‘On whose orders?’ Charmian demanded hotly.
The young soldier hesitated then said, ‘The young master’s, miss.’
Campbell! This was too much! What harm could there be in her walking and talking with Timothy Deane in full view of anyone who cared to watch? She was making no clandestine meeting. Campbell must have been watching yesterday from the castle windows.
She glanced across at Timothy and nodded towards the soldier. ‘It seems I am not allowed to speak with you.’
Disappointment was on the boy’s face. As she turned to go, he called after her, ‘ Charmian—your father sent a message. He wants to see you.’
‘I doubt I shall be allowed to now, but I will try. Please to tell him that.’
Thoughtfully she returned inside. It would be useless to ask Campbell, she thought, but perhaps his father.
‘Where is Sir Geoffrey?’ she demanded of her mother as she burst into the small room where Elizabeth sat sewing. Startled by her daughter’s sudden entrance, Elizabeth dropped her embroidery, but it was Mary Mason, from her seat in the window, answered, ‘And why should you wish to speak with him?’
Charmian rounded on her. ‘If you must know, I wish to visit my father, and as it seems Campbell Denholm is set upon my having no discourse with his prisoners, I thought perhaps his father might be more lenient.’
Mary Mason smiled maliciously. ‘I doubt it, but you can try.’
‘I intend to do so. Well, do you know where he is?’
‘In the great hall, I believe,’ Mary Mason replied and Charmian went at once to find him.
‘Please may I have a word with you, Sir Geoffrey?’ Charmian stood before him, deliberately ignoring Campbell who was I seated on the opposite side of the blazing fire.
‘Of course, my dear.’ Sir Geoffrey rose and placed a stool for her. And when she hesitated, for it was not customary for a young Puritan to be seated in the presence of their elders, he said kindly, ‘Pray, sit down. Now what may I do for you?’
‘I would speak with you alone, sir, if you please.’ Still she had not moved to sit down and she refused to look towards Campbell. She was so afraid that the sight of him would stir memories of all the happy moments they had shared together—so long ago it seemed now—and that her resolve would weaken. She was determined to hold herself aloof from him. He was her enemy, was he not? she told herself fiercely.
She felt Campbell move behind her and knew that he had risen and left them alone.
‘Now will you sit down,’ Sir Geoffrey said gently, and Charmian felt her resolution crumbling. It was impossible to continue feeling resentment and anger against someone so courteous and charming.
‘Please—will you allow me to visit my father?’
Sir Geoffrey’s eyes were upon her face and then he asked softly, ‘Is it really your father you wish to visit—or young Deane?’
Charmian gasped and felt embarrassment creep into her face. ‘No—no, I mean, yes. It is my father. He—he sent word by Timothy Deane that he would like to see me.’
Sir Geoffrey’s eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘Did he indeed? Well, I see no harm in your being allowed to visit him.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Come, I will take you there myself.’
They descended the stone steps into the dungeons and walked along a dismally lit passage. At the far end, outside a heavy door, stood two Royalist soldiers.
‘Miss Radley is to be allowed to visit her father,’ Sir Geoffrey told them, and then he turned to Charmian. ‘I trust you understand the necessity for being locked in with them whilst you visit? My men will let you out as soon as you are ready to leave.’
He turned to his soldier. ‘I charge you to bring Miss Radley safely back to me.’
‘Sir!’ The soldier responded smartly. Charmian noticed with relief that it was not the man from the courtyard the previous day who was being charged with her safe conduct.
The soldier unlocked the door and pushed it open and then stood aside for Charmian to enter.
‘Radley,’ Sir Geoffrey called. ‘You have a visitor.’
She stepped into the cold, bare cell and blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the dimness.
‘Charmian—my dear.’
She stopped in astonishment. It was the first time she could ever remember having heard her father use her given name. Always he had called her Daughter—and her mother Wife—in that cold, authoritarian manner with which he had ordered all their lives. He was coming towards her, his hands outstretched to greet her, a smile upon his face. He took her hands in his and led her towards a bench seat set against the stone wall.
