Destitute On His Doorstep. Helen DicksonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      It took Jane a moment to find her voice and say, ‘No, I do not. I do not understand you. You talk in riddles.’

      Despite her haughty stance, Francis saw that her dark eyes, which moments before had been hurling scornful daggers at him, were now glittering with unshed tears. Somehow he found himself unable to move. She looked so unutterably sad—was that the word?—as though she had a troubled mind and he knew that his dogs sensed it by the way they looked at her with soulful eyes.

      ‘No, Mistress Lucas,’ he said on a gentler note. ‘It is you who is lacking in understanding.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ she answered, feeling a sudden urge to hurt him as much as she was hurting. ‘Who are you, Colonel Russell? Please explain to me how this house can be yours? Where do you come from?’

      ‘From Cambridge.’

      ‘Really. I know Cambridge. Your name is familiar. As I recall there was a family by that name. They were farriers, I believe.’

      His expression tightened. ‘You have a good memory, Mistress Lucas. You are right. My family dealt in horses.’

      ‘So, you took advantage of the upheaval of the war to take for yourself the house of a Royalist gentleman. You are nothing but an upstart, the son of a farrier, a man of exceedingly humble birth,’ she uttered scornfully. ‘You may be deserving with your newly acquired status, Colonel, but you are undeserving of such a prize as this. People of such low quality are unfit to inhabit such a house as Bilborough.’

      Anger flared in his eyes at the intended insult. Ordinarily Francis had little difficulty in sustaining the air of cold detachment that was at once his most valuable defence in his dealings with his fellow men. He had had enough practice, but he had learned very soon that the cruel, avaricious world of war equated civility with weakness. And now the regenerated son of a horse breeder was looking forwards to teaching the arrogant and headstrong daughter of a Royalist nobleman a lesson or two.

      ‘I have every right. The Bilborough estate and rents were confiscated,’ he stated, his tone carrying more hidden steel than a rapier.

      ‘I had no knowledge of that,’ Jane replied, thinking that Gwen must have known and kept it from her.

      ‘That was not my concern at the time. But did it not occur to you that any estate known to support the King would be at risk? You left the house unattended.’

      ‘I did not—or perhaps I should say my stepmother did no such thing. When my father was killed she closed the house—indeed, there were those in Avery, those who supported Parliament who far outnumbered the Royalists, who were glad to see the back of us.’

      ‘There was also trouble of a different kind, was there not? Before you left your stepmother was accused of being a witch.’ His tone was light, but he watched her closely. ‘Personally I don’t believe there are such things as witches, that it’s all superstitious nonsense.’

      ‘I’m glad you think so. We did leave for that reason. It was a terrible time for us both, a time of great fear. Dreadful threats were issued against my stepmother—against both of us. At that time all around us women suspected of witchcraft were being brutally tortured and hanged. They used such threatening methods against us that in the end we were left with little choice but to go. We left the estate in the hands of a loyal steward.’

      ‘He was removed from his post when I bought Bilborough. I had no use for him.’

      Jane stared at him in disbelief. ‘You dismissed Silas? But—you had no right.’

      ‘I had every right. He was your steward, not mine. I did right to dismiss him,’ he said, as calmly as though he was discussing the weather. ‘He had got above himself.’

      ‘You did not dismiss the housekeeper,’ she pointed out as part of her argument.

      ‘Mrs Preston is less quarrelsome than your steward.’

      Jane wondered at Silas’s fate. She must find out what had happened to him. She had a duty to do that. Ordinary people found that their lot was often worsened with the change of ownership in land consequent upon the confiscations, because the new owners were noticeably less humane than the established proprietors to whom the local inhabitants were familiar.

      ‘By leaving Bilborough you left your home wide open. Wars are not all won on the battlefield, Mistress Lucas. With the men away fighting whatever cause they support, who do you think should protect the property? It’s the women who keep the enemy from the door, or stop their home being put to the torch.’

      ‘Or in this particular case to stop black-hearted, conniving scoundrels stealing property and moving in.’

      Francis’s face had set itself fast into the implacable mould that would have been instantly recognised by the men under his command. It was the face that had won him many a battle for it showed not a flicker of emotion, nor an inkling of his thoughts. It was cool, self-controlled and as smooth and empty as that of a newly born child.

      He moved closer and spoke very quietly, but his eyes glittered with curiosity as he said, ‘Are you insulting me or Parliament, Mistress Lucas?’

      ‘Oh, much more than that,’ she shot back. ‘I’m criticising every one of those in Parliament who thinks that by imposing order on the human spirit, no matter how absurd and cruel the order, it has achieved something. I am criticising Oliver Cromwell and his censorship. I despise everything he does. So, yes, by all means I am insulting you since not only have you stolen my home, you are a part of all that is in charge of the rottenness which executed King Charles I.’

      ‘I would advise you to have a care what you say. For your own sake you must learn to guard your tongue more stringently. People have been executed for less. Your words are treasonable and therefore dangerous—for you. The war is over. You must learn to live with its consequences.’

      ‘I shall, just like everyone else, but I believe Cromwell is now presented with a civilian battlefield with as many doubts and perplexities as those of the war.’

      ‘I couldn’t agree more, but they will be dealt with. Your reference to the dead King Charles implies the existence of a Charles II.’

      Curling her lip with disdain, Jane dared to present a statement not altogether respectful. ‘I cannot and will not accept a Protectorate should Oliver Cromwell become Lord Protector. Charles II will take the throne one day. You will see.’

      Unable to ignore what had every element of being a disparaging challenge, Francis made a point of elevating his brow to a sceptical level. ‘Like it or not, Mistress Lucas, you will have to live under the Commonwealth. And I did not steal your home. It belonged to Parliament. I had the support of local officials and others of purported authority. You are not alone in having property confiscated. Other examples occurred all over England.’

      ‘I am not a delinquent, Colonel,’ Jane replied coldly. ‘I am aware of that. I also know that when the Puritan Roundhead regime introduced sequestration against the royalists, involving the removal of their estates