Tapestry (33 page)

‘Especially not for food,’ she said, knowing she was visibly trembling. ‘He insists on being left alone in the dark with his prayers.’

The man bowed. ‘As you instruct, My Lady.’

She glanced at the guard and he nodded too, moving to stand back outside the cell, his halberd positioned diagonally across the door to assure her that no one would pass.

‘Thank you, both. I shall bid you goodnight. Do not come early for my husband,’ she warned, ‘for I make haste now to make a final petition.’

Hugh met her as she passed the warders’ room.

‘My Lady,’ he bowed, ‘my deepest sympathies are with you.’

She nodded, now desperate to be gone.

‘Let me escort you downstairs,’ he said, and Jane had no choice but to allow him to accompany her not only outside the lodgings, but back down to the gate, where a small queue of hackney carriages had gathered. He offered his hand to help her inside one of them. Jane couldn’t help but feel sorry for Hugh, and she hoped he would not pay the price for her subterfuge.

She deliberately glanced up toward the window as though taking one last look at her husband. ‘Thank you, you have been so kind.’

He bowed slightly again. ‘Drive on!’ he called to the coachman, and Jane felt the reassuring lurch of the horses as they whisked her away.

She wondered when the gaolers would discover the truth. With a curious sense of the macabre, she suddenly wished she could be a fly on the wall when it happened.

E
veryone loved a happy ending, and Ellen was beginning to believe the story of Will Maxwell might deliver just that.

She squeezed his mother’s hand. ‘He’s off life support now, Mrs Maxwell. Your brave boy’s doing everything on his own.’

In fact, the room now looked positively bare, since most of the electronic equipment had been unhooked. A monitor was keeping track of his heart, there was a drip in his arm and a waste bag at the side of his bed, but to the lay visitor, Will was just resting. He was breathing deep and rhythmically now; his countenance was serene and somehow more here in the moment. Ellen had seen it before in patients; it was as though they’d surfaced from a void and were suddenly more alert in appearance, even though they were still technically comatose.

She would admit, if anyone asked, that she had never been happier for a family, secretly hoping she would be the first person Will saw when he finally opened his eyes. Ellen knew it was unprofessional to think like this, but at some stage over the course of her silent night shifts in the intensive care unit, when she kept a special vigil over Will Maxwell, she’d developed a connection that she knew was dangerous in her line of work. Her fondness for the handsome American, cut down in his prime, was known, but with each hour her affection for him intensified. She didn’t care now if he woke here in London and denied her that
holiday in the US, she just wanted to hear his voice. And who knew? Perhaps they might share a flute of champagne together sometime, so he could thank her properly for her care. She smiled at the daydream, knowing she was ignoring the fiancée in his life, but in her dreamscape there was no one. This was her fantasy and she fashioned it as she chose: featuring just Will and Ellen.

She cleared her throat softly and focused back on Will the patient. She could see the telltale firmness around his lips; his eyes when they moved behind his lids, though still random, seemed less ‘loose’; and his expression didn’t have that ghastly corpse-like slackness any more. Will was so close now.

Ellen watched Diane Maxwell’s face crumple a little, but she recognised it as a meltdown of relief and happiness. The despair was retreating. She then glanced at Will’s father; these days, she’d found a new respect for the man. He was tough, but she’d learned how to be around John Maxwell and not be offended by his manner. She’d been impressed when he had looked straight at her last night and apologised unreservedly for his behaviour.

‘I’ve been unforgiving of all of you,’ he’d said, ‘and I’m ashamed of my behaviour. I know you’ve been absolutely dedicated to Will’s recovery.’

She especially liked the way that, for the first time, he showed anything but robotic affection toward his wife. She watched now as Maxwell reached for Diane and pulled her close. ‘He’s coming back, darling. Keep the faith.’

Ellen joined in. ‘Yes, he is coming back to us, Mr Maxwell. You’ve raised a big strong boy, Mrs Maxwell, and he’s a fighter. Look how good he looks,’ Ellen soothed, avoiding the dark cloud that still hovered.

Diane Maxwell couldn’t avoid it though, it seemed. ‘Now I’m worried about brain damage,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine my son without his faculties.’

‘Diane, yesterday we were worried whether he would live to breathe on his own … and now look at him,’ her husband
admonished. ‘We will deal with whatever we must when he finally opens his eyes.’ He glanced over at Ellen, looking momentarily anxious that he was saying the wrong things.

She nodded with a small smile of encouragement.

‘You two should get some rest. I’ll be on duty tonight, and you know he’s my favourite, so I rarely leave his side,’ she said, grinning at Diane.

