I forgot all about my sore butt and aching back as the carriage rattled into the city of London. Seventeenth century travel was certainly not the stuff of romance. We’d been on the road for several days, and I was tired, achy, and mosquito bitten from having to squat in the bushes to relieve myself. The inn we stopped at for the night was comfortable enough with a hot supper and a soft bed, but now I was beginning to itch, probably as a result of being bitten by bedbugs. As usual, Finn didn’t seem to be affected in the least, and I didn’t bother to complain. I was thrilled to be here.
Finlay had suggested the trip to London as a sort of honeymoon, and I agreed before he even finished the sentence. He insisted on a week’s recovery period after my near death experience before making the trip to Plymouth to seek out the priest. Our wedding was as intimate as intimate gets, with just the two of us, Alec and Father Stephen. The priest was staying with the family of a feed merchant in town and performed the ceremony in the cellar of the house, donning his cassock only after he ascertained that it was safe, and the door was locked from the inside. It was short and sweet, and a few minutes later I emerged from the cellar as Mrs. Finlay Whitfield, a respectable seventeenth century matron.
The brothers took me to a tavern near the quay, where we were given a private dining room and a delicious supper; after which Alec went to the docks, and Finn took me upstairs to perform his husbandly duties with single-minded determination.
Now, Finn smiled at me indulgently as I looked out of the window of the carriage, my head swiveling on my shoulders. I’d been in London only a few months before when Louisa and I flew into Heathrow, before continuing our trip to Devon. We’d spent two days sightseeing and exploring the city, enjoying the best that the cosmopolitan metropolis had to offer. Now I was here again, four hundred years before, seeing the city as it had been long before either one of us was even born.
The streets were unpaved and narrow, slippery with rotting refuse and mud caused by the last rainfall. Numerous carts, carriages and men on horseback fought for space, and we were barely moving due to all the congestion. Pedestrians walked close to the Tudor buildings, which were so near each other that people on the top floors extending over the ground floor could probably hold hands across the road if they had a mind to do so. The people on foot frequently looked up, for fear that someone would open a window and empty a chamber pot on their heads; and I had to admit that the smell was rather overpowering, as I pulled out a handkerchief and held it to my nose for most of the ride.
The streets became a little wider, and some of them were paved with cobblestones as we got closer to the center of the city and Whitehall Palace. The people riding and walking past us were cleaner and more expensively dressed, some of them clearly courtiers and residents of the palace. Finlay mentioned that several thousand people resided at the palace, from nobility to servants to soldiers, and it was more like a small city rather than a royal seat. Armor-clad soldiers guarded the gates, and they looked ferocious and well armed.
To my left, I could see the gray bulk of the Tower of London, with its four symmetrical towers rising above the thick wall that surrounded the compound. Black ravens circled overheard, screaming bloody murder, and I shivered, thinking of all the people who met their end at that forbidding fortress. Louisa and I had taken a tour of the Tower when we were in London, and I could still remember the portly Beefeater relating the details of Anne Boleyn’s execution; and showing us the torture chambers located in the bowels of the prison, complete with “The Rack” and the “Iron Maiden.” It was hard to imagine that human beings were capable of perpetrating such atrocities against each other, and I couldn’t leave the rooms fast enough, wanting to be outside in the fresh air, surrounded by excited tourists snapping shots of the various attractions.
I couldn’t see Traitor’s Gate from this side, but I’d seen it when I came with Louisa, remembering the huge portcullis that rose to admit prisoners, but was rarely lifted to let them back out. I looked at the muddy waters of the Thames flowing past the Tower, several large barges with colorful flags sailing sedately past, flanked by many smaller packet boats crisscrossing the river.
“Finn, what are those?” I asked, trying to get a better look.
