Blood and Roses

Early August 1642

The visitor knocked at the door. Eventually it was opened by an old woman in a white cap and pale blue petticoat. A man hovered in the dimly lit interior behind her and then faded from view. All at once the woman recognized the visitor as a young man she had known as a boy.

“Why, Master Simon!” she exclaimed.

“Agatha!” he responded. He watched her take in the sight of his plain, black hat and cropped hair– the sign of a Puritan - and saw her hesitation as she first extended her arms in welcome, then drew them back a little. He noticed too that the smile, which had so readily spread between the kindly wrinkles, had retracted a little. Simon studied her blue-grey eyes, understanding completely the distracted look which had disturbed their usual peace, as a randomly kicked stone momentarily disturbs the surface of a pool.

Then suddenly she drew herself up taller.

“Oh, Master Simon, whatever are you doing with all your beautiful curls cut off!” she exclaimed as she welcomed him inside with the gladness lavished on a prodigal. Her boldness surprised him, and it was his turn to hesitate, but fondness for his old nurse overcame him and he found himself suddenly embracing her in his strong arms and swinging her round on the spot, until, laughing, he deposited her once more at the front-door step.

“Oh, do come in!” she beckoned.

The smell of freshly baked bread assaulted his nostrils, and he suddenly remembered he had ridden for three days with the message entrusted to him. The man who had been present in the tiny room when she answered the door was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly aware of his tiredness, Simon looked round for a seat. Old Agatha noticed and pointed to a long bench near the window, steering him away from the seat under whose cushion she had just concealed a rosary. Through the window he noticed the old apple tree and remembered the crisp ripe fruit he had once climbed for. Now its branches were gnarled and here and there bare brown branches showed through its leaves. A few hens scratched underneath.

Simon sat down on one half of the bench and placed the austere black hat on the other half. Agatha had gone over to the fireplace and he watched her ladle steaming broth into a bowl and set it on the rough wooden table. Quickly she cut thick slices of bread.

“Come, Master Simon, you must eat.” He needed no second bidding. He had eaten little and ridden much since leaving London three days ago. She waited patiently until the edge was off his hunger and then sat down at the end of the table.

“Well, Master Simon, what brings you to these parts? You were but a lad when the Master and Mistress took you to London.” He swallowed and looked earnestly at her kind old face.

“I have a message,” he said. “Old Oliver was told to bring it, but I persuaded him to let me do it, and anyway I can ride faster – he would have taken a week.” The blue-grey eyes clouded again and a frown creased her brow. Master Simon put down the crust he was eating and lowered his voice.

“Where’s Matthew?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, truthfully. “Maybe he’s out in the vegetable garden,” she said, looking towards the back door, but making no attempt to find out.

“I must see Matthew,” urged Simon.

“He’ll be in later,” she promised, but her tone and her frown conveyed to Simon her ambivalence about their meeting. Simon poked at his stew and ate in silence for a minute.

“Maybe Matthew is not as happy to see me as you yourself, Agatha.” Simon probed, picking delicately at the edges of the issue in the hope of unravelling it further. He suspected the figure he had dimly seen behind Agatha as she had answered his knock had been Matthew and his sudden disappearance told him he was not at ease with this unexpected visit.

“Matthew never really understood why your father had to leave us,” she said with a sigh, “or why this new Puritanism changed their relationship. He was so happy as chief gardener at the old manor house. Everything changed when your family moved closer to London. The new master deemed him too old and replaced him with a younger man and I had no wish to stay without him. We had nowhere to go until your father heard of our dilemma, took pity on us and secured this cottage for us from the new owners of Hartley Hall.” The tiny cottage had been their home as long as Simon could remember.

“He wanted you to be able to see out your days in peace,” he said.

“We are indeed grateful to be able to stay in Harton. Things go on unchanged here in Worcestershire. We hope to see out our days without involving ourselves in religious contention.”

Simon kept his eyes on the bottom of the soup bowl he was wiping with a piece of bread.

“I must see Matthew,” repeated Simon. He searched Agatha’s face in the hope of finding clues to the information he believed she was withholding, but there were none.

“What’s your message, Master Simon? I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Before he could reply the back door burst open and Matthew stood before them holding up a freshly killed chicken.

“How about roast chicken for dinner?”

“Why, Matthew! So that’s what you were about!” Agatha exclaimed, relieved at his re-appearance. She busied herself preparing the plucked bird for the fire. Simon stood up and turned to Matthew who nodded a greeting.

“I didn’t expect to see you in these parts, Master Simon. What brings you here?”

“I am here to deliver a message from my father, Matthew.” No one except Oliver knows I am here. I came in his place because I wanted to bring it myself. From the leather bag strapped by his side he produced a folded piece of parchment on which was penned in ink a letter from his father.