A Royal Love Match Read online

  He then hurried into the bedroom and Nanny turned to Alissia.

  “Run down to your mother’s room,” she asked her. “Don’t tell her what’s happenin’, but bring me up the face-powder she puts in the drawer of her dressin’ table.”

  Alissia did not argue or ask any questions.

  She merely did as Nanny told her and ran quickly down from the nursery, which was on the second floor, to the first floor where her mother’s bedroom was situated.

  It was a large room with windows looking out over the garden.

  As Alissia quietly opened the door she could see that her mother’s eyes were closed.

  She was asleep in the big bed with its canopied top and white muslin curtains falling down on either side.

  Alissia tiptoed over the room to the dressing table.

  Opening the drawer she found the face-powder that her mother used sparingly, but she always wanted to look as lovely as her husband told her she was.

  The Scottish soldier had said Cromwell’s men were not far behind him, so Alissia knew that every minute was crucial as she ran back up the stairs.

  She was most intelligent for her age.

  She knew that the battle that was raging outside the City of Worcester was of great significance.

  Not only to her father but to England, but she had been warned that it was something she must not talk about when there were visitors in the house.

  Before reaching the nursery she looked out of the window on the way up the stairs.

  She saw coming up the drive there were a number of men on horseback and they were wearing the uniform of Cromwell’s Roundheads.

  So she hurried back into the nursery and opened the door into Nanny’s bedroom.

  Clive More was already lying in Nanny’s bed and Nanny was just finishing bandaging his arm.

  “There are soldiers coming up the drive, Nanny,” murmured Alissia.

  Nanny pulled all the bedclothes over the stranger’s arm and took the face-powder from Alissia.

  Then much to Alissia’s surprise she put it down on the bed.

  She pulled the lace nightcap she had been mending over the young man’s head and tied the silk ribbons under his chin.

  She then powdered his face.

  Clive More was already looking pale from losing so much blood and the white powder made him look rather strange, but certainly less like a soldier.

  Nanny finished tying the ribbon into a bow under his chin.

  Then turning to Alissia, she urged her,

  “Come here, dearie.”

  Alissia obeyed.

  Nanny then picked up the pair of scissors that were lying on top of the bed.

  She cut off one of the curls of fair hair that fell over Alissia’s shoulders.

  Alissia was surprised, but she did not say anything.

  She merely looked on as Nanny twisted a piece of cotton round the curl.

  She pushed the end of the hair under the nightcap and arranged it carefully against the cheek of the man lying in her bed.

  Next Nanny cut off another of Alissia’s curls and arranged it against his other cheek.

  It certainly made him look far more like a woman than a man.

  “Now keep your eyes shut,” she whispered to him, “and appear to be fast asleep even if they speaks to you. Do you understand, sir?”

  “I understand and thank you so much,” the young man mumbled.

  He spoke in a low voice, but Alissia thought it was a very pleasant one.

  Nanny pulled the blinds down halfway and taking Alissia by the hand she drew her back into the nursery.

  “Sit down at the table and eat your tea as if nothin’ has happened, dearie, and if they asks you any questions, you’re too shy to answer them. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes, Nanny, I understand. They must not capture that man in your room or they will kill him!”

  Nanny did not answer.

  A few moments later the door opened and two men walked aggressively into the room.

  Nanny then turned round and stared at them as if she was astonished at their sudden appearance.

  Alissia merely looked up holding a honey sandwich in her hand.

  “Has a soldier just come in here?” one of the men asked abruptly.

  He was obviously an Officer.

  He looked disreputable and mud-splashed as if he had been riding hard over dirty roads and fields.

  “There’s no one here except me and the children,” Nanny responded. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “I haven’t got time for that,” he replied roughly.

  He was looking round the room as Nanny spoke.

  He even peered under the nursery table as if he thought someone might be hiding there.

  Then he walked to the door which led into Nanny’s bedroom.

  “If you’re goin’ in there,” Nanny said to him in a sharp voice, “don’t you go wakin’ Miss Lucy. She’s got a bad cold and is runnin’ a temperature. I’ve only just got her off to sleep.”

  It was the voice of authority which the soldier must have recognised from when he was a child.

  “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, I promise, Nanny – ”

  He opened the door and peeped in.

  He had no idea that Nanny was holding her breath, while Alissia was watching wide-eyed.

  They heard him move across the room and open the wardrobe.

  It only contained Nanny’s clothes and he closed it quietly.

  Then he came out of the bedroom shutting the door behind him.

  “You can’t say I was anything but real quiet,” he said, “and your young charge is sleeping peacefully.”

  “I suppose I should thank you,” declared Nanny. “But you’ve not told me who you’re lookin’ for.”

  “I reckon it’s only polite to tell you,” the Officer answered. “It’s the son of the Marquis of Morelanton and we’ll find him sooner or later wherever he may be hiding himself.”

  “Poor young fellow, whatever has he done to hurt you?” Nanny asked scornfully.

