‘Please—could you tell me the way to the Palace of Whitehall?’
‘Why, certainly, miss.’ And the baker, his apron covered with flour, took her out on to the street and gave her clear directions. ‘ ’Tis a long walk, miss,’ he added looking down at her.
She smiled faintly. ‘I shall find it. Thank you for your kindness.’
At the moment when Charmian was leaving the baker standing watching her walk up the narrow street, Campbell was striding through the Palace of Whitehall. Everywhere were Royalist Cavaliers, standing together in groups talking and laughing.
‘Master Campbell, Master Campbell Denholm.’
Campbell turned to see a breathless and mud-bespattered groom from Ashleigh Manor hurrying towards him. At once Campbell knew that Jem’s sudden arrival meant that something was wrong at Ashleigh Manor.
‘What is it, man? My father?’
The groom paused to catch his breath and shook his head. ‘ Nay, he follows on and will be here ’ere long, young master. Nay, ’tis your wife. She has been missing from the Manor since early morning. We—your father feared she had set out for London and we have heard at an inn along the way that there was a young lady with three Royalists—one of them, de Lisle.’
On hearing this Campbell Denholm echoed the very same words his father had used only hours earlier when hearing the same news, ‘My God—de Lisle!’
At once he turned to face the group of Royalists. Arms akimbo, he stood, a fearsome figure in his flowing cloak, and bellowed out, his voice ringing through the great hall for all to hear.
‘Where is de Lisle?’
All eyes turned to look at him and all chatter and laughter ceased. Campbell scanned the faces for sight of someone—anyone—he knew was connected with the man he sought. He thrust a finger forward. ‘You, Radcliffe, you are his friend. Where is he?’
‘I—I—er—we’ve just left him at his town house.’
Campbell walked slowly towards Radcliffe, who took a nervous step backwards. ‘Had he,’ Campbell asked menacingly, ‘anyone with him?’
Radcliffe gave a nervous laugh and looked about him for support. ‘Only a wench we picked up on the road. A Puritan wench running away …’
Campbell’s hand was at his throat. ‘ That wench is my wife!’ he roared and lifted Radcliffe from the floor. ‘If harm has come to her, Radcliffe, you’ll not live to see another dawn, nor de Lisle along with you.’
‘We did her no harm, Denholm, I swear it. But now, well, de Lisle has her. We—we did not believe her when she said she was your wife.’
Campbell let him drop to the floor again the man fingered the bruise on his throat. ‘She told you who she was?’
‘Oh yes, but we thought it a ploy to secure her escape.’
Grimly Campbell strode away out of the hall, shaking his clenched fist in the air. ‘Be warned, Radcliffe, if harm has come to her, I’ll come looking for you.’
Charmian was winding her way through the strange streets trying to follow the baker’s direction, whilst Campbell was galloping madly towards the house she had so recently left. Pedestrians scattered in all directions to avoid the flying hooves of his horse.
The front door was still standing open and Campbell ran up the steps three at a time and into the house. ‘De Lisle! De Lisle!’ Campbell bellowed and drew his sword. The house was quiet. Campbell glanced up the stairs and swallowed. He prayed he was not too late, for he would surely kill de Lisle if …
A groan came from the room on his right and entering, Campbell saw Anthony de Lisle trying to pull himself up from the floor. Blood poured from a wound on the back of his head where he had struck it on the sharp corner of the table. ‘Oh my God!’ he moaned as he looked up and saw Campbell standing over him, the point of his sword inches from de Lisle’s throat. ‘Then she was telling the truth.’
‘Indeed she was,’ Campbell said grimly. He saw her cloak lying on a chair nearby and the fear swept through him afresh. ‘ Where is she, de Lisle? If you have harmed her, I shall kill you, I swear it.’
‘I have not hurt her, Denholm,’ de Lisle looked up from where he still sprawled on the floor. Though I’ll admit I tried to seduce her. I have never been one to shirk the truth. Whatever else my faults are, I am not lying to you. I brought her here. I didn’t believe her tale about being married to you.’
‘So I understand from your friend Radcliffe. But where is she now?’
‘I really do not know. She fought me like a wildcat. God, Denholm, you’ve got yourself a fiery piece there and no mistake!’
Campbell could not prevent the surprise from showing on his face. Charmian—his Charmian—fighting like a wildcat?
De Lisle touched the back of his head gingerly. ‘I suppose she’s run off. She was trying to get to the Palace of Whitehall.’
‘Damnation!’ Campbell muttered. ‘I’ve just come from there.’
He sheathed his sword and grinned suddenly amused by the picture of Charmian fighting this man. What courage!
