The Rose Garden

  ‘Really?’ said Daniel when I said as much to him. ‘Was it cut down?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I would have to ask Oliver. He might have come across something about it, I thought, in his reading.

  ‘There’s no one round here would dare cut the Trelowarth Oak,’ Daniel informed me. ‘The old ways die hard in these parts, and a lone tree is still seen as sacred. An oak even more so. Ask Fergal sometime about oak trees,’ he said with a smile. ‘For all that he does not believe in witches, he does yet keep the old beliefs.’

  The Irish and the Cornish and the Welsh were Celtic peoples, bound by their shared myths and superstitions, and I didn’t doubt that Fergal’s ‘old beliefs’ were not so different from Claire’s grandmother’s. I found myself curious, all of a sudden, to know just what Fergal did think about oak trees.

  The leaves of a low branch brushed softly against my blown hair as I stepped from the field to the roadway with Daniel. The church lay behind us, sedately unchanged though its churchyard was smaller and lonelier looking, exposed on all sides with no sheltering woods and no stone wall built round it. I stole a quick backwards glance over my shoulder, but from where we were I could not see Ann Butler’s grave.

  Daniel saw me look behind. ‘You’ve naught to fear,’ he said. ‘The road is lightly travelled at this time of day, and I am with you.’ To reassure me further he slowed his steps so they matched my own and leisurely he walked close by my shoulder.

  Round the bend again, we came to a long field on level land that had been fenced and gated. Through the grass there ran a darker line that marked the cut banks of a narrow stream that crossed the paddock, passed beneath the fence and underneath a wooden bridge set in the road before it carried on its way to feed the waterfall that tumbled down the Cripplehorn.

  Daniel told me, ‘This is where we turn the horses out to pasture when we are away from home.’

  I’d guessed as much. The field was shaded well by trees, and with the running water and the green, abundant grass it made a perfect place for horses.

  ‘They must hate to see the stables after this,’ was my remark.

  ‘Ay, I have little doubt they curse me when I come to fetch them in.’

  There was just one horse in the paddock now, a bay mare who stood against the treeline at the far end of the field and eyed us both expectantly. And she did seem to be cursing Daniel when he whistled sharply to her now. Her head came up, but she stayed obstinately in her place of comfort by the trees.

  He grinned, and whistled once again.

  The mare stayed put, but I could hear the distant clopping of a horse’s hooves responding to the call, then more hooves following and growing quickly nearer, coming briskly down the road. I turned, and Daniel moved a step towards me, and although I didn’t see his hand move this time to his belt I knew he would have taken out his dagger and be waiting, just in case there might be danger.

  There was no time for the two of us to move where we could not be seen. The horses were already at the turning of the road … and then they came around and crossed the little bridge in single file and we saw Jack on horseback, leading them.

  Or so it seemed at first. Until I noticed that his hands were strangely still upon the horse’s neck, and moments after that I saw the rope that bound them, and the warning in his face as he caught sight of us.

  Behind him, with an air of satisfaction, rode the constable. And with him came a shorter man whom I had never seen before, and half a dozen others who began to look uncomfortable as they caught sight of Daniel standing quiet by the roadside.

  Daniel took a step that brought him close in front of me, so close that I could see the dagger’s blade glint in his fingers where he held it very casually below his coat’s turned cuff.

  And then he stepped into the road and with his other hand reached out to catch the bridle of his brother’s horse and bring it to a halt. ‘Well, Jack,’ he said, in the same tone he might have used if he had caught his brother coming home too drunk. ‘And what is this?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The answer came, not from Jack Butler, but the constable, who’d reined his horse up deftly just behind. ‘’Tis an arrest. And there will be another yet, if you do not let loose that horse.’

  Daniel ignored the threat. ‘What is the charge?’

  ‘This merchant here,’ – the constable inclined his head towards the shorter, rounder man behind him – ‘was cruelly robbed upon the road but several days ago, and lost a purse of silver and a joint of mutton to your brother.’

