tears start into his own as he looked down at her.
“My father?” she said. “My father?”
“Dear Mistress Rose,” he answered, “I would rather have died myself than have brought you sad news. Your dear father was a brave man, and he died a brave man’s death.”
XL
Of Our Imprisonment in Pontefract Castle
So there was no more talk of our marriage at that time, and I went sadly enough to tell Parson Drumbleforth that it would not take place, and that his son Jack had got a grievous hurt. And thereupon arose a stout controversy between the Vicar’s housekeeper and myself, for Mistress Deborah was for having Jack brought home at once, so that she could nurse him, while I was all for keeping him at Dale’s Field, where I knew he would have better care taken of him than in the Vicarage. In this matter I carried the day, for the Vicar agreed with me, albeit he had hard work to convince his housekeeper, of whom he stood in no little fear. So at Dale’s Field Jack remained, and Parson Drumbleforth used to walk out there to see him every day.
Now, at first my dear Rose would not trouble Jack to tell her the manner of her father’s death, because she knew that he himself was badly hurt, and she feared to do aught to increase