His mother gulped, laughed sadly and patted her husband’s arm. ‘Thank you, Ellen. I think you’re his guardian angel.’

She nodded, liking immensely that they’d noticed. ‘Any news of Jane yet?’

‘We hope she’ll be home any minute,’ Will’s father said, clearing his throat.

Jane sat up against the leather of the carriage, oblivious to what was passing by. She barely heard or saw anything. Winifred’s blood, pumping so hard, was creating enough disruption in her head to make it ache, her temple pounding with pressure, her ears echoing the powerful thump of her heartbeat. She stared ahead into the darkness, unblinking and glassy-eyed, still stunned that they had pulled off such a trick. Not only that, they’d each made their departure safely and, she prayed, without anyone being hurt or stopped.

As the great fortress, with its stout walls and sense of imperviousness, fell behind, Winifred’s body began to tremble uncontrollably. The sound of her host’s chattering teeth added to the internal cacophony, but Jane could only feel elation. The childish, almost comical plan had worked.

Is it over yet?
she heard herself wondering.

Not yet
, came the answer from Winifred.
The execution date is tomorrow. We have to see out that day and keep William hidden … and then get him to real safety
.

Real safety?

Away from England
.

Scotland?

The continent. Where the Church of Rome can protect us
.

Jane was drifting away on her thoughts; the peril of her own situation was only now striking her. If William Maxwell could be kept safe, then according to Robin it meant Will was safe too. But where did that leave her? She was still stranded. How would
she
be made safe? How would she and Winifred be made whole?

The carriage arrived at Duke Street and Winifred was met by a triumphant duo of Mrs Mills and Mrs Morgan.

‘Oh, my dear, you were marvellous!’ Mrs Morgan chirruped quietly in her ear, being careful in front of the coach driver.

The women welcomed her, but knew she must not tarry. Mrs Mills already had Winifred’s bag packed. ‘Here, dear,’ she said, handing her a note as well. ‘The sedan is waiting. Have the men take you to that address. Do not speak your name. I have asked for the sedan men to be waiting for you around the corner from here, so they will not even know which house you have come from.’

She hugged the two women. ‘I do not know what to say, how to thank you both.’

‘The glow in your face is more than enough,’ Mrs Mills said, shushing her. ‘Now go, my dear. And lie low. Cecilia and my husband are with him.’

She nodded, and gave them each a fierce hug. ‘Give one of these hugs to your dear good husband for his help,’ she told Mrs Mills. ‘I shall get word to you somehow.’

The sedan men hurried her off and within moments she was bouncing along in the chair, this time headed to a poorer part of London; heading back, in fact, toward Smithfield and ultimately to Byward Street again, sitting in the shadow of the Tower of London.

Jane felt nausea simmering at her throat.
Why here?
Winifred’s thoughts echoed her own fears.

‘Sure you will be all right here, madam?’ one of the chair carriers asked, frowning at the address that she’d had to read for him. ‘The entrance is down that lane.’

The three of them were standing in a street of merchants, staring down a dim alley that led to a barely visible doorway. She steeled Winifred as best she could. ‘I shall be fine, thank you. I have come to visit a friend and will not be staying long.’

‘Should we wait? This is a rough neighbourhood, madam.’

She shook her head, glad of the hood that covered part of her face. She did not want these men to remember her or the address. ‘No — thank you for your concern.’ She gave them a larger than necessary tip, hoping they might knock off early and get in their cups so their memories of tonight would be impaired.

They touched their caps to her and were gone. Jane bounded down the alley to the doorway of a squalid building that smelled of urine and something long dead. A woman in a grubby bonnet and shabby clothes, topped off by a stained apron, opened it on her knock.

‘Are you Mary?’ she asked.

Jane stared back, confused. ‘Er …’

‘Wife of Gillam?’ she said, struggling with the word.

Guillaume
— French for William. It was how the Earl had been addressed at the French court.

‘I am Mary,’ Jane said, smiling, remembering it was his sister’s name. ‘Where is my husband?’

‘In the turret with your sister. It is small, but the quietest room I have. How long will you be staying?’

‘A few nights at most.’

‘Well, you will have a very good view from up there as your husband demanded,’ the woman said, sucking air through her missing bottom front teeth.

‘Over London? How nice. Thank you.’

‘Not of London, ma’am!’ she cackled. ‘Of the executions of them Jacobite lords!’

Jane felt Winifred’s body freeze to the rickety front step, and it was nothing to do with the temperature. Until this moment Jane had thought Mr Mills would have found William a place to be strictly incognito. But the landlady was tapping her nose and grinning.

