your needs .
Your loving Robin Hillier
No mention of marriage. No address, not even the name of his village. Only I’ll come when I can . She picked up the bag and tipped its contents onto the bed, surprised at how much was there: several months’ pay, she reckoned, and perhaps coin looted from the rebels at Lostwithiel.
She began to cry, stifling the sound of her tears in the blanket. The money should have given her some comfort, but it didn’t. It made her feel like a whore.
Ten
“Got you in pod, has he? Moved on?”
Alice winced at the maidservant’s accuracy. How could the girl know? She didn’t, of course; she was guessing. Alice held her head high and ignored the questions.
The two maidservants goaded her every hour, every day. Sib and Nell, they were called: Sib a stringy-haired blonde with a weasel face; Nell heavy and spiteful, given to lying in wait to trip or pinch her victim. Alice had to share the tiny attic room with them: the same room she had shared with Robin that first night here at the King’s Arms in Copsey. They had resented her from the start, it seemed; or perhaps they simply enjoyed having a friendless newcomer to torment. Alice, in exchange for work, had been granted free board and lodging and a payment to be made when the army left. The arrangement suited the innkeeper and his wife, the place being so much busier with the army quartered in the village.
“He’s moved on,” Sib repeated, taunting her. “Got another girl.”
Nell sniggered. “He can move on top of me any time he likes.”
“Fight you for him!”
They laughed and jostled each other.
Oh, Robin! Alice thought. Why don’t you come? Why have you left me here?
It was more than three weeks now. Every day she watched for the army carrier. A constant flow of traffic came through the village: the mail, the brewers, pedlars, carriers, coaches. The Oxford army supplied bread to all its regiments billeted around Faringdon, Wallingford and Kidlington. Other army suppliers also came from Oxford; and often she saw soldiers alighting or catching a ride into the city. Copsey was five miles out of Faringdon, off the Oxford road. It would not be a long or difficult journey, even if he lived on the far side of Oxford. Why didn’t he come?
She thought of many reasons, most of them alarming. He was dead – but no, she dreaded even to think that, for fear of making it true. He was injured, ill. His mother was ill, or some other of his family. He’d been attacked and robbed. He’d found another girl.
Another girl. Sib or Nell would have had him, given a chance. Anyone would. And yet… He wouldn’t even glance at the likes of Sib or Nell. And he’d given her money; he’d settled her here; he knew she was with child and had promised to come back. He was always so loving and careful towards her. He could not be tired of her. She would not believe it.
The army provisions carrier was here now, the wagon wheels clattering over the cobbles of the inn yard. She flung a shawl around her shoulders and ran outside, hearing behind her the maidservants’ mocking laughter.
A party of dragoons guarded the wagon. One of them gave her the eye as he dismounted, and she looked quickly away. She hated being so unprotected in this male wartime world. Without Robin she was prey to any man.
She stepped cautiously across the icy cobbles and approached the driver, an older man with a slouch hat, a pipe between his teeth and flamboyant side whiskers.
“Do you know Robin Hillier? A corporal of foot? He’s staying with his parents near Oxford.”
But the man could tell her nothing. In desperation she asked, “Do you deliver all around Faringdon?”
“I do.”
“I want to find my friend, a Welsh girl, a soldier’s wife. Do you know where the Welsh foot are billeted?”
He shrugged. “There are Welsh in all the quarters around here. Could be any of them.” He reeled off a list of place names that meant nothing to her. None, it seemed, were
Your loving Robin Hillier
No mention of marriage. No address, not even the name of his village. Only I’ll come when I can . She picked up the bag and tipped its contents onto the bed, surprised at how much was there: several months’ pay, she reckoned, and perhaps coin looted from the rebels at Lostwithiel.
She began to cry, stifling the sound of her tears in the blanket. The money should have given her some comfort, but it didn’t. It made her feel like a whore.
Ten
“Got you in pod, has he? Moved on?”
Alice winced at the maidservant’s accuracy. How could the girl know? She didn’t, of course; she was guessing. Alice held her head high and ignored the questions.
The two maidservants goaded her every hour, every day. Sib and Nell, they were called: Sib a stringy-haired blonde with a weasel face; Nell heavy and spiteful, given to lying in wait to trip or pinch her victim. Alice had to share the tiny attic room with them: the same room she had shared with Robin that first night here at the King’s Arms in Copsey. They had resented her from the start, it seemed; or perhaps they simply enjoyed having a friendless newcomer to torment. Alice, in exchange for work, had been granted free board and lodging and a payment to be made when the army left. The arrangement suited the innkeeper and his wife, the place being so much busier with the army quartered in the village.
“He’s moved on,” Sib repeated, taunting her. “Got another girl.”
Nell sniggered. “He can move on top of me any time he likes.”
“Fight you for him!”
They laughed and jostled each other.
Oh, Robin! Alice thought. Why don’t you come? Why have you left me here?
It was more than three weeks now. Every day she watched for the army carrier. A constant flow of traffic came through the village: the mail, the brewers, pedlars, carriers, coaches. The Oxford army supplied bread to all its regiments billeted around Faringdon, Wallingford and Kidlington. Other army suppliers also came from Oxford; and often she saw soldiers alighting or catching a ride into the city. Copsey was five miles out of Faringdon, off the Oxford road. It would not be a long or difficult journey, even if he lived on the far side of Oxford. Why didn’t he come?
She thought of many reasons, most of them alarming. He was dead – but no, she dreaded even to think that, for fear of making it true. He was injured, ill. His mother was ill, or some other of his family. He’d been attacked and robbed. He’d found another girl.
Another girl. Sib or Nell would have had him, given a chance. Anyone would. And yet… He wouldn’t even glance at the likes of Sib or Nell. And he’d given her money; he’d settled her here; he knew she was with child and had promised to come back. He was always so loving and careful towards her. He could not be tired of her. She would not believe it.
The army provisions carrier was here now, the wagon wheels clattering over the cobbles of the inn yard. She flung a shawl around her shoulders and ran outside, hearing behind her the maidservants’ mocking laughter.
A party of dragoons guarded the wagon. One of them gave her the eye as he dismounted, and she looked quickly away. She hated being so unprotected in this male wartime world. Without Robin she was prey to any man.
She stepped cautiously across the icy cobbles and approached the driver, an older man with a slouch hat, a pipe between his teeth and flamboyant side whiskers.
“Do you know Robin Hillier? A corporal of foot? He’s staying with his parents near Oxford.”
But the man could tell her nothing. In desperation she asked, “Do you deliver all around Faringdon?”
“I do.”
“I want to find my friend, a Welsh girl, a soldier’s wife. Do you know where the Welsh foot are billeted?”
He shrugged. “There are Welsh in all the quarters around here. Could be any of them.” He reeled off a list of place names that meant nothing to her. None, it seemed, were
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