He glanced at the children at the other end of the table. They seemed to be occupied with their sweet cider and biscuits. His voice low, he said, ‘I will do what I can. I cannot approach her myself, I must not be taken prisoner.’
‘But surely you have diplomatic license.’
‘Not since the London Parliament declared the Oxford Parliament void and its members treasonous. Lord Essex has even put a price on the Queen’s head. When he learns that she is not in Oxford …’
Lucy Hay went white. She looked away from him at the children who had finished eating and were growing restless. Elizabeth took Henry’s hand and led him to the window. ‘Remember, Henry? You can see the river from here. We will ask Carter to put the chairs back against the wall and bring down your balls and soldiers and it will be just like it was before.’
As the children stared out the tall windows, remarking on the familiar, Lucy turned back to him. ‘We must talk,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Certain arrangements must—’ She broke off her whispering and turning away said, ‘Carter, please take the children up to the attic and find their toys.’
Henry turned from the window and, holding up his hands to be carried, ran to the servant.
‘Oh, Your Grace, you are quite a young man now,’ Carter said. ‘Do you think you could walk up those stairs holding my hand?’
There was something about the way the child slipped his hand inside the footman’s that wrung at Hyde’s heart.
When the children had gone, she said, ‘I must talk candidly. I cannot accept this responsibility with the skeleton staff now serving Syon House. I do not even have a lady’s maid. One old man, though Carter serves me loyally and willingly, and when the children were here – well, you can see that he is very good with them – but one aged servant and his bumbling grandson are not adequate. I have a cook and a laundress but they each will need another pair of hands in the scullery and the laundry. I will also need another housemaid and a nurse for the children.’
His mind was spinning as fast as she was talking, wondering how he could satisfy what seemed reasonable demands. He had not anticipated her reduced circumstances.
She broke off her recitation of requirements to ask, ‘Has Henry been breeched or is he still wearing a dress?’
That at least he could answer from experience. ‘Yes, but he has the occasional accident. Lady Carlisle, I don’t think I can—’
‘I suggest you start at St James’s Palace. That was the royal children’s household before Parliament took custody of Henry and Elizabeth. Henry had a nurse there. John brought her to me, but I let her go back when the children left for Oxford. Her name was Colette. And I will need a maid for the laundry. I do understand your security concerns, Mr Hyde, I do. But the servants at St James’s Palace were loyal to the children. At least John said they were. They will not betray you.
‘As for the other three servants, I shall request them from the Percy Household since they are officially designated custodians by Parliament and commissioned by Parliament to send me a quarterly allowance for provisions. A payment is due …’ she paused as if doing a quick calculation in her head, ‘… midsummer, and I doubt John told the commissioners that I let the children go to their mother. He had too much on his mind. Besides, he was as anxious as I that they not fall into Lord Pembroke’s hands. I think the payment will come on time. Algernon’s new wife will complain about the needed servants, but she will comply. She will not want the children at Northumberland House. Find that nurse and see while you are at St James’s Palace if you can find a suitable groom for Henry. Go to Chelsea. Try to convince Bathsua Makin to come. Without her I will never be able to keep Elizabeth’s mind occupied.’
‘I will try my best,’ he said. ‘If Mistress Makin cannot come, I will send the tutor from Oxford – though Princess Elizabeth is not much impressed with him. Yet he will be better than none.’ He reached for his Puritan hat. ‘Best wear this if I am going into the lion’s den. I had hoped to avoid Westminster, but perhaps I can fulfill my errand and slip through the Lines of Communication with all the other tradesmen who are leaving. I have found the busiest times are the easiest.’
‘You have sneaked in before?’
‘Only once. At the request of Archbishop Laud. Poor man is facing trial. He wanted me to advise on his defense. He is hopeful, but I fear a bad outcome.’
‘I am no lover of William Laud, but surely … treason? They’ll never prove it. John said that was why they had not already brought him to trial.’
‘You of all people know they do not have to prove it. The Covenanters will push for a bill of attainder.’
