The Jacobite's Wife

by Morag Edwards

  Grace and I walked down the hill to wait for Lord Carrington’s carriage at the Middle Tower. From dark corners, soldiers wounded in James’ war in Ireland, where he fought against his daughter’s husband, called out for alms and waved their fetid stumps. I had nothing to give. We wrapped our cloaks tightly around our worn petticoats, glad of the night, as carriages full of beautiful young men and women passed by on their way to parties and dinners. I was tired of hiding from society. I couldn’t wait to be gone.

  I sat in the middle of the long oak table with Anne at one end and Francis Carrington at the other. They had not been blessed with children and as I looked from one to the other it was easy to see why. Both were rotund with overindulgence and I imagined that, even if both were willing, which I doubted knowing my sister, the mechanics of the act of procreation were probably an impossibility. We ate in silence, the noise of Francis’ few teeth occasionally colliding in his cavernous mouth. I refused the orange cream and stewed pears, leaving more for them. They licked their lips and spooned down the nursery food like naughty children.

  Anne wiped her chin with a napkin and looked at me. ‘How was our brother?’

  ‘He looks thin and pale but then he never gets out and probably doesn’t get enough to eat.’

  ‘Did he send any word of thanks for the bread and jugged hare?’

  ‘Yes, of course, he thanked you both for your kindness and asked after your health.’

  Carrington gave a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘My lord, he’s looking forward to you visiting him and awaits with anticipation your petition to the House of Lords for his release.’

  Anne sniffed and put down her napkin. ‘I don’t know where he thinks we’ll find the money.’

  I ignored her and took the chance to raise my own situation. ‘He suggested I go to Scotland to live with Frances, instead of going to France.’

  She rose and bowed to her husband, signalling that she was leaving. ‘I think you’ll find that Frances and her children are hoping to join our mother in France. Her husband, the Earl of Seaforth, is fighting in Ireland. You will be invited to travel only when you are needed. In the meantime, you must learn patience, as must our brother.’

  Chapter Four

  Two frustrating years followed. I lost contact with William after his release from the Tower, since he was not welcome to live with either of my sisters and there were rumours that if found, he was to be arrested again. Day followed dreary day of morning lessons and afternoons filled with the quacking of Jacobite wives. I lived for Lucy’s rare letters from France but there was little of the news I wanted to hear, of young men, dancing and new dresses. I wasn’t interested in her role as assistant governess or the rituals of life in the exiled court, nor did I have much sympathy for her complaints that I wasn’t there to release her.

  One evening, Anne asked me to remain behind after our evening meal to hear news from her husband. Carrington wiped his mouth, as uncomfortable with our proximity as I was. He stared into the distance before speaking, rearranging the position of his bowl and glass as if their precise location was essential to what would follow.

  ‘Lady Herbert,’ Carrington enjoyed formality, ‘a courier came to the house this morning. He brought three passes from the French government, one for you and two for accompanying servants. Your father has sent money for your passage. I assume you will want Grace Evans to accompany you and I suggest you take that new man, the one who’s just started in the stables.’

  I knew the boy he meant and was certain he was of simple mind. My mind swung between hope and fear. It might all be for nothing if Grace and I weren’t safe on this journey.

  I fixed his shifting eyes with a stare. ‘Thank you Francis, but Grace and I would be safer on our own. We will dress as boys and will not be troubled.’

  Carrington sighed. He liked a quiet life above all else and I’d guessed he would back down. ‘If the stable boy is not to your liking then by all means travel with John, the gardener’s assistant, but he must come home immediately. Instruct your father to pay for his return passage.’

  I almost hugged him but the flicker of recoil in his small eyes stopped me. Instead I curtsied and ran towards the door, keen to tell Grace the news.

  ‘Winifred,’ he called. I paused and turned back. ‘You will leave the day after tomorrow.’

