The Herb of Grace (11 page)

‘Maybe.'

‘All right then,' Joe said. ‘It's bloody expensive,
but I'll let you have some. Don't use too much of it, though, else you'll kill the guards, and you'll be in even bigger trouble. A pinch or two, no more, all right?'

‘All right,' Luka said, looking excited.

‘I'll go and get you some. Harry, you take everyone out to the jetty, will you? Keep it quiet, just in case.'

Lord Harry nodded and everyone followed him through the dark, silent inn. All along the hallway were signs of the soldiers' labour. Panelling had been ripped away, and there was a mess of plaster and wood on the floor. One cupboard had had big holes punched in its back wall, and floorboards had been torn up in every room. Everyone looked at each other and grimaced.

‘You know, I thought Gypsy Joe was either a fool or a villain for giving the thief-taker the very room in which we were hidden, but now I see how clever he was,' the priest said. It was the first time
he had spoken all day, and his voice had the soft burr of a countryman. ‘It was the only room not torn apart.'

‘Poor Joe,' Lord Harry said. ‘His inn is a mess.'

‘I wish I could leave him some money as compensation, but I have none to leave,' the duke said with a wry twist of his lips.

‘Coldham has already paid him well,' Lord Harry grinned, and told the duke about the three heavy bags of coins he had taken from the coach.

‘You had a good haul,' the duke said with a smile. ‘Those papers you gave me will be invaluable, I think, Morrow.'

‘I hope so,' Lord Harry answered, and led them out the back door and into a herb and vegetable garden. A strong odour of thyme rose under the men's boots, and in the thin ray of light that shone out from beneath the lantern's shutters, Emilia could see cabbages and onions growing higgledy-piggledy in the heaped garden beds.

Two more guards lay asleep on the ground beside a gateway that led out onto the river's bank. An empty jug and two tankards lay beside them, along with a rough meal, only half-finished.

A boat bobbed up and down on the dark rushing water, moored to an iron ring in the wall by a long rope. Lord Harry hauled it in, and helped hold it steady while the Duke of Ormonde clambered in. One by one the other men followed suit, huddling their velvet cloaks about them, for mist was rising from the black water.

Emilia hung back, looking for Gypsy Joe and wondering where Rollo was and if he was all right. The very next moment her fears were laid to rest, for the big dog came bounding down the pathway, his tail wagging joyfully. He jumped up to lick Emilia's face, whining loudly in his throat, his whole body wriggling frantically.

‘Good boy, good boy,' Emilia said, pushing him
down and wiping her face dry. ‘How's your poor sore head? All better?'

‘My roast mutton kept him quiet and happy most of the morning,' Joe said, coming up behind them, ‘and then he slept all afternoon, perfectly content. I think he'll be fine now, though it was a nasty cut. Can't say I like a man who would hit a dog so hard. A cat, now, that would be a different story.'

Luka grinned.

Joe passed him a small brown bottle. ‘Keep that safe now,' the innkeeper advised. ‘Don't mistake it for salt and eat it on your eggs.'

‘We won't,' Luka promised, taking it joyfully and tucking it away in his bag. ‘Thanks so much.'

‘There's food here too,' Joe said. ‘No roast mutton, your dog ate all that, but some cold chicken and bread and hard-boiled eggs, and a little sack of dried peas and barley for you.'

They thanked him, and shoved it all into the bag, glad to feel it heavy again.

‘What's the plan now, Joe?' the Duke of Ormonde called from the boat. ‘I cannot say I feel easy in my mind about this Coldham fellow. His sources are too good. I have no desire to adorn Tyburn!'

‘We must get you away, my lord,' Joe said. ‘If you're lucky, you'll be able to get all the way to Bournemouth by way of the river. You may be able to get a ship there back to France. Or try Portsmouth, or Eastbourne. You must move swiftly, though, and be careful of the bridges, they are all rather low.'

‘All right,' the duke said. ‘Thanks for your help, Joe. You'll be remembered when His Highness returns!'

Joe nodded, and gave a wry smile. ‘That's something to look forward to.' He turned to Luka and Emilia. ‘What about you two?' he asked. ‘What will you do?'

‘We'll go and find the Wells family, and see if
they can help us,' Luka said. ‘We heard they're down by the coast somewhere.'

Joe nodded. ‘Smuggling, they are. That's where I get my fine French brandy from. They work out of Rye, near the Romney Marshes. I don't think you'll get much help from them.'

‘We need to try,' Luka said. He cast an exultant look at Emilia, for until now they had not known where to find the Wells tribe.

‘I too will be travelling into Sussex,' the priest said unexpectedly. ‘I must get back to my people. You are welcome to travel with me, if you like. I plan to go via the South Downs way. It's a long walk, but not well patrolled, and so safer than the roads.'

The children glanced at him, and then at Joe.

‘I'm sorry I could not help more,' he said.

‘You have helped,' Luka said earnestly.

‘Please,' Emilia said. ‘The rue charm. Do you have it?'

