Oxford Whispers by Marion Croslydon Read Free Book Online Page A

staircase framed both sides of the entrance hall and led up to a mezzanine.
    Rupert took her duffel coat and handed it to a stiff-looking man. Jasper the butler, she decided.
    “Before we go to the library, I’ll show you the portrait gallery on the mezzanine.”
    Climbing the staircase, she absorbed every detail of this historic home, from the wallpaper with its Victorian floral patterns, to the dark wooden floors and the rich hand-embroidered fabrics of the drapes. Never could she have imagined a house so full of valuable artwork. The wealth of it rendered her speechless as she wandered from one ancestral portrait to the next.
    Remembering she was here to work, Madison retraced her steps. Then her eyes lingered on a smaller painting, similar to the others, judging by the golden ornamented frame. She stepped closer.
    Her heart bumped against her ribcage. Missed one beat, two beats. Started again.
    For in front of Madison in Magway Manor, his blue, almond-shaped eyes stared back at her. The world around Madison receded, and the past engulfed her.
    My Cavalier .

Chapter 9
    Oxford – April 1644
    I DO NOT WANT to become like them. My parents only talk about the war, King Charles and Our Lord. Nothing else.
    Hopefully, Mother will not find out that I left the room where my sister and I were supposed to take a nap. Sitting in this meadow, watching the quiet stream glittering in the afternoon sun, is so much more enjoyable.
    I am not far from Father here. He spends his days and his nights in the Great Hall of Christ Church, where the king has summoned the commoners, like us. They talk of parliament, but I don’t know what a parliament is for. Nobody will explain such things to a ten-year-old girl. I know it is a place where people love talking, talking, talking.
    An elongated shadow appears on the grass between the stream and me. I breathe faster. My mother?
    No. My new friend has come, as on every afternoon since we first met more than a week ago. I turn toward the intruder, and my heart fills with warmth and happiness.
    Robert.
    What a fine-looking boy he is. Today, he is wearing a doublet and breeches trimmed with bows of ribbon, and I feel embarrassed by my dull-colored dress. Father says that dark dye is too expensive for everyday use; therefore I must always wear a sad shade of maroon.
    “This is for you.” He holds a red rose in his hand, and I seize its delicate stem, avoiding the thorns. Never before have I been the recipient of such notice.
    “Have you been well?” he asks.
    “Very well. Although we are leaving soon.”
    “I know.”
    He is so much wiser than I am, and I want to impress him, show him I am not a child. “My father says he does not want anything to do with the Irish. He says they are Papists. Now we have to go to Westminster. He says this is where we should have gone all along.”
    My friend remains silent, and I hope I have not offended him. His own father is one of the Peers supporting King Charles. Our families are on opposite sides. He extends his hand and helps me stand up. His curly, blond hair shines in the glow of the sun.
    “Is it true that the commoners in Westminster are called Roundheads because of the short fashion they have adopted for their hair?”
    “Apparently so,” he says.
    “I wonder if Father will have his hair cut that way once we are in London.” The idea makes me laugh.
    While we walk along the stream back toward Christ Church, my friend listens to my stories. Nobody else pays attention to me, to what I think, how I feel. I wish he could come to London with us. Life would be so much more exciting and less lonely.
    But my chest tightens when I notice an all too familiar silhouette. My mother has been searching for me, and has found me. I stop moving.
    “Is there a problem?” the boy asks, with a frown upon his brow.
    I nod at the small woman walking toward us. A lined cap topped by a tall black hat covers her hair. She terrifies me. But then I feel his hand taking