“Those are royal barges, sweetheart. I suppose his Royal Majesty is in town enjoying a river cruise on this warm day.” Finlay sounded sarcastic, so I dropped the subject not wanting to encourage him. He tended to say what he thought, which could be very dangerous in this day and age, since you never knew who was on hand to overhear. I craned my head as we passed a broadsheet plastered to a wall of a tavern reading:
Tomorrow night only
At the Curtain Theater
A most excellent tragedie
Of King Lear
Written By William Shakespeare and
Performed by the King’s Men
“Oh, Finn, can we go? Please????” I was practically bouncing in my seat, and Finn just laughed at my enthusiasm.
“If you wish it. I had no idea you were such a patron of the arts. I hear that play has been performed at Whitehall for King James, to his overwhelming approval. He loves the theater, our Jamie. Never misses a new play.” We had pulled up to our inn, and my husband handed me out of the carriage, escorting me inside the establishment. It looked cleaner than most, and I could smell something savory cooking in the kitchen reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I usually woke up ravenously hungry, but could eat very little until the nausea passed around noon. I was more than ready to eat something, rest, and wash off the grime of travel.
Chapter 30
Finlay was amused by Valerie’s excitement as they strolled the streets of London the following day. She was like a child, interested in everything, her eyes round with wonder. She was thrilled when she saw a bookshop, and asked him to buy her several volumes of poetry and plays. He was only too happy to oblige. It took so little to make her happy. After dinner, they took the carriage to Southwark, south of the river, to see the play at the Curtain Theater.
Common folk were already pouring into the theater by the time they arrived, and Finlay paid the six pennies for the two of them to gain admission, seat and a cushion. He’d be damned if he had to stand through the whole performance in a courtyard open to the elements. His wife needed to be comfortable and off her feet in her condition. Valerie did not care. She just stood in the center, looking around as if she had just arrived on Mount Olympus, and he had to finally take her by the arm and lead her up to the balcony to take their seats.
The curtain opened and the play began, drawing them into the tragic plot. He stole an occasional peek at Valerie, but she was so enraptured by the performance that she seemed to be scarcely breathing, taking in every word and gesture as if they were Gospel. He loved her enthusiasm. Most women were so uninspired. All they cared about were gowns and trinkets. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, thinking of tonight’s meeting. It was to take place in a tavern near the buildings of Parliament at midnight. He would take his wife back to the inn, and make sure she was safely tucked into bed before heading out. He had his doubts about attending, but being in London and feeling James’ presence all around him, he was more fired up than ever. He would hear what these men had to say. Someone had to stand up to tyranny, and he was no coward.
The audience erupted in thunderous applause, and Finn joined in, glad that the play was over. He preferred a good comedy himself, especially ones with sword fighting and mistaken identities. King Lear was so gloomy. There was enough gloom in everyday life to pay to watch it on stage. Valerie obviously did not agree, because she was beside herself with joy, and he chuckled with amusement as he listened to her prattle on about the characters and the playwright. He had no idea who Shakespeare was, and didn’t care, as long as he could make him laugh.
Two hours later, Finlay found himself entering the designated tavern, keeping an eye out for Fawkes. He would vouch for him, and take him inside the meeting to be introduced to the
other men. The meeting was held in a private room where they wouldn’t be overheard, the door locked to admit no one. Finlay took a seat in the corner and accepted a cup of ale from one of the men, taking in the scene. There were only two candles and the room was lost in shadow. He could barely make out the faces of the men, but he supposed they wanted to keep their identity as secret as possible; after all, they were plotting treason. Many grievances were raised, and the group became increasingly riled up, calling for the death of James and members of the Parliament. Finn kept quiet, taking it all in, but he felt uneasy. Causing mischief was one thing, murdering the King and members of Parliament quite another.
On the other hand, freedom deserved sacrifice, and nothing would ever change as long as people were afraid to soil their hands. Soon his child would be born, and once again they would have to seek out Father Stephen to baptize the infant in secret. He had been glad to be married by the priest, but that was not how he envisioned his wedding. He hated being locked in a cellar with his bride and his brother to exchange vows in secret, as if they were doing something vile. Who were they hurting if they got married in church in front of friends and family like other people did every day? He wasn’t looking to overthrow the government or change the world. He just wanted to worship according to his conscience, openly, and not be forced to hide in the shadows like a rat, like he was doing right now.