  “You know the answer to that,” the Officer smiled. “He wants to put another of those Stuarts on the throne and we’ve had quite enough of them.”

  He moved to the door as he spoke and as Nanny did not say anything, he added,

  “Goodbye, Nanny, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but when we catch young Charles Stuart and finish off all those who’re supporting him, everything will be peaceful again in the land.”

  Nanny did not reply.

  The Officer was joined by the man with him and they went out closing the door behind them.

  Nanny and Alissia heard their footsteps going down the stairs.

  Only when there was silence did Nanny give a deep sigh of relief.

  “Will they go away now?” Alissia asked Nanny in a frightened voice.

  “We can’t be sure of it, dearie, until we hear or see their horses goin’ down the drive.”

  “I want to go to Papa,” Alissia piped up.

  Nanny shook her head.

  “It might make things awkward for him. You stay here with me, dearie, till he sends for you.”

  She rose from the tea table and opened the door of her bedroom.

  Clive More was still there lying motionless where she had left him in the bed.

  “That was a near thing,” he said in a voice that was almost inaudible. “Thank you more than I can ever say for being so brave.”

  “You stay where you be,” insisted Nanny. “We’re not safe until we’re certain they’ve left the house. Is your arm still hurtin’ you? I’ll give it a proper bandage when I’m quite certain no one’s peepin’ in at us.”

  “Only a Nanny as brilliant as you,” Clive sighed, “would have ever thought of passing me off as a sick girl.”

  “They’re a real nasty lot if you asks me. So what’s happened at Worcester, then?”

  “I only hope the Prince has escaped,” he replied. “Actually I must not stay here – making things da
ngerous for you.”

  “You would be stupid if you left before the battle at Worcester is over and the soldiers go back to London.”

  “I am very afraid we are defeated,” Clive groaned. “I only hope and pray the Prince will be able to escape.”

  “Well, I’ll go and see what’s happenin’ downstairs. Alissia will stay here with you and, if anyone else comes upstairs, pretend to be asleep.

  Clive looked at Nanny.

  “I always used to do exactly what my own Nanny told me to do,” he grinned.

  Nanny smiled.

  “Those are my orders and don’t you try any tricks till I comes back,” she added with authority.

  She went out of the room leaving the door open.

  Alissia could go back into the nursery if she wanted to, but instead she sat down on the side of the bed.

  “Was it terribly frightening when you were fighting the battle?” she asked him.

  “To tell the truth,” he replied, “it was incredibly frightening. But I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what you do here and if you have a nice pony to ride.”

  “A lovely pony. He is called Lightning and I have had him for more than three years and I can go very very fast on him.”

  “That is just what I was doing when I was running away with several others from a mob of horrible soldiers who wanted to kill us.”

  “But you escaped – ”

  “Very fortunately because my horse was so fast,” was his answer. “But there were two men concealed in the wood at the bottom of your drive and they shot my horse so that it threw me.”

  “I am sorry, very sorry. I would be very unhappy if they shot my pony.”

  “I loved my horse,” he told her, “so you know how I feel now that I have lost him.”

  “But you are lucky they did not kill you too.”

  “I know that, Alissia, but they would undoubtedly have taken me a prisoner if your Nanny and you had not been so clever and I want to thank you both very much.”

  Clive then smiled at her and she thought how funny he looked with her curls on either side of his face – and her mother’s lace nightcap on his head.

  A few moments later when Alissia was still telling him about her pony, her father came into the room with Nanny.

  “They have gone now, Clive,” he said to the young man in the bed. “It was very astute of you to find your way to us here in Pershore.”

  “My father told me that this is where you lived,” Clive replied, “and I was hoping to have the chance when we were in Worcester to meet you. But I did not expect it to be under such terrifying circumstances.”

  “Terrifying indeed,” Bruce Dalton agreed. “They have ridden away and I have convinced them that I am on their side and will inform them if any Scot dares to come here asking for help.”

  He thought that Clive looked horrified and added,

  “I live here, and it would be a great mistake for anyone to think that I am a Scot or anxious to rid England of Cromwell. You might have been on the way to victory.”

  “I wish I could tell you that was so,” Clive replied, “but they outnumbered us and we were overwhelmed.”

  “And what about the Prince?” Bruce Dalton asked almost in a whisper.

  Clive shook his head.

  “I can only hope he escaped, but the fighting was vicious and I had no idea what was happening until I found myself just outside the City and being attacked ferociously by the Cromwellians.”

  “We will just have to wait and hope that the Prince has escaped,” Bruce remarked wistfully.

  It was actually not until nearly three days later that they discovered the worst.

  The Scottish Army had been totally overwhelmed at Worcester and a great number of their soldiers had been killed and the rest taken prisoner.

  It was by a miracle that the Prince had managed to escape in disguise after the battle through the Northern gate of the City of Worcester

  No one knew where he was.

  It was not until a long time later that Bruce Dalton was informed that he had made his way to Boscobel in Shropshire and there he had been welcomed at the house of a Roman Catholic family.