  The mutton. I recalled Jack’s cheerful boast about the theft, and I could feel my heart sink suddenly inside me as I glanced at the indignant, unforgiving merchant’s face. He was a thick-jowled man of middle age, his waistcoat stretched across a stomach that had seen its share of hearty meals, but though he looked a fool he did not look to be a liar, and his accusations would bear weight.

  Jack looked less cheerful now, avoiding Daniel’s eyes, his own eyes lowered to the rope that bound his wrists together. His character was normally so reckless that I wondered why he hadn’t bolted anyway, and chanced his horse’s speed against the constable’s pursuit.

  The constable was moving forward now, aware he had his foes against the wall and wanting only to enjoy it. With his boot a mere hand’s-breadth from Daniel’s shoulder, he looked down in mocking sympathy. ‘And will you come to see your brother hang?’

  I didn’t breathe the whole time Daniel stood there with his gaze locked to the constable’s. The calm had settled over him so evenly it seemed the very wind had lost its nerve and ceased to blow, and for that moment even I feared it would end in violence.

  But he moved at last, a slight shift of his stance and nothing more, and for some reason that small movement was enough and I could breathe again.

  He said, ‘Where is your warrant?’

  And just like that, the tables turned. I saw it in the briefest hesitation of the constable, and in the faces of the men behind him.

  Daniel said, ‘You surely have a warrant?’

  ‘We are riding now,’ the constable assured him, ‘to obtain one from the justice of the peace. If you will kindly stand aside.’

  But Daniel had already turned towards the merchant. ‘Tell me, sir, where did this most distressing robbery take place, and when?’

  The merchant, keen to share his story, named the date, and said, ‘’Twas early in the morning, so it was. The sun was barely up, and I had travelled all the night in this man’s company.’ He stabbed a finger through the air in Jack’s direction. ‘Offered me protection, so he did, and said he’d ride with me a ways because he knew these parts and knew the dangers of the roads, and so I let him ride beside my wagon. And at sunrise I complained of being weary and he told me it was safe for me to sleep, that we had passed the place of greatest danger and I would no longer need his aid.’

  Daniel considered this, and gave a nod. ‘And so you slept?’

  ‘I did, sir. And when I awoke, I found he had repaid my trust by making off with one fine joint of mutton and my purse, sir.’

  ‘A bold theft, indeed,’ agreed Daniel. ‘And bolder to do it by daylight, when he could more easily have overcome you at night, without fear of a witness. How did he subdue you, then?’

  The merchant frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, surely when you woke and saw him stealing your belongings, you did all you could to stop him. Did he strike you? He does look a man who might resort to violence.’

  Jack, as though he thought his brother had gone mad, glanced back at Daniel with a dark expression, but it went unnoticed as the merchant’s hard expression altered.

  ‘No, he did not … that is, I was not awake …’

  ‘Ah.’ Daniel gave another nod. ‘But how then did you see him take the mutton and your purse?’

  The constable, a step ahead of where this line of questioning was leading, said impatiently, ‘One does not need to see the thief in action to be sure that he has stol
en.’

  ‘Does one not?’ asked Daniel, calm. ‘I do apologise. ’Tis only that it seems to me this good man here might have been set upon by any rogue while he was sleeping, for in these parts there are many, I am sure you will agree, who would do mischief.’

  The constable held his gaze. ‘One or two, ay.’

  ‘And as this merchant seems an honest man, I only seek to try his memory so that he may satisfy himself that he does not accuse the innocent.’

  ‘The innocent?’ The word all but exploded from the constable, as though he had been pushed beyond his limit.

  Daniel looked at Jack. ‘You will admit you rode beside this merchant’s wagon through the night, and that you offered him protection?’

  Jack’s eyes settled on his brother’s, wary. ‘Ay, I did.’

  ‘And when you parted ways, was he asleep?’

