The innkeeper didn’t know what to say but their mother did. Lady Sibbridge seldom yelled. Fretting and complaining was more characteristic of her approach to problems. This time she yelled. Emma spoke no more until after the innkeeper was gone.
After a few confused false starts, the innkeeper worked his way back into his tale of King Charles and how he sat all his children on his knee, and they wept for their father and he comforted them. He told how the King and his children slept at the inn, and took leave of one another early next morning. That was the last time the King and his weeping children ever saw one another. The landlord told his story with drama, pathos, and dramatic pauses, and at the end, when he was about to leave, he turned and looked solemnly at Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge.
“That warm July night of 1649, the King and his children slept in this very room,” and so saying the landlord slipped out through the open door.
After he was gone, Amy’s mother stood transfixed for the longest time, and then said with a faraway look in her eyes: “Just imagine, we are privileged to stay in the very same room as our beloved king and his dear, sweet children.”
She looked about to cry. Emma looked as if she desperately wanted to say something but was biting her tongue.
As they prepared for bed that night, Emma said not a word, until their mother took one of the candles burning in its holder and left the room obviously in search of the privy.
“Now Emma,” said Amy, “what have you been burning to tell us?”
“I haven’t been burning to tell you anything,” said Emma nonchalantly, adding quickly, “King Charles I and his children could not have spent the night in this room.”
Amy looked at her with a highly quizzical look.
“How could you possibly know that? You weren’t there—here.”
“That is true,” answered Emma, “but neither was the inn.”
“It was too!” said Amy with annoyance, and not a little puzzled at catching Emma in an error. “Now that everyone’s talking about it, I distinctly remember Mr. Coleridge telling us of King Charles meeting his children at an inn called The Greyhound just before his execution.”
In truth, no matter how much she tried, she could only remember fragments of what they were taught about King Charles, or any other history, but she vaguely remembered the word greyhound and knew it was in some other context than a fast canine.
“King Charles did meet his children at the Greyhound Inn, but they did not stay the night in this room because the Greyhound Inn burned down in 1735. But,” Emma continued much more emphatically, “even if it had not burned, he still could not have occupied this room, because...”
Emma paused.
“All right, Emma.”
“Because,” Emma continued, “the King met his children at the Greyhound Inn as that was the place where the two parties agreed to rendezvous, but they left after the meeting. They did not sleep here—there that night. And another thing, the children would not have run to their father and clung to his knees, except for Prince Henry who was six or seven. There were three of the King’s children present, little Prince Henry, and the other two were Princess Elizabeth and Prince James. Prince James was around sixteen years old and Princess Elizabeth was about fifteen. The only way they could have clung to their father’s knees was if they were on their knees.”
“Fine,” Amy said somewhat mischievously, “now you’ve ruined the landlord’s story.”
“What is really sad,” Emma added quickly as she heard their mother at the door of the room. “Young Princess Elizabeth died the next year.”
As their mother entered the room, Emma resumed her silence clearly pouting at her mother yelling at her earlier. Mattie was asleep and their father was sitting in a chair dozing. Their mother mumbled to their father and he got into bed. She joined him and blew out her candle. So Amy got into bed and blew out the candle next to the bed. This left the room in darkness with only a hint of moonlight sliding in through the shutters on the window.
“Hey,” shouted Emma, “I’m not undressed yet.”
“I know,” said Amy and then pretended to be asleep.
But after a couple of minutes, as Emma sat on the other side of the bed with Mattie sandwiched in the middle, she felt she had to ask a question that had just come to mind.
“Emma.”
“I’m here, sitting on the bed, striving mightily to get changed into my nightclothes, in appalling darkness, because my wicked older sister cruelly blew the candle out.”
“I’ve been trying to remember, but I don’t recall Mr. Coleridge telling us that the Greyhound Inn burned down. And he was our teacher only last year.”