‘Come and sit down, my dear, I have much to say to you. I’m sorry,’ he added apologetically, ‘that I cannot offer you more comfortable surroundings.’ For a moment conflicting emotions fought for expression on his face, but with a supreme effort he continued to smile. ‘Our captors thought this accommodation the most suitable for us.’
William Deane came and stood close beside her. ‘Are they treating you kindly?’ he asked, smiling too, though it was more a baring of his teeth for the smile did not reach his eyes.
‘Yes—yes, we are quite comfortable, thank you,’ Charmian murmured, still mystified by the enormous change in her father’s manner towards her.
At her words Joseph Radley gave a snort of wry laughter, ‘ I thought as much …’ he began and then stopped abruptly as Charmian saw William Deane touch his shoulder warningly. Radley cleared his throat and sat down on the bench which creaked under his weight.
Charmian glanced around the dark, dank place, her eyes searching for Timothy Deane. He was sitting crouched in a corner, his eyes wide, his face pale—almost white. Charmian cried out and half rose from the bench as if to run to him. ‘Oh Timothy—are you ill?’
But her father’s fingers grasped her arm and pulled her back down on to the bench.
‘Mr Deane,’ she said to William. Your brother—he—he looks ill!’ Here in this cold prison he looked far worse than he had done in the open air on the previous day.
William Deane glanced briefly in the direction of his brother. ‘Fear, Miss Radley, is an unhealthy bedfellow. My brother believes we may all shortly meet our deaths!’
Charmian gasped and turned a little paler herself. ‘Oh surely not. Sir Geoffrey cannot mean to harm us.’
Her father looked at her soberly. ‘ There are many things you do not yet understand, my dear child. No—no,’ he shook his head, ‘you are no longer a child—you are a young woman and I must treat you as such.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Sir Geoffrey Denholm is my enemy. He has been this many a long year. I know he seeks my death.’
Charmian was silent, her gaze upon her father’s face. She was remembering, not so very long ago, his glee when Sir Geoffrey and his King had been exiled, and, more shadowy, the memories came back of the ambush of the Royalist coach, and Sir Geoffrey and Campbell as her father’s prisoners. Now the situation was reversed, he nevertheless seemed to expect leniency from the very men he had previously hounded from their country because of their differing beliefs. She became aware that her father was speaking again and her shock at his revelations was far greater than the surprise she was feeling at his changed attitude towards her.
‘Many years ago, Sir Geoffrey tried to seduce your mother. Oh I am sure she did not succumb to him.’ He patted his daughter’s hand. ‘I would not want you to think badly of your mother.’
‘I would never do that,’ Charmian said with such a quiet conviction that her father glanced at her sharply. For an instant his face darkened and the vein in his temple began to throb.
‘Radley …’ William Deane’s voice came softly—warningly—out of the shadows.
‘Yes—yes,’ her father snapped at him and then taking a deep breath turned once more to his daughter. ‘Quite so, my dear, quite so. As I say, your mother had been promised to me by her guardian, as a young girl, but Denholm turned her head till she fancied herself in love with hi
m. She was an innocent, impressionable girl who was flattered by his charm, his—his curling hair and Cavalier manners …’ Hatred and bitterness crept into his tone.
Once more William Deane moved a little closer and Joseph Radley stopped, cleared his throat and began again.
Recollections were flitting through Charmian’s mind. Hazy memories from her first visit to Gartree Castle as a child—her mother and Sir Geoffrey in the arbour near the river, talking together earnestly. And now, even though he was their captor, her father’s enemy, there was no mistaking Sir Geoffrey’s gentleness towards Elizabeth Radley, his tender concern for her comfort and safety, and even, there was no denying it, the happiness that shone from her mother’s face when Sir Geoffrey was near. Charmian swallowed painfully. She wanted so much to believe that her dear mother would do no wrong, but she had seen with her own eyes things which confirmed her father’s words.