Finn pondered what he had heard all the way back to the inn, his mind still full of the rhetoric as he slid between the sheets next to Valerie. He looked at her peaceful, sleeping face and felt more doubt. His first responsibility was to keep her and their child safe. If he became embroiled in this plot, Valerie would be in danger, as would their child and Alec. He had to tread very carefully, and not do anything foolish that might hurt the people he loved. Finlay pulled Valerie closer and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter 31
I stared out of the carriage window at the driving rain. The sky was almost dark despite the early hour, and the wind rocked the carriage from side to side making me drowsy. All hope of getting home tonight vanished, when the wheels of the carriage got stuck in the sea of mud on the road, and Robbie and Finn had to try to get it clear once again. They were out there, soaked to the bone, making me feel a trifle guilty for just sitting inside warm and snug. There were some advantages to being a woman in these times. No one really expected you to do anything other than look pretty and produce healthy sons.
The trip to London had been wonderful, and I truly enjoyed being alone with Finn. We were hardly ever alone at home, so it was nice to have his attention all to myself and not feel as if I was somehow betraying Alec by loving his brother. I knew how he felt about me and I’m sure Finn did too. Alec never said a word or made an inappropriate gesture, but it was all there in his amber eyes. I knew he was hurting, and I felt powerless to do anything about it, short of suggesting a ménage a trois and that just wouldn’t do. I had to admit that I had feelings for him too. It was impossible not to love him, but to show affection toward him would be opening a very nasty can of worms. Us all living together would take some getting used to.
Finlay had been the perfect husband, affectionate and attentive to my every need. The only thing that troubled me, were his nocturnal disappearances. He snuck out twice, thinking me asleep, and didn’t return until the early hours of the morning. My first thought was that he was sneaking off to see some woman, but I knew in my gut that wasn’t true. He came back tense and troubled, and lay awake staring at the canopy of the bed for some time, before finally falling asleep. I let him sleep in, taking the opportunity to rest myself. I wasn’t showing yet, but I felt awfully tired, and the bouts of nausea in the mornings left me feeling as if I’d been turned inside out.
Our days in London were full of activity, and I was glad of the respite. Finlay took me everywhere I wanted to go, and we’d been invited to dine with some friends of his who were happy to receive us while we were in town. The soirees were nowhere near as grand as the ball at the Weston Estate, but they were very extravagant nonetheless, with endless courses at dinner, and either card games or some kind of entertainment to follow. We didn’t get back to our room until nearly dawn, and I was dead on my feet, collapsing into bed and pushing Finn’s eager hands away as I sunk into a deep sleep.
We celebrated Finn’s twenty-fifth birthday by hiring a barge and cruising down the river with his friends; a lavish luncheon laid out on deck, and romantic tunes being coaxed out of a lute by a pimply youth hired to entertain us. Once I became accustomed to the motion of the deck beneath my feet, and the whiff of rotten fish emanating off the river, I began to enjoy myself, but refused to drink any alcohol to the amusement of our companions. Pregnant women in the seventeenth century drank nothing but wine and ale, and still seemed to produce healthy offspring, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I was nervous enough as is, not having a doctor or even a midwife to look after me. I tried not to think of what would happen when my time came, and I had to deliver the baby without the expertise of a doctor, or the benefit of drugs or state of the art equipment. What if there were complications and I needed a C-section? What would happen to me and my baby? Would we be left to die or would Finn have to make a choice and try to save one of us? I put the thought firmly out of my mind. I had at least another six months to go, and worrying about it would accomplish nothing.
My thoughts turned to my own birthday. It was fast approaching on October 1st, and I felt a dull pain in my heart every time I thought of my parents and Lou. They would mourn me on that day, not realizing that not only was I alive and well, but married with a baby on the way. How happy my parents would have been to know that my longing for a child had finally been fulfilled, and they would become grandparents in the spring. I sighed, wiping a tear from my cheek, as the carriage gave a lurch and began to move again as a filthy, soaking, Finn muttering curses, got back inside and pulled out a flask, taking a healthy swallow and then another.
