The King's Man

Prologue

Robert Graves’ hands trembled as he pushed away a plate of cold beef and bread. Burnt into his brain like a firebrand were visions of his boyhood friends—their pitch-smeared heads suspended on iron spikes above London Bridge, their skulls glistening in the sun, their hollow eye sockets watching him. They had perished and he had survived. The guilt tore at his stomach.

They first met in 1514 when he was a beardless boy of sixteen. Each had been given a preferment to attend twenty-two year old King Henry VIII. What glory days. Robert remembered ‘Bluff King Hal’ pulling his bow and striking a target at a hundred paces, tiring ten horses in a joust, gambling away the bells of St. Paul’s and out-eating and out-drinking his young minions.

Only afterwards came the dark cruel years. The king turned a suspicious eye in their direction and the executions began. He shook his head, no more of that. He willed his thoughts back to his youth, to Graveswell and his falcon.

Chapter 1

One dark night three boys headed toward an old oak that stood alone in an open field. They walked quietly, their bare feet feeling the grass to avoid snapping any fallen twigs that might startle their prey, a female peregrine falcon, roosting on a lower branch of the oak. Giles held a torch to light their way. Robert followed clutching a five foot long pole with a noose attached to it and behind him Danny followed with a burlap sack over his shoulder.

As they neared the tree, Robert motioned for the others to wait behind the oak and for Giles to hide the torch behind his back. There was just enough light from the moon for him to see the falcon. He stretched the pole up and dangled the noose over the sleeping bird.

Now, he whispered through gritted teeth.

Giles stepped forward and thrust the flaming torch up at the falcon. At the same time Danny opened his sack wide below the perch. The startled bird stuck her neck out from beneath her feathers and let out a shrill kek-kek-kek. In an instant Robert slipped the noose over the falcon’s head and upper body and pulled a length of rope attached to it tight enough to prevent the bird from flying off. He lowered her gently into the bag, loosened the rope and pulled the pole out. Danny quickly closed the sack, gripping it tightly against their struggling captive. With Robert’s help he tied it shut with some hemp rope.

Robert clapped his friends on the back, We did it! She’s ours! he laughed.

At sixteen, Robert stood taller than the others. He had the Graves profile—black hair, long straight nose, and chin with a cleft in it as if flicked out with a sharp knife. Everyone noticed his eyes. Tonight they were bright blue with excitement, but sometimes when his mood was dark, they turned slate gray. He tousled Giles’s sandy hair.

Can I see the haggard? Giles asked. His adolescent voice fluttered between a high pitched alto and an uneven tenor. He spoke familiarly to Robert even though he was the son of a servant and Robert was of gentle birth for they had been childhood companions, roaming the woods together, building forts, and stealing apples from the orchard.

Not yet. She and I must come to terms first. Robert replied. He turned to Danny. Let me have the bag. Danny’s face fell as he surrendered the prize to his master. Robert knew how proud the boy had been to be included on this hunt. To ease his disappointment, he added, In good time you and Giles can help tame her.

Robert felt sorry for ten year-old Danny. He appeared at Graveswell Manor like a stray cat two years ago. The boy didn’t know what happened to his parents, only that they left him by the side of the road one foggy morning and he had walked a long time before coming to the manor road. Old Matthew, Giles’s grandfather, discovered the skinny little ragamuffin, wearing a threadbare wool jerkin, caked in dirt with skinned knees. The old man took him in and now he slept in the barn with the animals he loved.

The lateness of the hour made the boys hurry back. Suspicions would be raised if Giles hadn’t brought in the wood for the morning fires at the manor house and Danny hadn’t mucked out the barn stalls.

While the others returned to their duties, Robert headed for the Mew House, an old shed made of hand- hewed timbers. He opened the planked door, stepped inside, and carefully set the sack down causing the falcon to let out a muffled cry. He lit a candle. The sweet smell of hay, the soft leather straps hanging on the wall, the clay water bowl all brought back images of his father, Sir Harold. Everything Robert knew about falcons came from him. His death, eight months ago, fighting under the command of Henry VIII still made his heart ache. But in this room, he felt his father’s presence and it consoled him.