As she walked him out, he turned and asked, ‘If you don’t mind my asking, you said I was your second visitor. Who was your first? Anybody I know? I get so little news of my few friends still in London.’
‘I doubt you know him. The Very Reverend Stephen Marshall. It was a pastoral call. He preached John’s funeral.’
‘I know of him. Even heard him preach once before the war broke out. A formidable presence in the pulpit. There could be no better advocate for the Presbyterian cause,’ he said, remembering that Lucy Hay was a Presbyterian. He’d always supposed that her refusal to attend mass in the royal chapel was the reason for her abrupt departure from the court. ‘I think, in Stephen Marshall, Parliament found an advocate every bit as powerful as the Archbishop Laud was for the Anglican cause,’ he said. ‘One is credentialed by the law of the land, the other by the sheer force of his gift of rhetoric. Two of God’s prophets on opposing sides. It will be interesting to see which one he favors. Though it’s looking more and more like Marshall.’
‘Some think the outcome of the war will tell us that,’ she said archly. ‘Or perhaps not. It may be that, disapproving, God will turn his back on all who make war in His name. Who can know?’
He wanted to ask which side she favored, but he thought he knew. She favored whichever side was victorious.
‘God go with you, Counselor,’ she said. ‘I trust that you will remember and remind them of my loyalty in this very important thing.’
‘I shall remember and remind, but I think they already know,’ he said, climbing into the coach. ‘When you see the nurse, you will know I have succeeded, and I shall send you word regarding the tutor.’
By the time the coach had turned east off Syon Lane and headed toward Westminster, Lucy was already in the nursery, replacing the children’s beds with clean linen. Her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Syon House had been lonely without them but, more importantly, the fact that the King and Queen trusted her enough to send them back showed they did not suspect she was the one who’d informed the Parliament five of the King’s planned action against them. Since John had died, and with the children gone, she had felt herself more vulnerable. Now, whichever side Almighty God chose, because of the children, her future looked less precarious.
PROOF OF LOVE
I hope yet to serve you. I am giving you the strongest proof of love that I can give; I am hazarding my life, that I may not incommode your affairs. Adieu my Dear Heart. If I die, believe that you will lose a person who has never been other than entirely yours.
From Henrietta’s letter to Charles, July 1644
Mid-June 1644
‘Why must we leave Bath tonight?’ the Queen asked Henry Jermyn. ‘Truly, I have not found much comfort here, but I would much prefer to wait until tomorrow. Je suis fatiguée. I was preparing for bed.’
The pleading in her voice almost persuaded him. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, kiss the shadows beneath her eyes, place his hand upon her belly to feel the life growing inside her. But he could not. Such an act would of course be treasonous. He could only keep her safe. He didn’t exactly remember when he became aware that he loved her. It seemed that he had always loved her. And being alone with her was torment.
‘As your most loyal subject, I wish only to serve your desires, Your Majesty, but as your captain, I am charged with your sa
fety. I am truly sorry, but it is imperative that we leave within the hour. The King’s messenger says that not only has Essex put a price on your head, but he has disobeyed Parliament’s command to lay siege to Oxford and is instead diverting his troops westward. He knows, or at least suspects, your presence here. That is why he is abandoning the Oxford siege. His men will have the roads cordoned off by dawn, if they have not already. If we head south now we can make Glastonbury Abbey before that happens.’
‘I cannot go without the doctor.’
‘He has already left. He will meet us in Glastonbury. He can check you there and see if he thinks it is safe to travel the sixty miles from there to Exeter. You will be safe at Bedford House. Lord and Lady Russell are very loyal and are prepared to welcome you and provide you with every comfort. It will be a much safer place to deliver the King’s child. Genevieve has gone on ahead to prepare for your arrival.’
‘But I thought Parliament held the garrison at Exeter.’
‘Prince Maurice routed them last fall. It is solidly a Royalist garrison now.’
‘I would have known that fact if his brother had taken it. Rupert always makes sure everybody knows his triumphs. Maurice just does what he needs to do, an admirable trait. I shall be ready within the hour, but, Henry, you know I cannot ride in my condition.’
