Runaway (6 page)

Should I write to Henry to be sure he was where I thought? It might save me a long, arduous journey in vain. But I dismissed the idea for the same reason I’d not written to my brother: what if those men were watching the post? What if it led them to me, or to Henry, or to my brother, Robert? They had put up notices and paid bribes. Who knew how far their powers extended? I dared not risk it.

‘Martha, where is Gloucestershire?’ I asked her that evening as we rubbed down the horses and settled them for the night. She straightened up from inspecting Sparrow’s hooves with a grunt.

‘Gloucestershire? It’s north of Somersetshire, of course.’

I looked blankly at her. ‘And do you know Deerhurst Park?’

‘Ah, I do that. It’s the seat of the Rutherfords. I carries goods for ’em, now and then, like I told you before.’

‘How far is it?’ I felt a little spurt of excitement at the thought that my mother had once stayed or lived so close to where I now spent my Sundays.

‘A day’s walk, give or take,’ said Martha. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, just that I’m so ignorant about England,’ I said quickly. A day’s walk. Unfortunately that put a visit there out of the question. I had only part of a day a week free. But I stored the information in my mind for the future. If I could go there, perhaps I might find someone who remembered my mother. I pondered what my parents had told me of my family, but could come up with very little.

That was strange, now I thought of it. I frowned. A distant memory returned to me of asking my mother whether she had an elder brother like I had. She’d said no, I dimly remembered. Then I’d asked her more and she’d fallen silent.

At Maidenhead, we found Jason much improved but heartily bored. He was a skinny, freckled lad with a cheerful smile and it was easy to see why Martha was fond of him.

‘Can’t I come home, Mistress?’ he begged when we’d stabled the horses and gone up to visit him. ‘Look, I can move my leg a bit now. You could put me on a wagon and I’d be home next day!’

‘It’d be cheaper than keeping you in luxury here, eating your head off at my expense!’ said Martha caustically, but Jason only grinned. ‘It would!’ he agreed. ‘You see to it, Mistress. I don’t want to cost you no fortune!’

The following morning, Jason was packed off in the back of a wagon, and we took the packhorse train ahead of him. My time with the packhorses was drawing to a close.

The following Monday saw me setting out from Bradford-on-Avon to London for the last time. I’d packed all my belongings and taken them with me. Jason was up and about, hobbling around the stable and lending a hand. He was far more experienced at loading the horses than I. By next week he would be strong enough to make the trip instead of me.

I picked up my staff, took my place beside Magpie and cried ‘Hup!’ The horses, full of energy after a day of rest and freedom in the paddock, threw up their heads and surged out of the yard onto Silver Street, their shod hooves clopping on the cobbles. We turned right and headed out to the Bath Road without passing through the town. I didn’t look back. That part of my life was over.

The nearer we drew to the great city, the more the sight of it reminded me of what I’d experienced there and that soon I would be leaving Martha with only a few shillings in my pocket. I’d tried to hoard every penny I’d earned, but I’d needed to take my boots to the cobblers twice and to purchase new stockings. What remained was inadequate.

Once we’d reached the Castle and Falcon and supper was done, and whilst Martha took a drop or two of liquor in the taproom ‘to warm her bones’, I went out to the stables to check on the horses. It was my job to ensure they received the full measure of provender Martha was charged for and to check they were comfortable. I ran my hands over each horse’s legs, checking for heat or swelling, but they all seemed fit and well.

Feeling restless and too anxious about the future to fall asleep readily, I decided to risk a walk along the street adjacent to the inn. I didn’t normally venture out in London, but I needed some air.

The streets were quieter at this time of day. There was less horse-drawn traffic and fewer traders, though the city was still bustling with people on foot. Men and women were walking home from work, couples were out strolling arm in arm, looking in shop windows or talking together. Children played in every yard and side street or hung about hoping to earn a penny taking a message or holding a horse.

I paused to look at hats in the window of a milliner’s shop on Aldgate Street, wondering if I would ever wear such garments again. Most were ugly things, but there was a modish bonnet that I thought would suit my brown hair. I sighed and shook my head. I was just about to walk on, when I glanced over my shoulder and saw a face I knew. My heart jumped into my throat. My father’s killer was walking along the street behind me.

Heart pounding with fear, I slipped into a doorway beyond the milliner’s and shrank back against the door, pulling my cap down low over my face. In just a few moments, the man walked swiftly past me. He looked neither right nor left, and didn’t glance in my direction. It was him, beyond any doubt. Those pale eyes and that small mole were unmistakable.

I stood trembling, trying to master my fear. I had been guilty of gross stupidity, walking around unnecessarily in London. Even worse, I’d been gazing at girls’ adornments in a window. No boy would do such a thing. I cursed myself.

I fled back to the safety of the Castle and Falcon and crept into bed beside Martha. I could tell she was awake by the absence of rumbling snores, but she said nothing. I curled into a tight ball beneath the blankets and shivered.

The day came too soon for my sleep-drenched mind. Martha had to haul me out of bed to pack and go down to breakfast. ‘Late to bed ain’t no excuse for rising late,’ she grumbled at me as I staggered down the steep staircase, clutching my things.

Breakfast scarcely kept me awake, but checking that I wasn’t being watched as I left London certainly did. Afraid I might have been followed last night, I glanced around constantly. I closely scrutinized every ostler, coachman, and groom, in fear they were covertly watching me. As I made my way out of town along the road, I looked fearfully behind me. It wasn’t until we reached the inn at Maidenhead for the night that I began to relax and stopped startling at every unexpected noise.

