He glanced at the king, and Jane knew they shared her apprehension about stopping and being seen, but there was no hope of riding as far as Long Marston without the horse being reshod.
As they rode into the little village, they came to an inn posted with the sign of a black cross, and the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out from a small smithy behind it.
“We’ll take the ladies inside for some refreshment, Jackson,” Henry said, helping Jane dismount. He handed the king some coins. “Wet your whistle while you wait for the smith, and fetch me when he’s done.”
“Aye, sir,” the king said.
Withy and John Petre were already entering the inn, but Jane hesitated. Would the king know what to do? Had he even been in a smithy before? He gave her a smile and nodded infinitesimally as he led the grey mare towards the stable yard.
Jane turned to follow the others inside, but her eye was caught by a broadsheet nailed to a post before the inn, its heavy black letters proclaiming “A Reward of a Thousand Pounds Is Offered for the Capture of Charles Stuart”. Glancing around to see if she was observed, Jane edged closer and read with a sinking heart.
“For better discovery of him take notice of him to be a tall man above two yards high, his hair a deep brown, near to black, and has been, as we hear, cut off since the destruction of his army at Worcester, so that it is not very long. Expect him in disguise, and do not let any pass without a due and particular search, and look particularly to the by-creeks and places of embarkation in or belonging to your port.”
Jane moved quickly away from the signpost, desperately wondering what to do. Surely the smith, the grooms and ostlers, all the people of the inn and the town had seen the proclamation, and it must be the same in every village through which they would pass. How could they hope to arrive at Abbots Leigh without the king being discovered?
She had to warn the king, she decided. She walked around to the back of the inn, where the sounds of the blacksmith’s hammer had rung out. The privy was likely to be back there as well, she reasoned, and she could use that as her excuse for skulking in the stable yard should anyone wonder.
As she rounded the corner of the inn, she saw that she was already too late. The smith was examining the grey mare’s shoeless hoof, and the king leaned nonchalantly against a post, watching with apparent interest. He glanced up and smiled when he saw her, seeming completely at ease.
Jane could not think what to do, and needed to relieve herself anyway, so she ducked into the little house of office. No ideas had occurred to her when she emerged a couple of minutes later. A bucket of water and a pannikin of soap stood near the outhouse, and she used the excuse of washing her hands to assure herself that nothing disastrous had happened yet.
So far, all appeared to be well. The king was holding the horse’s hoof while the smith fitted a shoe to it. Shoeing the horse should only take another minute or two. If the smith would only keep his eyes on his work, perhaps they would escape without discovery.
Her heart stopped as the king spoke.
“What news, friend?” Jane was astonished at how naturally he had taken on the accent of a Staffordshire country fellow.
“None that I know of,” the blacksmith answered, reaching for a handful of nails. “Save the good news of the beating of those rogues, the Scots.”
Jane gulped in fear, but the king just nodded.
“Are there none of the English taken that joined with the Scots in the battle?”
“Oh, aye, to be sure,” the smith answered, tapping a nail into place. “But not the one they sought most, that rogue Charles Stuart!”
Jane dropped the soap into the bucket, and the king and the smith glanced her way. She dared not meet the king’s eyes, and busied herself with retrieving the soap.
“You have the right of it, brother,” the king said. “And if that rogue is taken, he deserves to be hanged more than all the rest for bringing in the Scots.”
“You speak like an honest man,” the smith grinned. He squinted at his handiwork, and nodded to the king to let go the horse’s foot. “Well, friend, yon shoe should hold you to wherever you’re bound.”
WHEN THEY WERE SAFELY ON THEIR WAY, JANE WHISPERED URGENTLY to the king about the posted proclamation.
“I would have liked to take to that villainous smith with his own hammer,” she fumed.
“I take his words as no indictment of me,” he shrugged. “The people are weary of war, and want only to go about their lives.”