‘You will not have to,’ he assured her. ‘Put on the plainest, loosest garment you have and wear this,’ he said, handing her the plain cloak and bonnet. ‘As soon as you are dressed, meet me at the kitchen garden gate – do you know where it is?’
She nodded.
‘I will be standing beside a carriage, wearing a roundhead haircut and Puritan doublet,’ he said.
This at least got a smile out of her. ‘You are going to cut your beautiful hair.’
‘A small enough sacrifice to keep my Queen safe,’ he said. ‘Now we must hurry.’
One half-hour later, as he helped her into the small coach, she looked up at him, worry lines crimping her forehead, and said through the faintest smile, ‘Not too bumpy, please, unless you want to deliver the King’s child on the side of the road.’
He thought her the bravest woman he had ever known, and more devoted to her husband than Charles deserved. ‘Not too bumpy,’ he confirmed with a smile. ‘Midwifery is not an occupation to which I aspire.’
He climbed onto the coachman’s bench and, with a flick of the reins, the pair moved forward. The urge to spur them on was strong, but mindful of his precious cargo, he kept a sedate pace. They were only about three miles out of Bath when a party of riders approached, almost running him off the road.
Fast horses. Buff jerkins. Sidearms flashing in the moonlight. Roundheads this far west meant only one thing: Essex’s men. And they would know what they were looking for. So great was his relief when they thundered past with scarcely a glance in his direction, he almost dropped the reins. But that relief was short-lived. Intuition told him that at least one or more might circle back. In their place, he would have done.
The light of a bashful moon high in the sky picked out a small copse of trees behind a shepherd’s hut. Pulling on the reins, he leaped down, tethered the horses to a bush and signaled for Henrietta to get on the floor. ‘Company,’ he whispered, ‘probably nothing. But stay down, low as you can. Cover your whole body with the coach blanket.’
He walked several paces away, stopping in plain sight, in front of, but not shadowed by, the trees, so the riders could plainly see him doing his business. It wasn’t long before he heard the horses returning, followed by the sound of men’s voices. He patted the inside of his jerkin to make sure the pistol was there. From the corner of his eye he could see that there were five of them. Not good odds.
‘Who goes there?’
He noted the thick East London accent. Not King’s men. He turned around, pretending to fumble at the button closure of his pants. ‘Ye gave me a start,’ he said. ‘Until I saw thy buff coats. ’Twere a relief to see good Parliament men. Thought sure ye might be robbers or worse. Maybe Royalists.’ He scrunched up his nose, as though some foul smell had just offended. ‘These parts be ripe with the stinking lot of them.’ Inspired, he thought, as he heard his own voice imitating the colloquial dialect. Many of the Puritans, especially in outlying dockside areas, still used the English of the old King James. ‘Cyrus Pitcock,’ he said and, wiping his hand on his britches leg, offered it to the lead rider who ignored it.
‘Why are you on this lonely road at night, Mr Pitcock?’
None of the soldiers made any movement to dismount. The lead rider leaned forward, loosely holding the reins, his posture casual, but a flintlock lay in his lap.
‘No reason that I asked for. On me way home and anxious to get out of this Royalist-infested country.’
‘Where is home and what is your business here?’
Henry thought quickly. They would likely be on their way to scout Taunton for Essex, who would like to take their Royalist garrison back. If he should run into them again, they would not be likely to stop him a second time. ‘Parliament town,’ he said, praying that the Queen did not raise her head to look out the window. He spoke loudly, hoping his voice would carry. ‘Just tryin’ to make it to Taunton to pick up me wife. Her mother lives there. She’s sick with the palsy. Traveling by night to avoid the King’s soldiers.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘I hear they are more like than not holed up after sunset, whoring and drinking.’
The soldiers laughed at that. The leader said, ‘Speaking of whoring, Mr Pitcock, I don’t suppose you happen to have heard any news of the King’s French whore hereabouts?’
