by Jodi Taylor
The plan was thus:
Team One – the unlikely combination of St Mary’s and the clean-up team, with Grint in command, would jump to 1554 and . . . yes, facilitate is a good word . . . and facilitate Wyatt’s Rebellion. They should be safe enough. By that, I mean the rebellion actually occurred so they should be safe from History. Whether the 16th century and its inhabitants would be safe from them was another kettle of fish. Looking at them, my money was on the clean-up crew. I’ve just realised I never knew their names.
We – Ellis, Nash, Bevan and I – would jump to July 1553 and attempt to dissuade Mary from obeying the summons to London. It shouldn’t be too difficult. In the original timeline, she was actually warned not to go. All we had to do was ensure we were the people warning her.
In the original timeline, having been advised she was walking into a trap, Mary writes a letter to the Privy Council, claiming the throne under the terms of her father’s will, so our task would be two-fold. Firstly, to prevent Mary travelling to London and, secondly, to make sure her letter arrived safely. Because Robert Dudley was out there somewhere, under orders to intercept her, and given that in this timeline Mary was poisoned, we could all guess at his instructions.
‘How will you safeguard the letter?’ I asked Nash.
‘We’ll follow at a distance,’ he said. ‘Close enough to intervene should anyone have any ideas about intercepting it.’
‘But how will you manage? You’ll need horses, surely. Where will you get horses from?’
They looked at me pityingly and I resolved to shut up and stop embarrassing myself.
‘Right,’ said Ellis. ‘Good luck, everyone. Don’t forget – no hanging around. Job done and go. No arguments.’
They nodded.
By now, the streets of London were worryingly deserted. No attempt was being made to defend the capital. Far, far in the distance, the horizon glowed red and orange. I could hear a muted roar. Like the crowd at a far-off football match. We needed to get out of here.
Number Five was exactly where Clerk had said it would be. I called for the door and the next moment we were inside. I closed my eyes and inhaled. It was wonderful to be back. Trust me, cabbage never smelled so good.
I opened my eyes to see my colleagues looking around. Bevan sniffed disparagingly. I caught them all exchanging glances. Presumably no one ever vomits or bleeds in a Time Police pod because they all smell faintly of pine air freshener.
‘Right,’ said Ellis. ‘First things first, Max.’ He unzipped his pack and pulled out a small box. ‘With your permission . . .’
He plonked the box on the wall.
I peered suspiciously. They were the Time Police after all. ‘And that is . . .’
‘Standard issue. For when we have to travel some distance from the pod. Homing beacon. You don’t have them?’
We don’t normally travel that far from the pod but to say so would make us sound a bit girlie, so I said airily, ‘We normally manage to find our own way home without artificial aids.’
A statement received with complete disbelief by everyone – even the person who uttered it.
There’s a pod etiquette, observed even by the Time Police, so I was the one who did the coordinates. And I was the one to lay them in, as well.
‘Biometrics,’ I said to Ellis. ‘So stop sulking.’
‘Great. So, if anything goes wrong and you’re dead then we’re stuck here.’
‘Pretty much, yes. You’d better let me have the return coordinates as well, please?’
He looked at me and frowned.
‘It’s the way we work,’ I said. ‘It saves time.’
He frowned some more.
‘You’re St Mary’s now,’ I said. ‘We often have to leave in a hurry. Trust me.’
He sighed and I laid them in. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘Let’s do it.’
I smiled to myself and said fondly, ‘Computer, initiate jump.’
‘Jump initiated.’
And the world went the most wonderful shade of white.
If I’d done it right – and I had – this was 6th July 1553. Either today or tomorrow, Mary Tudor would set out from her house at Hunsdon in response to her summons to London. Terrified of missing her, we were there just after dawn.
Hunsdon had been a favourite with all the Tudors. Unexpectedly large and imposing, it even had a moat. I remembered it had been extended by Henry VIII. All his children had spent time here. It was at Hunsdon that Mary had taught Elizabeth to play cards. The building itself was beautiful. Built of redbrick, it glowed happily in the summer sunshine.
We’d landed in a small copse about a few hundred yards away. At first glance, things did not look promising. The house was very much bigger and grander than I had expected. There was no way we were going to be able to blag our way inside. On the other hand, the wall wasn’t high and the unguarded gates stood open. That didn’t mean there were no guards around, though. Not in these unsettled times.
We carefully circumnavigated the building and grounds, finally settling on a site opposite the gates a little distance away. Gently rising ground gave us a reasonable view of the house.
We’d each brought a small pack containing water and those really rather grim, hard, brown survival biscuits. The ones guaranteed to keep you on your feet for twenty-four hours, taste like ceiling tiles and give you three months’ constipation. And then we settled down to wait. A lot of my job is waiting. Or running, of course.
The good news was that she was definitely leaving today. Even just after dawn, the place was in turmoil. We couldn’t see much through the gates, but we caught glimpses of male servants running hither and thither, chivvied from A to B and back again by scolding women wearing wide dresses. Their clothing – male and female – was dark and sombre with white frills at the neck. A mountain of trunks and boxes were already stacked on the grass.