“He didn’t. I learned it from the coachwright. He told me that and a lot more about Maidenhead.” She paused, then continued, “But I must withhold the information lest I scare my family.”
My sister is just jesting, Amy said to herself. At least, I think she is just jesting. And then Amy fell asleep and dreamed of bumpy roads, and things pleasant and unpleasant. She dreamt of highwaymen, devious Frenchmen, and a letter of warning that was never finished. And then she stopped dreaming and slept deeply all through the night until the next morning.
Chapter 16
The next morning, as the Sibbridge coach rolled out of Maidenhead and into the Maidenhead Thicket headed south, Amy was relieved when her mother admired its wild ruggedness. Clearly, no one had told her that it was the most dangerous place in all of England for highwaymen.
The seventy-seven mile journey to Salisbury was uneventful if rather bumpy. It had been raining and the roads were muddy. The horses were not able to make very good time and it was past mid-morning before they reached Reading the first large town on their journey. They stopped for victuals in Basingstroke, and it was early afternoon before they were on the road to Andover, the last large town before Salisbury. It was nearly six o’clock by the time the coach rolled through Andover and headed for Salisbury.
When they finally arrived at the home of Lady Sibbridge’s cousin, Alexandra Meckle it was well past ten and already dark. All the Meckles were awaiting their arrival. Charlotte Meckle proved a very sweet lady, but very businesslike, so after greetings and refreshing of family acquaintances, and some complaints by Amy’s mother, she herded everyone off to their rooms.
The Meckles had never met Emma’s tutor Mrs. Parkhurst, so Amy’s mother introduced her. Mrs. Parkhurst greeted them with a kind of restrained grumpiness. Eagerly awaiting to be introduced to the Sibbridges was a youth about two years older than Emma, Mrs. Meckle’s nephew, Aloysius Coelbourne.
One great surprise to Amy and her family that went unnoticed by the Meckles, was when Sir Anthony Sibbridge briefly greeted the Meckles. Late last year, their father’s lucid moments had quickly declined and since February of this year had been non-existent. For about four months now, anything he said bore no relationship to the subject at hand or any question he had been asked. Amy could not be sure his brief greeting to the Meckles had not been just a coincidence, but she hoped and prayed it was some small hint of an improvement in his condition. She desperately wanted her father back.
The next morning she was awakened by the maid. Mrs. Meckle had sent her to see if Amy and her sister Mattie were still alive. When Amy surveyed the room she saw that Emma was gone. Mattie was still asleep, a testimony of how tiring the journey had proved, since Mattie was far and away the most excited about the trip to Bath.
It was a sunny and warm day and Amy and Mattie chose to eat breakfast on the terrace. Amy loved her sister, but Mattie’s conversation was not the most interesting to Amy since it was so narrowly focused. After a few days visiting their relative they would be on their way to Bath, and the huntswoman in Mattie was salivating over the prospect of encountering her favorite game animal, young gentlemen.
Now, Amy had absolutely no aversion to young gentlemen, but she could never summon up the singleness of purpose and unwavering dedication to the subject that Mattie possessed.
As Amy
and Mattie were finishing their breakfast, Emma and young Aloysius rounded the corner of the house and came up to them. Aloysius greeted them with the somewhat stiff politeness of youth.
“Amy,” said Emma, “Aloysius has been telling me of some ruins outside of Salisbury called Stonehenge.”
“I’ve heard of Stonehenge, and I believe you have too, Emma.”
“Yes, but Aloysius says they are only about six miles from town. Do you think mother would let us go there?”
“We can certainly ask, I don’t see why she would refuse.”
“Aloysius has this book.” said Emma as Aloysius held the book up for all to see, “called STONEHENGE A TEMPLE RESTOR’D TO THE British DRUIDS by the Reverend William Stukelely. It tells all sorts of wonderful things about Stonehenge and the Druids.”
“Reverend Stukeley says he is a Druid,” interjected Aloysius.
