“I beg your pardon, Mistress?” Charles asked, keeping his eyes and his voice low after a fleeting instant of unguarded surprise.
“I’ll ride with Mr Lascelles today,” Jane said curtly. “Take the pillion from the mare and put it on the roan. Now, if you please.”
Jane felt a perverse pleasure as she watched Charles’s helplessness. Surely no one had ever spoken to him that way before. His face flushed and she saw him struggle not to answer her back, but she had him squarely. He could do nothing but obey her.
“As you wish, Mistress.”
He silently unbuckled the pillion and secured it behind Henry’s saddle, moving the baggage to the grey mare.
“Jane,” Henry began, but she cut him off.
“And may I not ride with you, cousin? Fie, why should it be a matter of such concern on which horse’s arse I am jounced today?”
Henry glanced at Charles, but said no more. He swung up into the saddle, reached down to help Jane mount, and clicked to his horse, and they were off, Charles trailing behind on the grey mare, thunderclouds brewing behind his dark eyes.
Jane had no wish to be close to Henry either, and as they set off towards Bristol she obstinately held only to the handhold at the front of the pillion rather than putting her arms around him. She kept her face turned towards the road ahead so that Charles, riding behind them, was out of the field of her view. But as they headed south, the country grew hilly. A steep hill rose before them, and as they began the ascent, Jane came near to losing her seat.
“For God’s sake, Jane,” Henry said over his shoulder, “hold on to me. I know you’re in a temper, but it’s only yourself you’ll hurt if you take a spill.”
So she held to him, hating him, hating Charles, hating herself for betraying and abandoning Ellen. She wept as silently as she could, made more miserable still by the dust of the road collecting in the wet rivulets on her face. Henry and Charles spoke not a word to her or to each other. By the time they stopped for their noontime meal and to rest the horses, her head ached desperately, her face was a grimy mess, and she thought she had never felt more unhappy in her life.
Henry laid out the food and with perfunctory politeness invited Charles to eat. Jane stalked off some distance to find a hedge behind which to relieve herself, and when she returned she moistened a handkerchief and washed her face as best she could. The men were eating in sullen silence. Jane’s body ached from the ride, and she wondered how much longer she could bear it.
“How far to Castle Cary?” she asked no one in particular.
Henry glanced at Charles and answered her.
“About fifteen or twenty miles yet. We need to change horses, Jane. I don’t care who you ride with, but the pillion must go on the roan. The mare cannot carry the load of two people so long.”
They were perched on boulders by the side of the road, atop a high hill, with a breathtaking view of the countryside below. The air was fresh and clean, a breeze sweeping away the clouds above. The road ran steeply downward, meandered through the valley below, and was lost as it climbed the next hill in the distance.
“I am truly sorry, you know, Jane,” Charles said softly. “If there was any other way—any other way—I would have taken it.”
She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her heart still ached for Ellen, but almost as much at the effort of holding on to her hatred for Charles.
“I know,” she said, not looking at him.
“And I am sorry, too,” Charles added, “for any offence I have given you, Lascelles.”
Henry stiffened. Jane had said nothing to Charles about Henry’s words the night before, but he must have guessed at something like the truth.
“I hold Jane in great esteem,” he continued. “This time, this journey of ours, is like nothing I could have imagined. It seems not wholly real.”
“And so the rules do not apply?” Henry spat. “Or do any rules apply to you, Your Majesty?”
Charles gazed off into the distance. “Look at this great country before us,” he said. “My country, in name. But the fact just now is that every man in England has the power of life or death over me. Breathe but a word in the right ear, and farewell Charles.”
“‘For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings,’”
Jane quoted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Charles said. “‘How some have been deposed, some slain in war.’ If Shakespeare were yet alive, he could write the tale of this our journey. Of the three of us. ‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.’”
“Do you mock me, Sire?” Henry demanded, springing to his feet, his voice sharp in the thin air.