He began whistling “Jog on the Footpath Way”. Jane wanted to say more, to tell him she was quite sure that most of his subjects passionately shared her desire to have him back on the throne, but mindful of Withy and John Petre, she said nothing. They would be branching off towards their home in Buckinghamshire at Stratford-upon-Avon, which they should reach by midday, and then the journey would be less strained.
The ride continued uneventful for another hour or more, when an old woman working in the field by the side of the road called out, “Don’t you see that troop of cavalry ahead, Master?” She seemed to be addressing the king, rather than Henry or John Petre, and Jane looked at her in alarm. Could she have recognised him? The old woman only nodded slowly, an inscrutable smile on her toothless mouth, and, eyes still on the king, tilted her head at the road before them.
Jane’s eyes followed where the old woman indicated, and to her dismay she saw that about half a mile ahead, a troop of fifty or more men and horses were gathered on both sides of the road. Henry and Withy’s husband slowed their horses and came side by side.
“We must go another way,” John Petre said to Henry.
“They’ve seen us already,” Henry objected. “To turn off now will bring suspicion upon us. I think it safer to continue as though we’ve nothing to fear. And we must cross the river here.”
He started forward, but John Petre grabbed his arm and shook his head obstinately.
“You weren’t beaten by Oliver’s men like I was a while back, for no reason but that they suspected me to be a Royalist. I don’t relish more of the same, and I’ll not take Withy into danger.”
Jane could sense the king’s tension. He leaned back and spoke into her ear.
“Lascelles is right. If we turn back now, it will bring them down upon us. We must go forward.” He clucked to the horse and they pulled abreast of Henry.
“Surely we must ride on,” Jane said to Henry urgently.
Withy turned over her shoulder, shaking her head. “You ride where you’ve a mind to, Jane, but we’ll take a different way.”
“But they see us,” Jane pleaded. “Look.”
They were within a quarter of a mile of the troops now. Men sat or sprawled in the shade of trees, their horses munching at feed bags, and faces were turned towards the approaching riders.
John Petre reined to a halt. “The road we crossed not half a mile back will bring us into Stratford by another way. We’ll take that.”
He doubled back the way they had come.
Henry shook his head in frustration but turned his horse, and there was nothing for it but for the king and Jane to follow. Jane fretted inwardly, but she and Henry had no convincing argument for their urgency, and the king could say nothing.
The road was narrow and led into a wood, but John Petre seemed to know where he was going, and when no sound of pursuing hooves followed them, Jane began to relax again. In half an hour the track curved to the right, passed through a tiny hamlet, and the village of Stratford-upon-Avon lay before them. Soon they would be across the river and free of Withy and John Petre.
“Hell and death,” the king muttered as they rounded a bend.
Jane glanced ahead and felt her stomach drop. The narrow road through the village was thick with horses—the same troop of cavalry they had turned off the road to avoid. Jane’s instinct was to flee, but the soldiers had spotted them, and now there was truly no way but forward without giving the appearance of flight. Henry and the king exchanged the minutest glance
and nod, and Henry held back the roan gelding and fell into place behind the grey mare.
The troops were just ahead now, and Jane noted with horror that the broadsheet with the woodcut of the king and announcing the reward for his capture fluttered from a post at the side of the road. Her arms tightened around the king’s waist.
The troopers were turning to look at the approaching party. One officer leaned towards another and they exchanged words, their eyes on the king. Henry took his reins in one hand and the other dropped towards his pistol.
Don’t be a fool, Jane thought. If you draw now, we will all die.
There was some shuffling movement among the mounted men. This is it, Jane thought. We’ve not come even a day’s journey, and already we are lost. An officer raised an arm, glancing around him, and she felt the king stiffen, bracing for an attack.
“Give way there!” the officer cried.
John Petre checked his horse, but the officer’s eyes were on his troops.
“Make way there! Way for the ladies!” he called.