‘Good job it’s not raining,’ said Ellis.
We watched as the alp of baggage grew ever higher.
‘Is she taking everything she owns?’ asked Nash in amazement.
‘It’s very possible,’ I said. ‘Wealthy people often took their furniture with them – including their beds. I don’t think that’s happening here, but she’ll probably be accompanied by a sizeable entourage – she is the daughter of a king, after all – and they’ll all bring a ton of kit as well. It’ll all be loaded on to pack horses and mules and into carts and carriages. The best thing is that they’ll only be able to travel at a snail’s pace and we’ll have no difficulty keeping up.’
‘Are we actually joining them?’
I nodded.
‘Won’t they notice?’
‘I doubt it. We won’t be the only ones. Travel is still quite hazardous. People band together for safety. There’ll be Mary and all her entourage – including her guards – and others will join on at the rear. No one will notice us,’ I added hopefully. ‘With luck, the newcomers will think we’re part of the baggage train and Mary’s men will think we’re just hangers-on. Just look stupid and unthreatening. Yes, that’s very good.’
Sometimes I just can’t help myself. On this occasion, however, they restrained themselves. They still looked doubtful, though, and I considered telling them about my intervention with Mary, Queen of Scots, and how well that went. But, for a variety of reasons, not least that you never voluntarily tell the Time Police anything, I decided not to worry them with it.
The morning wore on. I’d been right – carts and mules were being loaded up. There was a great deal of shouting and even more female twittering. Apparently, everything had to be just so.
‘Bloody women,’ muttered Nash. ‘They’ve made them repack that bloody mule three times now and they’re still not satisfied.’
Progress had been made, however. A ragged line of carts, mules and packhorses was formed an
d, with a great deal of shouting and waving, slowly and ponderously the front of the line began to move away.
‘They’re off,’ said Nash, levering himself up from his stomach. We were watching the goings-on from underneath a straggly hawthorn hedge. ‘Shouldn’t we get a move on?’
‘Relax,’ said Ellis. ‘It’s Mary we’re following, not her baggage. She’ll have breakfast and set off later and catch them up. But it’s time for you two to earn your pay.’
Nash and Bevan inched their way backwards, got to their feet and disappeared.
‘Where are they going?’ I said in some alarm.
Ellis grinned. ‘They’re going to nip back to the stables and help themselves to anything with four legs that hasn’t already been commandeered.’
‘Won’t someone notice?’
‘Of course they will, but they’ll just think someone’s forgotten something, or they need spare horses or something. They’ll probably even help saddle them up.’
‘Oh,’ I said, admiring. ‘Neat.’
‘Naturally.’
And actually, that’s exactly what happened. They reappeared a while later leading two sturdy brown horses, bridled but not saddled. Obviously, tack was more difficult to steal.
Ellis and I backed up and edged our way around the hedge. We found ourselves a neat spot from where we could see everything and settled down to wait. Behind us, I could hear the Time Police bonding with their horses.
The sun rose higher in the sky and the day promised to be hot. A small crowd began to gather at the gates. To catch a glimpse of Lady Mary, we assumed. Whatever the reason, we welcomed their appearance.
‘We can get lost in the crowd,’ said Ellis.
And then, finally, around mid-morning, the front doors were thrown open and a small woman appeared, escorted by a man I assumed to be the chamberlain or steward of the house. No prep meant I didn’t know his name. His wife stood slightly behind him and, behind her, some five or six other women.
The small woman – who must be Mary, given the deference being shown her – paused, drawing on a pair of gloves. She said something over her shoulder and as she did so, the horses were brought round.
I knelt up to see better.
Ellis pulled me down. ‘Stay down.’
‘I can’t. It’s my job. I’m the historian. I study historical events. You’re the Time Police. Go and count your crayons.’
Someone behind me wondered aloud why they let me live.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Ellis. ‘Perhaps she’ll come in handy one day.’
‘And if not?’ Was it my imagination or was there a hopeful note there?
‘Then you can kill her.’
That seemed to mollify them but I’d lost interest, staring instead at Mary Tudor. Given her enormous father, she was so small and slight. Her waist was tiny. She wore a brown dress pulled back over a lighter underskirt. Her headdress was small and close-fitting. Probably so as not to be blown away as she rode. All her clothes looked plain and practical.
She was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of women. I know she always had a large household, even when suffering under Henry’s displeasure, but trust me, there were a lot of women here. I wracked my brains for names. Frideswide Knight. Several Franceses – Aylmer and Jerningham. A Mabel Browne. Another Jerningham – Anne? I wished I was better prepared. Normally I’d try and befriend one of them and attempt access to Mary that way but that might not be possible here. I’d interrogated the Time Police computers but although they were spot on with dates, they carried little personal information about actual people. And none at all about ladies-in-waiting.
