Timewatch (11 page)

It was only a dream, but it felt like a presentiment. Once, when she was little, she had blurted out to Molly, the housekeeper, a dream about men breaking into their house. Molly had given her a strange look and then told her that she had once overheard Susanna's mother talking about a similar dream with the master. Her mother, very upset, had implored her husband to take care.

“But don't you worry none, Miss Susanna,” Molly had said as she lifted her onto a stool and gave her a piece of cake. “Your father won't allow no bad men to break in here.”

But her dream had been true. Bad men
had
broken into their house and taken her father. Now her dream was warning her about something else.

Too agitated to sleep, she wished now that she had kept her mother's rosary, even though she had lost faith in its efficacy. It was almost dawn before she could calm her mind and sleep. She woke up to the sound of rain on the window and a pale light filtering through a gap in the heavy brown curtains. She dressed quickly and tried to arrange her hair in some sort of order, but her thick brown hair stubbornly resisted.

An impatient knock at the door startled her. In a rustle of maroon silk, Lady Hastings swept regally into the room. “You have slept well, I trust?” she asked politely.

Without waiting for an answer, she sat down and asked, “Are you comfortable here, Susanna?”

“Yes, Lady Hastings. I am grateful—”

The countess waved away her thanks and said, “We must talk. You indicated earlier, Susanna, that you would be willing to be of use here. I have need of a favor.”

“I should like to be of service, your ladyship.”

“Well, then,” said the countess, “there is somewhat you might do—not for me, but for our king—if you are willing.”

“I hardly know, your ladyship, that there is ought I could do.”

“I have found you to be a person of good sense. The favor I ask is well within your compass.”

“Then I shall do it.”

The countess drew a letter out of the bodice of her gown. “Take this to the address I shall give you and give it into the hands of the gentleman whose name I shall tell you.”

At Susanna's look of bewilderment, the countess added, “I shall be at an important dinner tonight with my husband and do not have an opportunity to deliver this letter myself. If you feel you are not capable of performing this small service for me …”

If her ladyship could not take it herself, why did she not send a servant with the letter? Something felt wrong, but her benefactress, used to getting her own way, was not one who would easily brook a refusal.

“Of course, I would be pleased to be of service.”

“But you are doubtful,” said the countess, staring at her and tapping her foot on the floor. “Do you consider yourself a good Catholic?” she asked.

“Yes, I do, but what has that to do with your request?”

“And you are loyal to Charles Stuart, our king?”

“Indeed, yes, your ladyship.”

“Then for love of God and king, I ask you to deliver this letter to a gentleman. Much may depend upon this.”

A tide of equal parts excitement and fear began rising in Susanna. Events were bearing her onward to some inexorable fate that she could not resist. Her carefree days of roaming the countryside with Jeremy had left her ill prepared to endure days of inactivity, bound by the wishes of others.

“I will do as you wish, your ladyship.”

“Very well, Susanna,” said the countess briskly. “Hold yourself in readiness for tonight, then.”

That evening after a servant had brought her a light supper, which she took in her room, Lady Hastings came to her door. “A coach I have hired is waiting downstairs for you. Here is the letter. Deliver it to the gentleman at this address.” She looked searchingly at Susanna and added, “This is a matter of great import, or I should not ask you to do this.”

“I understand.” But she did not. What was so important that this letter had to be delivered now? There were so many factors here that she did not understand. She wished that she had paid more attention to what was happening in the political realm.

She knew only what was common knowledge: that Queen Henrietta Maria, Charles I's wife, had been forced to flee to France when Parliament's army had defeated the Royalists and captured the king. Prince Charles's efforts to liberate his father had failed, so he, too, had fled to the continent. All other attempts of the king to escape his captors had had a similar outcome. What had this letter to do with any of this?

A sudden dread seized her, and she had to force herself to walk downstairs. Her steps dragging, she walked out into a light mist. A man was waiting who helped her into the coach, which bore no coat of arms or other insignia to tell to whom it belonged. The driver, whose face was hidden by the collar of his greatcoat, whipped the horses into a canter.

