Alice in Love and War Read online

  In the morning the drums called them all to their quarters, the colours were raised, and they marched. They were heading north-west, and as Alice followed she knew she was moving further and further away from Weston Hall and any possibility of returning there. In a few hours they reached their destination: a town on a hilltop, at a junction of many roads. Alice had seen its name on a milestone: Stow-on-the-Wold. Other forces were already assembled there, and she heard later that they had been joined by Prince Rupert’s army.

  Everyone is here now, she thought. And if Robin is still in the king’s army, he will be here, or I’ll get news of him. But even though the Welsh soldiers came early to find their womenfolk, Robin did not appear. Alice began to realize that she might never find out what had happened, that perhaps it was better to forget him. She had learned valuable skills from Christian Aubrey – enough, she believed, to find work and support herself. She would not go looking for Robin.

  But then, as she and the other women were starting up the cooking fires, she saw Gethin, Rhian’s husband, approach and speak to his wife. The two of them glanced across at her.

  “What is it?” she asked, scrambling to her feet.

  Rhian came over. “Gethin’s seen your man – Robin.”

  Alice felt her heart begin to pound.

  “Over there, by those wagons.” Rhian pointed. “You’ll catch him if you go now.”

  Alice hesitated. “I … I don’t know… I think perhaps…”

  “Go on!” said Rhian, giving her a little push. “I’ll do the fire.”

  The others were listening now, and joined in.

  “You go, Alice! Make him answer some questions!” urged Bronwen.

  And Nia said, “You’ll have no peace otherwise.”

  That was true. Alice moved away from the fire, towards the place Rhian had pointed out. Her mouth felt dry, and she was trembling. She half hoped that Gethin had been mistaken, or that Robin would be gone, that she need not confront him.

  But he was there. She came upon him – upright and handsome as ever – standing with his two friends, Will and Jacob. They were talking animatedly. The sight of Robin’s once-loved profile made her catch her breath. She almost turned and ran, but Will had seen her. His manner at once became guarded, and Robin, sensing some change, turned round.

  “Alice.” He did not smile, and he looked both surprised and wary.

  Will and Jacob tactfully moved away.

  Robin said, “Alice, I didn’t expect… There was no child, then?”

  “There was. It died.” She did not try to soften the news. “I miscarried.”

  “I am sorry. Sorry to hear it.”

  “Are you? You did not come to enquire after me. Robin, I waited. All winter. I waited so long. You never came to the inn, or to Weston Hall. Why didn’t you come back for me? Why did you desert me?”

  Her voice had risen, and others were beginning to stare. He touched her then, for the first time: took her by the upper arm and led her away to a more private place between two of the wagons.

  “I was not able to come,” he said. “I left you money—”

  “Money!” she exclaimed. “I wanted you, not your money. I woke up and found you gone: no address, nothing. And the girls, Sib and Nell; they were cruel to me and said you’d found someone else, and then” – despite her determination, her voice broke – “the baby…”

  “Shh, shh.” He patted her shoulder, looking around uneasily. “I am sorry. There was nothing I could do.”

  “But you said you’d come back! I believed we’d be married. You promised, Robin.”

  His gaze slid away from her. She saw he wanted nothing more than to be gone. “I’m sorry, Alice,” he repeated. “Sorry about the child, and your troubles. You have enough money?”

  “It’s not the money. You said you’d marry me.”

  “I never said that! I said I’d see about it.” He would not look at her. “The truth is I can’t marry you.”

  “Can’t?”

  “Alice, I’m already married.”

  She stepped back, stunned, the breath knocked out of her. She thought at first that he meant he had found another girl and married her that winter, but then he continued, speaking hurriedly. “I had to go home. My wife was with child, expected to be brought to bed around Christmastide…”

  His wife. His wife who had been with child. She must have been already more than five months gone with child when Alice and Robin met at Tor Farm. He’d spent the previous winter with his wife, made love to her, made her pregnant, then gone off on campaign and found Alice, desperate to get away from home, foolish enough to trust him.