Charles hastened to his side. “No. By no means, Lascelles. I only mean that for the moment, my life is not my own and I am not myself. I have no path to guide me for such a sojourn as this has been. I am a man like any other, and like any other man who is weary and fearful and in despair, I have sought solace in the arms of a lady who is tender and kind, and the nearest thing to a guardian angel I am like to see this side of heaven.”
He reached out to Jane and she put her hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. The wind whipped higher, rattling the trees and sending loose golden leaves cascading down the hill. Henry stood with his back to them, gazing out over the landscape below, and Charles spoke again.
“Before God I swear that if by His grace the day comes that I sit upon my throne and rule this land, I shall do all within my power to honour you both for what you have done for me. In my present straits I can offer no more. And if that is not enough, but give me the loan of a horse, and I will go on to Trent alone. I will make certain that you are recompensed for the beast.”
In the silence Jane watched a hawk soar high overhead, coasting in a lazy circle, its harsh cry echoing against the rocks.
Finally Henry turned to face Jane and Charles, who still sat hand in hand.
“I have sworn to see you safe and I will do it, come what may. I bear the name of eight kings, and would not shame it by abandoning my sovereign.”
Charles stood and went to him. “Then give me your hand, brother Henry. We will go forward together, and I am honoured to have such company.”
POPE HAD DRAWN A MAP SHOWING THE PLACEMENT OF THE MANOR house at Ansford, just north of Castle Cary, and Rogers had taken word to Edward Kyrton of the impending arrival of the travellers. Rogers was waiting at the gate into the stable yard, and Kyrton burst from the house and came forward to greet Jane as Charles helped her to dismount and took the horses’ bridles. Kyrton’s eyes lingered on Charles’s face a moment too long, and Jane knew that he must surely have recognised the king, but he only bowed to her and Henry, murmuring, “Come, come, you are welcome all,” as he ushered them into the house.
“Pope asked me to give you quiet lodging for the night,” he said smoothly. “The chambers at the back of the house are most private, and I myself shall bring up food and aught else you may need.”
Jane was grateful for a few minutes alone. She was exhausted with riding and the day’s intense emotions. She washed in the basin Kyrton provided, the grit of the road muddying the water and leaving the linen cloth streaked with dirt. Kyrton laid out supper in a small parlour, a bright fire dancing beneath the great stone mantel. When he had gone, Charles stood at the window, watching the setting sun tingeing the horizon with pink and orange.
“That’s Glastonbury Tor, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, pointing, and Jane went to his side. “Where Arthur and Guinevere are supposed to lie. During the war one of Cromwell’s men chopped down the Holy Thorn, the hawthorn tree on the Tor that they say grew from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea. A soldier at Worcester told me that he had it from a man who was there that the ruffian was blinded by a flying splinter. I wonder.”
They were all exhausted, and as soon as they had done with supper Henry withdrew to his room. Alone with Charles for the first time since the previous
afternoon, Jane felt apprehensive. Her rage had dissipated, leaving only sorrow and weariness. But was he angry at her after she had treated him so harshly? Her fears were relieved when he came to her side and bent to kiss her.
“Jane,” he said, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “Would you lie alone tonight? I know you are weary, and perhaps you cannot forgive me yet.”
“No,” she said, standing and folding herself in his arms. “I will lose you soon, and would not waste a night I might spend by your side. I shall have all the time I want to be angry at you when you are gone.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY ROSE AND WERE ON THEIR WAY EARLY. IT WAS ONLY TEN miles to Trent, but it seemed that all of them felt an urgency to be there as soon as they could, as if the king’s hoped-for refuge might disappear into the mists as they approached. The road wound through fields and pastures, with hedgerows rising over the hills and sheep dotting the meadows. In places the branches of the trees at the sides of the road met in an arch overhead, and they rode through a green tunnel. Grey stone cottages with thatched roofs stood here and there. Swallows flew in raucous flocks, swooping and darting beneath the lowering clouds.
“We must be near now,” Henry said as they met a boy with a herd of goats.
