“I don’t know,” he heard himself saying, almost absently answering his own question, not Toby’s.
The boys stared up at him incredulously. “Where is she?” Toby repeated with a strangely adult air of patience, as if he believed that his father hadn’t properly understood him the first time.
“When’s she coming back?” Luke demanded, a quiver in his voice as he stared up at Rufus.
“I’m not quite sure,” Rufus said, forcing a note of brisk reassurance into his voice. “She had some things to do.”
“But she didn’t even say goodbye. I felt sure she’d be here,” Toby said with the same strange maturity that covered a wealth of confusion.
“She had to leave very suddenly and she didn’t wish to wake you,” Rufus said. “I’ve explained that already. Now, you’re going to stay at Mistress Beldam’s for a couple of days, so hurry up and get anything you want to take.”
Once he’d told Portia with some indignation he wouldn’t consign his children to the care of a brothel, but while he could take them to the relatively placid scene of a siege, he could not have them on a battlefield. And Rufus was under no illusions about the nature of the coming battle. Prince Rupert was insisting that the king’s men were ready to fight, that it was time to force the decisive battle of the war. But Rufus suspected… no, he knew… that the prince was mistaken. The king’s men were not ready to fight a decisive battle. And if they lost this one, then Charles might as well surrender to Parliament His short acquaintance with the prince had convinced him that the man, for all his reputation as a supreme commander, was far from levelheaded. It would have been sensible to have seen the siege of Castle Granville through to its conclusion. To walk away from it when it was so close to success had been rash and fatal for morale.
The king’s army had been losing steadily since the winter, and they needed some clear success. The surrender of Castle Granville would have afforded them that. Rufus had seen how dispirited the king’s men were, but Prince Rupert refused to acknowledge it. And Rufus had had no choice but to obey the orders of his supreme commander. Rufus had committed himself to the king for the present, and he was subject to the orders of Prince Rupert, whether he agreed with them or not. After this battle was fought… if he walked whole from the battlefield… then he would reassess his position.
How it had maddened him to walk away from Cato’s castle, to leave the man triumphant when Cato had been so close to surrender! But Rufus held close the conviction that their final confrontation would come another day. In this coming battle they would meet on the field. He knew it in blood, bone, and sinew.
“Beggin‘ yer pardon, master…?”
Josiah’s voice, sounding almost apologetic, brought him out of his reverie. He spun round with a smile of greeting.
“Could I ‘ave a word in private, m’lord?”
Rufus had known he would have to discuss his prisoner with Josiah as soon as he returned to Decatur village, and he had prepared himself for the conversation. “Of course.” He gestured to the stairs. “Lads, get your things together. Bill is going to take you in the cart as soon as you’re ready.”
“We got everything already,” Toby declared, and there was a note of accusation in his voice. “When Portia was here, before we went to the siege. We got everything then.”
“Yes, there isn’t anything we want left here,” Luke put it, butting his father’s knees with his head.
“Then go outside and play.” Rufus propelled the boys firmly outside the door and came back in, closing the door at his back. He leaned against it, ignoring the shouts of protest. “So, how is she?”
Josiah stroked his chin and looked grave. Rufus experienced a wave of pure terror. “What is it?” he demanded. “Is she all right?”
“Oh, aye, m’lord. The lass is as well as could be expected,” Josiah replied slowly. “But she needs some exercise… a walk along the river now an‘ again. I didn’t ’ave no orders, so…” He looked inquiringly at the master.
Rufus, from the dreadful depths of his hurt, had thrust aside all images of Portia herself… all recognition of her as a person. Now she came back to him in all her warm and restless liveliness. Her long-legged energy, the wild halo of orange hair, the slanted green cat’s eyes so filled with laughter and mischief and shrewd intelligence. And his own body reverberated with the sense of her confinement, of the dreadful inaction, the hours of boredom.
Five minutes’ walk along the river would take him to her.
And then he thought of what she’d done to him, and the bitterness flooded back in a corrosive wave that ate into memory and destroyed all softness.
“I don’t want the boys to know she’s here. Once Bill’s taken them away and we’ve left in the morning, you may give her her freedom,” he said distantly. “Tell her she’s not to be here when I return.” With a brusque gesture, he moved past Josiah and went abovestairs.
Josiah listened to his pacing along the wooden floor above. There was no purpose to his steps, it was as if he was pacing because he couldn’t bear to be still. Josiah had seen the anguish on his face a moment earlier. He had seen the same on Portia’s face many times in the last week. No two ways about it, two people were making each other very unhappy for some reason… a reason that Josiah, from a lifetime’s experience, was certain couldn’t be worth such pain. There was a child coming, too. And if Rufus cast the lass aside as completely as he seemed to intend doing, then he’d never know it.
Josiah gave a brisk little nod of decision and quietly let himself outside. The children were sitting in the dirt, idly scratching patterns on the ground with a stick. They looked up as Josiah emerged, and the flash of hope in the pair of blue orbs was replaced with a look of such disappointment that Josiah’s old heart turned over. “Eh, lads, you want to come an‘ ’elp me collect the honey from the ‘ives?”
It was an invitation that would normally have sent them into transports of delight. Now, however, they went with him in a dispirited silence, dragging their feet.
Portia spent the long hours of the day listening to the sounds that drifted muted through the high barred window of her cell. Pipes, drums, marching feet, shouted commands. She was aware of a curious atmosphere that was borne on the air, it seemed. A sense of fear, an edge almost of desperation to the sounds of an army preparing to do battle.
For a few hours she paced the stone-flagged floor of her cell, under Juno’s puzzled eye, her ears straining to catch the sound of a footfall on the path outside. She knew she would sense his coming as soon as he was within a hundred yards of the prison, and hope buoyed her until past noon. Then somehow she knew he wouldn’t be coming. He was going to go off to battle without seeing her. Without a word of reconciliation, he was going to face his death, willing to leave her to spend the rest of her life carrying the burden of this severed relationship, of the knowledge that he had died hating her, believing her false.
She fought the tears in grim silence as she waited for Josiah. But it was midafternoon before the outer door opened and the old man entered, breathing hard as if he’d been hurrying.
“Lord bless us! But it’s all go today.” He set a covered basket on the table. “I ‘ope you didn’t think I’d gone an’ forgotten you.” He unlocked Portia’s cell, his eyes taking in the prisoner’s extreme pallor, the set of her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“No, I didn’t think that.” Portia stepped out into the main room as Juno raced to the door, wagging her tail expectantly. “What’s happening in the village?”
Josiah let Juno out, then turned back to the table to unpack the basket. “Army business… folk marchin‘ around lookin’ important… Come an‘ eat now. Y’are eatin’ fer two, remember.”
“How can I forget?” Portia ate listlessly, all her energy consumed with the effort of not asking about Rufus… not asking if he’d said anything about her.