  In their grounds he had hidden in an oak tree, whilst the whole of Southern England was searching for him.

  He was described by the vengeful Cromwellians as,

  “That despicable, malicious and dangerous traitor Charles Stuart, son of the late Tyrant, a tall black man over two yards high.”

  There was no response to this from the people of Pershore, who were only extremely grateful that the Battle of Worcester had not extended as far as their town.

  They were not really interested in the price of one thousand pounds on Charles’s head – in point of fact the high reward did not tempt the English at all into looking for him.

  It was not until much later in the year that Bruce learnt what had actually happened.

  The Prince, disguised in rough country clothes, his long curly hair cut short and crammed under a greasy old hat, had made his way to the Sussex coast at Brighton.

  It took him six weeks to reach Brighton and from there he had been carried in a fishing boat to Fécamp in Normandy.

  “I thank God for that,” Bruce had exclaimed when he heard the news.

  When he told Alissia, she had jumped for joy.

  “I am glad, so very glad!” she cried. “And that nice gentleman, Clive, who came here will be glad too.”

  “He has gone back to Scotland, my dear, and if he is wise he will stay there. We will not be rid of Oliver Cromwell for a long time, I am afraid.”

  As the years passed by, Bruce had his own troubles.

  Elizabeth’s weakness grew far worse and she spent most of her time in bed.

  Only occasionally did she feel well enough to come downstairs and sit in the garden with her daughter – or in the window near the big fire in their comfortable drawing room.

  *

  Finally five years after the Battle of Worcester had seemed to be almost forgotten, Elizabeth died peacefully in her sleep and Alissia, now aged fourteen, had to cope with her distraught and miserable father.

  “We were so happy together,” he kept saying, “how could she leave me and how, my darling daughter, can we manage without her?”

  Because he was so perturbed, Alissia had unwisely encouraged him to go to London to visit some of his old friends.

  She thought that maybe he would forget for a while the happiness he had had with his beloved wife.

  She had naturally not anticipated in any way what would eventuate.

  Because Bruce was feeling so incredibly lonely, he instinctively turned to other women for comfort.

  Although Nanny was still with her, Alissia now had a middle-aged Governess who came to the house every day from Pershore to give her lessons.

  She also had a teacher of music and the Vicar of Pershore Abbey instructed her in history in which he had excelled when he had been at University.

  It was not the same, however, as having her father with her.

  When she heard that he was returning home again after another of his long visits to London, she felt thrilled and delighted.

  At first he had come back home every month as he considered it his duty to see to the estate and to catch up with Alissia.

  Then his absences had extended to two months at a time – and then a little longer.

  Nanny and the servants, who had been at the house ever since her parents married, looked after Alissia.

  Occasionally she played with other children of her own age and Nanny would arrange a party for them and in return Alissia was asked back to their homes.

  One day she had a letter telling her that her father was coming back for good and her heart leapt.

  She was so excited at the news that she could think of nothing else – her darling Papa was coming back to her at last.

  But only when that letter was followed by a second did she realise that the reason he was returning was that he
had married again.

  “You will, my dearest,” he wrote, “of course never forget your beloved mother.

  But you will find that Lady Hester Gordon, who is to become my wife, will make you much happier than you are at the moment, as she has made me.”

  “I would never have thought that Papa would marry again,” Alissia confessed to Nanny.

  “If it comes to that, nor did I, dearie, in fact I thinks he’d never find another woman to take your dear mother’s place.”

  Alissia could not help feeling too that it would be impossible.

  Her father arrived back home with his new wife and Nancy Gordon, her daughter from her previous marriage.

  From the very moment she arrived, Alissia knew that Nancy was jealous of her.

  She clearly resented that Alissia was undoubtedly prettier than she was.

  Nancy was quite a nice-looking girl, but Alissia had in recent years grown more and more like her mother, her golden naturally curly hair being her crowning glory.

  Her truly English pink-and-white complexion made the vivid blue of her eyes seem all the more striking and even Nanny praised her at times,

  “You look real pretty, dearie, and that be the right word for it. If you’re not a success when you grows up and go out into the Social world, I’ll eat my hat!”

  It was one of Nanny’s favourite expressions and it always made Alissia laugh.

  “I should hate you to have to eat your hat – it would taste horrible!” she laughed. “So, Nanny, help me to look exactly like Mama.”

  “She was a real beauty, make no mistake,” Nanny would say.

  Then to amuse Alissia she would arrange her hair in one of the more fashionable styles that could be seen in Worcester in certain quarters for the odd callers who would occasionally came to see if her father had returned or was still in London.

  When her Papa did return, everything was different.

  Lady Hester professed every intention of enjoying herself and that meant she needed an audience, preferably of men to admire her constantly.

  She did not at first think of Alissia as a rival for her daughter, but Nanny became aware of it and did not hide her feelings.

  Then as time passed and Alissia grew even more lovely, Lady Hester began to look at her in a very different manner.