Scarcely had I entered the yard and drawn a sigh of relief, than I saw another notice with my face on it plastered on the wall for all to see. I forced myself to stay awake until darkness and peace had fallen over the inn, then I crept down the creaking stairs with my heart hammering and tore down the notice.

At Hungerford, as we reached our room for the night, Martha startled me by telling me they were looking to hire a boy in the stables of the John of Gaunt inn. ‘It’s a fine coaching inn, the biggest in the town. You interested?’ she asked. ‘I’ve recommended you.’

I caught my breath. ‘Really?’ I asked. I hadn’t planned to look for more work yet. I’d set my heart on finding Henry. But I couldn’t afford to turn the job down when I had so little money left. ‘Thank you,’ I stammered. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘You’ll be a stable boy. It’ll be hard, but you’ll be fed and have a roof over your head. I wasn’t easy in my mind turnin’ you off,’ she said, shedding her shawl and plumping up her pillow. ‘I’d feel a deal more comfortable knowin’ you have a place.’

‘You’ve been good to me Martha,’ I told her gratefully.

‘Ah well, it’s a dangerous world for a slip of a girl alone,’ she said. I cast a shocked glance up at her.

‘Oh, don’t think I didn’t see through that disguise o’ yours,’ she said impatiently. ‘Dressed as a lad often enough myself as a child. You have to get up early in the morning to fool
me
!’

‘Has everyone else guessed too?’ I asked in a low, mortified voice. I thought of those posters in London and elsewhere and felt sick.

‘Not as they’ve said to me,’ said Martha, slowly. She was sitting on the bed staring at me. ‘What’s troubling me is whether you’ve run off from some school or yer father. If there be kin that are worried sick about you, I can’t go on helping you.’

I shook my head. ‘No, Mistress Martha,’ I told her, the words wrung from me by necessity. ‘My mother’s dead, and father died of … an illness in London.’ I felt bad lying to such a kind friend.

‘An illness, was it?’Martha said solemnly.

Seeing suspicion and understanding dawning in her sharp eyes, I opened my mouth to speak, to deny the crime of which I was accused. But seeing me about to speak, Martha held up a gnarled finger for silence. ‘No! Don’t say nothin’, for I don’t need to know!’

I suspected she’d guessed my story, or a version of it; it had been in the papers and much talked of. But, to my great relief, it seemed she intended to let it pass for now, and after a moment, she said, ‘You can’t do better than earn an honest living. But before you go, I think we’d better cut your hair, hadn’t we? If you want people to believe you are a lad, that is.’

‘How long have
you
known?’ I asked.

‘From the first day. You didn’t eat like a lad. More like a bird. And you slept in your cap. Once I’d suspected, it was clear enough.’

I felt rather low. If Martha had seen through me so quickly, how was I to maintain the pretence in the long run? I foresaw many difficulties ahead.

‘Ah, don’t fret,’ said Martha, guessing my thoughts. ‘I sees further than most. There’s plenty of folk as never see past their noses.’ She pulled a pair of scissors out of her bag and snipped the blades together invitingly. ‘So. We goin’ to cut it off or would you rather return to your life as a young lady?’

‘I don’t have a life to return to,’ I told her sadly. I pulled my cap off and my brown hair cascaded down over my shoulders. I touched it sadly, remembering how I’d admired ladies’ hats in a shop window only a day or so before. On the other hand, knowing I was being hunted as a girl, I should have cut it off long ago. ‘It needs to go. If I’d had scissors to hand the night I fled London, I’d have done it then.’

Martha stood over me, lifted my long tresses, and looked at them for a moment. ‘Ah, ’tis a pity. But you’ll be safer this way.’ She snipped my hair off short. I watched it fall to the floor and bit my lip. I was leaving the very last of my old life behind me, and with it at least half of who I was.

After Martha had finished, I put my hands up to touch my shorn head. It felt strange; not me at all. Martha bent and gathered up my long hair, wrapping it all in a scarf. ‘This’ll fetch a bit,’ she said. ‘I’ll sell it quiet-like and drop off the money for you on my next journey through.’

I nodded sadly. I really was Charlie now. There was no turning back.

‘Oi, new boy! You not got that stable mucked out yet?’

‘I’m nearly done!’ I called, heaving a heavy forkful of muck into a barrow.

‘Get out here right now and help Tom hitch up this team!’

I threw the fork into the half-full barrow and hurried out of the gloom into the brightness of the yard. Tom was leading two horses towards a smart carriage that had come in late last night. The occupants had stayed overnight at the John of Gaunt, and were now ready to continue on their journey west.

The blow came out of nowhere, sending me reeling onto the cobbles, my head spinning. I hadn’t seen Phillips standing by the door to the stables or I would have at least tried to dodge his meaty fist. He was a large, powerful man, with unusually long arms and eyebrows that jutted out and met above his eyes, giving him a permanent scowl.

‘Get up, lad, and stop blubbing like a girl,’ ordered Phillips harshly. ‘This team needs to be harnessed and ready. The owners have been calling for it these five minutes. We don’t keep no one waiting here! D’yer hear me?’

I scrambled to my feet, my breeches soiled with that particular mix of mud and horse dung that is to be found in every stable yard. My hands were mired too. Wiping them on my breeches so as not to dirty the carefully cleaned harness, I hurried to Tom’s aid. As he backed the first pair up to the carriage, either side of the shaft, I threaded the harness through their collars and strapped the reins to their bridles. The moment they were hitched, Tom hurried to fetch the next pair, leaving me fumbling with unfamiliar buckles. I’d ridden my whole life and knew as much as anyone about grooming and care of horses, but harnessing them to a carriage was new to me.