The road was very narrow, hemmed in on either side by tall hedges, and Jane felt as if she was in a garden maze like the one at her grandparents’ house, Blithfield. The goats passed between and around them, bleating, the bells suspended around their necks jangling. A cart drawn by a donkey approached, the lanky lad with the reins in his hands whistling. Charles pulled his hat lower over his brow, and nodded in response to the boy’s cheerful “Good morrow to you.”
The hedges by the roadside dwindled and came to an end, and orchards stretched away on either side. Jane saw a church steeple rising ahead, and knew they must be nearing the manor house. Suddenly a couple stepped from behind a stone wall beside the road. The man raising his arm in greeting had the erect bearing of a soldier.
“Frank, Frank, how dost thou do?” Charles called out, reining to a halt as the man came to his side. “And Mrs Wyndham, I make no doubt.” He nodded to the pretty dark-haired young woman smiling beside Wyndham.
“Aye, sir,” Sir Francis Wyndham said, his voice low. “I cannot tell you how gratified we are to see you, but let us waste no time in getting you inside.” He glanced down the road towards his house. “The servants are all abroad this morning, but we must be wary of our neighbours. It will be safest for you to take the horses to the back and slip in the kitchen door while we welcome Mistress Lane and Mr Lascelles at the front of the house.”
He nodded towards the manor house. “The drive curves around the back, and Swan and Rogers are there to take the horses.”
“As you say, then,” Charles agreed.
A tavern with the sign of the Rose and Crown stood across the road from the great grey-stone manor house with its thatched and gabled roof, and half a dozen red-coated soldiers were gathered in the stable yard. Jane was conscious of their eyes turning to watch as Charles helped her dismount and led the horses away.
“Good morrow, gentlemen!” Henry called out, bowing.
“And to you, sir,” one of the soldiers answered. They watched for a moment more, and then turned back to their circle and continued their talk.
Colonel and Mrs Wyndham must have walked uncommon fast, Jane thought, for they threw the front door open as though they had been inside all the while.
“Why, cousin!” Mrs Wyndham cried. “I pray your journey has not been too uncomfortable?”
“Not too bad, all considered,” Jane responded.
She kissed Mrs Wyndham’s cheek and took her arm fondly, reflecting that Mrs Wyndham appeared to be a few years younger than she was, and that they did indeed look as though they could be cousins.
“But I am perishing for a drink of something cool.”
She felt like a player walking offstage must do, she thought as they entered the house. A grey-haired older lady, her eyes goggling, shut the door behind them, and another girl about Mrs Wyndham’s age hovered nearby. Colonel Wyndham hurried away, and a moment later reappeared with Charles and Wilmot.
“If it please you, come upstairs,” Colonel Wyndham murmured to Charles. “We will endeavour to make you as comfortable as may be.”
He led the way, Charles and Wilmot with him, and Jane and Henry following with the three Wyndham ladies. It was a handsome house, Jane thought, glancing around the great hall as they climbed the stairs. The chamber into which Colonel Wyndham ushered them was beautiful and cosy. Sun flooded through the tall windows, casting warm rays across the gleaming oak planking of the floors and the honey-coloured wall panelling.
The door of the room safely shut, Wyndham bowed deeply. “Welcome, Your Majesty. May I present my wife, Anne, my mother Lady Wyndham, and my cousin Juliana Coningsby.”
“I thank you for your hospitality and kindness, ladies,” said Charles, smiling.
The black-haired Juliana Coningsby was as young and pretty as Anne Wyndham, their faces were flushed with excitement as they curtsied, and Jane felt an unreasoning surge of jealousy as Charles smiled at them.
“Allow me to name Mistress Jane Lane and Mr Henry Lascelles,” he said, “who have been my saviours, as you are now.” Jane and Henry exchanged bows with the Wyndhams, and it seemed to Jane that the ladies eyed her with barely suppressed curiosity.
“We think it best to lodge you here in my mother’s rooms,” Colonel Wyndham said. “They are the most removed from the rest of the house and the most private, and there is a priest hole, should it be called for.”
“What could be better?” Charles said, beaming. “I would say that you cannot guess how grateful I am for your kind shelter, but that I am sure you can.”