He opened the sack enough so that the hawk’s talons felt a padded bar that extended the length of one wall. He quickly tied her feet to the perch with long thongs which allowed her to move back and forth. Once she was secure, he lifted the burlap bag and waited for the haggard to adjust to her new surroundings. She appeared uninjured and for that he was thankful.

The hawk fidgeted. Robert rested his back against the wall next to the bar and stared at her. What a prize. Perhaps now his older brother, James, would appreciate his daring instead of constantly finding fault. After an hour, the falcon stopped pacing and Robert began to speak softly to her. Your eyes are so keen; your shoulders so broad. You will be a great flier. Place your trust in me and together we will hunt birds and rabbits as equals in the field, you in the sky and me on horseback. The falcon lowered her head and folded her brownish gray wings against her mottled breast as if listening.

What shall your name be? Perhaps Spirit. Yes, Spirit, the phantom hunter.

On and on he continued into the night until the haggard became accustomed to his voice, his scent, his being. When she was completely calm, he put on a heavy glove called a gauntlet. He took some strips of meat and placed them so they protruded from his fist. Her head went up at the smell of flesh. He waited for her to take the food directly from his hand wanting the hawk to associate food and the relief of hunger only with him. That was how his father said the bond was forged. Finally, reluctantly, she snatched at the morsels with her curved beak.

With the other hand he touched Spirit ever so gently. She flinched, but he continued until she tolerated his stroke on her dusky feathers. The silence and the softness were soothing.

****

Robert woke suddenly to a beam of light streaming through the cracks between the timbers of the mew house. He checked to see if all was well with his falcon. Spirit, eyes shut, did not move. He crept outside. By the angle of the sun, Robert knew he had slept past morning prayers. He imagined Chaplain Graham mincing to his mother. Master Graves neglects his religious duties. For his spiritual health he should concentrate on his catechism lessons rather than spend so much time roaming the woods.

He headed home to Graveswell, a drafty brick manor house that had belonged to his family since the time of William the Conqueror. The original entrance faced the sea on the north coast of Devon. In those days the only way to reach the estate was by water. But now, in 1514, a new entrance had been built in the direction of the highway. It was boasted that one could ride to London in five days’ time.

A crisp September breeze hurled magenta, gold and orange leaves onto his path. Robert nodded to a tenant farmer plowing his field with a team of oxen followed by a girl casting winter wheat seeds into the furrows. Sheep grazed on the hillside above. He remembered his father saying, The land is the only thing worth keeping. Past generations have preserved and nurtured our manor and so must we for those who come after us.

In the distance he saw villeins carrying sea sand manure from the banks of Bideford Bay. Sometimes, just before a storm, a great booming sounded from Bideford mouth where the ocean tide rushed in. When he was six, Old Matthew told him the noise was Graves’ pot boiling. Ever since, whenever the wind howled, Robert dreamt that a gigantic witch stood over her bubbling cauldron. The crack of thunder was her cackle; the lightning bolts her long bony fingers. In his sleep he strained to hear the spells the old hag conjured but always woke up before he could make out the words.

Cragshaw, one of the cotters, put down a thorn bush he was using to harrow a small plot of garden vegetables. He touched his forelock and said, Morning, Master Graves.

Morning, Robert replied, coming back to reality.

Robert entered the manor house through a back entrance. He saw some rolls in the pantry and shoved several under his shirt. In the kitchen he heard the butler’s voice. Opening the door a crack, he watched as Jenkins gave Giles a dressing down.

The broad shouldered butler towered over the boy and thundered, Why weren’t you present at the breakfast service? It was your responsibility to carry water for the cook and set the table. How do you ever expect to be a proper servant? Instead of standing quietly, you’re always clutching at the back of your head as if after a flea. When I turn my back you’re picking your nose or blowing it loudly on your sleeve.

