Read Online No Peace for Amelia by Siobhan Parkinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Siobhan Parkinson
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her hands bloody from some shank beef she was chopping into small pieces for a long, slow stew.
‘Open up, in the name of the king!’ The voice came through the letterbox and rang in the empty hall. The eruption of noise at the hall door made Mary Ann drop her kitchen knife with a clatter, spattering blood on her snowy apron, on the hem of her skirt and on her shoes. She hurried to the sink to clean up, so it was a few moments before she got to the hall.
Amelia’s grandmother had already opened the door, and the hall was full of hobnail boots and gruff voices. There seemed to be about a dozen of them, all angry and noisy, but there were really only three. The senior one among them shouted something at his subordinates, and they stopped thumping about and stood sulkily still, their bayonets lowered and their eyebrows thunderous.
‘Are you the young Maloney one?’ the officer asked Mary Ann.
‘Yes,’ said Mary Ann, in a shaking voice. ‘My name is Mary Ann Maloney.’
‘And who are you?’ he asked, turning with a slightly more polite tone to the old lady. ‘Are you the woman of the house?’
Grandmama said nothing at all, merely looked sadly at the men and then at Mary Ann.
‘Leave the old lady alone!’ cried Mary Ann. ‘It has nothing to do with her. She is a Quaker lady.’
‘What has nothing to do with her?’ asked the officer with a sneer. ‘You seem to know something about why we are here.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Mary Ann stalwartly, wishing she hadn’t dropped the kitchen knife. Not that she would have used it, but she would have felt better with a weapon in her hand.
‘Well, then,’ said the officer, ‘so how do you know who it has to do with?’
‘Because you asked for me by name. Leave her out ofit. And the boy.’ Edmund had crept out of the drawing room and was lurking, terror-stricken, behind his grandmother.
‘Go back in the front room, Ma’am,’ said the soldier. ‘And take the young lad. We’ll deal with this tramp ourselves .’
Amelia’s grandmother did not reply. Nor did she retreat into the drawing room. She took Edmund’s hand in hers and stood her ground.
The soldier shrugged. ‘Right-oh then. As you wish.’ Then he announced formally, to the ceiling: ‘We are here to search this house in the name of the king.’ He turned then to the two other soldiers and said: ‘Up the stairs. We’ll search the young one’s room first. That’s the most likely place. You show them the way, Maloney.’
Mary Ann stepped forward and placed a blood-streaked shoe on the bottom step of the stairs. A strange procession set off up the staircase, led by Mary Ann. The three soldiers followed, their eyes darting everywhere, their weapons at the ready. And Grandmama and Edmund took up the rear. The old lady wasn’t going to leave Mary Ann alone with these horrible men, and Edmund certainly wasn’t going to stay downstairs by himself.
On the landing, Mary Ann pointed to the narrow steps that led up to her attic bedroom.
‘Oh no,’ said the officer. ‘You keep in our sight. Lead on.’
So Mary Ann led on again, her legs weak with terror and perspiration dampening her armpits, her temples and even the palms of her hands.
The raucous men seemed to fill the tiny bedroom. They scattered pillows and slashed through Mary Ann’s chintz cushion. They poked down the sides of the armchair and yanked open the locker and the wardrobe. To her great embarrassment they pulled all Mary Ann’s clothing out of her tallboy, waving her interlock knickers and her flannel petticoats on the ends of their bayonets and ripping her expensive lisle stockings.
Then one of them stood on the loose floorboard. He rocked back and forth on it and shouted: ‘Hey, lads, this is it!’ He pressed down on the floorboard with the heel of his boot and the other end of the board shot up under the pressure.
With a whoop, the two younger soldiers crowded around the rectangular opening and poked into it. A
‘Open up, in the name of the king!’ The voice came through the letterbox and rang in the empty hall. The eruption of noise at the hall door made Mary Ann drop her kitchen knife with a clatter, spattering blood on her snowy apron, on the hem of her skirt and on her shoes. She hurried to the sink to clean up, so it was a few moments before she got to the hall.
Amelia’s grandmother had already opened the door, and the hall was full of hobnail boots and gruff voices. There seemed to be about a dozen of them, all angry and noisy, but there were really only three. The senior one among them shouted something at his subordinates, and they stopped thumping about and stood sulkily still, their bayonets lowered and their eyebrows thunderous.
‘Are you the young Maloney one?’ the officer asked Mary Ann.
‘Yes,’ said Mary Ann, in a shaking voice. ‘My name is Mary Ann Maloney.’
‘And who are you?’ he asked, turning with a slightly more polite tone to the old lady. ‘Are you the woman of the house?’
Grandmama said nothing at all, merely looked sadly at the men and then at Mary Ann.
‘Leave the old lady alone!’ cried Mary Ann. ‘It has nothing to do with her. She is a Quaker lady.’
‘What has nothing to do with her?’ asked the officer with a sneer. ‘You seem to know something about why we are here.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Mary Ann stalwartly, wishing she hadn’t dropped the kitchen knife. Not that she would have used it, but she would have felt better with a weapon in her hand.
‘Well, then,’ said the officer, ‘so how do you know who it has to do with?’
‘Because you asked for me by name. Leave her out ofit. And the boy.’ Edmund had crept out of the drawing room and was lurking, terror-stricken, behind his grandmother.
‘Go back in the front room, Ma’am,’ said the soldier. ‘And take the young lad. We’ll deal with this tramp ourselves .’
Amelia’s grandmother did not reply. Nor did she retreat into the drawing room. She took Edmund’s hand in hers and stood her ground.
The soldier shrugged. ‘Right-oh then. As you wish.’ Then he announced formally, to the ceiling: ‘We are here to search this house in the name of the king.’ He turned then to the two other soldiers and said: ‘Up the stairs. We’ll search the young one’s room first. That’s the most likely place. You show them the way, Maloney.’
Mary Ann stepped forward and placed a blood-streaked shoe on the bottom step of the stairs. A strange procession set off up the staircase, led by Mary Ann. The three soldiers followed, their eyes darting everywhere, their weapons at the ready. And Grandmama and Edmund took up the rear. The old lady wasn’t going to leave Mary Ann alone with these horrible men, and Edmund certainly wasn’t going to stay downstairs by himself.
On the landing, Mary Ann pointed to the narrow steps that led up to her attic bedroom.
‘Oh no,’ said the officer. ‘You keep in our sight. Lead on.’
So Mary Ann led on again, her legs weak with terror and perspiration dampening her armpits, her temples and even the palms of her hands.
The raucous men seemed to fill the tiny bedroom. They scattered pillows and slashed through Mary Ann’s chintz cushion. They poked down the sides of the armchair and yanked open the locker and the wardrobe. To her great embarrassment they pulled all Mary Ann’s clothing out of her tallboy, waving her interlock knickers and her flannel petticoats on the ends of their bayonets and ripping her expensive lisle stockings.
Then one of them stood on the loose floorboard. He rocked back and forth on it and shouted: ‘Hey, lads, this is it!’ He pressed down on the floorboard with the heel of his boot and the other end of the board shot up under the pressure.
With a whoop, the two younger soldiers crowded around the rectangular opening and poked into it. A
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