Henry scratched his head, praying Henrietta had not heard their vile insult. The coach was tethered on the other side of the hut, and the soldiers had their back to her. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Ye mean the King’s Catholic consort? Papers in London said she was in the Netherlands.’
The lead rider guffawed at that. ‘Nay, man. Surely you heard. She came back months ago, bringing Catholic soldiers with her and pope’s gold to pay for her papist invasion.’ He leered as he added, ‘She brought something else back with her as well. The bitch is about to drop another mongrel pup into the King’s lap, so this time she’ll be movin’ slow.’
Henry’s fingers itched to grab the gun and shoot the blackguard’s face to bloody hell. But there was only time to get off one shot. And then he would be food for crows and she would be theirs.
Another of the soldiers chimed in. ‘My sister-in-law’s cousin worked at the kitchen in Whitehall. She says all the King’s children are bastards.’
Jermyn would go for him next. It would be a pleasure to see his blood spurt. He was trembling with rage as he tried to gain control of his twitching hands, but when he answered, he was surprised to hear his voice low and calm. ‘In her letters the wife hasn’t said anything about the Queen being in these parts. I am sure she would have heard. Isn’t it a large undertaking when a Queen makes a progress?’
‘Oh, this will be no royal progress. She’s a sly fox this vixen,’ the second soldier said.
Then the lead soldier glanced toward the coach. Studied it for a long moment. ‘Mind if I look in your coach, Mr Pitcock?’ Not waiting for an answer, he dismounted and strode toward the coach, jerked open the door, stuck his head inside. Henry took panicked inventory. Beside the pistol he had a small sidearm at his waist under his shirt and a dagger in his boot. One of the five was scarcely more than a boy. He would shoot the one opening the coach first. The others were still mounted, giving him the advantage, he was thinking, when the first soldier stepped back away from the open door of the coach. He was holding a blanket. Even with the thin crescent moon sliding behind a cloud, Henry could see the coach was empty.
He thought that he would melt with relief. She must be hiding in the hut. Please Holy Virgin, let them not look there.
The virgin must have heard.
Holding up the blanket and shaking it out as i
f he expected to find … what?
‘I be cold natured,’ Henry said. ‘Sometimes it gets a mite nippy up on the driver’s bench.’
The soldier folded the blanket and put it back on the carriage seat. ‘No stone unturned,’ he said half apologetically, and shut the door. Mounting his horse and giving the signal forward, he said, ‘God’s speed, Mr Pitcock. Maybe we will see you down the road.’
As they rode away, Henry took his time, pretending to untie the reins, slowly mounting the driver’s bench, making a show of wrapping himself in the blanket. He waited until they were out of sight before leaping down and rushing into the darkened hut.
Enough light spilled in through the open door to see the room was empty. Had she run out onto the moor while their backs were turned to the coach? There were predators there too. But his back had not been turned. He would have seen her. He whispered, ‘It’s me. They have gone. You are safe.’ Nothing. ‘Your Majesty?’
Silence. A deadly, looming silence. Not even the scuffle of a rat. Then a shadow separated itself from the wall, and thank Christ and all the saints in heaven, she was there, standing before him, her face so pale and sad in the moonlight, for one heart-stopping moment he thought she might be a ghost. A ghost with a very round belly.
‘You heard them?’ he said.
‘I heard,’ she said, her voice frail and tremulous. ‘Every malicious, vile lie,’ and then, her voice grew stronger, ‘Charles will make them all pay.’
Wanting nothing more in the whole world at that moment than to take her in his arms and comfort her, he only said, ‘Pay it no mind. They are just an ignorant lot who believe what they are told to believe. They don’t know you or anything about you.’
‘Why do they hate me so? What have I ever done to them?’
Now was not the time to explain that it was not her they feared. She was just a stand-in for their nightmare memories of another Queen Mary, who had racked their grandfathers for their Protestant beliefs and burned their clerics. Instead, with his hand, he gently wiped away the tears tracking her cheeks and wished with all his heart that Charles Stuart was half the man she wanted him to be. She removed his hand from her face brusquely, as if to let it linger there would somehow make her weak.
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