The Swift and the Harrier

The epic historical adventure love story from 25-million copy bestselling author Minette Walters

Minette Walters

• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Year: 2021
• Topic: Literature
• eBook ISBN:
  9781838954543
• Subtopic: Historical Fiction
• Index: Literature

'Historical fiction at its finest' - Belfast Telegraph
Dorset, 1642.
When bloody civil war breaks out between the King and Parliament, families and communities across England are riven by different allegiances.
A rare few choose neutrality.
One such is Jayne Swift, a Dorset physician from a Royalist family, who offers her services to both sides in the conflict. Through her dedication to treating the sick and wounded, regardless of belief, Jayne becomes a witness to the brutality of war and the devastation it wreaks.
Yet her recurring companion at every event is a man she should despise because he embraces civil war as the means to an end. She knows him as William Harrier, but is ignorant about every other aspect of his life. His past is a mystery and his future uncertain.
The Swift and the Harrier is a sweeping tale of adventure and loss, sacrifice and love, with a unique and unforgettable heroine at its heart.

TWENTY-FIVE

Dorchester, Dorset, 8 May 1646

BELLS HAD BEEN TOLLING IN joyous celebration of the King’s surrender for three days, and the streets of Dorchester were once again filled with happy people, most of whom were inebriated. Brawls became frequent as the ale levels rose, and Jayne stood up to watch from Alice’s bedroom window as men threw drunken punches at each other. More often than not, Molly joined her and, together, they pondered the mystery of why, when the war was over, men still took pleasure in conflict.

Jayne said it would make more sense if defeated Royalists were lashing out at triumphant Parliamentarians, but for Dorchester Puritans to fight each other seemed to her the height of absurdity. What did they have to argue about? Molly scolded her for being naive. Puritan or not, it was the nature of males to fight. She had nothing but contempt for the whole selfish sex.

In truth, her anger was directed mainly at Sir Francis, who had neither appeared nor sent an answer to her urgent request two days ago that he visit his mother. Jayne had left Swyre within half an hour of Molly’s letter arriving and was shocked to find that Alice was close to death. She had last seen her in the third week of April and, while it had been clear that standing and walking would soon be beyond her through lack of balance, her mind had remained sharp and her speech, though slurred, still understandable.

Now, a catastrophic collapse had rendered her senseless. According to Molly, she’d retired to bed upon hearing of the King’s surrender and hadn’t woken since, as if her only reason for living had been to witness the end of the war. Jayne thought it more likely the news had brought on an apoplectic seizure, but the result was the same. She lay in a deep coma, unresponsive to the chiming bells, the shouts of merriment from outside or the gentle stroking of her hands by Molly and Jayne.

To be certain there was nothing she could do for her, Jayne had written to Richard the previous afternoon, describing Alice’s symptoms. She had received his reply that morning.

What a terrible sadness, but I’m sure Lady Alice would prefer this end to lingering on with ever worsening palsy. I believe you’re right to suspect a seizure, and if the coma’s as deep as you describe, she’s unlikely to live beyond a week. I have no better suggestion than what you’re doing already: keeping her mouth moist and ensuring she can breathe freely. Such seizures cannot be reversed, and the physician’s single task is to assist the patient to pass as easily and comfortably as possible.

I know her death will cause you great grief, my dear. She was an exceptional woman who brought many good things to your life, not least your future husband. Remember her for that and not for the sadness of her departure.

It was good advice but not needed at the moment, for Jayne had yet to experience sadness. Whenever Molly left the room, she took the opportunity to speak to Alice about everything that was in her heart, and it thrilled her when her voice or words caused the corners of Alice’s mouth to lift in a smile. Molly confessed that she did the same when Jayne was away from the bedside, and they felt a shared joy in the idea that Alice was able to hear and understand them.

Jayne’s rational mind told her it wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop her drawing solace from each facial twitch. If she learnt anything from her long hours at the bedside, it was that vigils were more beneficial to the carers than the sufferers, since there was true freedom in being able to express love and admiration without embarrassment. By the third day, she decided it was mention of William that was bringing the smiles. She spoke of him often because of her and Alice’s mutual love for him, and whether her remarks were teasing or sincere, they received a response.

Jayne had written to him after receiving Molly’s summons, explaining that Alice had suffered a collapse and urging him to ride south-west with all haste, but there was no knowing if the letter would reach him. The last she’d heard, he was camped outside Oxford, but, as the King had surrendered to a Scottish army near Nottingham, Jayne felt sure William would have been sent north to discover the terms of the surrender; and the chances of her letter finding him were slim.

Whatever the truth, she was saddened for Alice that neither the son she’d birthed nor the son she’d fostered were at her bedside.

A maid came to the room two hours after noon to say a coachman was at the door asking for Lady Alice. She’d told him Milady wasn’t receiving visitors but he refused to leave, demanding to speak with someone of higher authority. With an angry sigh, Molly accompanied her downstairs, only to return within five minutes, begging Jayne to deal with him. He wouldn’t say who he was or what purpose had brought him to the house and, more mysteriously, although he wore the livery of a coachman, there was no sign of a carriage in the street outside.

‘When he demanded proof that Milady was indisposed, I said her physician was with her and he asked to speak with you, Miss Jayne. I trust you’ll have better luck than I in persuading him you’re telling the truth.’

Jayne doubted it, since he wouldn’t be expecting a female physician; nevertheless, she descended to the hall. He stood inside the open doorway, a handsome young man in a fine livery of maroon jacket and britches adorned with gold braid in the form of a crest. He scowled to see yet another woman approach.

‘I was promised Lady Alice’s physician,’ he said.