“He’s also the vicar of All Saints' Church at Stamford in Lincolnshire,” added Emma.
“...he’s also a Druid, that’s what he says,” added Aloysius.
“I know where Stamford is,” said Amy. “After all, it’s only a few miles north of where we live. Anyway, if we get a chance to finish breakfast, I’ll speak to mother about it.”
Emma and Aloysius wandered off with such words as trilithons, horseshoes, and bluestones floating in the air around them.
With breakfast finished, Amy was about to rise when her mother came out onto the terrace through the French windows helping their father who was walking stiffly as he had been doing since his accident.
He slid his arm from her mother’s grip and sat stiffly upright across from Amy as Mattie surrendered her chair. Mattie kissed her father on the forehead and left.
“Good morning, father,” Amy greeted him watching intently for any sign of recognition.
He stared at her for the longest time in a way that made her uncomfortable, and then slowly and hesitantly said in a soft gravelly voice: “Good morning, Amy.”
He spoke not another word to her all that day, but she was thrilled and filled with hope and expectation. Her mother looked on pleased but said nothing.
As Amy rose and to take her leave, Emma and Aloysius sauntered past casting an offhand greeting at Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge. They were preoccupied discussing a certain Mr. Simpson who lately had established a pump manufacturing company in London and how his pumps had been recently used to pump water out of some site of historic interest.
This reminded Amy of their earlier request. To her surprise her mother, who was in a rare good mood, readily consented but reminded Amy that her Cousin Alexandra would need to be consulted.
The next morning with the coach already loaded with a hamper of food and blankets for the visit to Stonehenge, and Emma and Aloysius already eagerly waiting in the coach, her mother, Cousin Alexandra, and Sir Anthony walked over to where Amy was standing. Mattie already had declined the invitation to go.
“Cousin Alexandra and I have decided to stay here and gossip, but your father wants to go with you.”
That was a surprise. Mother must be communicating with father. What did that mean? Was her father now able to have a coherent conversation? If he was going with them on their excursion to Stonehenge she should be able to find out.
When they arrived at the ruins no one else was there except an old woman and three men on horseback who were just leaving. Amy climbed from the coach and helped her father to step down, then holding his arm to steady him she turned to look at Stonehenge. Amy was struck with awe as the giant monoliths towered above her. She had seen engravings of Stonehenge but the monument seemed much larger in reality than she had anticipated from the pictures.
As she helped her father to walk over the uneven ground to the great stones, Emma and Aloysius strode past in an intense conversation, although that indeed seemed usual for them. Aloysius appeared to be advocating the Romans as the builders because they alone had the ability to do such noble things and the Britons were too primitive to construct such an edifice especially since, as the Reverend Stukeley had brilliantly observed, the stones were intentionally oriented in such a way that the midsummer’s sunrise sent its light directly over the Heel Stone and into the center of the monument.
In what seemed like a touch of national pride, Emma demanded to know why Aloysius was so quick to dismiss the intellectual abilities of his own ancestors. Aloysius, in turn, announced he wasn’t certain that the ancient Britons were his ancestors inasmuch as the modern Englishman was descended from Anglo-Saxon invaders in later centuries. The last thing Amy heard was Emma’s stern inquiry as to how he knew that he wasn’t the survivor of ancestors who were Britons.
Amy was smiling at their intense crossing of verbal swords. It had already become clear to her that this was their normal mode of conversation and contained not the tiniest hint of malice. They clearly loved one another’s company. She was musing on both Emma and Emma’s new found friend and the height of the monolith that stood towering above her when she was startled by a raspy voice that seemed half-way to being a cackle.
“It was Merlin that done it.”
She turned to look at the source. It was the old woman she had noticed earlier. And the old woman not only had a cackley voice, a not very clean shawl bunched over her head, but closely resembled drawings of witches Amy had seen. Her father was staring up at the top of the stone and seemed not to have noticed the old woman.
“What did you say?” asked Amy.