Giles’ shoulders slumped over his barrel chest. He stared at his boots. His face flinched at each of the butler’s charges.

Look at me when I speak to you. Jenkins took his chin and jerked it upwards. You’re forever spitting or belching or squirting with your mouth. Your dear departed father knew how to stand quietly with his face in agreeable repose. He had the soft voice and quiet tread of a good servant. Lord knows, I’ve tried my best to bring some civility to your manners for his sake, but I see little hope for your future.

Robert knew Giles hated being cooped up indoors as much as he did. Taking pity on him, he came forward. Jenkins, I couldn’t help overhearing you. I am to blame for Giles’ lateness. He helped me capture a falcon last night which must be the cause of his oversleeping.

Jenkins looked up, frowning at the sudden interruption. He immediately composed his face, lowered his voice and said, Thank you for informing me of the circumstances.

Seeing how irritated the butler really felt, Robert decided to distract him with questions while Giles made his get-away. Now, kindly tell me, where everyone is.

Sir James has gone to collect rents at Manor Combe Martyn with Mr. Kendall. Your mother has retired to her bedroom. Lady Graves is talking with the cook.

And Elizabeth? Robert asked.

She has been confined to her room. I believe.

Robert had an inkling why his younger sister had been banished, but he wanted to hear the reason from her lips. He went up to his room, crawled out onto a window ledge and crossed to the balcony. He tapped lightly on the pane.

Elizabeth looked up. Dark ringlets framed her face. Her large brown eyes were red with tears. She seemed relieved at the sight of him and unlatched the window to let her brother inside.

Are you hungry? He asked.

She nodded and he handed her a roll and took one for himself. . She tore it open and hurriedly ate it all.

Robert waited for his sister to speak first. Finally she began, It was awful. How can Grandmama Lucinda think of Widower Buglethorpe as a possible husband for me?

All she sees are his green fields and meadows joined to Graveswell, Robert replied.

All I saw were his squinty eyes, and his bulbous nose that listed to one side. His breath smelled of ale when he waddled over to kiss my hand, and his skin was crabbed and crusted with pock marks. I wanted to dash out of the room and wash myself after he touched me.

Was Grandmama there?

Yes. She kept up the conversation—asking about his livelode and the type of sheep he raised, and the price of wool—but all the time she was glaring at me. I couldn’t think of a word to say. Finally she made some excuse and left the room. I was terrified. Mr. Buglethorpe gave me one of his gaping smiles. I smiled back—truly I tried to be polite. But he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him that’s when I screamed and ran to my room. Grandmama was furious and sent the maid with a note saying I should not come downstairs until I was ready to apologize. But I won’t do it! I won’t do it!

What has mother said about this? Robert asked.

Poor mother hardly knows I’m alive. You know as well as I do that since father died, she has spent every waking hour praying for his soul. Besides, Grandmama will have her way no matter what mother thinks.

Well maybe James can smooth things over. As a way to cheer her up, Robert added, I have news. Last night Giles, Danny and I captured a peregrine falcon. She has a fine wedge shaped head, sharp eyes and powerful wings. When Grandmama lets you out, you must have a look at her.

When I get out? I’ll never get out. I would rather be torn to pieces than marry that man, Elizabeth gave him an exasperated look. How can you think of a falcon at a time like this?

Robert knew that Elizabeth could be as strong willed as Grandmama Lucinda and needed time to calm down. He rose and said, I’ll try to help. I’ll talk to James. I must go, He kissed her on the cheek then left as he had come.

He walked to the stone barn. Old Matthew sat just inside the open, large wooden doors whittling a piece of alder. Wood shavings decorated his long white beard. His bushy eyebrows were so thick that it was hard to see his merry eyes except when he threw back his head and let out one of his thunderous laughs. Hello Master Robert, he boomed, tipping his cap. Danny told me you captured a falcon last night.

Robert smiled and nodded, Where is Danny? he asked.

