Royalist Rebel is the story of Elizabeth’s youth during the English Civil War, of a determined and passionate young woman dedicated to Ham House, the Royalist cause and the three men in her life; her father William Murray, son of a minister who rose to become King Charles’ friend and confidant, the rich baronet Lionel Tollemache, her husband of twenty years who adored her and John Maitland, Duke of Lauderdale, Charles II’s favourite.
With William Murray at King Charles’ exiled court in Oxford, the five Murray women have to cope alone. Crippled by fines for their Royalist sympathies, and besieged by the Surrey Sequestration Committee, Elizabeth must find a wealthy, non-political husband to save herself, her sisters, and their inheritance.
Royalist Rebel is released on 17th January 2013 from Claymore Books.
Excerpt:
Cousin Henderson stands by the open door, her face devoid of colour, and a hand pressed to her breast. She catches sight of me and her lips open, then close, but she appears unable to form any words.
‘Cousin,’ I snap, alerted to the
sound of bits jangling and male shouts from outside. ‘What is happening? You look
as if the entrance to Hell lies on the other side of that door.’ I attempt a
half-hearted laugh. Surely nothing worse could happen after the news of
yesterday? My boots click on stone as I hurry forward, my intent to demand she
either close the door or explain herself.
The sight that greets me sends my
stomach plunging and my breath hitches. What looks like an entire regiment of
Parliamentarian soldiers line up on the other side of the gates. Two officers
on horseback ride hard up and down beside the river, shouting orders, their mounts
scuffing the turf with their hooves, scattering the sheep.
I release a low groan at the
sight of Captain Fitton, who dismounts a massive horse that must be one of the
few animals alive able to carry his substantial weight. Despite the hard times visited
on the rest of us, the man looks to have increased his girth considerably. He
approaches the gates with slow, deliberate strides, his sour grin firmly in
place.
‘May God have mercy on us,’
Cousin Henderson whispers and grips my arm so hard, I wince.
‘I’d pray to Lord Fairfax if I
were you, Cousin.’ I disengage her fingers and stride forward. ‘He is more use
to us now.’
I reach the gates before the
captain, and without the thought fully formed in my head, I slide the bolt into
place, narrowly missing my thumb.
‘Now, Mistress Murray.’ The
captain’s sing-song voice echoes across the courtyard, followed by an insulting
guffaw, its echo taken up by the men behind him. ‘No slip of a girl shall
disobey Sir
Richard Onslow’s orders.’
‘And what orders would those be,
sir?’ I ask, playing for time.
What do they want? Is their
appearance due to what has happened to Father? Are we all to be put under close
arrest? I think of Mother, ill in bed, and hope one of the servants warns her.
I have no idea why or how I will
achieve it, but it comes to me that if I can delay whatever they have in mind,
even for a short while, a solution will present itself.
Captain Fitton plants his
shovel-sized hands on his hips, and breathes onion fumes harsh enough to melt
the wrought iron bars. ‘This property is to be put to the use of my men here.’
He waves
a hand at the assembled soldiers.
‘You should be grateful, Mistress. Our presence will offer protection to your
family.’
‘We don’t require protection, Captain.’
My voice is steady but my knees shake. ‘Until the army came to Kingston, we
were perfectly safe. We are law-abiding people.’
‘Hah! Not our law. Not
Parliament’s law.’ He looks to his officers for approval which comes in nods
and murmurs of assent before turning back to me. ‘Besides, the matter is not
open for discussion.’ His ingratiating voice turns to a growl. ‘Now, stand aside
and allow us through.’ He waves the troopers on before turning aside to talk to
a man on horseback.
‘You say you have orders,
Captain,’ I shout above the sound of booted feet scrambling into formation
ready to begin their approach. ‘May I see them?’ Panic lifts my voice an octave
higher,
but I hold my ground. Despite his
coarse manners, surely Captain Fitton would not revert to force? I am half his
size and to drag me bodily away from the gates is bound to diminish him in the
eyes of
his men. Yet a doubt lingers. If
only I had a stout padlock for this gate!
Fitton narrows his eyes. ‘You’ve
a brave mouth on you, Mistress Murray for someone whose father is in the Tower
as a spy.’ A gleam of malice appears in his eyes and I have to resist the urge
to spit in his face.
‘My father will be released soon.
He has powerful friends who-’
‘Friends who could not keep him
out of gaol in the first place. Put not your trust in them, lady.’ His heavy
features harden with angry contempt. ‘Now, get this gate open.’
