Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  It was still very early when at last she reached home and to her relief the roads were comparatively empty, for wherever she passed people she was painfully aware of their amused stares.

  She went, not to the rectory, but to the Forresters’ cottage. Susan was outside with two buckets of water she had drawn from the pump in the street. She straightened and stared at Caroline in astonishment as she threw herself wearily from her horse.

  ‘Susan, where’s Jake?’

  ‘He’s inside. He came home last night after all –’

  She broke off as Caroline thrust the mare’s rein into her hand and pushed past her into the cottage. Jake was lacing his boots. He straightened in astonishment at the sight of her.

  ‘They’ve captured Charles – Mr Dawson,’ Caroline began, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure Susan had not followed her in. ‘They’ve taken him to Lakamouth Castle.’

  ‘Dear Lord!’ Jake stared at her. ‘But I thought everyone got away. He warned us hisself –’

  ‘He stayed to protect me!’ Caroline cried in despair. ‘We have to help him. What can we do?’

  Jake sat down heavily on one of the two wooden chairs. ‘As to that –’ He scratched his head. ‘Lakamouth, you say? Why so far? Why didn’t they bring him back to Larchester?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged impatiently. ‘Maybe the militia are based there.’

  ‘Ay, that’s more than likely.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll talk to the others and see what they think is to be done. Your father’s been looking for you.’ He seemed to notice at last the state she was in. ‘You’d best get back home –’

  ‘But you’ll send me a message? I must know what you’re going to do.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘It’s best you leave it to us now, Miss –’

  ‘No! Don’t you see?’ She caught his arm. ‘Jake, if it hadn’t been for me he would have got away. I owe it to him to help him.’

  For a moment he said nothing. Then he nodded. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll send you word.’

  Leaving the mare in the rectory stable with strict instructions that she be rubbed down and fed and watered Caroline crept towards the kitchen door and pushed it open. Polly and the cook were seated at the table shelling peas.

  ‘Miss Caroline!’ Polly jumped to her feet. ‘Dear Lord! Look at the state of you! Where have you been?’

  ‘Where is my father?’ Caroline collapsed onto a chair.

  ‘He’s ridden over to Pengate again. Such a to do there’s been. Archdeacon rode over last night and demanded to know why you’d taken Miss Marianne’s pony. Then when we couldn’t find you anywhere and he told your Papa you’d gone with Mr Dawson your father went straight over there, and oh my dear, the servants there said they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of you. Mr Hayward was all for scouring the country. And now, look at you! Did you have a fall?’

  Caroline closed her eyes with a little prayer of gratitude. Of course, that was the perfect alibi. ‘Yes. I fell. I’m sorry I frightened everyone. I must have knocked myself out. I felt too dizzy to ride so I stayed in a barn somewhere until morning.’

  The two women threw up their hands in horror.

  ‘But where was Reverend Dawson to let you ride home alone?’ Cook was frowning at her closely.

  ‘He had to stay behind. I wanted to get home. It wasn’t his fault. I should have stayed with him, but I knew Papa would worry – and now I’ve made things so much worse.’

  To her relief she was able to wash and change and eat something before Mr Hayward, summoned by the groom, returned to the rectory. His anger was only slightly mitigated by his concern when he heard that Caroline had fallen from the borrowed horse. Peremptorily he sent for the doctor, who examined her closely and professed himself surprised by the absence of bruises, before ordering her to bed for the rest of the day. She went gladly, relieved to escape her father’s furious questioning which was leading her deeper and deeper into a tissue of lies.

  Her room was cool and quiet. The house was silent. She lay back in the bed, staring at the open window where the curtains stirred gently in the breeze. What was happening to Charles? Would he be tried? Surely he could not be hanged? She closed her eyes miserably, her fists clenched so that her nails cut into the palms of her hands. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and unhappily she realised that she had come to admire Charles Dawson far more than she should.

  Messages had been sent to the Archdeaconry and to the Rectory at Pengate confirming the safety of horse and rider and one had been received back from Kennet, Charles’s butler, saying Mr Dawson had been detained – Caroline blanched at the word – and would not be home for several days. Who had sent that message, she wondered?