The troopers parted, clearing a narrow lane between them, just wide enough for a single horse to pass through. John Petre and Withy were between them now, and Jane could see that Withy was clutching her husband tightly.
“Good day to you, sir,” John Petre greeted the officer as they passed, his voice strained.
“And you, sir,” the officer replied. Suddenly he frowned, and put up a hand. “Hold, sir, if you please.”
His eyes took in Withy and her husband, Jane and the king, and Henry behind them.
“Where do you travel, sir?”
“Home, sir,” John Petre said. “From a visit to my wife’s family.”
He dug in the pocket of his coat and pulled out the pass for his and Withy’s travel. Jane could see that the back of his coat was dark with sweat. Don’t panic, she willed him, and all will be well.
The officer glanced at the paper and handed it back.
“Very good, sir, travel on.”
His eyes moved to Jane and the king and she held her breath. Perhaps the officer would not trouble himself to check to see that all of them held passes. Her stomach tightened as she recalled that Henry had no pass. She and the king were nearly past the officer now, and he was making no move to stop them. But it could be a trap, she thought. The cavalry could easily close in around her and the king, and it would be futile to fight. She felt the eyes of the men on either side of the road following her.
She forced herself to look into the officer’s face, and gave him a bright smile, trying to still the beating of her heart. He swept his hat from his head and bowed.
“Your servant, Mistress.”
She nodded in reply. The smile froze on her face as the officer’s hand went to the pommel of the saddle.
“Hold, fellow.”
The king reined in the horse. John Petre halted ahead, and Henry of necessity stopped as well. They were surrounded now, their way blocked by the mounted cavalrymen ahead and behind them.
The officer glanced at the king and then at Jane.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mistress, but I’m obliged to ask if you have a pass for your travels. These are dangerous times for a lady to be abroad without good reason.”
“I—yes,” Jane stammered. “My—my cousin bears my pass.”
She looked to where Henry sat on the roan. Why, oh, why, had she not carried her pass herself?
Henry rode forward, his face pleasantly bland.
“This is the lady’s pass,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “And here is my own.”
Jane held back a gasp of surprise.
The officer glanced at Jane’s pass and then at her.
“You travel to Abbots Leigh, Mistress?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s quite a ways from Staffordshire. What might take you so far?”
Jane strove to keep her voice calm. “I go to see a friend, who is shortly to be brought to bed of her first child.”
She knew her face was flushed, and hoped that the officer might interpret it as embarrassment at having to speak of something so indelicate.
“I see.” His eyes flickered down the paper. “Well. I know the hand to be Colonel Stone’s.”
He glanced at Henry’s pass, and then at Henry.
Please, God, Jane prayed. Please let us go on.
The officer shook his head and spoke to Henry. “Well, I suppose Colonel Stone thought he had good reason, though was she my cousin, I’d not risk her safety on the road just now, even with a manservant along.”
“Your concern is much appreciated,” Henry said smoothly. “But I assure you, I’ll let no harm come to the lady.”
The officer brushed away a fly that threatened to land on his face, and shrugged, apparently satisfied.
“Then I’ll detain you no further. And I bid you good day. Mistress.”
He bowed again as the king clicked to the mare, and now other officers were nodding and bowing to her. She forced a smile as they rode forward. And then they were past the soldiers, and ahead of them lay the sparkling water of the River Avon, and the bridge over it.
NOT FAR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER, WITHY AND JOHN PETRE’S way southeast parted from the road towards Long Marston, and they took their leave. Jane, Henry, and the king rode on some way in silence, as though fearing they were not truly alone. It was not until they had continued half a mile or more, the open country stretching away on either side of them, that the king finally laughed out loud in relief, and Henry and Jane joined in.
“I’ve never been so frightened in my life,” Jane cried. “I’m glad we were a-horseback, for sure I would never have been able to stay steady on my feet.”
“Amen to that,” said the king.
“Henry, what on earth did you show him?” Jane asked.