  Alice breathed in to steady herself. All her dreams of love were shattered, revealed as a sham. He had never loved her. She was nothing to him. She felt hollow.

  “I thought you’d guess,” he said, with a trace of irritation. “I meant you to guess, when I left you.”

  Why had she never guessed? She was such a fool! But he’d been so loving all those weeks; and besides, he was very young to be married. No doubt that was why none of her friends had thought of it either.

  “Do you love her?” she asked faintly. “Did you always love her, and not me?”

  “Of course I loved you!” he replied with warmth, looking at her reproachfully. “I was married young. Eighteen. Susan, my wife, is a neighbour’s daughter. When she found she was with child our fathers made sure we were married. You know I work for my father; he gave us a cottage, saw to everything.”

  Alice remembered how he had told her his parents were indulgent. Yes, they would arrange everything. But – a thought struck her. He’d been married three, maybe four years. So this child, the one he went home for…

  “It’s your second child,” she said.

  “Yes. There are two now.”

  Married, and with two children. Alice had been simply a girl to pass the time with while he was on campaign; and when she became a nuisance he had left her.

  “You betrayed me,” she said.

  He looked hurt. “I never asked you to come with me! You threw yourself at me, begged me to take you. What was I to do?”

  “You could have told me the truth.”

  “I didn’t have the heart.”

  “You didn’t have the courage.”

  “Alice,” he coaxed. “Let’s not quarrel. Can’t we kiss and be friends?” He tried to draw her towards him, but she sprang away.

  “Don’t touch me! Keep your hands for your wife!”

  And she turned her back on him and left.

  “You’re well rid of him,” said Nia.

  And Rhian said, “Who’d have thought it, though? He seemed so fond of you.”

  “Perhaps he was, in his way,” said Bronwen.

  “What will you do?” asked Nia. “Will you want to go home?”

  “To Tor Farm? Never. And there is no real home for me at Weston Hall, even if I could get there.” She realized now that Lady Weston had been right: it would not be safe to travel alone, especially in this time of war. Tomorrow the army was heading further north-west. She could not imagine moving against that tide. And Nia’s baby would be born any day now. “I’ll stay with you,” she said. “If you’ll have me.”

  “You know we will.”

  That night, lying awake in a shared shelter, with people snuffling, snoring and whispering all around her, Alice thought back over her time with Robin and saw how she had deceived herself. It was she who had asked to go with him; she who spoke of love and marriage. He’d made no promises, ever. He was merely passing through. All he had wanted was a few nights of love on Dartmoor; he’d never intended to take her with him. No wonder he had been so uneasy as the army drew ever closer to Oxford, to his home. He must have been wondering, all that time, what to do about her. And that letter, the one he’d hidden away: that was probably from his wife, telling him how she missed him, filling him with guilt towards both women.

  A thought came to her then, and she told Nia in the morning
.

  “I’ve still got most of the money he gave me. I ought to give it back.” Her pride, she felt, would not allow her to keep it. She said passionately, “I’ll throw it back at him!”

  “I’d hold on to it, Lisi,” said Nia. “You don’t want to go throwing money about. You might need it.”

  Over the next few days, Nia and the others watched over Alice, sympathized and advised. She knew from the looks on people’s faces that word of her confrontation with Robin must have spread quickly. A few of the young unattached Welsh soldiers now smiled and, she felt, regarded her speculatively. Well, she could do worse. They were good-hearted boys, and handsome, some of them. But she didn’t want another man, not yet. She was too hurt, too shamed. She felt like an injured animal that wants only to hide away and lick its wounds.

  Sixteen

  The cries and groans woke Alice towards dawn. Nia! She was up instantly, aware of doors opening and closing, footsteps up and down the stairs, women’s voices. They had known that Nia was near her time and had managed to get a room in a house where a good woman lived: a widow, well used to helping women in childbirth.

