Duking Days Rebellion Excerpt

Chapter One

Exeter, June 1685

Helena clung to the hanging strap of the Woulfe family carriage as it clattered down the hill and turned onto Northgate Street, two haughty footmen clinging to the rear. This would be the first time they had gone to church without their father, Sir Jonathan and their brother Aaron. Her heart twisted and she sent up a silent prayer that, wherever they were, they, and Uncle Edmund were safe.

She looked up and met Bayle’s gaze, too anxious to return his smile. Nathan Bayle, body servant to Sir Jonathan, had been part of Helena’s life forever. ‘Ask Bayle.’ was the watchword at Loxsbeare Manor. House servants and estate staff alike called him Master Bayle, whether in earshot or not. To the family he was Bayle. Only her father ever called him Nathan.

A broad shouldered man, he kept his wavy brown hair slicked back from a high, flat forehead over expressive brown eyes. Despite his imposing size, he was a non-threatening figure with a calm expression. Occupying the majority of the seat opposite, he dwarfed her younger brother Henry, who would have surely fidgeted more had there been room for him to do so.

The smells of hot leather and horses, sun-baked grass and starched linen assailing her senses within the confined space made Helena queasy as iron-clad wheels bumped over the cobbles in Arches Lane.

Beside her, Lady Elizabeth sat staunchly upright, her delicate features turned to the window. Helena couldn’t see her face, but sensed her unease as she watched her fiddle with a lace lappet falling from her headdress, tugging at it with nervous fingers.

Exeter sported few private carriages, so as they rolled to a halt outside St Mary Arches Church, the knot of curious onlookers gathered to watch the Woulfes handed down at the lytch gate was not a cause for concern.

Helena bowed in greeting to several acquaintances at the church door, others looked away as they took their usual pew in the cool and lofty interior. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the curious eyes boring into her back and the low mutterings echoing from adjacent pews.

Let them whisper and gossip, she was proud the men in her family had stood up for their principles and were willing to die for them.

Master Triske, a thin, humorless man, completed his self-indulgent sermon. Under the eye of the magistrate in the front pew, and with some reluctance, Helena thought, the minister announced the Duke of Monmouth’s declaration, made a few days before from Taunton market place.

After several nervous starts, he informed them Monmouth claimed to be the rightful king and that James the Second had murdered his father, King Charles.

Helena went rigid with shock as murmurs of dismay rippled round the congregation. Beside her, Henry murmured, “Father said Monmouth did not seek the throne.”

“Hush!” Helena nudged him, her gaze on their mother, who stared stonily ahead, a spot of color developing on each cheek.

With an undertone of warning, the minister recited King James’ pronouncement that his nephew and all his ‘adherents, abettors and advisers’ were traitors and rebels.

Helena felt warmth creep into her face. Traitor? How dare this insipid cleric call Sir Jonathan Woulfe such a thing? Rebel indeed! Didn’t he realize he was trying to protect the very church where Triske condemned his loyalty? “If the king had his way, you, Master Triske, would be chanting in Latin,” she murmured under her breath.

Her self-righteous anger sustained her through the rest of the service, when Lady Elizabeth gathered her and Henry in her wake to glide regally down the aisle, watched by their erstwhile friends and acquaintances.

Helena stayed close to her mother’s skirts like a child, eager to be away from what she felt were disparaging murmurs and hard looks. A friend of Henry’s started forward, most likely to offer his greetings, but a male hand clamped down on the boy’s shoulder and after a murmured exchange, he was guided away.

Helena narrowed her eyes, angry for Henry, who had harmed no one.

Was this what they were to expect from a community who had always held the Woulfes in high regard?