of my Lady. Your mother wrote to her about Katherine. We never knew her, of course.’
‘No.’ If Mansell’s response had been coldly controlled before, now it was glacial. The rigid set of his shoulders discouraged further comment on the subject.
Sir William shuffled uncomfortably, then took a deep, spine-stiffening draught from his tankard. ‘Your mother. I suppose she is taking it hard?’
‘Yes.’ Mansell visibly relaxed a little, and took a glass of wine from a servant. ‘She is in London at present with Ned and Cecilia. I fear she finds time heavy on her hands. And is in constant despair that either I or Ned will also become victim of a stray bullet, as James was.’
‘And, of course, it has handed you a lot of unexpected responsibility. How do you feel about it?’
‘Uncomfortable.’ Mansell responded to the older man’s obvious concern with more honesty than he might usually allow. And besides, the new direction held no vicious memories, guaranteed to strike and tear at the unwary with cruel talons. ‘I suddenly seem to have inherited two titles. First my father’s knighthood, and now Edward’s barony, making me responsible for not only my father’s possessions but also Edward’s acres. It was not the life that I had planned.’
‘Don’t forget the inheritance from Edward’s bride,’ Sir William reminded him with a sharp glance. ‘She will have an excellent jointure as his widow from the estate, of course, but Mistress Ingram must have brought great resources with her to the marriage. The Laxton estates in Yorkshire themselves must bring in a tidy sum. I can tell you, it was the talk of Herefordshire when Edward suddenly upped and wed at his time of life. Why in God’s name should he suddenly change the habits of a lifetime? Not to mention the financial cost! We had no idea—always presumed he would go to his grave with no direct dependants. But no—and he must have beggared himself and his tenants in raising the funds to buy Mistress Ingram’s wardship from old Denham. As you will soon be aware, Edward was the worst of landlords. From what I know of the matter, his record-keeping was disorganised in the extreme, his collection of rents erratic and his investment in the estate nil.’ Sir William, a conscientious landlord himself, shook his head in disbelief. ‘His pockets were invariably empty, he was always pleading poverty and living in a style worse than that of his meanest tenant. His lands are widespread with great potential, but you would not think it to look at them. Look at this place.’ He waved his hand to encompass the medieval gloom of the Great Hall. ‘And to bring a new bride here!’ He huffed in disbelief.
‘As you say.’ Mansell did not need to follow Sir William’s gaze to know the truth of it. ‘I was unaware of either the marriage, or the extent of the property that now falls to my care. Or the state in which I find it. I could wish, for the most selfish of reasons, that my brother James had lived to take on the inheritance.’
Sir William nodded. There was nothing to say. He took a contemplative draught of the ale, his thoughtful gaze resting on the lady in question at the far side of the Hall. ‘Poor girl,’ he muttered as if to himself.
‘Why do you say that?’ Mansell realised that it might be in his interests to hear Sir William’s more knowledgeable assessment of the match.
‘Did you know your cousin at all?’ The rough brows rose in exaggerated query.
‘Not really.’
‘I thought not or you would not ask. I would not wish to speak ill of the dead, and certainly not on the day of his burial. But let me just say this—Edward had few friends to respect or mourn him, as is obvious from the paltry turn-out here. Local unrest would not normally keep friends and neighbours away from a good funeral! And his merits as a sensitive and caring husband for a young girl? Well, all I can say is that Denham must have been out of his mind—should never have allowed it.’
Francis watched Lady Mansell as she eased an elderly lady to her feet from a settle by the fire and restored her stick to her gnarled hand. His lips thinned a little in sudden distaste. So his own thoughts on the marriage were confirmed. Poor girl indeed.
‘It will be difficult for you to enjoy your gains in the circumstances, my boy, although we are quieter here than many areas,’ Sir William continued, interrupting his younger relative’s thoughts, sure of his subject now. ‘Most of the families hereabouts are loyal to the King or have the sense to keep their mouths shut and their doubts to themselves. Connections between families are still strong—much intermarriage has strengthened family ties over the centuries of course. Your own family has close connections with many apart from us at Croft Castle. The Scudamores, of course. The Pyes, the Kyrles of Walford—none of them here, you notice. And the Rudhalls—the son was at the church earlier but—ah, yes, there he is by the screen, looking as if he has lost his best hunter as usual. You will have noticed that the Coningsbys did not put in an appearance?’
‘I had. Is there a reason? Your knowledge of my family intricacies is much greater than mine.’
‘No marriage connections with the Coningsbys, of course—but a deadly feud between Fitzwilliam Coningsby and Edward going back many years; I have forgotten the details. But a lot of history there. You might find that you inherit it along with the property. You might want to watch your back, my boy.’
‘I am sure I shall soon discover. But tell me, Sir William, how did my cousin’s loyalties lie in present politics?’
‘Royalist, of course. Hereford is well under the command of Coningsby as Governor in the city. He and I muster the trained bands as required. There has been little unrest so far. The nearest Parliamentary garrison is Gloucester under Colonel Massey and that is too far away to be much of a threat in everyday matters. So we organise affairs to our own liking with little interference from those self-serving blackguards such as John Pym in London.’
Mansell took a deep breath. It really would not be politic to remain silent longer on such a crucial issue, however difficult the outcome. His eyes held Sir William’s in a forthright stare. ‘Perhaps I should tell you clearly, Sir William. My own sympathies lie with Parliament. I cannot in all conscience support a man such as Charles Stuart who would bleed his country dry, ignore the advice of Parliament—or even its very existence—and would have used the Catholic Irish to invade and subjugate his own people. I am not a Royalist—and nor would I be content to keep my mouth shut and my head down, as you put it. I will speak up for my beliefs, and act on them if necessary.’
Silence. As sharp as the honed blade at Sir William’s side.
Sir William took another gulp of ale. ‘Well, my boy.’ He eyed Mansell quizzically, perhaps a hint of respect in his fierce eyes under their grizzled brows. ‘That will put the hunting cat amongst the local pigeons. I like a man who knows his own mind and is not afraid to state it. But are you sure? I had never expected your father’s son to speak such treason. And neither would he! He will be turning in his grave to hear you!’
Mansell laughed, but harshly, and the bitterness did not escape Sir William. ‘Oh, yes. I am sure. Will this situation—your family connection with a traitor—make matters uncomfortable for you?’
‘Yes. It will. No point in beating about the bush. My wife will expect me to welcome you for the sake of your father and mother. My political associates will damn you as spawn of the Devil. So what am I expected to do?’ Sir William finished the ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he contemplated the future. The lines of authority and experience around his eyes deepened as he weighed the situation. Mansell simply waited for him to come to a most personal decision, hoping that he had not totally alienated this proud but honest man. He was not disappointed.
‘I
