The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [204]
And ambition.
The little king was turning off the end of the strand now. A few moments more and the party disappeared from sight. Slowly, reluctantly, John Lisle also turned and rode back towards his house. He and Alice had had several homes in the last ten years. They had been in London and Winchester, on the Isle of Wight, where he was busy repairing his own family estates, at Moyles Court in the Avon valley or at Alice’s favourite Albion House. As it was almost Christmas now they were in Albion House.
What was he going to say to her on his return?
He had thought she might be asleep when he got back, but she was waiting for him, still in her nightclothes, although wrapped up, thank God, in the chilly air by the open door. Had she been waiting there since he left? A pang of pain and a rush of tenderness passed through him. Her eyes were red. He dismounted and went to her. ‘I’ll stay until after Christmas,’ he said. ‘Then, after that, we’ll think again.’ He told himself that this last bit was true, as if he had not already made up his mind.
‘The king has gone?’
‘Yes. On his way.’
She nodded sadly. ‘John,’ she said suddenly, ‘whatever God tells you must be done, we are with you, I and your children. You must do what you must do. I am your wife.’
Dear heaven, he thought, what a fine one. He embraced her and entered the house with a new joy in his heart.
1655
Thomas Penruddock would never forget the first time he saw Alice Lisle. He had been ten. That was two years ago.
They had set off from Compton Chamberlayne early in the morning. The village and manor of Compton Chamberlayne lay in the valley of the River Nadder, about seven miles west of Sarum, and the journey into the old cathedral city was easy and pleasant. After a rest and a brief visit to the ancient cathedral with its soaring spire, they had proceeded south, following the River Avon’s course, past the Gorges family’s great estate of Longford Castle and then, crossing the river a few miles further down, they had made their way up on to the plateau of wooded ground that is the northernmost corner of the huge New Forest.
The village of Hale lay just at this corner. From the manor house, set right on the edge of the ridge, there was a lovely view westward over the Avon valley floor. Two generations ago the Penruddocks had bought the manor for a younger son, and the Penruddocks of Hale and their cousins had always been on friendly terms. On this occasion his parents had taken Thomas to stay at Hale for a few days.
As it happened, Thomas had never been to Hale before. Their cousins welcomed them warmly, the young ones took him to play, and his first evening only seemed likely to be spoiled for a moment when an elderly aunt, looking at him intently, suddenly declared: ‘Dear heaven, John, that child looks exactly like his grandmother, Anne Martell.’
It was from his mother’s side, from her mother’s family the Martells of Dorset, that Thomas had taken his dark, rather brooding good looks. The light-haired Penruddocks were a handsome family too. His father, whom Thomas idolized, was thought especially so and it had always saddened the boy that they did not look exactly alike. So his saturnine face broke into a smile when the elderly aunt continued: ‘I hope you’re proud of him, John’ and his father replied: ‘Yes, I think I am.’
Colonel John Penruddock. To Thomas he was the perfect man. With his brown beard and laughing eyes, hadn’t he been one of the most dashing commanders on the royalist side? He had lost a brother in the war; a cousin had been exiled. His own gallant loyalty to the king had cost him dear – both in money and offices – when Cromwell and his wretched crew had triumphed; but Thomas would rather the Penruddocks lost every acre of their land than have his father any different, any less splendid than he was.
The next morning, to his great pleasure, he was allowed to join the men when they went for a ride.
‘I think’, their host said, ‘we’ll start across Hale Purlieu.