Oh, he’s off on an errand, Old Matthew replied. You know hawking was never for me.

Why not?

Take a falconer out on a hunt. He is constantly crying out for his bird and whistling till his throat becomes dry as dust. If his hawk takes it into its head to perch on a bough and sulk, the falconer must wait like a servant till the bird decides to obey.

What about hunting? Does that suit you?

Matthew thought over the question as he carved, "The hunter blows his horn till his lips blister, and when he looks to find a hare, often it is but a hedgehog. He comes home at eventide rain-beaten, sore, pricked with thorns, his clothes torn, wet shod. Why would I want to hunt?

What sport do you fancy then?

T’is to your late father that I owe my love of angling. As he often said, the angler at the worst may lose a hook, easily and cheaply replaced, or a fish, but there are plenty more to be caught. Even if none bite, he will have had a wholesome walk at his ease, breathed in the sweet air and listened to the warble of the birds. And if the angler take the fish, there is no man happier.

To each his own pleasure, Robert laughed.

Old Matthew nodded, then in a more serious tone. Master, there is talk that Lord Cranston denies your family’s title to the new manor at Combe Martyn. He claims Sir Harold used a marked deck when he won the deed at cards.

Father would never cheat. My brother is there now collecting rents. Let’s hope all goes well. I’m just going to the mew house to see how my falcon is faring.

I bid you good day then.

Once inside the mew house, Robert went to the back wall and pushed a heavy wool curtain aside revealing a round opening in the timbers. A small shaft of light illuminated the room.

Hello Spirit, he called softly.

The dim light roused the falcon. She blinked and fluffed her feathers then tried to fly but was held back by the jesses binding her to the perch. Robert donned his buckskin gauntlets and put the bird on a leash to give her more freedom holding the end of it with his left hand. He placed his right one behind the hawk and pressed against her legs. Spirit stepped backwards onto Robert’s fist.

There now, that was easy, he said, moving his arm about the air smoothly and deliberately so the haggard would adjust to being close to him. A mouse scurried along the floor. Spirit started to push off. The leash stopped her flight and she toppled over dangling in midair.

Robert gently righted her, careful to avoid her talons and sharp beak. Oh, you will try to escape, my fine friend. But that is not good manners when I have come to feed you.

She opened her wings. Her soft feathers brushed his cheek. Almost a caress. When she calmed down, he fed her strips of meat out of a purse suspended from his belt. Patience Spirit, and soon you shall go out into the sunshine.

Chapter 2

Freeholders, villeins, and cotters stood by the barn at Manor Combe Martyn to pay their half yearly rents. Some held squealing pigs, others freshly caught salmon, others an assortment of goods to clear their debt. Off in the distance women gathered in clusters to gossip.

Tom Kendall, steward for Sir James Graves, hurried ahead of his master. He dusted off a bench and swept away a bantam rooster from the oak table that stood at the front of the line. The proud bird crowed mightily at being dethroned.

Sir James sat down. His hand rested on a sleeveless overcoat lined with lush sable fur. He had dressed carefully this morning choosing a red and gray damask doublet and matching breeches. His blue eyes scanned the crowd. He stroked his thick brown beard reassuring himself that the growth made him look older than his twenty years. He wanted to impress his new tenants for today was the first collection of rents at Manor Come Martyn since his father had won the estate in a game of cards.

Open the reckoning book, Sir James said to Tom. Let us begin.

Tom motioned to the first man in line.

Morning, Sir. Jack Tanner said as he limped forward dragging a bag of oats.

Morning, Jack. How’s your leg? Tom asked.

A bit stiff with the damp.

I hope it doesn’t keep you from the fields. Let’s see that will be three shillings, eight pence, Tom said, checking his ledger.

Well now, Sir, I think I should be given allowance for replacing my thatched roof. It fell in during the wicked winds we had last month, Jack said as if bartering with a tradesman.