Anne Wyndham dimpled a smile at him. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty,” she said. “I beg you to make yourself comfortable while I bring some refreshment.”
She and Lady Wyndham bustled from the room, and Charles sank onto one of the chairs around a table near the fireplace, and gestured to the others.
“I pray you all, be seated.” He turned to Jane and Henry. “Frank here has been most active on our behalf. He was governor of Dunster Castle during the war, and with Sir John Paulet he formed the Western Association, its members gathering under cover of a race meeting.”
“Though to no avail,” Colonel Wyndham said, seating himself on a bench near the fireplace. “Our rising last December was discovered almost before it had begun, and I have only just been released on parole from imprisonment.”
Jane noted that he was thin, and his face lined and shadowed, as though he had been ill. She realised that he was probably only in his thirties, though she had at first taken him to be older.
“I cannot tell Your Majesty what inexpressible joy it gives us to see you well,” Colonel Wyndham said. “The news we had from Worcester was that your life had been lost, and we knew no different until my lord Wilmot’s arrival last night.”
“Perhaps that is to the better,” Charles said. “If the people hereabouts think me dead, they will have no reason to look for me.”
“True,” Colonel Wyndham agreed. “But if it please Your Majesty, it will be safest if you remain within these rooms. This morning I sent forth most of the servants on various pretexts against your arrival, but they will return, and the fewer people that see Your Majesty, the better. With your permission, we will make your presence known to our man Henry Peters, and two of our maids who have all been with us for many years and whose loyalty is beyond question. The rest of the household will remain in ignorance.”
“I will follow your judgment in all things, Frank,” Charles said. “Providence has showed me the way to your door, and I trust will show me when it is safe to step forth.”
Anne and Lady Wyndham returned with the two maids, Eleanor and Joan, both middle-aged women who sank to their knees to kiss the king’s hand, expressing their determination to do anything in th
eir power to help him and make him comfortable. They left and came back a few minutes later with bread, cold meat, cheese, fruit, and ale. After the meal, Anne Wyndham turned to Jane.
“Shall we withdraw and leave the men to their planning, Mistress Lane? I am sure that you must be weary from your journey and would be glad to leave the business to the gentlemen.”
Jane had no wish at all to leave the business to the gentlemen and desperately wanted to be in on their discussion, but as the men rose and the Wyndham ladies waited smiling for her, she felt trapped, so with a pained smile at Henry and Charles, she departed.
“This will be your room, Mistress Lane,” Anne Wyndham said. “Near to the king so that you may confer easily if need be.”
“How charming,” Jane said, with genuine pleasure, for the room was not only lovely but just a few steps from Charles’s door. She turned to find Juliana Coningsby gazing at her, her dimpled cheeks rosy and her bright blue eyes glowing with excitement.
“What an adventure you must be having!” Juliana cried, speaking for the first time since greeting the king.
“Yes!” Anne Wyndham giggled, clapping her hands. “We did not know the king was so handsome a man!”
“And to be a-horseback with him on such a journey!” Juliana gushed. “Like something from a fairy tale!”
They stared at her as if she might do something marvellous and unexpected, and Jane laughed uncomfortably, wondering if her feelings for Charles showed clearly on her face.
“Indeed, it has been an adventure,” she said. “One that I scarce looked for, and that came upon me so suddenly that even now I hardly know what to think of it.”
“Come, girls,” old Lady Wyndham said, shooing the younger women towards the door. “I’m sure Mistress Lane is tired. There will be plenty of time for talking later.”
Jane was more tired than she had known from the strain of the last few days, and when she was alone, she gladly dropped onto the bed, soft with feathers and down-filled pillows, and was soon asleep.
JANE, HENRY, AND WILMOT JOINED THE WYNDHAM FAMILY FOR DINNER, and seeing the size of the household, Jane thought it was much the best course for Charles to stay out of sight. With assorted family members and servants, she reckoned there must be more than twenty people under the Wyndhams’ roof. The old maid Eleanor beamed at her and Jane smiled back, unaccustomed to such adulation.
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