When I heard of such destruction I was ardently Royalist; when I thought of Court extravagances and the stubborn nature of the King I was for the Parliament; but more often I had the inclination to curse them both.
I was thinking of Richard, who was in constant danger. Each day I feared that there would be news of his death or capture. There was Luke too who had trained his troop and gone off to fight. It was possible that one day these two would be in the same deadly battle.
‘How stupid it is,’ I cried, ‘to fight and kill to settle differences.’
‘What other way is there?’ asked Angelet.
‘We have words, have we not? Why don’t we use them?’
‘They would never agree. They have tried words and failed.’
Yes, Luke had tried with his pamphlets, but Luke could never see more than one side of this argument. Nor could Richard.
So we waited and lived our lives when the days were long and there were few visitors and the talk was all of war—how this side was winning and then shortly after how it was losing. How Cromwell and Fairfax would soon find their heads on London Bridge; how the King would soon have no throne.
And all the time we waited for news.
Angelet and I saw each other frequently. She would come to the farmhouse more often than I went to her because of the children. She adored them. Arabella was growing up to be like me—self-willed and determined to get what she wanted. Lucas was too young to show what he would be like; but he was a sweet cherubic infant.
Poor Angelet! How she would have longed to have had children and would have been a better mother than I, I suspected. How perverse of nature to have made me, the sensualist, the mother while giving Angelet the qualities needed to rear them.
Strangely enough the children adored me. As soon as Lucas could toddle he would cling to my skirts and look unhappy if his hand were disengaged. They were of course fond of their Aunt Angelet, but I was the centre of their lives.
When Lucas was a year old Phoebe came to tell me that Thomas Greer, one of the farm workers, had asked for her and she would marry him if I gave my consent. I said it was ideal and she could still work with me after she was married, the only difference being that she would live in his cottage instead of sleeping in the house. So Phoebe married and almost immediately became pregnant.
Angelet and I were anxious as to what was happening in Cornwall, although there were reports that that part of the country was firmly in the hands of the Royalists. There was no news of course, because it was not easy to get messages from one side to another of a country plagued by civil war.
So we waited and hoped for news. Snatches of it came to us from time to time, but it went on as before—first one side was victorious and then another; and there was no sign of the end of the war.
It was July of ’44. Lucas was a year and five months old and Arabella was three. The day began like any other. The sky though was leaden and there was a stillness in the air. I had not seen Angelet that day and I had busied myself with the care of the children and wondered whether what corn there was could be safely brought in. In the days before the war we had been concerned with the weather; now there was a greater enemy—the Royalist army for us, the Parliamentary one for Angelet. Luke was well known among his enemies as a man who had worked assiduously to further the cause of the Parliament. His writings had done a great deal to inflame opinion. I often reminded myself that he was a marked man and that one day they would take revenge. I used to keep the children with me at night. Now I watched over them myself, for Phoebe was sleeping in the farm cottage with her husband and her time was getting near. I must be ready at any time of the day or night to snatch up my children and escape the vengeance of Luke’s enemies.
I had developed a habit of light sleeping as people will when there may be something to need their attention at a moment’s notice. And that night I was awakened suddenly by the sound of whispering voices below my window.
I was out of bed, glancing at the children asleep in their cribs, and I went at once to the window.
There were people below.
Oh God, I thought, the Cavaliers have come for their revenge.
I was about to gather up the children when I heard a clanging at the door. I could not escape that way. I would have to face them. I would tell them that General Tolworthy was my brother-in-law, that I was not a Puritan although married to one, and my children were not Puritans …
Boldly I went to the door.
A man was standing there. I recognized him at once by his plain garments and cropped head as a Roundhead.
‘You are Mistress Longridge?’ said the man.
‘I am.’
‘Your husband is here … come all the way from the Moor. He is wounded and would have us bring him to you.’
I ran past him. Luke was being held up by two men. There was blood over his doublet and his face was deathly pale.
‘Luke!’ I cried.
I saw the smile on his terribly pallid features.
‘Bersaba …’ he whispered.
‘Carry him in,’ I commanded. ‘He is badly wounded.’
‘’Tis so indeed, mistress.’
I led the way into the farmhouse and they brought him in. They took him to one of the bedrooms.
Ella came out.
I said: ‘They have brought Luke home. Badly wounded.’
They laid him on the bed.
One of the men shook his head and said: ‘He is sorely tried, mistress.’
I said: ‘There is no time to lose. Wake the servants. We need hot water … bandages … I must attend to him.’
Ella said to me: ‘Stay with him. He wants you there. I will see to the rest.’
I could trust her. Good calm Ella!
His hand moved towards me and I took it.
‘Luke,’ I whispered. ‘You’re home. You’ll get well. I shall nurse you. You will stay at home … out of this accursed war.’
‘’Tis good …’ he murmured.
‘Good to be home, Luke?’
‘To be with you,’ he murmured.
I bent close to him. His skin was clammy and very cold.
‘We’re going to make you well. Ella and I will look after you.’
He closed his eyes.
One of the men said to me: ‘We’ve come from Marston Moor, mistress. There’s many dead up there. But it was victory … victory for us … and Cromwell.’
‘Marston Moor …’ I cried.
‘’Twas a long journey and he would have us make it. He said he must see you before he died.’
‘He’s not going to die,’ I said firmly. ‘We are going to nurse him.’
They did not answer. They just looked at me with sorrowing eyes.
Only when we removed his garments did we see the terrible extent of his wounds. Ella looked at me and murmured: ‘It is the will of God. He fought for what he believed to be right.’
But I was angry that men should destroy each other with their deadly weapons when they had been given minds to reason and tongues with which to speak.
‘I shall save him,’ I cried. ‘I will.’
It was as though I shook my fist at Fate, at God. I’ll not submit to Your will. I’ll not let You take him, for it is so stupid for a young life to be taken in this way.
But it was I who was foolish, for how could I pit myself against the forces of nature?
I stayed with him, for my presence was the only comfort I could give him, and Ella left us because she understood her brother well.
He talked as he died, rambling a little and often incoherent, but I knew what he was telling me.
‘We’re going to win … This will be remembered … The battle of Marston Moor … Cromwell … victory … The end of evil rule … Bersaba … my love … Bersaba … ’