It could have been worse. She managed not to lose her temper. She claimed womanly reluctance to make pleadings and suits. The squire had declined any personal support at her hearing — though all the men on the committee must know him, know of his long-standing support for Parliament, know what had befallen Ralph. They were unfriendly to Juliana but would be reluctant to offend the Lovells.
Squire Lovell had given Juliana one piece of critical advice. The committee granted her a rent certificate, but then she requested more:
'I am deeply grateful. And I believe, sirs, as a wife, who is blameless of her husband's sins, I am entitled to up to a fifth of his income in order to provide for myself and my infant children. If you give me just a little to work with,' pleaded Juliana, 'I can manage it well — feed us and house us — eliminate debts — avoid becoming a charge upon the parish where we live — '
They humphed, but allowed her three pounds and six shillings as her statutory 'fifth'. Lovell's estate was meagre.
Juliana, who had been brought up to press to the limit in a shameless French manner, then asked for the 'fifths' from the preceding three years. It was indicated that she should think herself lucky already and take herself off. Which, with a pragmatic French shrug of her shoulders, Juliana did.
Had the committee ever realised that she had popish French blood, then her chance of squeezing concessions from them would have been nil.
The Hampshire certificate would now enable her to negotiate Lovell's pardon with the Committee for Compounding in London. Exhilarated by her success, she was preparing to go there when unexpected news came to the squire from a friend at Westminster. Bored with waiting, Orlando had escaped from prison.
Well, that convinced his family that he was an unrepentant reprobate.
Chapter Thirty-Seven — Oxford: 1646
Juliana knew Lovell would not present himself to his father as a refugee. She decided to return to Oxford.
The one person she was sorry to leave was the governess in the next-door cottage, whose lonely life on the estate had been brightened by Tom's antics and who loved to coo over the baby. When Juliana told her of her decision to leave, the two women shared yet another rabbit stew, sucking on the joints informally, with their bowls on their knees at the fireside.
'I confide in you, Mistress Lovell, whenever the squire is sent a carp pie it always comes from the house to me — they are very much full of fishbones so the squire will not attempt to eat them, and honestly they are not to my taste either, but I must be grateful…'
Juliana tried to lure the faded old lady into providing some picture of Orlando in his youth. 'I taught the girls; I never knew the boys…'
'Will you have a spoon for your gravy?'
Under the influence of a good rich gravy, discretion dissolved: 'Well, he was very much an inward, solitary youngster. Nobody was surprised at what he did, though it broke his mother's heart. He was a very pretty little man — much like your Tom — and she always made a great pet of him — which you, of course, have too much good sense to do with your boys — it may be why he gave himself expectations of an inheritance, despite not being the first-born. But then the squire set him straight in his delusions, telling him plainly that Ralph must have the estate, with dowries for the girls — of whom there are so many — you may think Jenny is not to have anything, but wrongly, for an allocation was set aside for her, and would be hers when she wanted, but her liking was for a young man who fights for the King; I believe he lives yet, but has married another, despairing of our squire's ever unbending — and that — (I mean, when the squire was so firm with Orlando) was when they fell to quarrelling, the squire and he. His late mother was a most kind, virtuous lady; her great passion was blackwork embroidery — if you saw Ralph in his nightshirt it is likely he wore a piece of his mother's stitchery.'
'Very fine on the high collar and in bands over the chest, patterned with meanders and carnations… Orlando caused a scandal, he told me?'
'Yes, he did. But we never talk of that.'
At the squire's house next day, news of Juliana's departure was a visible relief. Orlando's father took a small Venice glass of claret with her, to show his gratitude that she was making a quiet exit. Mary Falconer, who had been boiling sweet soap in the closet, rushed out in a long apron to give Juliana a wish for luck and a little lawn bag of rose-scented soap balls. More usefully, Lady Swayne parted with baby-clothes and cot-bedding, managing to do so like an empress condescending to a peasant. Although he had sworn against it, the squire in strict private pressed five pounds into Juliana's hand; he warned her off asking for any more ever, then advised her to keep the gift from her husband.
She had to bring it home safe first: in the time-honoured manner, that evening she sat up and she sewed her money into her petticoat.
To be rid of her faster, a travel pass had been obtained from the Hampshire Committee. She had planned to make her own way with the carriers, but the Lovells were anxious about danger from the clubmen — bands of armed countrymen who were wearied beyond endurance of being taxed and raided by soldiers. These vigilantes had declared themselves the enemies of both King and Parliament, and roamed about the counties frightening everyone. To avoid attack, Juliana was instructed that since the Reverend Isaac Bonalleck was going her way, he would take her safely to the outskirts of Oxford. 'Or indeed,' said Francis Falconer, hopefully, 'if the siege of that town has ended, he can escort you right to your house.'
Juliana feared she no longer had a house, although Edmund Treves had promised to try to intercede with the landlord.
She never met Isaac Bonalleck's wife. Orlando's sister Bridget was so determined not to be infected by Royalism, she had refused any introduction to Juliana. Bonalleck was a fervent preacher who read his Bible as he rode the dawdling pad horse. His suit was black, his linen devoid of ornament, his collar small, his mouth tight, his colour florid. He suffered hurricanes of flatulence. The surges of embarrassment which overwhelmed him after every blast from his stomach went some way towards giving him a fragile humanity.
It took them a week to forge a passage through the muddy lanes and pot-holed highways. Often the road was so impassable that carriers hacked down the hedges and crossed into neighbouring fields. Almost sanctioned in law because the landowners were supposed to maintain the roads, this was generally accepted; far-sighted travellers carried axes for the purpose. Where last week's carriers had churned up the fields too much, they moved over further and further, on one stretch travelling half a mile from the original road. During their slow progress Isaac Bonalleck never discussed meals, weather, the best routes, the state of the roads, prices, indigestion, bad carriers, good post runners, cheating wagoners, or any of the usual subjects travellers chewed over at stops by the wayside or around dining tables in inns.
Only when they reached the outskirts of Oxford, did Mr Bonalleck relax. A New Model Army regiment under Colonel Thomas Rainborough had set up an informal blockade, anticipating a full siege after the winter. Rainborough's brother-in-law was a Mr Winthrop from New England, a man known to Mr Bonalleck, who also shared with Rainborough friendship with a New England preacher called Hugh Peter. So Bonalleck felt he would now be among friends and privileged, whereas Juliana still had to persuade the soldiers to let her enter Oxford. She had arrived during the curfew, an unsuccessful measure against riotous behaviour, so she waited. There was no safety for a respectable woman on the dark streets full of noisy taverns where soldiers habitually sat up in all-night drinking bouts.
When they first arrived and prepared to wait, they were able to observe that Oxford's outlying districts had suffered badly during the war. Growing fields lay fallow. Pasture meadows had lost their turf, dug out to build fortifications. Houses were either badly damaged or completely pulled down. Trees had been felled. No cattle grazed.