They drove for perhaps half an hour through twisting streets until the coach drew up in front of a house of modest proportions in one of the new squares that were being built in London. The driver waited silently on top of his perch until Susanna realized that they had come to her destination. She gathered her skirts around her and cautiously stepped down from the coach. She walked up to the front door and knocked. A young maid opened the door, asked her name, and told her to come in. She left Susanna in a comfortable room with a fire, but even the heat of the room could not warm her. Prickles of fear ran through her. She was a fool to have come. Her dream had warned her. Fury rose in her. Must she play the helpless victim once again?

A young man of cheerful countenance with a short cloak slung over one shoulder and dressed in a silver-colored satin doublet over a linen shirt tucked into blue breeches entered the room. “Ah, Miss Morgan, Sir Gilbert at your service. I believe you have something for me.”

She thrust the letter at him. If he was surprised by her silence, he was too well-bred to show it. “You must be cold. Have a seat by the fire. Would you like a glass of Madeira?”

“Thank you, no. It is growing late.” And she was alone with a man she did not know. Reluctantly, she sat down. Her nerves crawling, she could scarcely contain her impatience to be off.

Sir Gilbert tore open the letter and read it quickly. He was evidently pleased by what he had read, for he gave her a big smile that revealed small white teeth with a gap between the two in front, giving him an air of boyish mischievousness. He sat down opposite her and dropped the letter onto a small table made of inlaid woods. Stretching out his legs, he discreetly admired his tan leather boots with the cuffs.

He beamed at her as he leaned forward and said, “So, Miss Susanna, I had hardly hoped for so lovely a messenger. I understand that you have come lately from the country. Do tell me something of yourself.”

“My parents are dead, so Lord and Lady Hastings have kindly offered me the protection of their home.” She fell silent. She would tell as little as possible about herself.

Sir Gilbert was leaning forward and eyeing her with frank interest. “And how long do you propose to stay with those two?”

“What do you mean, sir?” she asked sharply.

The air of boyish good humor was gone as he said, “You may not know that my lord and his estimable wife are clever and well skilled in the conduct of great affairs. Be careful that you do not become enmeshed in their intrigues.”

“I know little of politics, sir.”

“Of that I am sure,” said Sir Gilbert drily.

Rising from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster, Susanna said, “Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Gilbert, but I must be gone.”

Before he could answer, they heard a loud knocking at the door. The maid burst in, her eyes wild with fear.

“It's all right, Nancy,” said Sir Gilbert, snatching up the letter and stuffing it into his doublet. “Go to your room.”

Seizing Susanna's hands, he commanded, “Come with me.”

“No, not until I know what is going on.”

“Certain death if we stay, but that will not happen if you come with me.”

He swiftly led her out of the room and up a winding staircase, which led to the roof.

It was cold and a light rain was falling, which made the roof tiles slippery. Sir Gilbert grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner of a chimney. A heavy thudding rang loudly through the still air.

Susanna shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “Will they not search here for us?”

“Ah, but we are not staying here.” He released her hand and peered around the chimney. “As I thought, they have broken down the door and are now inside.”

“But who are they? Why are they looking for you? What have you done?”

“That would take too long to tell, but if we are discovered, it will go hard for us.”

Susanna planted her feet, looked into the man's eyes, and said, “Tell me now or I do not move.”

“They are Roundheads …”

“Cromwell's men. Why are they interested in you?”

Sir Gilbert's voice was cool as he answered, “I am a Royalist, endeavoring to set the king free from his captivity at Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight.”

Susanna drew a sharp breath. “And the letter?”

“Bade me be ready to go to the king's assistance this very night.”

“But you can never make it to the Isle of Wight.”

“We can and we will.”

“We!”

“You are compromised now and cannot return to his lordship's home. But we must be off,” he said impatiently as he grabbed her hand.