  The household went into turmoil as Anne set everyone confusing and contradictory tasks and made lists which she left all over the house. The head gardener, infuriated by my brother-in-law’s decision, confronted him loudly in the hall but although the gardener won the shouting match, to my relief Carrington’s decision prevailed. My clothes, such as they were, were packed and unpacked. Anne wailed at their dowdiness and tried to make me take two of her gowns, despite the fact that both Grace and I would fit inside each one. She fussed in the kitchen over what she should send to Mother, then sobbed at the table, certain that Mother would have everything she needed at St Germain.

  The night before we left, Anne insisted we have baths. This involved the whole household in boiling water and searching for enough clean drying cloths and required a team of maids to mop the wooden floor of my bedroom. Grace and I sat together, drying our hair in front of the fire. The scent of my mother’s rosewater mingled with the smell of fresh sap from the apple tree logs. Alone at last, a single word hung between us, unspoken. Freedom.

  At Dover, I leaned over the rail of the small packet boat and breathed in the odour of tar and rotten fish from the quayside, watching as ropes and barrels were loaded aboard. I looked along the deck to my two companions. Young John, a dark-haired boy with round cheeks pink with excitement, and Grace, leaning back and laughing, her clean hair loose and tossed by the salt spray. Behind them the sky was almost black, crying seagulls caught like silver arrows in the last of the sunlight. Men scrambled onto the rigging and our crumpled sails became taut, straining to hold the force of the gusting wind. The boat began to creak and shift its way out of the dock towards the harbour entrance. We turned our backs on England and breathed deeply, filling our lungs with joy.

  John wanted to go below and play cards with other travellers, so Grace and I linked arms and strolled along the deck, talking about the other passengers until the rain fell in heavy, round drops and thunder grumbled around us. We retreated to our cabin and for the next two days we were trapped, as the boat heaved and bucked against the storm. We took turns to weave along the dark galley to empty our slop bucket, barely able to contain its contents as the ship lifted and dipped. The floor was wet and the air sour with vomit, spilt where other travellers had tried to navigate the corridor. We brought back ale to sip and damp cloths to wipe our hands and faces. Day and night merged. We hardly spoke except to check that each was still alive and sleep was only possible in snatches. Finally, the storm ended and we gingerly climbed on deck to join other whey-faced passengers. The clouds broke from the horizon and a torn strip of blue sky framed a slash of dark coastline that must be France. I waved to John who stood with the other male servants and he hurried over. ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘Stay with us, John. We shall stand together as we sail into Calais.’

  I had imagined running across an empty quay and into Lucy’s arms, with Father possibly hovering in the background. Of course, Mother wouldn’t be there. Instead we had to wait while the boat inched towards the quay and men with ropes secured her tossing hulk to the dock. Next, the crew tumbled the cargo and baggage onto the quayside. The servants disembarked first and stood guard around their employer’s trunks and boxes. At last, a whistle blew and we were allowed to inch down the gangway. The quay was crowded and I had no idea where to look for the carriage we had been promised. I felt suffocated by the crush of bodies that smelt and sounded utterly unfamiliar. French and Irish voices mingled and I understood neither. I wanted to run back to the safety of the ship.

  Carrying our trunk on his shoulders, John used his height and weight to force a way through the crow
ds. I clung to his waist, and Grace held on to mine. As the passengers and crew thinned, John put down the trunk and we scanned wooden sheds, barrels, coils of rope and stragglers making their way to the town. To our left, a path which was little more than a farm track had waiting carriages along its verge, their drivers idly flicking at passing flies while the horses pulled at their bridles to crop the thin grass. By the first carriage, a tall woman stood alone, shading her eyes and watching the groups of travellers mingle and separate. She could have been my mother and my heart leaped, but it was Lucy. I called and she turned towards us, searching for my voice. Grace and I waved and John did that two-fingered whistle that only boys can manage. Between us, we picked up the trunk and staggered towards her. Facing Lucy after all these years, without a farewell between us, I felt immediately awkward and curtsied, as if she were royalty. In the same moment, Grace and John became servants and fell back, busy with our baggage.

