Noble Duty

34. Cavendish Castle

"Stark, imposing and serene all at once," I murmured, repeating the words I had used when I first saw her father's painting as we sailed north from Cayo Biscayno. Yet no painted canvas had prepared me for this reality. Through the window to our left, Cavendish Castle stood, rising above the shimmering Thames, the family's ancient seat.

As David pressed his face against the window, Gillian described it for us. "The oldest part is a fortress founded in the reign of William the Conqueror, nearly seven hundred and fifty years ago, to guard the western approach to London. Around that Norman heart, successive generations raised wings, towers and courts – a stone chronicle of war, survival and royal favour."

She pointed. "There lies the tenants' village beneath the walls, and beyond it our orchards and pastures stretch towards our distant woodlands."

"All that is yours? It is vastly bigger than my grandparents' estate."

"It is mine to preserve, David. Your grandparents' estate is scarcely forty years old, while this house has been growing for nearly three-quarters of a millennium."

The carriage slowed to a stately walk as the team emerged from beneath the last canopy of ancient oaks, the iron wheels crunching onto the fine gravel of the estate's private avenue. Ahead, the towering stone archway of the outer gates stood open, and tenant families, labourers and household servants lined the avenue. Their cheering swelled to a roar as the four bays emerged from the trees.

As the coachman reined the team to a halt, David nearly tumbled from his seat in his haste to press his face against the glass, his boyish excitement completely overtaking his cabin-boy decorum. "They're shouting your name, My Lady! Look at them all!"

I stepped down onto the gravel, the crisp Berkshire air a welcome relief after nearly two months of London smoke, and turned to offer Gillian my arm. She glided down, her mourning silks rustling, and faced her people with the composure I had watched return day by day in Pall Mall.

Beneath the stone archway, a man stood by one of the pillars, and as we approached, he stepped forward, pulled off his cocked hat, and bowed. "My Lady... Baroness. Your uncle received Mr Vance's courier last Tuesday. He instructed me to place the ceremonial keys of the outer gate into your hands upon your return."

"Thank you, Mister Miller. And where is Uncle Richard?"

"He was informed well in advance of your arrival, and he is in the Great Hall with Mister Finch, My Lady." Miller's eyes darted to the crowd of shouting tenants casting late-summer lavender upon the avenue before the carriage. "They await you in the Great Hall with the estate accounts laid open upon the long table."

Gillian nodded. "Neither of us caused the false report, Mr Miller. Uncle Richard and I were both caught in the machinery it set in motion." She turned and looked up at the coachman. "We will walk from here to greet our staff and tenants. Follow at a distance, so we are undisturbed by the sounds of hooves and wheels."

"Yes, My Lady."

She stepped closer, placed her hand on my forearm, lifted her chin and said, "Shall we, Jarvis?"

We walked along the avenue towards the Norman walls, exchanging greetings with the tenants and servants lining our way. As we passed, they fell into step behind us, turning our quiet walk into a homecoming procession.

A broad-shouldered tenant farmer stepped from the crowd, pulling off his woollen cap, his weathered face creasing with tears of pure relief. "We set the church bells ringing when word came from London, My Lady." He paused, looked at me, and gave a sharp nod. "We know what you did for her on the water, Sir Jarvis. Berkshire does not forget a debt."

Gillian tightened her hand on my forearm as I replied. "It was her bold stratagem that made our escape possible. Without it, the Admiralty's report would have proved true."

We continued in this manner, the joyful murmur of the crowd following us like music. Upon the broad steps beneath the raised portcullis stood a man, and Gillian whispered to me, "That is Uncle Richard." 

As we approached, he descended, removed his hat and dropped to one knee. "Welcome home, My Lady. The House of Cavendish is restored to you."

Gillian looked down at him, then at the massive oak doors. "Rise, Uncle Richard. You acted upon the report placed before you, as duty required. Let us be grateful that it proved false."

Late in the afternoon, with greetings concluded, the ledgers reviewed, and our travelling chests unpacked, Gillian drew me away from the bustle of the Great Hall.

We climbed the winding stairs of the central tower, our footsteps echoing through the narrow way lit by candles set in iron sconces. At the top, along a short corridor, she threw open the heavy oak door to her private bedchamber.

The room was cool and smelled of beeswax and lavender, and at its end, tall glazed doors stood open upon a stone balcony overlooking the river. The view was breathtaking – below, twilight lay across the broad, impounded reach of the Thames, turning its still surface into hammered silver.

I walked to the edge of the parapet, looked down at the water flowing gently past far below, and caught sight of the jagged piers of the broken bridge rising from the water. "The bridge to nowhere," I said softly, smiling at the memory.

Gillian leaned against the ancient stonework beside me, looking down at the ruins of the bridge she had told me about months before. "Yes, the one my great-grandfather ordered broken when Colonel Venn seized Windsor Castle for Parliament. It looks much smaller from here than it ever did from the riverbank."

I nodded, looking at the dark pool where the current rippled around the broken masonry. "And you truly used to jump into the water from there?"

"I did. And dived from it." A genuine smile finally broke through her exhaustion. "And tomorrow, Jarvis, I intend to do something far more scandalous than diving into the Thames."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is that?"

She turned her gaze towards the vast meadows stretching to the woodlands, where horses grazed in the fading light. "I shall give my sidesaddle to anyone foolish enough to want it. Henceforth, I ride astride, as I did when I was young. This is my land, and I shall govern it – and myself – as I judge proper."

Lacing my fingers through hers, I felt the strength of her hand and murmured close to her ear, "As you wish, Jewel. I find it perfectly proper, and from what I have seen, your people will honour your judgement."

I looked at the woman beside me, remembering our first uncertain embrace in Atlantica's crowded forecastle: armed pirates standing guard, our captured ship under tow towards slavery, and her quiet request that I hold her. Now she stood as the Baroness, restored to the command of her own house.

Below, the Thames gathered the last of the daylight and bore it eastward towards London and the sea. Before us lay the life we had survived to choose.