A Royal Love Match

CHAPTER ONE 1651-1

CHAPTER ONE

1651The nursery was filled with sunshine.

Nanny was sitting at the table ironing the ribbons that decorated the nightcap her Mistress wore at night.

Seated in the bay window, Alissia, aged nine, was making a drawing of flowers from the garden that were prettily arranged in a vase in front of her.

She intended to paint a particularly special picture as a birthday card for her mother who she adored.

Elizabeth Dalton, however, was not very strong and she had to spend a great deal of time in bed.

She was sleeping at this moment, which was one reason why Alissia was upstairs with Nanny.

They had already been out for a walk in the garden, enjoying all the beautiful flowers and planning a surprise for her mother’s birthday.

Their house was on the other side of the river Avon from Pershore, a village in the County of Worcestershire, famous for its large Abbey.

Elizabeth Fenwick had lived there all her life and when her father died the estate became her inheritance.

It was only a few months before his death that she met Bruce Dalton who was roving around England.

She was to learn later that he was a Scot.

He was, although no one was aware of it, reporting back to Scotland concerning the strength and location of Oliver Cromwell’s Regiments in the South of England.

However, when he first saw Elizabeth he lost his heart – as well as his ambition to undermine Cromwellian rule.

In the House of Lords in 1649 the Monarchy had been abolished and Cromwell’s Army had forcibly ejected a large number of Members of the Long Parliament from the House of Commons.

And early that year the King of England, Charles I had been tried by Parliament and executed in London.

It was two years later that Oliver Cromwell was named Lord Protector.

With Scotland subdued and largely in the hands of the all-powerful Ministers of the Presbyterian Kirk, he set about trying to give his Government a civilian rather than a military aspect.

Bruce Dalton found himself increasingly popular with the people of Worcestershire and he learnt that many of them wanted to bring back the Stuarts who they looked on as their rightful Rulers.

As soon as Elizabeth became engaged to him, her father died, leaving her the house and the estate on which she had been brought up since she was a baby.

Bruce was frightened now he was happily married that his identity would be discovered by the Cromwellian troops as they were always nosing about looking out for trouble.

He had called himself Bruce Dalton and it was in that name that he was married to Elizabeth.

He was, however, although it would have been a great mistake for anyone to find out, the second son of the Earl of Dalwaynnie.

The Earl was known to be an admirer and supporter of the Stuart Kings and it was essential, if Bruce was to remain in England, that no one should find out that he was his father’s son.

He was completely and blissfully happy with his beautiful Elizabeth.

The only sorrow was that they only had one child, Alissia, who was now nine years of age.

Their family life was very quiet and there had been no obvious difficulties to overcome.

Bruce had been so happy he had almost forgotten his beloved Scotland.

Soon the supporters of the Stuart King in Scotland decided to seek the restoration of Prince Charles, the only son of Charles I, now aged just eighteen, to the throne in London.

They had recognised Charles Stuart as their King in Scotland immediately after the execution of his father.

Bruce had been sent moving descriptions of him from his relations,

“He is a tall man – dark, slim and graceful,” they wrote. “He is charming to meet and we are all thrilled by his courage.”

They finished by saying,

“We are determined that he should be recognised as our lawful King, and you must help us, dear Bruce, in every way you can.”

They wrote more fully to him month by month.

Prince Charles had agreed to sign the Covenant, swearing to establish the Presbyterian Kirk in England.

He had arrived in Scotland in April 1650, managing to avoid the ships of the Commonwealth and landed at the mouth of the River Spey.

The news of Prince Charles’s arrival had made the Council of State in London determined to invade Scotland before a Scottish Army could march into England.

Nine months later Bruce received a letter to say that the Prince had been crowned Charles II at Scone near Perth on 1st January 1651.

It was where all the Kings of Scotland had been enthroned for centuries.

Finally Bruce was informed that in July the Prince was marching South with an Army of thirteen thousand men, English and Scottish, to lay claim to his inheritance.

While Bruce was still wondering what he should do about it, the Prince had advanced as far as Worcester.

Bruce had managed in the last few years to become friendly with the local supporters of Cromwell.

But now he was in a dilemma.

Every drop of his Scottish blood told him that he should join up with Prince Charles and fight for him as he would have done had he been in Scotland.

But Elizabeth was ill and could not leave her bed.

His beloved Alissia was only nine.

How could he leave them alone and unprotected to join Prince Charles at Worcester?

Yet he knew it was what he should do.

While Bruce was worrying over this problem, torn by his love for Scotland, his own country, and yet tied by his position in England, the battle started.

Prince Charles understood, Bruce knew, that he was seriously outnumbered by the serried ranks of the Army of the Commonwealth.

‘What on earth am I to do? What the devil am I to do?’ Bruce asked himself a thousand times.

Yet he knew, however much he loved Scotland, his duty lay with those who were dependent on him, his wife Elizabeth and his daughter Alissia.

*

Upstairs in the nursery the maid, Mary, brought in the afternoon tea on a tray.

“Is there any news, Mary?” asked Nanny eagerly.

Mary put the tray down on a side table and started to lay a cloth over the table where Nanny was working.

“They’re all sayin’ as things be very bad,” replied Mary. “And the men be praying that Prince Charles will escape ’cos if ’e’s taken prisoner there’s no doubt they’ll kill ’im like they killed ’is poor old father.”

She spoke with a bitterness that made Nanny look quickly towards Alissia.

Then she said to Mary in a whisper,

“Be careful what you say. Children have long ears and, if they’re questioned, it’s best they don’t understand the danger of what they says.”

Mary nodded to show that she understood.

Then putting the tray down in front of Nanny, she went out of the room.

“Come and have your tea, Alissia,” called Nanny.

“I’ve very nearly finished drawing these flowers,” answered Alissia, “and when I paint them I do hope Mama will be very pleased.”

“I know she will, and you paint very well indeed, dearie, she’ll be right proud of the card you’re makin’ for her birthday.”

“I wonder what Papa will give her,” Alissia mused, getting up from her seat by the window and walking across the nursery. “Last year he gave her a gorgeous brooch and she was very very pleased with it.”

“Of course she was, and I would expect she’ll have somethin’ even prettier this year.”

Nanny started to pour out the tea for herself.

Alissia had a cup of milk and helped herself to the honey sandwiches that cook had made for her.

“If Mama was well,” said Alissia, “we could have a lovely party. But Papa told me last night he thought she was too weak for one this year.”

“She must take great care of herself. I’m sure in a day or two she’ll be sittin’ out in the garden and then you can paint some of the flowers there when you’re with her.”

“She must not see my birthday card until Monday,” insisted Alissia.

“No, of course not,” agreed Nanny.

As she spoke the door opened and Mary said in a voice which sounded strange,

“The Master says you’re to ’ide this ’ere gentleman, Nanny, and ’e says that Cromwell’s men are not far behind ’im.”

Nanny jumped to her feet.

Coming in through the door was a man wearing the uniform of a Scottish soldier.

He was in a dishevelled state and there was blood running down over the fingers of his left hand.

He was a young man and not much older, Nanny guessed, than eighteen or nineteen.

He was very tall and good-looking and seemed to tower above Nanny as she exclaimed,

“You’re wounded, sir!”

“It is really only a slight scratch,” the young man answered. “But my horse was shot from under me. I am Clive More. I have managed to escape, but I don’t think they are far behind me.”

“Then come in here, sir,” Nanny urged, opening the door of her bedroom. “Undress quickly and get into that there bed.”

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.