‘So you see, my dear,’ he was saying. ‘Denholm—and his son—are my sworn enemies. Deane and I have been talking. It seems as if the King will regain his throne now that Cromwell is gone. We—we think it best—to—to swear our allegiance to His Majesty.’
Charmian gasped and Timothy Deane scrambled to his feet. ‘What?’ His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘But you said you would never—ever—swear …’
William Deane strode across the floor. ‘Silence, boy, if you know what’s good for you,’ he said roughly.
‘But, Brother, you said you would rather face the axe than ever swear allegiance to the King!’
William raised his arm and Timothy cowered beneath an expected blow. ‘Hold your tongue!’ the elder brother growled.
Charmian felt confused. She could understand Timothy’s feelings for she herself was astounded at her father’s statement.
‘You mean—you mean you are going to give up your beliefs? You are going to—to …’
‘No—no,’ her father said. ‘We believe—William and I—that if we could talk to the King we could make him understand. We could ask him for the right for people to follow their own particular religious beliefs without persecution, provided that those beliefs in no way injured His Majesty and the Crown. Do you understand me, Charmian?’
Again he used her name. So unused was she to hearing it upon her father’s lips, that each time Charmian started in surprise.
‘I think so,’ she said hesitantly. This was such a swift, unexpected and complete change of heart on her father’s part, such a change of manner towards her, that she could scarcely believe any of it to be real. He was leaning towards her, talking earnestly, his fingers grasping her wrist. ‘But Denholm will seek our deaths, I know it. If only we could get to the King! Charmian, will you help us? Will you?’
‘I don’t know how I can,’ she faltered. William Deane came then and knelt down before her. Behind him, Timothy inched closer, his eyes wide and fearful, as amazed as Charmian at what he was hearing.
‘Miss Radley, you can help us to escape, if only you will. You and your aunt.’
‘We thought it best to ask to see you. They will not suspect you, but,’ Joseph Radley laughed, ‘Denholm would at once suspect we were plotting if my sister were to ask to visit us.’
‘But—but I don’t understand what I can do.’
‘Tell only your aunt of what we plan. She will provide some potion to put in a drink for the guards. Nothing to harm them,’ Joseph Radley explained, ‘just to make them sleepy.’
‘But …’
‘What you must do is this,’ William added, ‘ Come to see us every day before nightfall, each time bringing some wine for the guards.’
‘The cellar at the opposite end of this passage,’ her father put in, ‘ near to the steps, ’tis stocked with wine. Bring some each day, then when they have become accustomed to your visits …’
‘Indeed, they will begin to look forward to your coming, slip the draught into the drink,’ William said.
‘Then—then what must I do?’ Charmian asked nervously.
‘You will make a short visit that evening and then return later, when the draught has had time to take effect and when the rest of the household is abed, to let us out.’
‘I understand,’ Charmian said slowly, ‘and—and you intend to go to the King and swear allegiance to him?’ Still she could not believe that this was so and could not help but ask to hear it yet again from their own lips.
‘We mean to seek out His Majesty,’ William Deane said solemnly. ‘Indeed we do. Will you help us?’
Behind him, out of the darkness, she saw the terrified eyes of Timothy Deane waiting for her response. He did not deserve to die and she was sure that Campbell—if not his father—was bent on revenge. And if what her father had said was true and she did not help them, they were sure to die.
Slowly Charmian nodded.
Surprised though she was by the remarkable change in her father, still she believed him, though Mary Mason’s reaction on hearing of the plan rekindled some of the doubts in Charmian’s heart.
‘I am delighted to hear you are helping your father. I had grave fears about your loyalty to our cause, my dear niece, but now …’
‘Oh no, Aunt Mason, you misunderstand. My father and the Deanes wish to swear their allegiance to His Majesty. But—but they fear—I mean—my father believes that Sir Geoffrey is his enemy and that he seeks my father’s death. But if they can reach His Majesty, then they are sure he will show mercy.’
For a moment violent rage flashed in Mary Mason’s eyes. ‘ I would never have believed …’ she began and then after a moment’s thought she said, ‘And that was what your father told you, did he? Come now, Niece, tell me his exact words.’