‘Well, de Lisle. I’ll believe you. Scoundrel though you are, I know you to be a man of your word. Here, my hand,’ and Campbell helped the man to his feet where he stood swaying unsteadily. ‘I’ll be on my way to find her.’
Slowly now, Campbell rode through the streets on his way back to the Palace of Whitehall searching for the slight figure of his wife. He was thoughtful now, seeing his young bride in a new light. He had thought her a child still, a petulant rather foolish child, but now he began to see things more from her point of view.
She had fought de Lisle’s unwelcome advances, but she had not fought Campbell on their wedding night. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth at the remembrance of that night, even amidst his anxiety about her. The thought gave him hope. Her show of resistance at the marriage ceremony had only been a token one. He had thought her weak, but now he began to see that she possessed a strength of will that he had not understood.
Hope began to surge in his heart. Did this mean that in spite of her reluctance to admit it, she did love him? He had loved her for so long Campbell thought, ever since they had first met when she had been a child. All through his years of exile the thought of her had been sharp in his memory. But bitterness had clouded his mind, for he knew she was betrothed to another and that she could never be his—not whilst Cromwell ruled. He had feared that, even if he was ever able to return to England, by that time she would be married to Joshua Mason. Then, on their return from exile, to meet her again—grown into a beautiful woman—to hear that she was not yet married, hope and longing and love had stirred. But her refusal to treat him as anything but an enemy had angered and embittered his tempestuous pride. And so he had treated her cruelly, yet all the time hating himself for doing so.
He remembered her words, ‘I did not want to spend my life with a man who despised me.’
Was that what she thought of his feelings for her? He considered his behaviour to her of late and, chagrined, he realized it had not been like that of a lover. The years of exile, the ill-treatment he and his father had suffered, their anxiety about Lady Denholm in England during their enforced absence, all had combined to drive Campbell and Charmian further apart. On his return, he had not been able to reach out to the child he had loved, who was now a lovely woman, and he had blamed her for being caught up in something she had been powerless against—the power of her own father over her. And yet he had loved her still.
All the while he rode through the streets of London searching for her, his mind wrestled to try to understand her feelings, her beliefs. He could not now question her courage—even if he did not agree with her motives—in coming to London, alone, to try to save the lives of her father and friends for would not he have done the same if the circumstances had been reversed? It was an action that deserved his admiration. For even after her father’s cruelty and abuse, she could not deny filial duty. She could not sit idly by and let her father perish.
There was only one fear left now in Campbell’s
heart that Charmian loved Timothy Deane, and that that love had driven her to take such a desperate action.
He reached the Palace once more and entered and then stopped in amazement. There in the centre of a circle of Royalists stood the tiny, resolute figure of his wife. Her plain grey gown was spattered with mud, her golden hair curled untidily from the prim Puritan bonnet she still wore, but she held their attention. They were paying her the courtesy of listening to her. Unseen, he tiptoed nearer.
‘… your King—our King, for I am now the wife of a Royalist and proud to be—has already said that he wants no more bloodshed, other than the full penalty from those directly concerned with his own father’s death. But even for them, he will want a fair trial. He would not thank you for putting men to death in his name but without his consent.’ Her eyes glowed with a fire. ‘ It could cause another civil war—you could turn the people against you yet again, where as now, let me tell you, the common people are ready to welcome back their King with open arms.’
There was a murmur amongst the assembly and Campbell pushed his way through the circle around her.
‘Charmian,’ he said softly. She turned to face him, the surprise on her face giving way to joy and relief—and love. He opened his arms to her and she ran into them with a cry of thankfulness and was enfolded in his strong embrace.
The Cavaliers, smilingly, melted into the shadows.
‘Oh my love, my love.’ He stroked her hair and covered her face with kisses. ‘You are not hurt? Say you are not harmed?’
‘Oh Campbell—I am not hurt. And pray will you forgive me?’
‘I understand, my dearest dear.’ He looked down at her solemnly, cupping her beloved face in his hands.
‘Did you follow me to London? Did you guess what I had done? Oh but I am so glad to see you,’ she added and buried her head against him, clinging to him.
‘Follow you? No—I was here first.’ Now it was Campbell’s turn to admit deception. ‘When Wentworth brought the news I set out straight away for the city to try to prevent my Royalist brothers from taking action before the King’s return, but I left word that you were not to be told.’
‘Why? I believed you did not care whether my father and the Deanes lived or died.’
Wistfully, Campbell smiled. ‘My darling, I am an impetuous, proud fool—and jealous too.’
‘Jealous? I do not understand.’