Your cottage is your responsibility, my man. Your rent is due in full. Sir James tapped his fingers on the table. No excuses. Either pay by coin or by goods.

I’ve got a bag of oats and two of barley over yonder by my wife. Plus two shillings, Sir, Jack replied in a more deferential tone.

That will do for now, Sir James waved him away. Next.

Come Pansy, William Crowley pulled on a tether, coaxing his cow forward.

Sir James surveyed the animal’s brown hide covered with bald spots and some scabby sores. He noted a collapsed udder as she wheezed toward him.

Tom gave Crowley a stern look. You claim this as your best beast?

Tis been a bad year, Sir. Pansy here is the finest of my herd that survived the pestilence.

Sir James made a mental note to send Tom on a surprise visit to the Crowleys. No doubt his healthy cows were hidden in the caves that lined the cliffs along Bideford Bay.

Everything stopped at the sound of hoof beats. A cloud of dust swept across the field. Three horsemen thundered towards the orderly line at full speed. A startled goat butted a vegetable cart. Cabbages, radishes, turnips and carrots tumbled to the ground. Tenants scattered for cover.

Álice, Little Will, a woman screamed, frantically looking for her children.

Tom Kendall leaned towards Sir James, See their red and black livery. Those men are from Cragshill Castle.

James nodded, his heart beating wildly.

One henchman jumped a fence scattering a bunch of sheep. Another dismounted and grabbed a chicken from Goodwoman Tanner. Laughing he wrung its neck, then shook it in her face.

That’s my best laying hen! She fetched an egg from her wicker basket and threw it at the murderer.

The egg oozed down his livery coat. He snorted, whirled around and cuffed her head with the full force of his arm. The blow knocked her against a fence post and she collapsed, blood flowing from her ear.

Sir James recognized Lord Cranston’s chief agent, Bob Meader, by the jagged scar that creased his face.

Meader rode up to Old Harry Hornsby and separated him from the rest of tenants as one would a calf from its mother. Hornsby tucked his head down, raising his arms to avoid any blows that might come his way. At the same time the sweaty horse with steam coming from its nostrils closed in on him.

Meader smashed his club on the old man’s back, then shouted to the crowd. This land is under control of Lord Cranston. You will pay your rents to him.

The other riders joined him, raising their swords to emphasize Meader’s words.

Harry Hornsby coughed. Still crouching, he held up his bag of coins.

Sir James yelled. Get pitchforks and scythes from the barn.

Tom quickly handed the implements to the tenants they knew to be loyal.

You have no authority here. This land is Graves’ land by rightful inheritance. Sir James shouted at the intruders.

Kendall called, Harry, if you give your rent money to Lord Cranston, we will have your goods and cattle distrained.

The old man looked pleadingly at the crowd then cowered.

A pitchfork whizzed through the air. It slammed into the black dirt at the foot of Meader’s horse causing the animal to rear.

James and Kendall marched toward the intruders followed by an army of farmers. The horsemen backed off, but not before grabbing Hornsby’s coins.

We’ll visit each of you, one by one, to collect our lord’s money, Meader shouted, spitting on the ground. Then the three turned and galloped away.

The tenants milled restlessly speaking amongst themselves. We can’t afford to pay double rent, one said.

I pinch out pennies all year long to heap up enough money for my manor dues and now this, another cried.

Jack Tanner went to his wife and tied a rag around her bleeding head. She sobbed, cradling her dead chicken in her arms.

Sir James pounded on the table. Let everyone here bare witness. Combe Martyn Manor belongs to the Graves family. We will have the rents due us and see Lord Cranston in court.

****

Robert stopped by the study. Through the door, he heard his brother’s voice. He knocked to announce himself, then entered.

James, I have something to tell you, he blurted out.

Grandmama Lucinda narrowed her steely gray eyes at him. Where are your manners, Robert? Do not interrupt when your older brother has important matters to discuss with me. Sit down by the window and be still.