‘If I help them to escape, he said, they plan to seek out the King.’
‘Aaah,’ Mary Mason seemed to relax and she began to smile. ‘In that case, then, my dear, we must help them, must we not?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Charmian, but somewhere in her heart there was still a nagging doubt.
Over the next week or so Charmian visited her father and his two fellow prisoners each evening just before darkness fell. Each time she took with her a flagon of wine, and as William Deane had predicted the soldiers soon greeted her arrival with enthusiasm.
During that week, Lady Denholm arrived at Gartree Castle and though Charmian observed Lady Denholm and her mother closely, to her surprise the two women were remarkably friendly towards each other and yet even in his wife’s presence, Sir Geoffrey‘s gaze would linger upon Elizabeth Radley’s face. Perhaps Lady Denholm does not know, does not suspect, that there was once anything between her husband and my mother, Charmian mused, watching them.
‘Charmian.’ She jumped as Campbell spoke softly behind her. ‘I have not seen you—not to speak with—’ he added pointedly, ‘since your fall. I trust you are quite recovered?’
At once her face became a stiff mask of indifference. ‘ Quite. I thank you, sir.’
She made as if to move away from him but suddenly he grasped her wrist and twisted her around to face him. She cried out at the pain in her arm. ‘Let go of me!’
His face was close to hers. ‘Why are you avoiding me? You seem to find plenty of time to visit that—that whey-faced Puritan in the dungeon.’
Charmian gasped, her eyes wide. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you know very well what I mean.’
She swallowed and tried to still the wild beating of her heart. She could think of no sharp retort to make and she was so afraid he would begin to suspect the real reason behind her visits to the dungeon if she were to deny his accusations.
Better to let him think her interest lay in Timothy Deane than that she should risk exposing her father’s daring plan.
Twisting her wrist free of his grasp, she turned, picked up her skirts and fled from the brooding eyes of the handsome Campbell Denholm.
Chapter Six
‘Tomorrow night. It must be tomorrow night!’ Her father took hold of her arm when she visited the c
ellar that evening. Charmian winced as he held the very wrist which was still sore from Campbell’s rough treatment. She swallowed the fear which rose in her throat at the thought of what she must do, and nodded.
‘We dare not wait any longer. If Denholm were to decide suddenly to remove us to London, all would be lost.’
‘But—but if the King has not yet returned—what—what will you do?’ Charmian asked. She saw a glance pass between her father and William Deane.
‘We shall hide out somewhere until we hear that he has returned,’ William Deane said swiftly.
As she left the cellar, Timothy shyly put his hand upon her arm. ‘Charmian—t-take care,’ he whispered anxiously.
‘I will,’ she promised and smiled at him, but on the boy’s pale face there was no smile in response.
‘Will this make them sleep for long enough, do you think?’ Charmian asked as her aunt pressed the flagon of wine into her hands. Mary Mason’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh yes—they’ll sleep quite long enough, my dear.’
‘But it will not hurt them—cause them any pain?’ Charmian persisted.
‘Oh no. They will know nothing about it, I assure you.’
This was the part that Charmian did not like. What if her aunt had put in the wrong amount of sleeping-draught? Too little and the guards would not sleep. Too much and … But her mind shied away from that thought.
‘Aha, here’s the pretty Puritan maiden,’ one of the guards greeted her as she approached them that night, and he seized the flagon from her. ‘Here’s to you, my pretty maid,’ he laughed and raised it in the air. Charmian smiled weakly, trying to still the trembling in her limbs. She felt sure they must see her shaking hands, but they were too intent upon the ruby wine.
Inside the cell, her father hurried towards her. ‘Is it done?’ he whispered eagerly.
Charmian nodded.
‘Good, good. Now you must not stay long—just in case the draught works quickly. If they make any comment upon your leaving so soon, say—say you have a malaise, then go straight to your room and wait a good hour, or more if needs be. Then return here and take the keys from the guards and open the door. We will do the rest.’
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