“We might still make it back tonight. Are you up for it, sweetheart? I am longing for home and my own bed, not to mention a very hot bath.” The thought of our clean, soft bed, made me nod my head in agreement.
“I’ll be all right. Press on. A bath sounds like heaven right about now.”
“Especially a bath for two,” said Finn, giving me a suggestive grin and taking another swallow of brandy. I couldn’t help laughing. His hunger for me never waned and I loved him for it.
Chapter 32
Finlay watched out of the shadows as the three men entered the tavern at fifteen-minute intervals. The “Kettle of Fish” was a rough place located near the docks of Plymouth, and catering mostly to sailors who had just come into port. The last man came out of a brothel a few doors down where the girls were well past their prime and glad to take any customer who had coin. They could not afford to be picky anymore. It was a choice between life and a lonely death on the streets, either from hunger or disease. Finn could hear snatches of song as the door opened and closed once again to admit more patrons.
He still wasn’t sure he wanted to go in. He had been watching the place for an hour, and his doubts had the better of him. What these men were proposing was regicide and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be a part of that. They made a lot of grand speeches about oppression and religious freedom, but murder was murder, and he did not think the Lord would approve of men killing a Catholic monarch, or any monarch for that matter. He understood the men’s fury, could feel their need for change, but was this really the best way to accomplish that? It was a good question. How else would they get James to listen? What other way was there to bring change about, in a country where people like him had been suppressed for nearly a hundred years? There was no revolution without sacrifice and blood, and if it had to be the blood of a king, maybe that’s what was required. He would go in and hear what these men would have him do.
Finn left his hiding spot and entered the tavern. The air was thick with smoke and the stink of unwashed bodies. It was clos
e to midnight, the sailors well into their cups, rowdy and belligerent. Some were singing loudly, urging others to join in, and the place was chaotic and crowded, which is exactly what the men needed as a cover for their meeting. A buxom barmaid grabbed his arm, but he gave her a smile and pulled his arm away. He wasn’t interested. Finn pushed his way through the throng and made his way toward the back where the meeting was to take place. He wanted to be sober and alert if he was to commit to risking his life and the well-being of his family.
Catesby opened the door of the private room a crack before allowing Finlay to enter. He nodded a silent greeting and took a seat on the wooden bench. Guy Fawkes sat across from him, smiling. He was always smiling. His shrewd dark eyes were narrow and shifty, his wide mouth framed by a thin moustache and a pointy goatee, which reminded Finn of the players he had seen in London, phony and theatrical. However, the man was willing to risk his life to carry out this plan, and he trusted his reputation. The other two men, Catesby and Wintour were dour and driven. They wewere not interested in small talk, just his commitment to the cause.
“What would you have me do, gentlemen?” Finn asked, facing them across the table.
“Do your ships have gun ports, Master Whitfield?” Wintour asked, never taking his eyes off Finn.
“They do.”
“Then you have access to gunpowder.” Catesby seemed pleased by this and went on. “We need to acquire a large amount of gunpowder for our purpose. How many kegs could you appropriate without arousing suspicion?”
“What do you mean to do with it?” Finn wasn’t making any promises until he was clear on what the plot entailed, and what exactly his part in it would be other than supplying gunpowder.
“We mean to find premises to let, as near to Parliament as possible. We hope to secure the cellar right beneath it, it fact. One of our men is already in negotiations with the proprietor of the building. We will deliver the kegs a few at a time, so as not to arouse suspicion, and store the powder until November 5th when Parliament opens for its next session. King James will be there to open the Parliament and make a speech, at which time, Guy here, will light the fuses and run for his life, blowing up the building and everyone in it. Master Fawkes, as I am sure you are aware, is a retired soldier, and is well acquainted with explosives and charges.” Fawkes nodded his head in acknowledgement, taking a sip of his ale as if drinking to his own talents.
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