churchwarden cast a terrified look at
the door, then back at the two men. “T-transporting a body through
the roadblocks won’t be easy.” He twisted his hands in front of
him.
“ Leave
us to worry about that.” Bayle impaled him with an unyielding
stare. The churchwarden looked away. His shoulders slumped and
pushing past them back into the church, he left them to their
task.
Helena doubted he would finish his bread and
cheese.
* * *
Their slow walk back across the village green
enabled Helena to study Gil properly. Shorter than Bayle, strong
and stocky like many West Country men, he had a kind, open
face.
Once back at the house, Jane sent the maid
to fetch them a cooling drink, those first minutes spent on
introductions and polite enquiries, like ordinary visitors making a
call on a summer day.
Helena squeezed her eyes shut in an
attempt to banish all the horrible things she had seen in that
church, first and foremost her Uncle Edmund, lying so still and
broken on the flagstones.
In the crypt they laid him on a bench,
covering his face with a sack. Helena had wanted to sit with him
awhile, but Bayle wouldn’t let her, and insisted she came back with
him to the house.
When she opened her eyes again,
Jane was looking at her. She bowed her head, mortified. Why did her
feelings always show so clearly on her face? Had Mistress Fellowes
seen it too? Her mother always said she must learn more…what was
the word? Composure .
“ We took
some water into the church for the prisoners.” Bayle blew air
between his lips.
“ Those
soldiers showed some Christian charity at last, did they?” Jane
shook her head. “I couldn’t get near them yesterday.”
Helena didn’t like to tell her that Gill
and Bayle had had to bribe the soldiers to be allowed
in.
“ Near
five hundred of them in St Mary’s now, Jane,” Gil said. “It looks
and smells like Hell itself.” His knapsack landed on the scrubbed
table with a thud.
“ Weston
has become a dreadful place.” Jane turned soulful eyes on Helena.
“I wish you could have seen it before all this death and misery
came, my dear.”
Gil leaned closer to his wife and whispered
something. Jane blanched and looked away, a hand to her mouth as if
words were inadequate.
“ I think
we know someone who could help you.” Gils gruff voice rumbled from
somewhere deep in his chest. “He’s one of Churchill’s captains.
He’s less eager to torture the sick and dying, unlike
some.”
“ Who is
he?” Bayle asked.
“ Doesn’t
matter. He’s been charged with listing the names of all those
brought in, so he may be able to omit a name or two from the
lists.”
“ Where
do we take him?” Helena asked, dully, her head spinning. “You said
we cannot go home. Not to Loxsbeare.”
“ Perhaps
not. We’ll take him to Ideswell, to Samuel Ffoyle’s. You mother and
brother will be there by now.”
Helena nodded, though she barely heard
him. Those dreadful words kept repeating inside her head. Edmund is
dead. He has not gone to the city for a day to return with Fuller’s
earth on his clothes, and ale on his breath. There would be no more
teasing, no more secret winks behind her mother’s back; no one to
sneak food to her room when she was banished without supper for
disrespect. He would never open his arms to enfold her in his
strong hug, while she laughed in protest that he was crushing
her.
He was gone .
Her throat felt scratchy, and hot tears
trickled down her cheeks. She palmed them away with trembling
hands.
“ Gil
says neither Sir Jonathan nor Aaron is on the lists of prisoners,
so they haven’t been captured.” The word yet hung between them. “However, there is no
way of knowing whether they have been killed in battle, or escaped.
Perhaps we’ll find someone who can tell us something.”
Helena jerked up her chin and stared at
them. “No!”
Three faces stared back.
“ You’ve
been very kind to us, Master Fellowes, Mistress. However,
the door, then back at the two men. “T-transporting a body through
the roadblocks won’t be easy.” He twisted his hands in front of
him.
“ Leave
us to worry about that.” Bayle impaled him with an unyielding
stare. The churchwarden looked away. His shoulders slumped and
pushing past them back into the church, he left them to their
task.
Helena doubted he would finish his bread and
cheese.
* * *
Their slow walk back across the village green
enabled Helena to study Gil properly. Shorter than Bayle, strong
and stocky like many West Country men, he had a kind, open
face.
Once back at the house, Jane sent the maid
to fetch them a cooling drink, those first minutes spent on
introductions and polite enquiries, like ordinary visitors making a
call on a summer day.
Helena squeezed her eyes shut in an
attempt to banish all the horrible things she had seen in that
church, first and foremost her Uncle Edmund, lying so still and
broken on the flagstones.
In the crypt they laid him on a bench,
covering his face with a sack. Helena had wanted to sit with him
awhile, but Bayle wouldn’t let her, and insisted she came back with
him to the house.
When she opened her eyes again,
Jane was looking at her. She bowed her head, mortified. Why did her
feelings always show so clearly on her face? Had Mistress Fellowes
seen it too? Her mother always said she must learn more…what was
the word? Composure .
“ We took
some water into the church for the prisoners.” Bayle blew air
between his lips.
“ Those
soldiers showed some Christian charity at last, did they?” Jane
shook her head. “I couldn’t get near them yesterday.”
Helena didn’t like to tell her that Gill
and Bayle had had to bribe the soldiers to be allowed
in.
“ Near
five hundred of them in St Mary’s now, Jane,” Gil said. “It looks
and smells like Hell itself.” His knapsack landed on the scrubbed
table with a thud.
“ Weston
has become a dreadful place.” Jane turned soulful eyes on Helena.
“I wish you could have seen it before all this death and misery
came, my dear.”
Gil leaned closer to his wife and whispered
something. Jane blanched and looked away, a hand to her mouth as if
words were inadequate.
“ I think
we know someone who could help you.” Gils gruff voice rumbled from
somewhere deep in his chest. “He’s one of Churchill’s captains.
He’s less eager to torture the sick and dying, unlike
some.”
“ Who is
he?” Bayle asked.
“ Doesn’t
matter. He’s been charged with listing the names of all those
brought in, so he may be able to omit a name or two from the
lists.”
“ Where
do we take him?” Helena asked, dully, her head spinning. “You said
we cannot go home. Not to Loxsbeare.”
“ Perhaps
not. We’ll take him to Ideswell, to Samuel Ffoyle’s. You mother and
brother will be there by now.”
Helena nodded, though she barely heard
him. Those dreadful words kept repeating inside her head. Edmund is
dead. He has not gone to the city for a day to return with Fuller’s
earth on his clothes, and ale on his breath. There would be no more
teasing, no more secret winks behind her mother’s back; no one to
sneak food to her room when she was banished without supper for
disrespect. He would never open his arms to enfold her in his
strong hug, while she laughed in protest that he was crushing
her.
He was gone .
Her throat felt scratchy, and hot tears
trickled down her cheeks. She palmed them away with trembling
hands.
“ Gil
says neither Sir Jonathan nor Aaron is on the lists of prisoners,
so they haven’t been captured.” The word yet hung between them. “However, there is no
way of knowing whether they have been killed in battle, or escaped.
Perhaps we’ll find someone who can tell us something.”
Helena jerked up her chin and stared at
them. “No!”
Three faces stared back.
“ You’ve
been very kind to us, Master Fellowes, Mistress. However,
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