  Nia was already on a bed with a clean sheet under her, the eagle stone tied to her left thigh. The window was closed and herbs had been burnt in the room to ward off infection.

  “Lisi!” gasped Nia. She struggled up on her elbows and arched her body in pain. Candles shone near by, illuminating the slick of sweat on her forehead.

  Alice went to help her. “Don’t be frightened,” she said. “Lie down. That’s right. Raise your knees.”

  Bronwen came in, and the two of them rearranged the pillows behind Nia’s head and tried to soothe her. Alice winced as a cry broke from Nia; it was hard to see her friend in pain. She took a stool and sat beside her, stroking the damp hair back from her face.

  The widow and Rhian appeared with more candles, hot water, soap, cloths, a ball of twine and a knife.

  “Now, now,” the widow said to Nia, “you must let go of this fear. It’ll tighten you up so that the child can’t come easily. Will you drink some of this? Your friend has made it for you.” She passed the cup of raspberry leaf tea to Alice. “Does she understand a word I say? I’ve had nothing but Welsh from her since it started.”

  “She understands,” said Alice. She held the cup to Nia’s lips. “Sip this, Nia. It’ll help ease the birth.”

  Nia sipped obediently. Then her teeth clamped shut and she groaned as another pain began. Alice held her hand.

  “I’m glad Bryn’s not here, fretting,” said Bronwen.

  All the men were absent, camped in the field outside a great house near by. The house was garrisoned for Parliament, and the Royalists’ siege had already continued all day and half the night. The women could hear the roar of cannon fire and distant cries of men and horses, and smell the smoke, even in this closed room.

  What a time and place to give birth, Alice thought. No wonder Nia was frightened.

  The widow promised Nia there was nothing to be afraid of. “Babies come when they will,” she said. “And all is going well. Your pains are coming closer together now. We must pray it won’t be long.”

  But the labour was slow. Alice continued to talk to Nia and murmur encouragement as the hours went by. She felt she was doing nothing, but the widow assured her that the three of them were essential.

  “Friends and sisters are what she needs most,” she said.

  While Bronwen helped the widow, Rhian hovered anxiously.

  “Sit down,” Alice advised her. “Talk to Nia about home. Talk in Welsh.”

  For a long time, nothing seemed to be happening except the relentless pains that frightened and exhausted Nia. The day grew light, and Alice could see sunshine seeping in through the gaps in the curtain. The sounds of battle continued, and so did Nia’s struggle. She looked very tired.

  But by midday all had changed. The pains were coming fast, and Nia gasped and cried out and gripped Alice’s hand fiercely. She became incoherent, and her ability to understand English deserted her. Bronwen translated the widow’s instructions as she ordered Nia to push, or to hold back.

  “The head is coming,” the woman said. “Wait, wench. Wait. Now push.”

  Nia roared – a deep, desperate, groaning roar – and Alice saw the baby slither out, purplish, slippery, streaked with blood and mucus. She cried out herself, and her eyes flooded with tears.

  “A girl,” the widow said with satisfaction. She held the baby head-down and its first cry broke the air. “A healthy girl.” She wiped away some of the blood and put the baby on the bed. When the cord stopped pulsating she tied twine around it in two places, then passed the knife through a candle flame and cut between them. She laid the baby on Nia’s breast.

  Nia’s hair was stuck to her forehead in damp strands. She lay breathing gently, her hands on the baby’s back. “Merch,” she said faintly. “Fy merch i. Diolch yn fawr.” And she smiled.

  “What’s that she says?” the widow asked.

  “She gives thanks to you for her daughter,” said Bronwen.

  “Ah. Tell her the afterbirth will come soon.”

  The afterbirth came easily; and then the widow took the baby from Nia, washed her carefully in warm water, bandaged the navel, and wrapped her in clean swaddling clothes, criss-crossing the strips of soft linen over and around her tiny body till it resembled a cocoon with only her head free. “There!” she said. “Wrap her like that and it’ll keep her contented and make sure her limbs grow straight.” She passed her to Alice. “Will you hold her while I wash your friend?”