There are various versions of events which I suppose isn’t that important if you’re studying them from a position four or five hundred years in the future, but a bit of a bugger if you’re actually on site waiting for everyone to get a move on and wondering what will happen next.
Some say Mary was warned while actually on the road. Some say a message was sent from London. Others that she was warned by Lady Burgh at Euston Hall. Or that Lady Burgh simply confirmed what Mary already knew. So many versions of events. Well, the beauty of this situation was that we could make our own.
Ellis grinned at me. ‘All set, Max?’
I nodded.
The crowd around the gates sent up a cheer and here she came, mounted on a rather nice-looking bay. Her household and escort cantered along behind her.
She slowed for the crowd, smiling and waving. The crowd waved back. She seemed very popular locally.
We slipped out from under the trees and fell in about a hundred yards behind. Within sight but not close enough to be threatening. Especially not to an armed party.
The day was lovely with a light breeze and birdsong. I could hear the gentle clump of hoofbeats behind us and an occasional snort I assumed was from one of the horses. Everything was very peaceful. It’s easy to forget how quiet the world used to be.
They rode for about two hours and at a very gentle pace. We’d worried she might race off after her baggage, but perhaps she was enjoying the day. We had no trouble keeping up. Ellis and I went first, followed by Bevan and Nash leading the horses. They’d thrown their cloaks over them in case anyone recognised them.
Ahead, two soldiers went first, heading the procession. Mary followed on next, with one of her ladies at her side. I’ve no idea which one. They were all dressed more or less identically. Her other ladies followed on behind. Behind them were various members of her household together with their assistants and staff. More soldiers brought up the rear.
Every now and then the Tudor equivalent of Markham would peel off and trot down the line, looking for trouble and generally keeping an eye on things. Occasionally a couple would canter on ahead to check out the road. I don’t know if anyone was expecting trouble – they were alert, but not nervous. They had no idea Robert Dudley was somewhere in the vicinity. They didn’t even know that Edward was very seriously ill, if not already dead. There was no indication that anyone was aware Mary was going to her death.
It wasn’t an unpleasant walk. We stayed far enough back to avoid the dust. Though there was a lot of it. No wonder Mary had chosen to travel separately from her baggage train. Noon passed. The afternoon was hot but with just enough breeze to keep us comfortable. No one stopped to eat so we didn’t either – just a glug of water every now and then.
We saw the manor house at Hoddesdon long before we reached it. Well, we saw its tall chimneys peeking above the surrounding elm trees. And then the mellow red roof. We rounded a bend and there it was. Another lovely redbrick building drowsing in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Everything was hot and still and peaceful. A whole world away from the murderous paranoia of Tudor court life.
The garden was walled but the gates were open. The baggage train must have arrived because a small welcoming party had gathered. We watched them greet the royal party with great deference. The horses were led away and Mary’s party was escorted slowly towards the house. We strolled casually past the gate and then Ellis and I snuck back for a closer look, hiding in the long grass opposite.
The house had small windows – it would be gloomy inside. Especially if the rooms were panelled with the usual dark oak. I had a bit of a think. It was a lovely day. And she hadn’t come that far. She might want to rest but I was betting she would want solitude even more.
I could imagine the turmoil inside. The flurry of feminine activity. Hot and agitated women flitting from room to room, skirts swirling around them, scolding even more hot and agitated servants for delivering the wrong chests and trunks to the wrong rooms. Everyone would be stressed and losing their tempers. Her hosts would be flustered and anxious. The traditional flurry of an arriving guest. A royal arriving guest.
Mary might well want to take herself away from all that. To find somewhere to gather her thoughts. Possibly even to pray. There was a sm
all, private garden, enclosed by high walls. She would be safe enough there. Surely, she would seek a little privacy. If not, I’d have to think of something else.
I sat back on my heels and looked around. In the distance, behind another stand of trees, I could see more thatched roofs. Might this be the farmhouse attached to the manor house? A deeply rutted track led from the road, down past the house and towards the farm. I might be able to access the garden from the rear. I could leave Captain Ellis and his men here at the front in case anything happened.
The most difficult part was getting him to stay behind.
‘Listen,’ I said, for what seemed like the umpteenth time. ‘You’d never get anywhere with Mary. I probably won’t but you definitely won’t, so you need to stay here and keep an eye on things. And you two . . .’ I looked at the other two officers, ‘need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. It’s very possible she’ll write to the Privy Council without any prompting from us. Dudley and his men could be anywhere around here and that letter must get through.’
Ellis didn’t like it. None of them liked it but, as I pointed out because I can be very irritating, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.
I scrambled to my feet and tried to tidy myself up a bit. I shook out my skirts and brushed off the worst of the Thames mud, re-tied my tea towel and was ready to go.
‘I’ll give you an hour,’ said Ellis, stubbornly.
‘Better make it two.’
He sighed in resignation. ‘Until dark then.’
‘Keep an eye on things here and make sure Nash and Bevan are ready to go after that letter. Don’t wait for me and lose your opportunity.’