He looked troubled. ‘No,' he answered. ‘I have not seen it for years.'

Emilia's heart sank.

‘My mother used to wear it, but she's dead now. I guess she may have given it to my sister,' Joe went on.

‘Your sister? Where is she?'

‘I'm not sure.' He saw Emilia's stricken face, and went on gently, ‘The last I saw her was in the New Forest. I got out after my mother died, I was sick to my stomach with it all, and so I was gone by the time they sent the soldiers in. Most of the gypsies of the New Forest were sent as slaves to the New World, to work the plantations there. My sister, though . . . they killed her husband and took her sons, all but the youngest one, and she will not leave in case they come back . . .'

‘Where can we find her?' Emilia spoke with great intensity, clutching her hands together at her chest.

‘Beaulieu, maybe,' Joe said. ‘That is where she lived when last I saw her. I must warn you though . . .'

‘What?'

‘She's a witch,' Joe said. ‘And quite, quite mad.'

T
HE
N
EW
F
OREST
, H
AMPSHIRE
, E
NGLAND
19th August 1658

‘G
lad to see there is another man who thinks the same about his sister as I do about mine,' Lord Harry said.

They were all sitting huddled in the boat, which was being poled slowly and steadily downstream by the duke's servant, Nat. Salisbury slipped past, a huddle of black buildings silhouetted against the starry sky.

‘You should not be so bitter about Lady Anne,'
Emilia said. ‘I know you think she did a terrible thing, but they were terrible times, and she has suffered greatly.'

‘So have I,' Lord Harry said. ‘But the worst thing was knowing that my own sister betrayed me.'

‘She didn't betray you,' Emilia said. ‘It was one of the servants. Lady Anne was too sick to do anything.'

‘Too sick?' Lord Harry said in disbelief. ‘With what?'

‘She lost her baby when she heard her husband was dead,' Emilia said.

‘I didn't know,' Lord Harry said after a moment. Then his voice hardened. ‘She still did nothing to help me. Not then, and not in all the years that followed.'

‘She did nothing to help anyone,' Emilia said. ‘You laugh, saying she is mad, like Joe's sister, but indeed she was. Mad with grief. For all these years she has done nothing but lie in her bed and weep.
The house is in ruins, she is near starving, and she has no one to help her but old Martha.'

‘But why?'

Emilia shrugged. ‘She's beside herself with grief, and guilt too. I know she is sorry she did not help you when you needed her.'

‘She said so?'

‘No. But I'm sure of it.'

Lord Harry was silent for some time, before he muttered, ‘I suppose it must have been hard, with her father and one of her brothers fighting on one side of the war, and her husband and the other brother on the other side. She did love Jeremy very much.'

‘It's enough to drive anyone mad, let alone a poor weak woman,' the priest said.

‘These are dreadful times,' the duke said soberly.

‘One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness,' Emilia said.

Luka knew she was repeating an old gypsy saying, which he had heard his own parents repeat many times, yet Lord Harry was much struck, and repeated it softly to himself. ‘One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness.'

Salisbury fell behind them, and they went on down the river in the darkness, the men taking it in turns to pole the barge along. When they were sure they were well away from the town, they kindled a lantern and hung it on the prow, for the river was treacherous with weeds and sandbars, and here and there a weir had been built to help the farmers catch fish, or to supply a mill with water. Then they had to lift the boat out of the water, and struggle with it around the obstruction, before being able to continue. Several times they passed under bridges, many of them so low the boat barely fitted underneath. It was a tiring, nerve-racking journey, for they had to be careful to make no noise or attract any attention.

After Fordingbridge, the river grew wider and smoother, and they got along much faster. Some time later, Emilia slipped into sleep again, lulled by the rocking of the boat. She was woken when it slid into the bank with a soft thump, and sat up, looking about her.

The sky was grey, and the River Avon gleamed silver. Trees pressed close about them, dark and mysterious. Birds were swooping overhead, their wings white. The air smelt very faintly of salt.

‘We come near to the mouth of the river,' Luka whispered. ‘There are soldiers ahead, so we plan to hide the boat and walk now.'

Emilia nodded, and clambered out, Rollo leaping after her. The other men conferred in low anxious voices as Nat hid the boat under some bushes.

‘Hopefully Coldham will not find the boat for some time, and so not know where we disembarked,' the duke said, leading the way into the trees.

‘He'll be after us, for sure,' Lord Harry said. ‘You're too big a prize to let slip through his fingers, my lord.'

The duke grinned.

‘My lord, you should make sure you dye your eyebrows and eyelashes too,' Emilia said earnestly. ‘They are too fair for such a black head.'

He laughed out loud. ‘Believe me, I'm lucky I have a hair left on my head at all. I near burnt it all off in my first attempt to dye it. I do not want to lose my brows and lashes too.'

‘It looks funny,' Emilia said. ‘I knew you were in disguise the first time I saw you.'

The duke looked ruefully at his servant. ‘I am not such a play-actor after all, Nat, if a thirteen-year-old miss can see right through me.'

