The King's Mistress (7 page)

“No,” Jane smiled.

“Are you sure, Jane?” John asked. “If you’re having second thoughts, better to voice them now.”

“I’m having no second thoughts. And if I were, I’d go through with it anyway. For what other way is as sure to get the king out of danger?”

“Spoken like a true soldier.” Henry tweaked a curl that strayed from Jane’s cap, the same as he had done since she was a little girl and he a dashing older boy. “But it’s as well I’ll be with you, to protect you from the king as much as for anything else.”

“Why, what a thing to say!” Jane cried in astonishment. “What may you mean by that?”

“Only that he’s a man like any other, and used to having his way.”

“Careful, Henry,” John warned.

“John, if she’s to travel with him, she should know to be on her guard.” John shrugged in acquiescence, and Henry continued. “He’s already got a bastard son by a wench on Jersey, and there are whispers that he got at least one child on the daughter of the governor there, too.”

Jane felt a little shock at such licentiousness, but she was more annoyed at the sight of Henry, clearly expecting her to be outraged.

“Brisk work for a lad of twenty-one,” she said coolly. “But I’m sure His Majesty will have more on his mind than attempting to debauch me.”

She smiled inwardly to see that Henry looked disappointed at her lack of reaction.

“It’s too cold to tarry here,” she said. “We’ll talk more tonight. I’m going in.”

H
ENRY WAITED WITH
J
ANE IN THE DARKENED KITCHEN THAT NIGHT
. John had a book of maps that had been prepared for Royalist officers, and Henry studied it by the lantern light.

“An exceeding useful thing to have,” he said. “The maps will save us asking our way. The less attention we bring to ourselves the better.”

Jane paced, going to the window to peer out into the blackness. The pale curved crescent of the moon had risen into view before they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. A rush of cold air gusted through the kitchen as John came through the heavy wooden door, followed by a stocky figure wrapped in a bulky cloak, and Jane shivered as the reality of what she was planning to undertake hit her.

“My lord, may I present my sister Jane? You know my cousin Henry Lascelles, I believe.”

“Your servant, Mistress. A pleasure to see you, Lascelles.”

As Wilmot pulled off his hat and bowed to her, Jane saw that he was a big man with a spreading paunch, near on forty years old, and nothing like the dashing hero of her imagination. But still he looked the part of a soldier, and Jane knew from John’s service under him that he was a capable and shrewd commander. She brought warm drink to the table and sat down with the men. Wilmot’s buff coat was splattered with mud, the collar of his shirt was grimy, and his unshaven face was stubbled with grey, and Jane remembered that like the king, he had been on the run from Cromwell’s men for five long days.

“Henry will ride with my sister and—your master,” John said, his voice low.

Wilmot nodded his understanding.

“An extra man will not go amiss in case of danger,” John added. “And you and I may be of help, too, my lord. We can give out that we go to visit Clement Fisher at Packington. The way lies in the same direction the others will travel, and we can keep in sight at least through the morning.”

“Well bethought,” Wilmot nodded. “The greatest danger probably lies closest to here, so the more men to hand the better. And I shall be glad to see Fisher again.”

“The situation has fallen out well for our purpose,” John said. “I had planned to send the son of one of our tenant farmers to accompany Jane, and it is such a man your master must feign to be. We’ll provide suitable clothes and instruct him in what he needs to know.”

“I’ve already made arrangements to stop with family at Long Marston on the way,” Jane said, looking at the men’s shadowed faces. “And they’ll not question my having a serving man with me.”

“Long Marston’s a long day’s ride,” Henry said, “but if all goes well we should be able to make it, and to reach Abbots Leigh in another two days’ travel.”

“Good,” Wilmot said. “I’ll ride from Packington, and meet you all at Abbots Leigh.”

“Then we’re agreed,” John said. “We’ll be ready to leave when you think fit, my lord.”

A thrill went through Jane’s stomach. It was really happening. A greater adventure than she could have imagined.

“Let us make it as soon as it may be,” Wilmot said. “The danger grows with every hour. I’ll bring him here tomorrow at midnight, and we’ll leave at daybreak.” He stood and threw his cloak over his shoulders. “Until tomorrow.” He bowed to Jane. “I honour your courage, Mistress. And I know I can speak for our master in giving all of you his profound thanks.”