The lines of foot soldiers halt,
murmuring in mild confusion. A voice says something I do not catch, followed by
a shout of coarse laughter that sends warmth into my face.
Fury keeps me defiant, though I
doubt my feet would move even if I wanted them to. ‘I will not prevent you,
Captain, if that is what Sir Richard decrees. However, I insist you show me
your orders so I may see how many are to be quartered here, and what is
required of us.’ I am gabbling, unsure of my ground, but determined not to give
in without a fight.
He lifts his arms and lets them
fall again. ‘I don’t have the documents with me. You will have to take my word
they exist. Now if you would stand aside.’
‘No! I demand to see the papers
first.’
His eyes widen, then dull with
anger. He utters several incoherent sounds, most probably curses, and lurches
at the gate. His fingers resemble fat sausages as he grips the bars on either
side of his scowling face. The sight so ridiculous, it is all I can do not to laugh.
‘Would you defy the Parliament
army?’ he bellows, ‘I order you to allow my men to pass!’
I lick my lips, fearing my voice
is about to desert me altogether. ‘I defy no one. I merely ask that you allow
me to see your written orders.’
My quiet tone seems to anger him
more, and his lips curl cruelly upward.
A soldier sidles to the captain’s
shoulder, glances briefly at me, then whispers something to the captain.
Captain Fitton’s skin turns a
dull red and he cocks his chin at me in contempt. ‘You tell her!’ He throws me
a contemptuous snarl, and then stomps away to join his group of officers, all
of whom
regard me with similar disdain.
The man before me is young and
athletic-looking. He removes his lobster-tail helmet, gives a polite bow and
regards me with intelligent eyes.
Immediately I relax, knowing I
can reason with this man. Then I wonder what makes someone like him join the
New Model Army. His coat is well made and fits him without a wrinkle. His boots
are
new and highly polished, and his
short sword is obviously the work of a master craftsman.
‘I apologise for this unexpected
intrusion, Mistress Murray,’ he says, his voice smooth and courtier-like.
‘Captain Fitton appears oblivious of the fact that your household may not be
prepared for the invasion of forty extra-er guests.’ He indicates the captain,
who glowers at me from a distance.
‘Forty?’ I stare at the young
man, open-mouthed. ‘How are we expected to accommodate so many?’ I envisage
eighty booted feet scuffing our floors and wiping dirty hands on the bed
hangings.
My ears start to buzz and I
swallow noisily.
He shrugs and offers a
deprecating smile. ‘Our requirements are quite basic. I am sure we shall
manage.’ He fixes me with a direct gaze. ‘Besides, Mistress. You have no
choice.’
‘I do not mean to thwart you, or
Captain Fitton.’ I hesitate, ‘I’m sorry, I do not know your name.’
‘It is Carter, Mistress. Sergeant
Robin Carter.’
‘Well, Sergeant Carter. Are we to
be given no opportunity to prepare? Apart from the servants, we are five women
alone. Surely you would allow us time to organise our accommodation to allow
for the presence of so many men?’
‘If you would wait but a moment,
Mistress.’ He blows air through pursed lips, his gaze on the knot of officers.
Then he turns and strides to where Captain Fitton stands.
I clench my fists at my side as
they hold an earnest conversation, which Fitton punctuates with jerky arm
movements and a permanent scowl.
What am I doing? They will occupy
the house whether I fight every officer in the troop or not. I will have to let
them in eventually, so why humiliate myself? I cast a look behind me and have
to suppress a laugh. The horrified faces of my cousin and my sisters line up
behind the upper front windows. The lower ones display Master Ball, the housekeeper,
and that of several nervous-looking maids and footmen.
A gentle tap on the gate brings
my attention back to Sergeant Carter. ‘Um-Captain Fitton has agreed to return
at this time tomorrow with the documents you requested, Mistress Murray.’ I am
about to
thank him when his smile
dissolves. ‘We concede you triumphed today, however, he will be less
accommodating on the morrow.’
His voice drops to a whisper.
‘Whatever you feel you gained by this action, I hope it is worth it.’
So do I.
Bio:
Anita Seymour
Born in London, Anita has always been fascinated with the history of that city. She began writing historical family sagas, then experimented with Victorian Gothic romance, though now she feels she has found her niche with 17th Century historical biographical novels with her latest book, 'Royalist Rebel' released by Claymore Books in January 2013. She also reviews for the Historical Novel Review Blog.
http://thedisorganisedauthor.blogspot.com/
http://thedisorganisedauthor.blogspot.com/
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