Iris Collier: Day of Wrath

Nicholas rode back to Peverell Manor, checking Harry, who fidgeted, wanting Nicholas to give him his head. But Nicholas was in no mood for a joy-ride. All around him the countryside was bursting with life – the hedgerows buried under a haze of cow-parsley punctuated with the bright faces of ragged robins. The coppice, where pigs rooted around for acorns, was carpeted with bluebells, and above him the birds were urging their mates to greater efforts to find food for their demanding fledglings. But all this was lost on him today. His steward had been murdered, his Priory was doomed. His friend, Thomas Rymes, faced an uncertain future. The monks and lay workers would soon have to find work in a cold and unsympathetic world.

He rode on, scarcely aware of the villagers, most of whom were his tenants, who called out cheerful greetings to him, glad to see him safely back from Court. At any other time, this ride would have given him great pleasure. But not today.

Ahead of him, walking along the side of the road, was a girl whom he’d often seen before – Jane Warrener. She was young and slim, dressed simply in a plain linen dress, her long, chestnut-coloured hair hanging unbound down to her waist. As he rode up, she turned round. The sight of her young face, glowing with health and vitality, always had the effect of lifting his spirits. Her skin had a satin sheen to it which reminded him of the petals of his favourite roses. Her eyes, which met his without flinching, were the same colour as the sky on that May morning.

He forced Harry to stand still whilst he dismounted. Not for the first time he marvelled at the trick of nature that such a beautiful girl could spring from old Guy Warrener’s loins. Warrener was an irascible and greedy rogue, wealthy, it was rumoured – certainly he lived in one of the largest houses on the edge of the village. His gardens were brimming over with produce and the honey which his bees produced was even more famous than his own. Jane was his only child, and he poured into her all his own pent-up love which had been frustrated ever since his wife died at her birth, eighteen years ago. Work was his consolation and it was said that he had already set his eyes on the stonework of the Priory when the monks were sent packing. When that happened, thought Nicholas ruefully, Warrener would be the first to arrive at the Priory armed with a pickaxe and pushing a wheelbarrow. He’d rebuild his house, and in a few years he’d have a fine stone house which would rival his own and that of his neighbour, Sir Roger Mortimer. How could Jane cope with such a father? he thought, as he walked beside her in companionable silence, leading a resigned Harry. Admittedly, Jane was her father’s pride and joy. He’d heard that she was well educated and could read Greek and Latin fluently whilst her father still signed his name with a cross. She could read French also, and made a point of reading all the works of the Protestant reformers she could lay her hands on. Now, at eighteen, she was a beautiful and accomplished young woman, able to entertain her father’s guests with a variety of musical instruments. And she had a mind of her own, and wasn’t afraid of anyone.

Now she seemed to symbolise that spring morning. She reminded him of the fields full of daffodils, cowslips and wild roses. She was looking at him shyly, too, and he noticed the flush of colour on her face which was spreading down her neck to lose itself in the soft folds of the linen cloth which filled in the square-cut neckline of her dress. It pleased him to realise that she wasn’t indifferent to him.

‘Not riding Melissa this morning, Jane?’ he said, remembering that her father had bought a white mare from his stables for her sixteenth birthday.

‘No, my Lord. I haven’t far to go, and I enjoy the walk. Later, I’ll take her out.’

He’d seen her once, cantering Melissa over the springy downland turf and he’d thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful. She rode astride, despising the more seemly sidesaddle which ladies of quality were supposed to adopt.

‘She still serves you well?’ he asked.

‘She’s the darling of my heart,’ said Jane, laughing gaily. ‘And Harry looks full of beans, this morning.’ She reached out and stroked Harry’s velvety nose and he nuzzled her hand appreciatively.

‘Yes, surprisingly, he’s raring to go. We got back from London only last night, and yet he was as bright as a button this morning.’

‘Have you been to Court? Did you see the King? And Queen Anne? Is she as beautiful as they say she is? And the young princesses? Did you see them?’

‘Hold on, lass. One thing at a time. Yes, I spoke with the King. I’m a member of his Council, remember. Yes. I saw Queen Anne. She’s not beautiful, but striking. I think she pushes the King too far. There was a nervousness about her that I haven’t seen before. The King has a roving eye and she’ll have her work cut out to keep him interested, especially if she doesn’t give him the son which he wants so desperately.’

‘Do you think she’s a witch?’

‘Well, she enchanted the King once. You could call that witchcraft, I suppose.’

‘I don’t envy her. She must be surrounded by enemies.’

‘Yes, you could say that. Thank God you live here in the peace and tranquillity of the Sussex countryside. You’d have a rough time at Court. Some old and crabby courtier would snap you up as soon as you arrived, hoping you’d provide him with vigorous heirs.’

‘Oh, they’d take no notice of me,’ she laughed. ‘I’m not rich enough. Father says he’s not providing me with a huge dowry. Besides, I’ll not marry anyone I don’t love.’

‘You don’t need a dowry, Mistress Warrener. Not with your beauty. You are all the dowry a man could need.’

They’d reached the outskirts of the village, and ahead of them stretched the avenue of oaks which led up to his house. Jane stopped. ‘I have to turn off here to see Agnes Myles, my Lord.’

But Nicholas didn’t want her to leave. ‘Why are you going to see that old woman?’ he said, scowling. ‘On a day like this you shouldn’t be mixing with cantankerous old biddies like Agnes Myles. Come and look at my garden.’

He saw her hesitate, then she shook her head, and turned away. ‘I need some juniper berries,’ she said. ‘My father’s chest is bad again. He coughs at night and now after weeks of nagging he’s agreed to let me help him. Juniper berries work wonders for people with chest trouble, but we’ve used up all our supplies. Agnes always has plenty in stock.’

‘Say no more,’ said Nicholas with a sigh of relief. ‘We’ve got plenty in our stores, I’m sure.’

‘That’s very kind of you, my Lord, but…’

‘No buts, Jane; and I insist you stop calling me “my Lord”. From now on I’m going to call you Jane, so you must call me Nicholas.’

‘Oh no! My father wouldn’t approve.’

‘Your father’s not here, is he? And no one’s going to tell him, are they? Come on, jump up on Harry. He’s dying for a gallop. Ride up to the house, and then stop at the small gate over to the right. It leads into my garden. I’ll follow. The walk’ll do me good. Come on, lass, I’m sure you’ll enjoy riding Harry.’

Jane hesitated, but only for a moment. She hitched up her skirts like a dairymaid, revealing slim legs covered by white stockings, and jumped nimbly up on to Harry’s back. She looked enchanting perched up there, Nicholas thought. Harry immediately began to show off, tossing his head and swirling round in circles, and Nicholas began to regret his impulsive action. But there was no need to worry. She sat there firmly until Harry calmed down, then she gave him a hearty kick and he was off up the drive like a black demon. With a sigh of relief, Nicholas ran after them.