  Alice was already in love with the baby. She held her carefully, adoringly, gazing down at the little crumpled face, the unfocused slate-coloured eyes. It seemed a miracle that this child had been born safely in a stranger’s house, with the sounds of battle all around. She said to the woman, “You are very good. Thank you for helping us.”

  “We are all sisters at a time like this,” the widow said. “It’s the same for everyone, rich or poor, English or foreigner. There, my dear” – she spoke to Nia – “you’ll be more comfortable now.”

  Alice placed the swaddled baby in Nia’s arms. “What will you call her?”

  “Elen,” said Nia. She was speaking English quite readily now. “It’s my mam’s name, and I always said I’d call my first girl after her.” She kissed the baby’s head. “Your nain will be so proud to see you, little one, when we go home. And your da will! Oh, I hope this siege ends soon!”

  “The longer it goes on,” said Bronwen, “the longer you can rest.”

  “I know. But I want to see Bryn!”

  Bryn did not come, but that afternoon a succession of women called, mostly the Welsh wives: Ffion, Marged, Heulwen, and a few others Alice had got to know. They sat around gossiping, admiring the baby, advising Nia and drinking spiced ale.

  It was the following day that the siege of the great house – Hawkesley, it was called – came to a noisy end. They heard cannon fire and distant shouting, and then silence, and knew the besiegers had either broken through or given up. Alice went to find out what was happening, and heard that the house had been captured and the soldiers had gone in to plunder and take prisoners.

  Bryn arrived an hour or so later. He had known the day before yesterday that Nia’s labour was about to begin, and now he had left the others to seize what they could in the way of spoils while he hurried back to her. Alice met him in the village, where she had gone to buy food, and gave him the news.

  “You have a daughter, born yesterday, in the afternoon.”

  Joy and anxiety mingled in his face. “And Nia? My Nia?”

  “She is well, and longs to see you.” It felt good to be the bearer of such happy news.

  She walked back to the house with Bryn, but could not keep up with his eager stride, and urged him, laughing, to go ahead of her. When she arrived with her basket of bread and herbs the widow was alone in the kitchen.

  “They’re all upstairs,” she said, “ja
bbering in their own language, and your friend like a little queen holding court.”

  Alice thought best to stay below and help the widow prepare supper.

  “I never imagined to have so many strangers coming and going under my roof, all foreigners,” the woman went on. “You too, with your West Country talk, near as strange as the Welsh.”

  But Alice knew that she did not mind at all, despite the inconvenience, and would be telling her neighbours all about it when the army moved on. She busied herself chopping leeks. Soon the woman would ask her how she came to be with the army, and she did not want to have to explain that.

  She was spared further questioning when the sound of an explosion shook the building. Both of them rushed outside. They saw flames leaping up into the clear sky of evening, and among them, showing above the trees, the ruined roof and chimneys of Hawkesley House. Distant cries and screams carried on the smoky wind. Neighbours were looking out all around, and Bryn and his sisters came down from the upper room.

  “Well, that’s Hawkesley gone,” the widow said sadly. “I was a servant there, way back. It was a fair house.”

  “But in rebel hands,” said Bryn. “It was bound to be destroyed. That’s war.”

  The woman sighed. “I wish it might end! And you, young man: what will you do, with your wife and child to care for?”

  Bronwen and Rhian had the same question for Bryn. Later that evening the three of them talked of going home.

  “This year,” said Bryn. “When this campaign is ended. And who knows? Perhaps the war will be over by summer.”

  The next day they left the widow’s house and moved on with the army. Nia bought a wicker cradle for Elen and rode in one of the covered wagons, protected by sacks full of cloth. The weather had not been as wet as last autumn, so the roads were tolerable, and the first day’s journey, from Bromsgrove to Himley, was not overlong. Even so, Bryn was concerned that Nia would be jolted and perhaps injured, but she dismissed his fears.