“Why, a pass, cousin,” Henry smiled. “Yours was easy enough to copy, I found.”
The king whistled. “Then were you cool, indeed, sir, while the rogue examined a forged pass. But all’s well that ends well. Now that the danger has passed, I have a great hunger, I find. Would it be agreeable to halt for a rest?”
Their saddlebags were packed with a roasted chicken, bread, cheese, and fruit, and they spread a blanket beneath a tree and ate while the horses grazed. Jane felt the tension leave her. She squinted up at the sun slanting through the golden leaves above and breathed in the sharp autumn air, and the king smiled to see her pleasure.
“Well, despite everything, this feels almost like a holiday. An adventure toward, and a fair companion.”
Jane felt herself blushing, but smiled back, and noted the look of surprise, not altogether happy, on Henry’s face.
IT WAS NEARLY DARK WHEN THEY REACHED LONG MARSTON, A VILLAGE of small thatched cottages, and Jane was relieved that they had no trouble finding the home of her mother’s cousin John Tomes and his family, a substantial half-timbered house near the river. As the king took the horses to the stable, the Tomes family appeared to greet the visitors.
“Cousin Jane! Cousin Henry!” Amy Tomes’s round face shone as she welcomed them into the warm parlour. “It’s a weight off my mind to have you safely here. I wondered if you might choose not to travel, what with the grim news from Worcester.”
“Any trouble on the road?” John Tomes’s expression was grave.
“No,” Henry replied. “Plenty of soldiers, but they let us be. And of course we had Jane’s man Jackson with us.”
“A likely-looking lad!” Amy’s blue eyes twinkled at Jane. “He’s just come into the kitchen, and the cook and the maid are already elbowing each other out of the way to stand next to him. I think we’ll bed him down in the stable, away from the field of battle!”
She laughed merrily and Jane felt a twinge of unease. She had reckoned on staving off Roundhead soldiers, not round-heeled kitchen wenches. But at least her cousins accepted the king as her servant without a second thought.
Upon hearing that Richard Lane had been arrested a
fter the battle, John Tomes produced a printed list of prisoners of war.
“It only names officers,” he said. “But perhaps you’d like to see it.”
Jane read over the names—seven pages, closely printed—from Robert, Earl of Carnworth, down through colonels, majors, captains, lieutenants, cornets, and ensigns, and finally “a list of the king’s domestic servants”, including his apothecary, surgeons, and secretaries. Next to many of the names was the notation “wounded”, or “wounded very much”. She shivered, thinking of Richard.
“Richard’s probably well,” John Tomes comforted her. “If they’ve got organised to print a list of the officers, no doubt more news will come soon.”
“Look at this, if you want something of a lighter cast,” Amy urged.
Jane struggled to maintain a neutral expression as she read the heading on the broadsheet, “A Mad Design or Description of the King of Scots Marching in His Disguise.”
“Silly, isn’t it?” Amy asked. “I pray it may be otherwise, but I fear His Majesty must surely have been slain at Worcester, or we’d have heard of his being taken.”
AFTER SUPPER, JANE WENT UPSTAIRS TO THE SMALL ROOM THAT AMY had made ready for her. It was cosy, a fire dancing in the fireplace, and the soft feather bed and plump pillows called to her. But weary and aching though she was, she longed to see the king before she slept. From the window she could see the stable, and the soft light of a lantern shone from it.
It is my duty to see that he is well bestowed, she thought, that he has all he needs, for he can scarce ask for anything himself. But she knew it was more than that. She wanted to feel the warmth of that smile, the bright light of pleasure and appreciation in his eyes when he looked on her, to hear his laugh.
The house was quiet. Henry was in a room at the other end of the hall, and would not hear her if she crept out. And why should she care if he did know? There was nothing wrong in making sure that her sovereign would spend a comfortable night. But she felt secretive, and was glad that all was dark and still as she opened her bedroom door and slipped down the stairs and out into the yard.
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