L
ATE THOUGH IT WAS, JANE LAY STARING INTO THE DARK, UNABLE TO
stop her mind from whirling. She could scarcely believe that before the next day was out, the king would be at Bentley, and that the following morning they would be on their way towards Bristol, riding to save his life and any hope for the future of England’s monarchy. She had never travelled farther than Stafford, less than thirty miles away, and now she was setting out on a journey of a hundred miles, every step fraught with peril to her own life as well as that of the king. Her cat, Jack, lay purring at her side, and she reached down to stroke his head.

“How has it come,” she asked him, “that an undertaking of such moment should rest on my shoulders? Will I be able to surmount the difficulties and terrors that are sure to lie along the way?”

Jack shifted against her, his purring rumbling deep within his chest.

I shall have to,
Jane murmured to herself.
God give me strength
.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
J
ANE LOOKED OUT HER BEDROOM WINDOW TO
see a man hastening to the kitchen door. She recognised him as one of the five surviving Penderel brothers, who lived in and around Whiteladies and served the Giffard family at Boscobel, a few miles away in the woods of Shropshire. The family had fought for the king, and a sixth brother had been killed at the Battle of Edgehill. Jane saw John slip out to the stables with the man, and a few minutes later she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He put a finger to his lips imploring her silence as she opened her door to him.

“John Penderel’s just come from Whiteladies. Colonel Ashenhurst was there last night with a party of soldiers. They’d been told that the king was at the house, and they tore the place apart and used Charles Giffard very roughly.”

“Dear God,” Jane whispered, closing the door and leaning against it in alarm. “The king wasn’t there, was he?”

“No,” John said, sinking onto a chair. “But it maddened them not to find him. A soldier captured after Worcester had led them there, and they beat him badly. They have the scent of the king now, and will hunt until they find him. And look at this.” He dug a folded paper out of his pocket. “It’s being distributed to every parish in England.”

Jane stared at the broadsheet, headed “A Reward of a Thousand Pounds for the Capture of the Traitor Charles Stuart”. A cloud covered the sun outside, and she felt a cold shadow of fear pass over her heart.

“Then we had best get him out while we can,” she said.

“Jane, are you sure?” John came to her side and they stood looking out the window. In the yard below, a servant trundling a barrow of barley towards the brew house stopped to exchange words with one of the grooms, and their laughter drifted upward.

“Yes,” Jane said. “Yes. We cannot turn back now.”

“Very well. Then Lord Wilmot and Whitgreaves will bring him here tonight, and you’ll set off in the morning.”

Jane suddenly wondered when she would return. Maybe with things so unsettled at home she would not linger at Abbots Leigh as she had thought, but return as soon as Ellen’s baby was born.

“Another thing,” John said. “We must keep this between ourselves and Henry now.”

“Doesn’t Father know?”

“He knows about Wilmot’s horses. He may suspect more, but he hasn’t asked and I’ve told him nothing. Nor Mother or Athalia either.” John’s face was grim. “And better we leave it at that. They cannot be forced into betraying information they do not have.”

“Forced?” The image of her aged father and mother brutalised by Cromwell’s men rose to Jane’s mind, and that gave her pause as nothing else had done.

“They’re desperate now to find the king. I know some of these men and I’d like to think they’d use our people civilly, but we cannot count on that.”

“Then Mother and Father shall know nothing,” Jane agreed.

T
HAT AFTERNOON
F
ATHER
J
OHN
H
UDDLESTON ARRIVED ON FOOT
looking harried and shaken. John ushered him into Thomas’s little study, nodding to Jane to follow them. As it was a capital offence to be a practising Catholic priest, Huddleston was dressed in the coat and breeches of a country gentleman. He was young and sturdily built, and Jane recalled that he had fought in the wars under the Duke of Newcastle, following in the footsteps of his grandfather, who with eight brothers had raised two regiments for the first King Charles.

Huddleston waited until John had shut the door behind them before he spoke.

“Southall the priest catcher was just at Moseley with a troop of soldiers.”

“The king?” Jane and John spoke at once.