They crept across the roof until they came to a locked door. Sir Gilbert pulled out a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and led her down a dusty spiral staircase. They heard shouting and the maid's terrified cries.

Susanna was sure that Sir Gilbert must hear the pounding of her heart in her chest. Then she heard a quiet sigh of satisfaction from him as they exited into a back garden, where the sodden grass and leaves dragged at her skirts.

Sir Gilbert gave a low whistle. A man emerged from the gloom and tugged at his cap. Without a word, they followed him into the stables, where a horse, already saddled, whinnied softly.

Sir Gilbert vaulted into the saddle and stretched out a hand to Susanna. With the assistance of the servant, the two men hauled her up on the horse, so that she was riding pillion behind Sir Gilbert, who guided the animal to the back of the stables and into the woods.

Except for the soughing of the wind in the trees, there was little sound as well as little light, but from time to time the clouds would clear briefly for the moon to shine through. As she leaned against the back of the man bearing her away from harm, she wondered how this was going to end. Not well, she feared.

They had journeyed for some time in this fashion when they came to a road. Sir Gilbert halted the horse.

“What … ?”

“Shhh.”

She could hear the swift flow of a river and smell the rank odors of decomposing offal blowing in on the wind, which had strengthened and was sending cold fingers under her cloak. The moon broke through the clouds and turned the river into molten silver.

Now she spied a boat lying at anchor and felt the man's excitement as his muscles tensed. As he urged the horse forward, three men burst out from behind a low stone wall shouting, “Hold, in the name of Parliament!”

Sir Gilbert laid about him with his sword, injuring two of the men. The third man fell backward as the terrified horse reared.

They plunged down an embankment and slid to a sudden halt. “Take the horse and go!” shouted Sir Gilbert as he leaped to the ground and began running toward the boat.

Susanna nearly fell off her mount. She righted herself and grabbed the reins. Several bullets whizzed harmlessly over their heads. The animal bolted.

When she heard no one following them, she pulled the panting horse to a walk. Now where was she going to go? She could not return to the home of Lord and Lady Hastings. Not when her ladyship had knowingly sent her into danger.

Her fury rose as she remembered how Sir Gilbert had lied to her about taking her with him. Instead, he had left her alone. Now she had no one and nowhere to go. She had been a pawn, and pawns were expendable.

The horse was walking docilely enough now, although occasionally it would prick up its ears and turn an unquiet eye on her. She had no notion as to where she was, except that she was riding along a footpath that ran near the river. Dim shapes of houses in the distance reared out of the darkness. The lapping of water together with the country sounds of crickets and the rustling of small creatures soothed her senses and lulled her, along with the gentle rocking of the horse …

The rocking stopped. She looked up. The horse was munching grass. Nearby was some outbuilding behind a house. Rain had begun to fall. She left the horse where it was and lifted the latch on the door of the small building. She went inside and felt her way along the dark interior until her feet encountered something soft—straw. She pulled out a quantity of the stuff and spread it on the dirt floor. Too tired to stand any more, she sat down, wrapped her cloak tightly around herself, and promptly fell asleep.

The noise of crows screeching awakened Susanna. She stood up and eased her way over to the door. Opening it carefully, she looked around. Her horse had gone. The first light of dawn was vanquishing the darkness. People would be rising, coming outside. She had to leave.

After brushing bits of straw off her skirts and cloak and smoothing her hair, she walked quickly down to the Thames. Reaching the top of some steps leading to the river, she could see watermen ferrying people to the other side of the river. Cries of “Oars! Oars!” came from other watermen looking for customers.

From her vantage point she could see shops and houses, many of them several stories high, huddled tightly together on London Bridge. In the fast-moving current, watermen were skillfully guiding their boats through the narrow openings of the bridge's arches, which held back the flood tides from the ocean. Barges loaded with grain, vegetables, and wood moved toward docks situated along the Thames.