Lucinda stood straight as an arrow in front of the stone fireplace. She put a handkerchief to her nose, grimacing as if she smelled something distasteful. Her nose was her most sensitive organ. Her flaring nostrils could detect a servant in a lie, the sweaty perspiration of a thieving tradesman, or the sweet scent of money.

Her nasal passages had been Robert’s downfall many times. He used to hide when he heard her footsteps, but his grandmamma would lower her head like a hound dog and sniff him out with unerring accuracy. When Lucinda’s husband died twenty years ago, he left her jointure over Graveswell during her lifetime. As matriarch of the family, no decisions were made without her approval. Her whole being was set upon adding luster to the Graves name through property, wealth, and titles.

James continued, Bob Meader claims Manor Combe Martyn still belongs to his lordship and demanded the rent money.

Lucinda paced back and forth, her face reddening. How presumptuous? He thinks now that my son is dead we are weak. His men do outnumber ours but we have the deed to show that the land belongs to us. Still, he has powerful friends. Our only hope is to provide enough sweeteners to move the authorities to our side. Were you able to collect anything?

About half of the tenants paid. The others left and I shall have to send Kendall to collect.

We must have that income or we won’t be able to cover the crown’s fees on Graveswell, Lucinda said. Everything will be lost. I try my best to provide for our family with no help from your mother. If only my son were alive. Sir Harold could handle the estate and take Robert and Elizabeth in hand. With those words, she gave Robert a reproving look.

He squirmed. Without thinking he began clenching and unclenching his fists, bracing himself for another one of her lectures.

But instead she turned back to James and said, I went to the trouble of arranging a meeting between Elizabeth and Widower Buglethorpe. You know she is fifteen and ready for a suitable match. But she did everything she could to displease him.

Buglethorpe seems rather ancient. Isn’t his daughter older than Elizabeth? James asked.

That is neither here nor there, Lucinda sniffed. Fortunately, Mr. Buglethorpe still seems interested. He even agreed to an indenture stating that if he married Elizabeth and fortuned to have children, the children of the second marriage should inherit his land rather than his daughter by his first wife. It would be folly to forsake him unless you know of a better suitor?

Robert crossed his arms trying to contain his anger. She treats Elizabeth as if she were some beast to be bought and sold.

Lord Hartley wrote me of a gentleman of £400 livelode and good blood. James said.

Well write back and find out more details. Ask for his name and the shire where his estate lies, and whether he has any children? It does no good to go off in another direction unless we know he is worth pursuing, Lucinda responded. I shall go and check on the deed to Combe Martyn.

As she left, James turned toward Robert and smiled, I have high hopes of getting a preferment for you at the royal court. At sixteen you are just the right age. There are to be fifty new places opening up. Young Cary has already been approved. It’s a great opportunity to meet men of power and property but Chaplain Graham complains that you lack interest in your studies. Only by paying attention to your books and minding your betters, can you expect our family to outfit you for royal service.

Robert stood up—a chance to go to London, a chance to see the King. Then finding his tongue, he asked. When will you know if I’ve been accepted?

I don’t expect to hear before Michelmas, James replied.

Robert thought of Spirit. I’ve caught a magnificent falcon and am training her. Will I be allowed to take my hawk with me?

Well, King Hal loves to hunt. But, first things first. We’ll have to see whether you please the court.

****

Anne Graves knelt down for the final prayer of chapel service. A few candles illuminated the figure of Jesus hanging on a wooden cross. Chaplain Graham stood behind a small golden altar with the family Bible before him.

This room was Anne’s refuge. She wore a white gown with a special mantle and ring that symbolized the vow of celibacy she had taken upon her husband’s death. Her black hair was all but hidden behind a white hood.

Chaplain Graham began, Dear Lord: Help us this day to do Thy Will. Comfort Dame Graves in the death of her husband, Sir Harold. We pray for his soul and sing of the good deeds he performed in his lifetime. We are, dear Lord, aware of the shortcomings of his children. Let Elizabeth overcome her stubbornness and submit to her elders. Let Robert dedicate himself to his studies and devote his thoughts to Thy Holy Will. Give guidance to James so that Graveswell Manor prospers. In Thy name we pray. Amen.