  Lucy lifted my hand and turned it over, then stepped forward and touched my cheek. ‘Winifred,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve grown up.’

  In the carriage, I found I wanted to look at Lucy without her seeing. Her gown was plain, cut higher across her breasts than was fashionable and she wore her hair pulled back tightly across her crown, without ornament or headdress. At her throat she wore a simple crucifix. She saw me looking and smiled.

  ‘I’m entering a convent in Bruges and the queen is expecting a baby. Now that you’ve arrived, I’m free to go. Thank you for coming, Win, Mother would never have allowed me to leave if you hadn’t agreed.’

  ‘The queen is having another baby?’ This was amazing, a miracle in fact. No wonder Mother had asked me to come.

  ‘It’s due next spring. I’ll stay for a few months to help you find your feet.’

  There was so much else I wanted to ask but I felt self-conscious in front of Grace, my closest friend for three years but who was a stranger and a servant to my sister. I nodded and said nothing more, ashamed that my stare had made Lucy apologise for the plainness of her dress, which was nonetheless cleaner and newer than anything worn by me. I looked out of the carriage at the darkening French countryside, which was much like England except that the cottages were white with red tiles and there were more trees. Lights began to glow from windows and I felt an unexpected loneliness for Anne’s chaotic household in London.

  Lucy pulled curtains across the carriage windows and I buried my cheek into upholstery that smelled of hair oil and sweat. We had lost the contents of our stomachs several times while crossing the channel and I felt hunger fight with nausea as I tried to doze. I thought it would be childish, like the Winifred that Lucy had left behind, to ask if we were there yet or if we would ever stop to eat. I shut my eyes and allowed my head to roll back and forth with the uneven rhythm of the carriage, and in that strange place between wakefulness and sleep I remembered playing with Lucy at Powis Castle, whinnying and tossing our heads as we cantered imaginary horses down the long gallery until our nurse shouted at us to stop. The shouting became a man’s voice. There was a man in the gallery, chasing us. The movement stopped and I was shaken awake.

  The carriage door was open and Lucy was gone. Grace cradled my head against her shoulder. ‘It’s only me, Win, don’t worry.’

  I pulled back and tried to focus on her face. ‘I must have fallen asleep. Where’s Lucy?’

  ‘We’ve stopped here to eat and wash. Lady Lucy has gone inside with the men to find a room.’

  I sank back against the cushions and waited, holding Grace’s hand, feeling the splintered comfort that rises when a bad dream fades. Lights flickered as the door of the inn opened then closed and men called to each other in French. The voices seemed to roll back and forth across the courtyard and although my teachers said I was fluent, I couldn’t understand anything that was said. The horses stamped and blew and I guessed they were being rubbed down and watered. John’s face appeared in the door and he gestured that we follow him. He helped us down from the carriage and led us across the courtyard and into the inn. Through the open door to the bar I saw a crowd of men, their voices roaring in a senseless babble and loud laughter that cut through the thick smoke. I lifted my petticoats and quickly followed John to the top of the stairs. He held open a door and we ducked our heads to enter a warm, low-ceilinged room, where food was laid out on a rough-hewn table. Lucy gestured to a bowl and towels where I could wash. She touched Grace on the arm and pointed her back through the door, to an adjoining room, using an authoritative voice I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Evans, you will wash and eat in there. You may join us in the carriage for the rest of the journey. We must be quick as the Duchess is waiting to see Lady Winifred.’ Lucy startled as she found me standing close behind her. ‘For goodness’ sake, Winifred, go and get washed.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ I hissed. ‘Grace is my companion. She must eat with me.’

  Lucy steered me back to our room, where she closed the door. All her movements were calm and measured as if she had already entered the convent. ‘These are Mother’s instructions. Grace can’t be your companion. It’s best she understands that now. She will be your lady’s maid and will assist our mother, who is now the Principal Lady of the Bedchamber. That’s the best we can do. Money is very scarce at St Germain.’