  ‘He was.’ Jack caught on slowly, adding, ‘I was certain we had come past all the points where we might be accosted, and as I was keen myself to get back home I thought it safe enough to leave him there to carry on his way without me.’

  Daniel turned back to the merchant. ‘If you are convinced, sir, that this man did rob you, though you saw it not and could not swear an oath to it, by all means take your case before the Justice of the Peace.’

  But he had sowed the seed of doubt. I felt a fleeting twist of sympathy for the merchant as I watched him wrestle with his own misgivings, trying to decide what he should do.

  Then Daniel in one motion sheathed his dagger in his belt and drew a small bag from the lining of his coat as he went on to say, ‘Whatever you decide, sir, I am sorry for the loss that you have suffered, and I would not have you leave here thinking all Polgelly men are thieves.’ Holding out the soft bag, which looked weighted down with coins, he said, ‘This likely will not match what has been taken from you, but perhaps it may restore your faith in those who live here.’

  I watched the merchant take the purse from Daniel’s hand and open it, and from his quick reaction I could tell that it contained more money than he had been robbed of. Quite a bit more, it appeared, because he closed it with a hurried gesture, squirrelling it tidily away into his own coat while the constable objected, ‘Careful, Butler. You do seek to interfere too much.’

  ‘I only seek to show good Christian charity to one who is in need of it.’

  ‘By paying him with profits from your own illegal trade.’

  The merchant interjected, ‘Come now, come now, sirs, I would not be the cause of any argument between you.’ Giving the front of his waistcoat a pat, he gave Jack a once-over. ‘I do now confess I am not altogether convinced in my mind that this man was the culprit.’

  The men who’d assembled behind, and who appeared to have been drawn into the whole affair to serve and aid the constable as his reluctant deputies, reacted now with unconcealed relief, from which I gathered none among them had been keen on taking Jack to see the Justice of the Peace.

  I knew little of laws in this time, but I had vague recollections of reading at school about children who, in Queen Victoria’s day, had been sentenced to hang for the theft of a loaf of bread, and that had been more than a hundred years later than this.

  Jack, too, breathed his relief, though his cockiness showed in the half-bow he aimed at the merchant. ‘I am in your debt, sir.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the merchant. ‘The fault was all mine.’

  Daniel didn’t allow that. ‘An honest mistake, to be sure. Will you dine with us?’

  ‘Dine with you?’

  ‘Ay, as a show of our gratitude. My house does lie but a short distance in that direction.’ He pointed, and the merchant after brief consideration gave a nod.

  ‘I will, sir. Many thanks.’

  The constable snorted. ‘You fool. These men would play you like a fiddle, and that purse you have so lately won will be back in their hands by nightfall, mark me well.’

  Which was as good as saying that the Butlers were both thieves and scoundrels, there in front of everyone, and Jack’s temper flared. ‘Then come and guard it for him, if you have a mind to.’

  It was not an invitation, really, so much as a dare. I had the sense Jack Butler often said things without thinking first, his reckless nature making him as reckless with his words.

  I watched the constable react, and saw him hold back his own anger in response and slyly turn things to his own advantage. ‘Very well, then. I will dine with you as well. ’Tis very kind of you to offer.’

  Daniel kept his own face neutral. To the other men, he said, ‘I do regret we have not room enough for all of you to join us, but if you ride on now to Trelowarth House and say to Fergal that I’ve sent you he will find you ale to drink at least, and water for your horses.’

  The men – there were five of them now I could count them – broke ranks for a moment to ride forward, splitting to both sides of the road as they came round the standing horses of the merchant and the constable and Jack. One man, an older man, stopped briefly beside Daniel.

  ‘Thank you, Danny.’ He inclined his head, and Daniel answered with a nod.

  ‘Peter.’

  ‘’Twas not our doing,’ the man said by way of apology, as he moved on and regrouped with the others who, safely past now, heeled their horses to quicken their pace as they carried on round the bend into the trees.