  All day she waited for news – from Jake, or from her father – with the revelation that Charles Dawson had been arrested but nothing happened.

  Then, on her supper tray she found a note:

  Are you willing to help? If so, be at the Forresters’ cottage at dawn. That was all. There was no signature. She stared at it. It was written in an educated hand on a sheet of heavy, good quality notepaper. Holding it over the empty fireplace she watched it burn, letting the last pieces of ash flutter down into the cold grave. Her heart was thumping nervously.

  She barely slept. Long before dawn she was up and dressed in her freshly pressed habit, her hair bound up in a net. Holding her boots in her hand she crept down the stairs into the cold grey of the dew-soaked garden. It hadn’t crossed her mind not to go.

  She walked swiftly down the village street, flitting like a shadow past the rows of cottages until she reached the Forresters’ at the end of the street. It was silent and in darkness.

  Nervously she raised her hand to the door, but it opened before she knocked. There were several men inside. Of Susan there was no sign.

  ‘I knew you’d come.’ Nervously Jake produced a chair. Seated on the only other chair in the room was James Kennet, Charles Dawson’s butler. So, he knew all about it. Suddenly she realised who must have written the note. He half rose in acknowledgement of her presence then he subsided again. She could feel him eyeing her closely.

  ‘Mr Charles and I had a plan worked out in the event of this ever happening, Miss Hayward,’ he said formally. ‘At the moment our luck holds. They are still holding him at Lakamouth but we have found out that they intend to transfer him to Larchester for the assizes. I hardly need tell you the scandal that would ensue once he was recognised. It is imperative that we rescue him before he is discovered, never mind before he comes to trial!’

  ‘And how do we do that?’ Caroline found that her mouth had gone dry.’

  ‘Bribery, Miss Hayward.’ He sighed. ‘There is no garrison proper at Lakamouth, which should make things easier. The prison there is, so I gather, guarded by a very poor sort of person. With luck we should be able to spring him with no trouble.’ His mouth turned down at the edges wryly at his use of what he obviously thought was the correct cant term.

  ‘How much money will you need?’ Caroline’s heart sank as she glanced around the room. So this was why they wanted her. But she had nothing of her own.

  Kennet smiled. He had obviously read her thoughts. ‘It depends how much you can get. You’ll have to go to the bishop.’

  ‘The bishop?’ Caroline stared at him. ‘You mean he knows?’

  ‘No, of course he doesn’t know.’ The man’s voice was scornful. ‘But Mr Charles left this letter.’

  Caroline unfolded the paper he handed her. ‘Father, I have urgent need of several hundred guineas for a cause which would I know, gladden your heart. Please, would you entrust the money to the bearer of this letter. I shall explain to you as soon as I may. Your affectionate son, Charles.’ She looked up. ‘He was expecting this to happen!’

  ‘We all knew that it might.’

  ‘But why do you want me to go to the bishop?’

  ‘You are a more respectable messenger even than I, Miss Hayward.’ K
ennet allowed himself the ghost of a smile. ‘You could wheedle more out of him. We’ll need as much as we can get, and quickly.’

  It was still only ten o’clock when James Kennet drove Caroline in the Pengate rectory chaise to the door of the Bishop’s Palace in the close at Larchester. She had been released from her bedroom into Mr Kennet’s charge by her father only when he knew that she carried a message from Mr Dawson to the bishop. Only half an hour after that she had left, having been regaled with a thimble-sized glass of sherry, a hearty handshake from the bishop, a bag of gold coins and a large, scuffed soft leather wallet stuffed with notes issued by the Larchester and Lakamouth Bank.

  She had changed into her prettiest sprigged muslin dress and tied her best bonnet over her gleaming curls for the visit, and the bishop, his eyes twinkling, had been openly appreciative of his attractive visitor.

  ‘Charles in a scrape again, is he?’ he had roared at her as he filled her glass, having read the letter. ‘No, don’t bother to deny it. That boy was always in trouble. No different now he’s grown. I just hope he’s all right.’ He had eyed her closely. ‘A friend of Charles’s, are you?’