Soberly he said, ‘ I—I thought your anxiety for the prisoners was because you were in love with Timothy Deane.’
Charmian shook her head, remembering so vividly the way they had parted. ‘How could you ever think that of me? I liked him, yes, he was kind to me, but I fell in love many years ago with a young man who showed me laughter and joy,’ her cheeks were pink as she professed her love for him. ‘Then I lost him to the Royalist cause. Where did he go during those years of exile, Campbell? Why did the gentle, laughing young man change so?’
‘He is still there underneath, Charmian,’ Campbell whispered, caressing her cheek with the tip of his finger. ‘You shall help me to find him again, my princess.’
On the 30 May, 1651, King Charles the Second rode in triumph through the streets of London, lined with wildly cheering crowds.
It was several days before Campbell Denholm was able to bring his prisoners before the King for there was so much for His Majesty to do and so many petitioners to receive.
‘My love, I must tell you,’ Campbell told Charmian as he led her into the ante-room where they were to wait for audience with the King. ‘Since you saw him, your father is much changed. He has been ill and is palsied.’
Though Campbell had given her this warning, Charmian was still shocked by the sight of her father. He was a shrunken, pathetic figure. His head lolled to one side, and he could not seem to speak properly. His left arm hung loosely by his side and when he walked he dragged his left foot. As they followed the prisoners into the room where the King received them, Charmian whispered, ‘Oh Campbell, my father scarcely looks the same man.’ Rising from her curtsy, Charmian looked with curiosity at the young man who was now her King. The long brown hair curling to his shoulders, the tiny line of moustache upon his upper lip. He was indeed a fine-looking man. Campbell was speaking, his deep voice ringing through the huge room. ‘Your Majesty. You see before you three traitors. But—my wife and I—we come to plead mercy for them. Two of them were involved in the plot against your father, but as you can see, Joseph Radley has suffered a grievous illness since his arrest. He can be of no more danger to you. Sire, and as he is my wife’s father …’ Campbell smiled and leaned towards the King as if knowing His Majesty would appreciate the irony of the situation. ‘It was not his wish that his daughter should marry a Royalist, you understand.’
The King smiled. ‘ Is this your wife?’ he asked looking into Charmian’s face. Again she curtsied deeply. The King regarded her for a moment, then his smile broadened. ‘I think Fate has decreed a just penalty upon Joseph Radley. I will demand no further punishment. What about the other two with him, Denholm?’
But before Campbell could reply, Charmian stepped forward impulsively and knelt upon the steps leading up to the chair where the King sat.
‘Your Royal Majesty—I know all three have done you a great wrong and should be punished, but I beg you to spare Timothy Deane. He was kind to me when I most needed protection and I believe his only fault has been to be misled by his elder brother.’ She glanced at the frightened face of the young boy. ‘I am sure, Sire, given the opportunity he would serve you loyally now.’
‘And the elder Deane?’ the King asked, amused by Charmian’s boldness, but certainly not angered by it.
Charmian hesitated and glanced at the sullen, obstinate face of William Deane. He would not swear allegiance to the King, she knew. She took a deep breath and met the King’s eyes with a direct and honest gaze. ‘Sire, I know you feel that enough blood has been shed—too much. May I humbly beseech you to spare his life? Perhaps—exile?’
The King eyed Charmian shrewdly. ‘My young friend.’ He spoke to Campbell, yet his gaze was upon Charmian. You have found yourself a remarkable bride. I congratulate you.’ He smiled again. ‘I cannot resist such a pretty plea. It shall be as you say. But mark you, William Deane,’ he said, turning towards his onetime enemy, all good humour gone in a second. Now there was steel in the King’s tone. ‘Mark you well, if I ever hear that you have set foot on English soil again, it will be to certain death.’
Together Campbell and Charmian left the Palace of Whitehall and entered the coach which would take them back to Ashleigh Manor to begin their life together.
‘I cannot change overnight, my darling,’ Campbell told her soberly. ‘I shall lose my temper often and …’
‘Oh,’ said his wife snuggling happily against him. ‘I am beginning to find that I quite enjoy a challenge.’
Campbell laughed and drew her closer. ‘As long as you promise never to knock me down and wound me as you did poor de Lisle.’
‘Poor de Lisle indeed!’ Charmian retorted hotly. ‘He would have—have …’
‘Yes, I know,’ murmured Campbell tracing his finger round the outline of her face. ‘And if he had succeeded with his wicked intention, then I would have killed him.’
‘Would you—would you really?’ Charmian asked.
‘Indeed I would,’ Campbell answered and silenced any more of her questions with his lips.
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