“Is hidden yet.” Huddleston’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The officers accused old Mr Whitgreaves of having been at Worcester, but neighbours gathered and attested that he had never left home. The soldiers were out of humour at having been misinformed, and beat some men who stood up to them.” The priest’s brown eyes were hot with anger.

“Did they not search the house?” Jane asked.

“Mr Whitgreaves did a wise thing. Upon hearing that the soldiers were coming, he opened all the doors of the house to show he had nothing to hide. They searched anyway, but found nothing. One of them promised an ostler working in the stable yard he should have a thousand pounds if he could tell where the king was.”

“Oh, no.” Jane could barely breathe.

“He didn’t know the king was there,” Huddleston said. “And he might not have told if he did.”

“But the offer of so great a reward may prove too terrible a temptation for some poor soul,” John said. “Every moment increases the danger.”

“And the soldiers?” Jane asked, looking from Huddleston to her brother. “Will they come here now?”

“We must be prepared,” John said.

W
ORD OF THE EVENTS AT
W
HITELADIES AND
M
OSELEY SPREAD, AND
at supper the entire household seemed on edge, though no soldiers had appeared to search for the king. Jane was lost in thoughts of the next day’s journey and did not at first hear Withy speaking to her.

“Do you hear me, Jane?” Withy repeated, rapping Jane’s wrist sharply with her spoon. “We’ve decided to leave with you in the morning.”

“What?” Jane put her wine glass down hard, sloshing a few drops onto the tablecloth. “I thought you weren’t going home until next week?”

“We hadn’t planned to,” Withy said, shaking her head and dabbing at the spilled wine with her napkin. “But after these past days I’d rather be at home, and I’d prefer the safety of travelling in company than taking to the road on our own.” She speared a piece of meat from her plate and popped it into her mouth.

Jane’s heart sank. Setting off with the fugitive king disguised as a tenant farmer’s son would be difficult enough without Withy travelling along, sure to stick her nose where it had no business. What could she say to dissuade them? She cast a glance at Henry, listening from across the table. He seemed to read her mind.

“If I were you, John Petre,” he said to Withy’s husband, “I’d hold off a few days before taking your wife abroad. By then Cromwell’s men are sure to be fewer on the ground, and the roads will be safer.”

“That’s true,” Jane said.

Withy’s husband opened his mouth to speak, but Withy cut in. “Then why don’t you wait?”

Jane could think of no answer and flushed in consternation, and to her annoyance, a knowing smile crept over Withy’s red face.

“Maybe Jane is in such a hurry because she plans to elope,” she simpered to the table. “It’s not Ellen Norton but some lover she’s riding off to!”

Her scornful laugh made it only too clear that she considered the idea ridiculous, and Jane bit her lip to keep from flying out at her sister with angry words.

“Nonsense. Of course it’s Ellen I’m going to see. How could it be otherwise with Henry along? I would delay my travel myself did not Ellen expect me every day. Of course you’re welcome to ride with us, Withy.”

Withy looked put out at Jane’s capitulation, but only turned to her husband and said, “That’s settled, then. We’ll leave in the morning.”

J
ANE WENT TO HER ROOM AFTER SUPPER TO FINISH HER PACKING
. S
HE
could not carry much, only what would fit in the saddlebags, and she was debating whether to bring along the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets when there was a quiet knock at the door. John slipped in, shutting the door behind him.

“I’ll be off to Moseley about ten,” he said. “And return with Lord Wilmot and—and the other gentleman. You have the clothes?”

Jane took from a large chest the grey broadcloth suit that had been made as Sunday best for one of the servants but had never yet been worn, and a pair of shoes belonging to Richard, who had the biggest feet in the family.

“Good,” said John. “Those will do well. He can have a bath and shave in the kitchen and sleep in the servants’ quarters, and keep out of sight until we’re on the point of leaving.”

“I’ll make all ready,” Jane said, “and have food waiting when you come back.” She turned back to her packing, but John put a hand on her arm.

“Jane, it would be better if you didn’t see him until morning.”

“But I want to make him welcome and see that he’s comfortable,” Jane said. “It’s little enough to do.”

“I know,” John said. “But if you don’t meet with him tonight, then if it comes to it, you can truthfully claim you never laid eyes on him until he brought out your horse, and you knew not who he was. If we’re discovered, that could be the difference between life and death for you.”