‘You have her,’ Jayne answered. ‘My name is Mistress Swift and I have practised medicine for several years. May I have your name and the name of your employer? It’s not my habit to divulge information about my patients to strangers.’

He seemed nervous suddenly. ‘I’m not at liberty to give you a name, ma’am. My employer was expecting to see Lady Stickland.’

Jayne moved past him to search up and down the street. People were still thronging the cobbles but, as Molly had said, there was no sign of a carriage. ‘Where is he?’

‘I was obliged to leave the carriage in High East Street because the crowds were too dense to make further progress, ma’am. A groom holds the horses and my employer sends Lady Stickland his respects and asks that she attends upon him there.’

Jayne smiled slightly. ‘Has he lost the function of his legs?’

‘He’s elderly, ma’am, and too frail to make his way through a drunken mob.’

Jayne shrugged. ‘Then there’s nothing to be done. Lady Stickland is quite unable to leave her bed.’ She placed her hand on the door and began to close it, gesturing for him to step outside. ‘Farewell to you.’

He remained where he was, turning his coachman’s cap in his hands. ‘I believe the master might be willing to converse with you, ma’am.’

Jayne made her disinclination clear. ‘You have peculiar ideas about how ladies behave. I’m no more in the habit of accompanying strangers who refuse to tell me anything about themselves than I am in divulging information about my patients.’ She made a second attempt to close the door. ‘I shall send for the bailiffs if you refuse to remove yourself.’

The coachman took a deep breath, clearly considering the wisdom of what he was about to say, and then blurted out his words in a hurry. ‘I am in the employ of Lady Maria Marston of Thatcham in Berkshire, ma’am. Her father, who lives with her, is the Duke of Granville and he has come to discover from Lady Stickland what manner of man his grandson has become and whether Mistress Swift, the woman he plans to marry, is worthy of the Granville name. His Grace is past eighty-five years old, and the journey has taken its toll on him; I fear for his health if he’s obliged to travel seven hours back to his home without time to recover. Since I believe you may be the Mistress Swift in question, you will do me a great kindness if you agree to accompany me to the carriage.’

Jayne was so wrong-footed she fixed on the obvious absurdity in the story. ‘No man of such advanced age would travel a distance without knowing if he’ll be received,’ she protested.

‘His Grace assured me that Lady Stickland was expecting him, ma’am. My Lord asked for a bed to be set up downstairs, for he cannot manage stairs, and was led to believe he would be allowed to stay the weekend in order to regain his strength before making the journey home again.’

Jayne stared at him, aghast. ‘Even if that’s true, it’s quite impossible now,’ she said. ‘Lady Stickland is in no position to entertain anyone. You must find rooms for His Grace in one of Dorchester’s inns.’

The coachman’s face twisted in agony as he revealed something else he knew he shouldn’t. ‘But he needs the attention of a physician, ma’am. We left Thatcham before dawn this morning and he is desperately weakened by the journey. His daughter refused to supply him with food, water or even blankets when she learnt of his intention to speak with Lady Stickland.’

Jayne would have disbelieved him had his anxiety for his master’s health been less apparent. With sudden decision, she pulled him inside and closed the door. ‘Allow me five minutes to ready myself and then we will go to the carriage together, but be assured you will have reason to regret this summons if I find you’ve led me false.’

She hastened back up the stairs and explained the situation to Molly. Had Alice informed her she was expecting the Duke of Granville? Not a duke, Molly answered, only a visitor, but that had been a fortnight since and all thoughts of the matter had fled her head when Milady collapsed. What did Miss Jayne want her to do?

‘Be ready to instruct the maids to set up a bed in the salon and ask Cook to prepare some nourishing broth and custard,’ Jayne told her. She would send word within fifteen minutes, if the coachman’s description of his master was accurate.

As they made their way to High East Street, the coachman begged her to pretend she was ignorant of his master’s identity; His Grace would refuse to speak with her if he thought she knew his reasons for coming. The matter of his grandson had been consuming him since it became obvious the King could not win the war, but even more so since learning of his grandson’s betrothal to Mistress Swift. Jayne was tempted to say that her own reluctance matched the duke’s, but she was pleased she hadn’t when she saw how frail the old man was.

She stood aside as the coachman opened the carriage door, then leant in to study the two occupants. One, a tiny person dressed in a servant’s uniform, sat cross-legged in the corner of the seat; the other, much taller and clad in fine attire, sat upright, staring forward. The coachman had told her that His Grace’s valet was travelling with him, and Jayne had no difficulty distinguishing between them, though she was shocked to see that each was as ancient as the other.

She bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and addressed the duke. ‘Your driver tells me that Lady Stickland is expecting you, sir, but, with regret, I must tell you she was confined to her bed three days ago and is unable to greet you. I have come in her place to offer what assistance and explanations I can.’

The cross-legged valet eyed her with disfavour. ‘Are you a maid?’

She shook her head. ‘I am Jayne Swift, daughter to Sir Henry and Lady Margaret Swift of Swyre. I am also physician and friend to Lady Stickland and cannot be away from her side for longer than thirty minutes.’ She looked again at the duke. ‘May I enquire who you are, sir? Your coachman asked me to converse with his employer but would not give your name.’

He turned to look at her, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

‘He can’t speak for cold,’ whimpered the valet. ‘What’s ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Author’s note
• One
• Two
• Three
• Four
• Five
• Six
• Seven
• Eight
• Nine
• Ten
• Eleven
• Twelve
• Thirteen
• Fourteen
• Fifteen
• Sixteen
• Seventeen
• Eighteen
• Nineteen
• Twenty
• Twenty-One
• Twenty-Two
• Twenty-Three
• Twenty-Four
• Twenty-Five
• Twenty-Six
• Twenty-Seven
• Twenty-Eight
• Acknowledgements