‘Well done, My Lady. None of us likes how you was treated by our king. Mayhap that is how they treats their genteel women in Germany, but not in England. You are safe here, My Lady. Among friends.’

Jane took a steadying breath. ‘You are very kind,’ she said, her voice shaking.

The woman nodded. ‘Quiet as a mouse up there, My Lady … least until the hullabaloo dies down. You can trust us. We’ll keep your secret and keep you safe.’

As exhausted as Winifred was, Jane felt new energy coursing through her fatigued and frail body as her host found a fresh skip in her step. She nearly ran up the four flights of narrow steps into the gods of this tall slum. She knocked on the door, feeling a fresh ringing in her ears, unsure of whether it was from the climb or the excitement.

‘Who is it?’ William asked.

‘Me.’

The door was flung back and there he was, grinning as wide as he stood broad.

Emotion surged. ‘You still have rouge on your cheeks.’ She wept, but laughing through her tears. Winifred reached to touch his face where Jane had slapped it. ‘I’m sorry I had to —’

‘Hush, my love. It was necessary to startle a man from his pride.’

Jane allowed herself to be held as Winifred for a long time. Nothing needed to be said that was any more meaningful than a close embrace; two people hugging, their cheeks feeling the warmth of each other’s neck, communicated it all. Besides, she had never felt more in need of a congratulatory hug in her life
as she did in this moment, suspended between a husband and the wife who loved him enough to risk her security, reputation, financial status … even her life.

And all that went through her mind while in this blissful embrace was a treacherous yearning for the touch of Julius, in whose memory she lost herself while she allowed Winifred and William this intimacy.

Cecilia broke the spell between the loving couple.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, stepping out of the shadows of the tiny room. She cleared her throat and dabbed tears from her eyes. ‘Mr Mills left earlier and now I shall leave you both too. There is wine and some bread and cheese left by the landlady for a modest supper. I will come tomorrow with more news, after the executions have taken place.’

‘Dear Cecilia. What a faithful friend and co-conspirator you have been; brave to the last,’ she said as Winifred embraced her friend. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘Look after her, My Lord,’ she said to William, nodding at his diminutive wife. ‘I have never known such fierce courage or strength of will. She just took control of the situation and has been strong for everyone.’

‘I am a lucky man,’ he admitted, kissing his wife’s hand and giving a short bow to Cecilia. ‘To have both of you,’ he added.

Cecilia was probably blushing, Jane thought, but it was impossible to tell in this low candlelight as she was kissed farewell.

‘Until tomorrow, dear. Rest,’ said Cecilia, although her little smile suggested she thought it might be the last thing on Winifred’s mind. Jane’s thoughts were suddenly arrested … no, no, that would not do. Surely she wasn’t going to have to lie back and think of England — or Scotland, in this case?

Mercifully, William insisted she rest after Cecilia’s departure.

‘I am fatigued,’ she admitted.

‘No, you are beyond fatigue,’ he noted. ‘And I feel fever in your cheeks. It is time I took care of you again. You are an incredibly brave, clever woman.’

Winifred asserted herself strongly, taking the response away from Jane. ‘William, I do not wish to ever let you go.’

‘Be assured. I am never letting go again. I love my faith, Winnie darling, but I know I will be forgiven for saying that I love you and our children more.’

Excitedly sharing the evening’s events in whispers, they sipped from a single wine glass and ate sparingly. Neither had any appetite as, inevitably, the conversation moved to the men who had not been so lucky. Jane wanted to retreat, to become an observer, but despite Winifred’s determination to claim back her body she was not yet strong enough.

‘William, why here?’ Jane asked, her gaze roaming the damp, claustrophobic room. ‘I think your cell in the Tower was bigger.’

He nodded. ‘I paced it out. It is indeed a larger space next door,’ he said, dryly referring to his cell. ‘Mr Mills had found a place in Smithfield, but I insisted that I needed to be close to Tower Hill.’

‘Is that wise?’ she asked carefully.

‘Truly, Win, do you imagine the Constable will think to look in the Tower Hamlets?’

She shook her head with dawning understanding. ‘If you have even been discovered missing yet, he’s already lost hours. I imagine he will think immediately of the docks.’

‘Precisely. What’s more, I think Moseley will not discover me missing until the early hours of tomorrow, and then he will most likely not even bother looking for me. He’ll presume I’m already sighting the coastline of France.’

‘So we lie low here, you mean?’

William nodded. ‘We can sneak out in a few days when the executions are past.’ He sighed, looking suddenly bereft.
‘Lord Derwentwater is so young,’ he moaned. ‘At least I had experienced life and love.’