  ‘I hope so, my lord.’ Caroline could feel herself blushing.

  ‘Hayward’s daughter, eh?’ He seemed to be trying to place her. ‘Good, very good.’ And with that she was ushered out once more by the bishop’s attentive chaplain.

  They drove out on the Lakamouth road, the money lying in Caroline’s lap.

  ‘The others will be there to meet us in case we need any help,’ James Kennet said after a long silence. ‘They’ll have seen to it that there’s a boat ready to take him off on the afternoon tide.’

  ‘And if they don’t release him?’ Caroline glanced at the man’s profile.

  ‘Then we’ll have to think of something else. But I don’t think we’ll have any bother. Half those men are smugglers themselves. They join the militia for the bounty. If your money’s better, then they’ll take it.’ He flicked the reins.

  They put up the horses and chaise at the Angel Inn. Jake and three companions were waiting for them there, lounging around in the stableyard.

  ‘We’ve signalled the Marie Blanche. She’s standing off to take him to France.’ Jake grinned contentedly. ‘All we’ve got to do now is use a bit of gentle persuasion up at the castle.’

  They all looked at Caroline.

  ‘Oh no. Not me!’ She stared at the five men in turn, horrified.

  ‘Who better?’ Jake grinned. ‘Let your hair down and let them see your eyes red from crying. The sight of you would soften the hardest heart. Mr Kennet will go with you.’

  She glanced round wildly. ‘But I can’t!’

  ‘Of course you can. It’s his only chance.’

  For a moment she was tempted to turn and run, then her courage returned. Hadn’t she wanted excitement? Hadn’t she resented the boredom of life in the rectory? Well, her prayers had been answered. She had found herself an adventure. Besides, it was for Charles, and for him she realised suddenly, she was prepared to risk anything. Slowly she nodded. ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Kennet’s slightly patronising, and certainly disrespectful accolade left her glowing with pride.

  The whiteness of her cheeks was real however as she walked shakily under the great gatehouse arch and paused, her face hidden by her lowered veil, as Kennet asked the way. She followed him past the guards, across the rounded, slippery cobbles towards the far side of the courtyard.

  The officer in charge of the prisoners was lounging at a desk in a small room inside the Edward Tower. He stood up as Caroline entered, hastily buttoning his tunic. ‘Madam?’ He glanced from Caroline to James Kennet and back suspiciously.

  For a moment Caroline was struck dumb. She didn’t have any idea what to do or say. She was no actress and she was very frightened. She looked up at the man piteously and unexpectedly and, perfectly genuinely, burst into tears.

  It cost them every penny they had with them as well as the gold locket Caroline wore around her neck, but at last they found themselves making their way down long dank passages to the cells with a signed release form from the captain of the guard folded into Caroline’s reticule.

  Charles was sitting at a rough wooden table in a small cell. His jacket was torn and the cut above his eye had, before it crusted over, bled copiously into his shirt, but he was not, as she had feared, in chains.

  Nor was he pleased to see her. ‘What in God’s name are you doing here? I was sure you had got clean away!’

  Taken aback, it was a moment before she replied. ‘We’ve come to release you. I would have thought you’d be pleased,’ she said tartly. ‘You are free.’

  ‘Cost your father a pretty penny, too, Mr Charles.’ Behind her, Kennet winked. ‘We thought Miss Caroline could wheedle a bit more out of him than I could. And she did. Are you ready, sir?’ He lifted Charles’s torn jacket from the back of the chair and held it out to him.

  ‘You fools!’ Charles put on the jacket with a grimace. ‘Do you want her implicated? Do you want me identified? How long do you think it will be before someone recognises her? Already they have her bonnet!’

  The guards had taunted him with it that morning – crushed and sodden with dew as it had been when they found it trodden into the hoofprint in the muddy wood.

  ‘All they know,’ said Caroline, her dignity hiding her hurt at his ingratitude, ‘is that there is a lady in your life who cares enough for you to pay her every last penny to get you out of here. Who is there to recognise me anyway? Besides, I have my veil.’ She turned and walked out of the cell.

  Charles frowned. ‘Caroline, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –’ But she had gone.

