‘Strafford must die,’ he declared. ‘And the day he does the King is in a very uneasy position.’
And finally the King had signed the death warrant and Strafford was executed.
That had been in May, three months before Arabella was born. I was enough aware of what was happening in the country to realize that this event was the most momentous so far and that the cloud which had been on the horizon was now overhead.
But then I was a woman whose child would come into the world in three months’ time; and that seemed of greater importance to me than anything else.
Events kept Richard away from home. Whether he stayed away more than he needed, I did not know. It seemed that he no longer suggested that Angelet should join him in Whitehall. She told me that the situation was too serious for any thought of entertaining there. He was constantly attending conferences with his fellow generals.
Once he came over and rode out to the farm. He must have hung around waiting for me. I saw him, and as on that other occasion I went out to see him. That was in May of ’42. Arabella was nine months old—as healthy a child as any parents could wish to see.
Richard looked at me yearningly, and all the old desire was immediately there between us as I leaned over the pales to talk to him.
‘I had to see you,’ he said. ‘We are on the brink of war. God knows what will become of us all.’
‘I know. And you and my husband will be on opposing sides.’
He waved that aside as though it were unimportant. ‘The child …’ he said.
‘She is the most beautiful child in the world.’
‘A perfect child?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Wait a while,’ and I went into the house and brought her out to him.
He looked at her in something like adoration while she regarded him with dignified solemnity.
‘A perfect child,’ he said, and I knew that he was thinking of that monster shut up in the castle. ‘It is like you,’ he went on, ‘to show me that I could have a perfect child.’
‘I never doubted that my child would be,’ I answered.
‘Oh, Bersaba, thank you for that brief happiness.’
‘Was it happiness?’ I asked.
‘For a few hours, yes,’ he answered.
‘At least it happened,’ I said. ‘But it is over now. She will always be here to remind me.’
I held her close to me and I thought: She is my consolation; she is my comfort. And I thought: Poor Richard, who lacks that comfort.
‘You are content in your marriage?’ he asked.
‘As content as I could be away from you.’
‘Bersaba … you say such words that delight me … and yet fill me with hopelessness.’
‘You have Angelet. She is a part of me. She is good and I am far from good. Try to remember that.’
‘I try to be kind to her. I would that she did not sometimes remind me of you. Every time I look at her …’
‘Goodbye, Richard.’
‘I do not know when we shall meet again. There is about to be a bloody war … the worst kind of war, Bersaba … I can happily fight the Spaniards or the French. It is a different matter when it must be my own countrymen. The country is split. The north and the west, Wales and Cornwall are for the King, and here in the south east and the manufacturing districts they are for the Parliament. We shall soon subdue the enemy, never fear, but there will be a violent struggle first.’
I left him then and carried my baby into the farmhouse.
I had lost him; I would never know that ecstasy which he alone could give me; and he was a sad and lonely man who was about to be drawn into a conflict distasteful to him. But I should never forget his face as he had looked at our child—our perfect little girl, our Arabella.
At least I had done something for him.
In August of that year Arabella was a year old the King set up his standard at Nottingham. By that time I was pregnant with Luke’s child.
Luke was in a state of great excitement. That which he had been preaching against for so long was about to be destroyed. He was certain of the success of the Parliamentary cause as Richard had been for that of the Royalists.
People were beginning to talk of Cavaliers and Roundheads. The Cavaliers were so called by those people who had attacked the officers of the Court who circled about Whitehall; it was meant to be an abusive epithet implying that these gentlemen were of loose morals and idle. The term Roundhead was said to have come into use during one of the increasingly numerous riots when a certain officer had drawn his sword against the mob. He had shouted that he would cut the throats of those round-headed dogs who bawled against the bishops.
At this time the Royalists appeared to have everything in their favour. The trained army was Royalist, while the Parliament had only those who went to fight with a great belief in the righteousness of their cause. As Puritans they believed that God must help them, for they saw themselves as His people, but God was not responsive. The battles of Edgehill and Brentford were indecisive, and the following spring the Cornish Royalists had claimed the West for the King.
Luke’s son was born in February. I called him Lucas. He was like his father but slightly different, and my pleasure in my babies absorbed me. Angelet came over to the farmhouse to be with me whenever she could, but she was never sure when Richard would come to Far Flamstead. Not that he often did. He was too much concerned with the fighting.
As with such conflicts, the excitement and hopes with which they began soon petered out and the great depression and reality remained, for it had become clear that there was going to be no easy victory for either side. I felt myself torn in this conflict. My instincts were to support the Royalists. I knew the King was weak; I knew that he had acted foolishly; I knew that he was stubborn and that he must be brought to reason; but at the same time I did not wish to see our country ruled by those who thought pleasure sinful. I felt a certain need in me to support Luke, which amazed me. I caught something of his enthusiasm for his cause; there was so much that was good in it. I was torn between the two and felt that I could not have served either side with the zest that was needed for victory.
Luke was depressed by the way things were going. He used to say that the soldiers were untrained and an army was needed which could stand up to the King’s disciplined forces. He had the idea of forming his own troop. There were many ready to join. All his farm workers and others from families round came to join. They drilled on our fields and learned the arts of war.
There was much talk now of a man called Oliver Cromwell, who had joined the army as a captain, and he was clearly one to be reckoned with. Luke spoke of him in glowing terms. He was reorganizing the army. It was no longer going to be a straggling mob of men who had no weapons and no skills—little but their fervent belief in the right. Belief in the right there must be, but skill too. ‘Captains must be good honest men.’ Cromwell was quoted as having said, ‘and then good honest men will follow them. A plain russet-coated captain who knows what he is fighting for and loves it I would rather have than what you call a gentleman and nothing else.’ Such words were inspiring, and all over the country those who believed gave themselves up to the task of turning themselves into soldiers.
The months passed and we were at war in earnest. Luke had gone off with his troop and none of us could guess what the outcome would be.
Those dreary years of war, how sickening they were! What a snare it was, for it could bring little good to either side. Much of the country was laid waste; we lived in a state of agonizing expectation during the first months and then we were lulled to something near indifference. Much of the corn was ruined; the Puritans were destroying many ancient treasures because they believed that beauty in itself was evil and that no man should look on something and find it entrancing—architecture, statuary, paintings—for if it gave pleasure it was evil.