  The silence they left in their wake had a dangerous edge.

  Only the merchant seemed unaware of it, as his gaze shifted over to me. ‘Mrs Butler,’ he said with a gracious bow. ‘I pray you will forgive me, as your husband has.’

  The constable cut in, ‘That is not Mrs Butler.’ From his tone it seemed that the suggestion had offended him, and not for the first time I found myself wondering what his connection had been to Ann Butler.

  Daniel let the comment pass, and made the introductions while Jack looked at me as though he had just noticed I was there.

  ‘You’re out of bed,’ said Jack, with some surprise. Which wasn’t the best choice of words, but as the merchant’s eyebrows lifted, Daniel saved my reputation with the simple statement, ‘She has been ill these past days.’

  I felt the keen appraisal of the constable. ‘She does look well recovered.’

  Jack did not agree. Whether from chivalry or from wanting to make up for his earlier comments to Daniel about me, he swung himself with hands still bound together from the saddle, landing lightly on his feet. ‘Let Eva ride my horse. It is a fair walk back, and she will tire.’

  He held his wrists expectantly to Daniel, who reached once more for his dagger and with one swipe sliced the ropes.

  The tension that had been between the brothers when I’d overheard them in the stables was still there, and Jack avoided Daniel’s eyes and called to me instead. ‘Come Eva, let me help you to the saddle.’

  But when I drew near the horse the hands that took my waist and lifted me were Daniel’s, sure and strong. He sat me sideways, which was terribly uncomfortable and hard on my one hip, but I held on as best I could and tried to look the part while Daniel took the horse’s bridle in his hand again and started walking.

  To the merchant he said, ‘Where would you be bound, sir?’

  ‘For Lostwithiel.’ He explained he would be there by now except the theft had made him break his journey at St Non’s to sell some of his wares to have the means to live by. While the merchant told his story I saw Daniel slide a sideways glance accusingly at Jack, who kept his own gaze fixed with studied nonchalance upon the road ahead.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said the merchant, finishing his tale, ‘the landlord of the Cross & Oak is, like yourself, a man of understanding and compassion. He let me have my room for no more than my promise I would pay him, and now thanks to you I can make good upon that promise.’

  He patted the bulge of the purse in his waistcoat again while the constable sent him an unimpressed look.

  ‘You’d do well to take care where you travel,’ the constable warned. ‘These are dangerous
times here in Cornwall.’

  ‘Dangerous times all over, sir,’ was the merchant’s reply. With a nod of agreement he said, ‘Everywhere the countryside is verging on unrest, and every town is plagued with troubles. I’ve heard little these past months that does not touch upon the young Pretender’s plans for an invasion.’

  The constable asked him, in a calculated tone, ‘And what do you perceive to be the people’s mood when they do speak of it?’

  The merchant shrugged. ‘’Tis none of my affair, sir, for I’m neither Whig nor Tory and I take no part of politics.’

  ‘There are some here who take too great a part in it,’ the constable remarked, his eyes on Daniel.

  Daniel didn’t bother looking round. He said, ‘There are some I can think of who would rather have a king who was not only born in England but can speak the English tongue.’

  The constable’s eyes narrowed. ‘Such talk comes close to treason.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Ay, and with your kinsman up before the Lords for just such an offence, I should be watching what I said if I were you.’

  The merchant looked from one man to the other, settling on Daniel with surprise. ‘Your kinsman? Do you mean to say you are related to His Grace the Duke of Ormonde?’

  Daniel nodded. ‘Distantly.’

  That impressed the merchant. ‘A great man, the Duke of Ormonde. Very truly a great man, and I know several who did serve in his campaigns upon the Continent who feel the same. He brought us peace.’

  Again a sound of rough amusement from the constable. ‘A peace that served his own needs more than ours. More than Queen Anne’s. He should be vilified, not honoured.’

  ‘With respect,’ the merchant said, ‘those accusations—’