‘I told you to wear a wig, my lord,' Nat replied stolidly.

‘Aye, but they are so hot and bothersome. I cannot believe the French all wear them. Thank God they are not the fashion here in good old England.'

‘Yet,' Nat replied.

The duke sighed.

‘And shave well, my lord,' Emilia said. ‘Your stubble is fair. A man with a head as black as yours would be blue in the chin by midmorning. You must keep close-shaven.'

‘Thank you, my dear,' the duke said and gave her a low bow. He then cast Tom a mischievous glance. ‘And you thought her a spy! She's given me the best advice of all of you.'

Tom looked crestfallen. The Duke of Ormonde saw it, and bowed towards him as well. ‘Indeed, I could not have managed without you these past days, Tom.'

‘Thank you, my lord,' Tom cried, his face glowing. ‘So where do we go now?'

‘
I
will cut through the forest to Portsmouth, and hope to find a ship there for France,' the duke said. ‘And
you
, my boy, will catch a stagecoach home.'

‘Please, my lord, may I not go with you?' Tom begged. ‘I would so love to go and meet the king!'

‘Hopefully, if all goes well, you will see him soon enough,' the duke said with a smile.

For one moment, Emilia saw in her mind's eye a tall, dark man with heavy curls, most gorgeously dressed, riding on a fine horse, while all around him people cheered and shouted and flung their hats in the air. She shook her head in wonder and disbelief. ‘They will throw flowers,' Emilia said, ‘and the bells shall ring, and the people will sing
and dance and cheer, and all without a single drop of blood being spilt.'

The duke smiled indulgently at her. ‘By the Grace of God, let it be so,' he said. Emilia could tell he did not believe her.

‘Please, my lord, I beseech you,' Tom said. ‘I cannot bear to go home and just twiddle my thumbs again, after all the excitement these last few days. Please, let me come with you.'

The duke shook his head. ‘Your father is a stout-hearted, loyal man, and I would not mistreat him so. Go home while you still can, lad. If all goes well, there'll be more work for you in time.'

‘But when?' Tom cried.

The duke shook his head. ‘I do not know. I must admit I am disheartened by the news I have gathered while I have been here. Cromwell has his iron fist about the land, and no one dares stir a finger for fear of him. His spies and servants are
everywhere, and even those I thought most loyal to the king are afraid to rise against him.'

‘So many have risen, and ended their lives on the gallows,' one of the other men said unhappily. ‘We have all impoverished ourselves in his cause, my lord, and we fear to suffer any longer.'

‘You still have your house and your lands,' the duke said bitterly. ‘You do not have to beg for every mouthful you eat, like those of us that fled with the king. We have lost everything!'

‘You will regain all you have lost, and more, when the king returns,' Emilia said.

‘So he assures me,' the duke said wryly, holding back a branch for her.

Lord Harry said gruffly, ‘You must assure His Majesty that there are still loyal, true-hearted men in England, willing to rise for him in a moment.'

‘Yes, but how many?' the Duke of Ormonde said. ‘That is why I came home to England, to find out how many, but still I am not sure. We cannot risk
the king returning to English soil until we know for certain that the whole country will rise for him.'

‘If only we could bring all those that hate Cromwell together,' Tom cried. ‘The Catholics, the Royalists, the disaffected army, those mad Levellers . . .'

‘The Levellers will never join with us,' the duke said. ‘They hate us more than they hate Cromwell.'

‘We will keep on trying,' another lord said. ‘It is all we can do.'

‘There are plenty of men willing to drink a toast to His Majesty in private, but less willing to die on a battlefield,' the first lord said. ‘We are all weary with war, I'm afraid, your Grace.'

‘Well, His Majesty is weary with waiting for his throne,' the Duke of Ormonde said harshly. ‘Come, it is growing light. We must push on!'

They were following a rough path bordered by bracken and long grass. Birds warbled overhead,
and grasshoppers chirped. The early morning sun struck through the trees in pale, slanting rays.

‘What about you, Luka, what do you plan to do?' Lord Harry asked cheerfully.

Emilia gazed at her cousin hopefully. He put one hand up to pet Zizi, perched on his shoulder as usual, then said, in a voice of long-suffering, ‘I guess we're going to Beaulieu, in search of Gypsy Joe's mad sister.'

Emilia smiled at him joyfully. He grinned back.

‘I don't know where it is though,' Luka added, looking about him. ‘We've never been to the New Forest before.'

‘I know the way to Beaulieu,' the priest said unexpectedly. ‘I'll be happy to show you.'

‘Ah, of course, the old abbey,' the duke said. ‘Well, show us the way, Father Plummer.'

Heading due east, along narrow rabbit-paths, deeply rutted cart tracks and heathland all purple with blooming heather, they walked and walked
and walked. Before long Lord Harry was wishing loudly that he had his horse. Emilia could only agree. It would have been wonderful to canter Alida through these long slanting columns of light. She touched the silver horse at her wrist, and wondered what price she would have to pay for the talisman of the witch of the New Forest.