  With a glance at one another the two men followed her, and uneasily they retraced their steps back towards the courtyard. They were almost there when the door of the guardroom opened and a man stepped out. He stood barring their way.

  ‘So, what is this? A rescue party?’ His eyes ranged from one to the other, then came back to Caroline and his expression sharpened. ‘Don’t I know you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She kept her voice as low as she could. She had recognised him at once. It was Captain Warrender, the officer whom she had met the day before as he and his men mustered at the roadside. She wished the flimsy veil over her bonnet were thicker. Feeling his sharp eyes on her she lowered her head. But it was too late.

  ‘I know who you are! The girl on that blood mare at Ewangate yesterday. By God! You were one of them! It was you who warned them –’

  ‘This gentleman has his release, Captain.’ Kennet stepped forward. ‘It was all a case of mistaken identity. ‘You must be mixing this lady up with someone else.’ He reached behind him and firmly gestured Charles and Caroline on. ‘If you wish we can check with your superior officer.’

  Caroline felt Charles take her arm. They were moving on past the guard post. In another moment they would be outside.

  ‘Wait –’ the captain called. His cry was broken off as Kennet brought the edge of his hand down sharply on the back of his neck and he crumpled to the floor. Dragging him back into the empty room Kennet locked the door on him and pocketed the key. ‘Hurry,’ he breathed.

  They walked as fast as they could without attracting attention across the cobbled courtyard towards the gatehouse, through it and out into the street. Threading their way swiftly back towards the Angel, they were, almost at once, lost in the crowd of horses and carriages and milling townspeople.

  ‘The boat’s waiting at the harbour steps.’ Jake met them at the stable entrance with the horse and chaise. Within seconds Kennet had dived into the box beneath the seat and produced a shirt and coat from the change of clothes he had hidden there. He helped Charles strip off his bloodstained garments, wrapped them in a bundle and stowed them away. For a moment Caroline found herself staring at Charles’s broad chest and muscular shoulders and she felt a strange twist of longing deep inside her. Then he was being thrust int
o fresh clothes. He saw her staring and gave a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry. No sight for a lady. You should have turned away.’

  She blushed. ‘I’m … I’m sorry. Please. We must hurry.’

  ‘Indeed we must.’ Kennet was beside her again. ‘Let me help you up, Miss, and here, if you’d remove your bonnet. I thought we might have need of disguises.’ He had dived once more into the box and produced this time a crimson shawl. ‘If you wrap this round your hair, Miss. Now you look quite different. See?’ He pushed her bonnet out of sight beside the bloodstained shirt.

  Moments later she found herself wedged between Kennet and his master in the two-seater vehicle. With a wave to Jake and his companions they were driving away from the inn.

  Caroline was very conscious of the pressure of Charles’s thigh against her own, his shoulder next to hers. ‘I haven’t thanked you yet,’ she said. ‘You saved me by riding at those men.’

  ‘I did no more than you did for us,’ he said curtly. He glanced behind them, through the small window in the hood of the chaise. ‘You have put yourself in more danger coming here. That was foolish.’

  ‘She was very brave, Mr Charles,’ Kennet put in on her right. There was a hint of reproof in his voice.

  ‘I don’t doubt her bravery. I merely deplore her headstrong urge to rush into danger,’ Charles retorted. Abruptly his face lightened into a smile. ‘Not that I would have her any other way now I come to think about it. I must like obstreperous women!’ He glanced down at her with a teasing grin. ‘One of these days I’ll come back for you, if you’re not careful, and enroll you amongst my followers.’

  Caroline didn’t answer. Already they had reached the harbour. Kennet drove to the water’s edge and stopped at the top of a flight of steps. A small rowing boat waited below. The man at the oars glanced up and raised his hand.

  ‘The Lucy out there will take you out to the Marie Blanche. Good luck Mr Charles.’ Kennet leaned forward slightly.

  Charles leapt down. ‘Thank you. Both of you.’ He inclined a slight bow to Caroline. Then almost as an afterthought he reached up and taking her hand kissed it lightly. ‘Take her home, James, and tell her father to keep her out of mischief.’