The mention of her children sent a pang of remorse through Anne’s frail body. She knew James, Robert and Elizabeth were under their grandmother’s thumb just as she had been from the moment she married into the Graves family. But now, since she had come to know God, she looked to the next world for happiness. Her rebirth had come one evening after confessing all of her faults and receiving absolution. Christ appeared to her on a beam of light. His countenance was so peaceful. When He looked at her, she cried and kissed the hem of his purple gown.

She felt his holy hand on her head. He said, Thou must seek the final enlightenment where all thought of self and all physical attachments disappear. When thou hast overcome all the terrors of this strange journey on earth, thy soul will join in union with the Godhead.

The remembrance of that holy vision reassured her of what was to come.

Chaplain Graham’s voice broke into her reverie. Madam, you must eat and strengthen yourself. Your husband would not want you to sicken and die especially when your children are still of a tender age. He took her arm and helped her to her feet.

Thank you for your concern, she replied.

I am sorry to bring the matter up, but the chancery priest needs to be paid for singing dirges and lighting candles for Sir Harold’s soul.

Oh, yes, yes. I must ask James. I keep no money.

If he could also spare some poor pittance for me, so that I can dedicate my time and prayers that your husband rests easy in God’s arms, the chaplain added.

Ann turned to him. To be sure, that is your most important duty.

Just then a serving girl entered the chapel. She curtsied and said, Begging your pardon Madam, but Lady Lucinda has need of Chaplain Graham.

****

Lucinda was in the drawing room. She had been in a bother over what to do with her wayward granddaughter. Her interest in Widower Buglethorpe as a suitor had waned after hearing that his property was not clear of encumbrances. Then the post brought a letter that brightened her day. Chaplain Graham appeared at her door as she was reading the last paragraph.

Come in, come in. There is good news, Lucinda said waving the letter. My cousin writes that the Clapton heir wishes to marry. And best of all his wife and child are dead so there will be no interference in Elizabeth’s receiving a good marriage settlement from him

Most fortunate, the chaplain replied, his sparrow mouth forming a courteous smile.

Yes, I have decided to release my granddaughter and instruct her in the proper way to impress Mr. Clapton. But first I call upon you as her spiritual guardian to thrash her with a switch as a reminder not to put on airs. Mind do not touch her head or face. We must keep up her looks. See to it.

A very wise decision, Madam, the chaplain nodded and bowed his way out.

Lucinda turned to her secretary, a little man of such inconsequential looks that he blended into the drawing room like a piece of furniture. Get your quill and inkpot. We shall write to Mr. Clapton at once.

Standing over the clerk’s shoulder, she dictated her thoughts, trusting he would put them into proper form. Say Elizabeth is not married nor insured to any man. Ask him about his prospects. What does he hold? What income does he have? If all is in sufficient order, I shall arrange a meeting between the two of them.

An hour later, Elizabeth descended the stairs holding a pillow. She put it on a bench and sat down hoping to cushion her aching bottom. The maid brought her some chicken broth and a crust of oat bread. Hot tears streamed down her face as she slowly sipped her soup.

She looked up to see Tom Kendall enter the room holding his ledger. She felt her face flush, embarrassed by her tears.

He looked about and noticed her. Oh pardon me for intruding. I have some papers for your brother to sign. Have you seen him? He came closer to her and asked, Are you all right?

Elizabeth gulped. Secretly she adored Tom Kendall. He was taller than the other servants with sun-streaked blond hair and tanned skin that gave him the healthy glow of one who worked outdoors. But it wasn’t just his good looks; her admiration for him had begun when he rescued her spaniel, Rascal, from a tangle of blackberry bushes just after her tenth birthday. She tried to keep romantic thoughts clear from her head. Nothing could come of it. Grandmama Lucinda frowned on familiarity with a person of such inferior social rank.