“It was Merlin that brang the stones all the way from Ireland. ‘E made ‘em fly, ‘e did.”
Aloysius and Emma had just completed a circuit of the monument and had arrived in time to hear the old woman’s remark. They stood silently as the old woman rasped and cackled an alternative folk history of the constructing of the great stone circle. When she was through, Amy gave her a sixpence and the old woman left muttering to herself and headed in the direction of a young couple who had just arrived in a trap and were some distance away.
“That story was made up by Geoffrey of Monmouth in the twelfth century,” announced Aloysius. To make sure he understood that everything he knew she probably knew even more, Emma began to recite everything she remembered about Geoffrey and his writings. This did not in any way bother Aloysius, in fact, it seemed to delight him. As the two young people wandered off again, Amy helped her father to sit upon one of the stones reclining on the ground.
“Are you comfortable father or would you prefer to return to the coach?”
They always spoke to Lord Sibbridge as if he understood, but they were rather certain he did not. It was therefore a surprise to Amy when he answered seeming to understand her inquiry.
“I am just fine here, my child.”
“Did you understand what I said, father?”
He looked at her. “Yes, why would I not understand?”
He was clearly in one of his rare lucid moments which she prayed might continue. Her father was looking around as if trying to see someone.
“Mother remained with Cousin Alexandra. They have a lot to talk over,” said Amy supposing he was looking for Lady Sibbridge.
Her father stared at her intensely.
“Your mother did not die.”
“Yes, mother is with Cousin Alexandra, likely talking about us,” Amy said with a smile, but her father’s comment seemed strange. Perhaps just an old man whose mental powers were confused somehow thinking she might think Lady Sibbridge had passed away, but Amy was not sure.
It was a rare thing nowadays, but she had a conversation with her father that morning sitting among these stone testaments to a thousand years of history and more. Something that once was routine and unremarkable had become something that was thrilling. It’s true that most of the time the old man was confused and most of what he had to say bore little relationship to her questions or really anything that made sense, but tiny snips of it did.
As they rose to return to the coach, he put his arm around her and drew her close.
&nb
sp; “Do not fear, baby girl, do not fear. We will keep you safe. The bad man will not find you.”
As she helped him back to the coach, she asked what he meant, but he was adrift again, and it is likely what he said had no meaning but was just the meanderings of a mind that had lost its way.
Chapter 17
The following morning, after they bade a warm farewell to Cousin Alexandra and her family, they were on the final leg of their journey to Bath. The road was in good condition, especially when they reached the Bath Road. The rich and influential made sure that the road from London to Bath was the very best in the Kingdom.
They easily completed the forty-one mile journey by mid-afternoon.
As they entered Bath, Mattie looked very lively and bright.
“It will be so good to visit the Ramseys,” she said.
Amy was sure the Ramseys were not to blame for Mattie’s excitement. Perhaps the fact that the town of Bath was virtually crawling with young gentlemen would be, in Amy’s opinion, a more likely culprit.
“Sir Frank and Lady Estella will not be there,” said Amy’s mother.
“It will be odd to be in someone’s house and they are not there,” said Amy.
“Mrs. Johanna Wardsley will be there. She’s Lady Quillin’s sister.”
Amy’s mother realized from Amy’s confused look that she wasn’t quite making sense.
“Oh dear. The Ramseys do not own this house. It belongs to Lord and Lady Quillin who are good friends of the Ramseys. They were most agreeable to us dwelling there for a few days,” said Amy’s mother as the coach rolled up Pulteney Street in Bath and came to a halt in front of their destination.
“Thank you for informing us before we arrived, Mother,” said Amy with barely suppressed sarcasm.
Her mother didn’t notice because she was already becoming flustered. Mattie was too excited to notice, although such subtle and not so subtle things generally escaped her, Mrs. Charlotte Parkhurst just looked grumpy as usual, only Emma sat silently with a wry smile.
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