Read Online The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) by Nicola Thorne - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicola Thorne
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it goes with George? If word of this were to come to his ears you would be dragged off to prison in Carlisle, brother or not. What you do must be very secret.’
‘It cannot be done from here, Mother,’ Brent said. ‘This is no longer our home; we are unwelcome here. George said that the moment grandfather died you and Emma would be banished to the dower house and I must be about my way ...’
‘And where to, pray?’ Tom demanded, his eyes narrowing. ‘Are you not a gentleman? Does he expect you to work like some artisan?’
‘I think he would have me in the Hanoverian army or the navy. George thinks I am good for nothing, Tom, and it is partly true, I must confess. I lack direction, I ...’
‘What is it you want to do Brent?’ Tom said softly, his eyes betraying warm affection for his brother.
‘Why, nothing better than to serve the King. Do you think I may?’
‘Come to France?’
‘Why not? With you? When you go back. Let me come with you Tom. Oh, please.’
Tom paused and looked at his mother, his face doubtful. He knew how much she had suffered already. Her life had been one long martyrdom to the Stuart cause, first husband and brother, now maybe her two sons. But Susan’s head was proudly raised and her eyes shining.
‘I know of nothing that would make me more proud, Brent my son. I know how restless you have been; how you have kicked your heels and wanted for direction. In the service of the King your talents can find a home, and then when he comes to his own country he will reward you by ousting your brother and bestowing on you the lands that should rightfully have gone to your father – Delamain, village and Castle.’
Her voice rang out proudly and Tom felt his eyes moisten. His mother was like the woman in the Bible extolled in Proverbs: ‘She hath put out her hand to the strong things; and her fingers have taken hold of the spindle ... Her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband, and he praised her.’
Tom clasped his mother’s hands and held them to him. ‘Mother, you will be on your own ...’
‘I ... I will be with her,’ Emma cried. ‘I will take care of Mother, while you and Brent bring back the King to England.’
Tom looked at his sister, grown so comely, so tall since he last saw her. She was a maid ready for marriage, for adorning the house of some great noble. But what future did eighteen-year-old Emma have? What future did any of them have unless the Stuarts were restored to the throne of England?
‘You are a noble girl indeed,’ Tom said, kissing her. ‘I know you will look after Mother and she you. We shall not be far away and we shall see you are both protected. Scotland and the south of England are well taken care of. It is here in Cumberland and Westmorland that we seek support for our cause.’
The silence at dinner the following day was uneasy. Apart from the stealthy movement of the servants, their soft murmurings as they served, no one spoke. At the head of the table George sat wrapped in thought. Next to him his mother kept her face expressionless. Brent and Tom applied themselves to what was on their plates. Emma hardly ate at all.
It had been a difficult day, getting the old man laid out and ready for burial. Taking his body to the vaulted Delamain church that stood in the grounds with the family tomb among the gravestones, listening to the prayers intoned over it. Tom, Brent and George took it in turns to stand guard with the male servants. People came and went, some to pay their respects, others on business.
Now the Delamain family was alone, restless in its solitude. After the last course had been served George motioned to the servants to leave and, as the heavy doors closed behind them, apprehension seemed to hang heavy in the air.
At last George, who had appeared to be warring with some inner turmoil, lifted his head, took a draught of wine and leaned over the table.
‘Let us not mince words. Tom you are not welcome here. Brother
‘It cannot be done from here, Mother,’ Brent said. ‘This is no longer our home; we are unwelcome here. George said that the moment grandfather died you and Emma would be banished to the dower house and I must be about my way ...’
‘And where to, pray?’ Tom demanded, his eyes narrowing. ‘Are you not a gentleman? Does he expect you to work like some artisan?’
‘I think he would have me in the Hanoverian army or the navy. George thinks I am good for nothing, Tom, and it is partly true, I must confess. I lack direction, I ...’
‘What is it you want to do Brent?’ Tom said softly, his eyes betraying warm affection for his brother.
‘Why, nothing better than to serve the King. Do you think I may?’
‘Come to France?’
‘Why not? With you? When you go back. Let me come with you Tom. Oh, please.’
Tom paused and looked at his mother, his face doubtful. He knew how much she had suffered already. Her life had been one long martyrdom to the Stuart cause, first husband and brother, now maybe her two sons. But Susan’s head was proudly raised and her eyes shining.
‘I know of nothing that would make me more proud, Brent my son. I know how restless you have been; how you have kicked your heels and wanted for direction. In the service of the King your talents can find a home, and then when he comes to his own country he will reward you by ousting your brother and bestowing on you the lands that should rightfully have gone to your father – Delamain, village and Castle.’
Her voice rang out proudly and Tom felt his eyes moisten. His mother was like the woman in the Bible extolled in Proverbs: ‘She hath put out her hand to the strong things; and her fingers have taken hold of the spindle ... Her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband, and he praised her.’
Tom clasped his mother’s hands and held them to him. ‘Mother, you will be on your own ...’
‘I ... I will be with her,’ Emma cried. ‘I will take care of Mother, while you and Brent bring back the King to England.’
Tom looked at his sister, grown so comely, so tall since he last saw her. She was a maid ready for marriage, for adorning the house of some great noble. But what future did eighteen-year-old Emma have? What future did any of them have unless the Stuarts were restored to the throne of England?
‘You are a noble girl indeed,’ Tom said, kissing her. ‘I know you will look after Mother and she you. We shall not be far away and we shall see you are both protected. Scotland and the south of England are well taken care of. It is here in Cumberland and Westmorland that we seek support for our cause.’
The silence at dinner the following day was uneasy. Apart from the stealthy movement of the servants, their soft murmurings as they served, no one spoke. At the head of the table George sat wrapped in thought. Next to him his mother kept her face expressionless. Brent and Tom applied themselves to what was on their plates. Emma hardly ate at all.
It had been a difficult day, getting the old man laid out and ready for burial. Taking his body to the vaulted Delamain church that stood in the grounds with the family tomb among the gravestones, listening to the prayers intoned over it. Tom, Brent and George took it in turns to stand guard with the male servants. People came and went, some to pay their respects, others on business.
Now the Delamain family was alone, restless in its solitude. After the last course had been served George motioned to the servants to leave and, as the heavy doors closed behind them, apprehension seemed to hang heavy in the air.
At last George, who had appeared to be warring with some inner turmoil, lifted his head, took a draught of wine and leaned over the table.
‘Let us not mince words. Tom you are not welcome here. Brother
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