Usually she spoke to Tom only in polite phrases. But today, with everything that happened this past week, she blurted out, It’s Grandmama, whenever I’m in her presence, I don’t know how to please her. Should I speak or keep silent, sit or stand, be merry or sad? Anything I do, she finds fault with. Not even God could please her. And now she would barter me away to any old man who has enough money and land to satisfy her greed. Sometimes I think myself in Hell.

Tom looked surprised at her words then bowed and said, Perhaps it is not my place, but if I can ever be of help. I am at your commandment.

Elizabeth looked into his blue eyes and saw their kindness. Her mouth opened but no words came. All she could do was nod her head and look away.

Chapter 3

Two weeks passed. Slowly Robert and his falcon became a natural part of each other’s lives. He strove to make Spirit feel that her chief pleasures in life—her food, her bath, her sheltered perch—all came from him. If her mind equated Robert with comfort and survival, he knew she would accept him as her keeper.

Today, he planned to try Spirit on a lure outside. Robert, Giles and Danny went down to a grassy meadow close to the stone barn. Gnarled oaks and ash trees shielded the open expanse against the northern sea winds. The air was calm for autumn and the sun warm, more like May than October.

Giles held a long cord. Tied to the end of it was the lure, a bundle of pigeon bones and wings. Danny stood by watching. He had been warned to keep very still as any movement might distract Spirit.

Robert placed his falcon on a stand with her jesses attached to a lengthy tether, than he called to Giles, Swing the lure over your head about five or six feet from her.

Ho, Giles yelled and started the rotation. Spirit was all aquiver when she sighted the bundle. Giles let the lure swing closer, and the hawk flew toward it.

Danny let out a squeal when Spirit almost caught the lure and then covered his mouth after Robert gave him a reproving look.

Robert called, Giles, slowly let the lure down on the ground.

Spirit immediately pounced on the pigeon bones and began pecking at them.

Robert whistled—a long trill, then three short ones, while holding out a tidbit of meat on his fist. This was to be a special signal to return to his master and be rewarded with food from his hand. Spirit’s head went up; she looked at Robert and then the lure. She paused as if uncertain then flew to him. Robert watched with satisfaction as she ate from his gloved hand.

As the days passed, he saw that his young haggard took off with more confidence, her wing muscles strengthened by daily exercise. Finally he told Giles, I’m going to unleash her.

Danny piped up, But what if she flies away and never returns?

I know, but we must test her loyalty to us, Robert’s heart raced as he carefully removed her jesses.

Giles swung the lure further away. Spirit pushed off taking command of the sky.

Danny covered his eyes as if fearing the worst.

Robert watched as Spirit gather speed and pumped her wings in short powerful strokes. He marveled at her sleek body, her feet tight against her tail, wings half closed to her sides, eyes blazing.

She hung above the lure then went into a steep dive as Giles allowed the bundle to drop. Robert knew quick descent signaled she was heading for a kill. Spirit pounced on the lure and stood towering over it.

Robert whistled their special call and approached cautiously, fearing any quick movement might set her off. He heard a gasping sound from Danny but Spirit did not move. She waited for him to come.

Elated, he rewarded her with some food. When she had finished, he stroked her feathered head.

A week later Robert took Spirit off the lure to see how she fared on her own against live prey. It would be just the two of them. He raised his arm and sent her into the wind. She flew a short distance, landed, flew again, then made a great circle, her dark predator eyes on the lookout. Robert watched her spy a flock of pigeons in a nearby wheat field and head straight for them. The pigeons took off in all directions. Spirit went after the last one to take flight. It had a hundred yard start. The bird whizzed through the open door of the stone barn and out the back door. Spirit followed. The wily pigeon banked sharply and flew around the barn and back in the front door, hiding in the rafters.

Robert ran over and stood just outside the barn door watching. Spirit seemed baffled. After flying through the barn, she circled above it. Finally she perched