  ‘But Anne arranged it all,’ I pleaded, hoping that our older sister’s authority would carry some influence.

  ‘I know. But there is no place for a companion. You will be part of the queen’s court and will support Mother. Please get washed. I will go and explain to Evans. And Winifred,’ Lucy hesitated, ‘please wash thoroughly, you’re both a little …’ She screwed up her nose and left.

  We rode hard through the dark for at least another hour until Lucy pulled back the carriage curtains. In the distance a building rose like a crouching cat, dotted with lights that grew brighter as we approached. There was nothing gentle or gracious about St Germain-en-Laye. It grew out of the landscape like a cliff face.

  Once the horses caught sight of home, their canter became a gallop, throwing us from side to side as the coachman negotiated the bends in the road. The lights grew brighter and the chateau filled the carriage window then disappeared as we raced under an archway and clattered to a halt in a central courtyard. The coachman opened the door and pulled down the steps. Grace was out first and helped me down. Men and women appeared from dark corners and, in the confusion and noise, Grace and John disappeared. I looked above me at row upon row of lights as the chateau rose into the night sky.

  Lucy gripped my arm and led me to a staircase. We climbed at least three flights of stairs, each turn only dimly lit and stopped in front of a door, already open. Somehow, my trunk was in the room, next to a wide bed. A very young maid curtsied and left. I started to cry and Lucy pulled me to sit next to her on our bed.

  ‘It’s strange at first but you will be happy here with our mother and father. The queen is lovely and the prince is …’ Lucy hesitated and her eyes searched for the right word, ‘… the prince is a lively little boy. Come now and change into this dress. We’re pretty much the same size. Mother is waiting.’ I was exhausted and nervous and wished this meeting with Mother could wait until morning, when I would be cleaner and more awake.

  Back down the same staircase and across the courtyard we entered a wide, better lit set of stairs and climbed to the first floor to reach our parents’ suite. A servant led us into an elegant, mirrored drawing room and I tried to balance on the edge of a chair which was not designed for comfort. Lucy sat to my left and folded her hands elegantly in her lap, as if she had spent the day on embroidery. I saw myself reflected from different angles and was pleased at the sight of my fine, slightly pointed nose and quizzical, arched brows.

  A rustle of petticoats and Mother hurried into the room, her expression preoccupied, as if she had put something down only a moment before and now couldn’t find it. Lucy and I rose up together and curtsied. Mother saw me and held out both hands to take mi
ne.

  ‘It’s like seeing myself in a looking glass! My darling Winifred, you are so beautiful, the loveliest of all my daughters.’

  I turned to see Lucy’s reaction to this unkind comparison but she smiled without envy and I thought that her mind must now be occupied by higher things than earthly beauty. Mother sat down on a third chair and sent a servant for chocolate. We talked of the journey and she asked for news of Anne and Mary. I learned that our oldest sister Frances had remained in Scotland as her husband had returned from Ireland. Without being asked, I told her about William, incarcerated for too long in the Tower and now disappeared. She frowned at me with what might have been grave concern or grave displeasure and turned to Lucy to speak about things that meant nothing to anyone ignorant of life in the exiled court.

  Free to study her, I saw that Mother was thinner than I remembered and the light from the candles cast deep shadows under her eyes. She had been right to send for me. She was too old, I thought, to be looking after young children. As she enquired more about our family, the servants, England, I tried to remember loving her. She seemed nothing like the mother who had left me, the mother of my memories. That mother had been scented, soft to touch. This mother was aged, with stiff hair piled high in the new, unflattering fashion and skin that was heavy with powder. She smelt like a stranger.

  Lucy took a long time to come to bed; her prayers seemed to go on for ever and I wondered how anyone could be so religious when they were also so tired. I had almost fallen asleep when I felt a cool draught on my shoulder and the mattress dip, as Lucy pulled back the covers and climbed in beside me. We lay side by side in the shared bed. I had not slept beside another human being in my entire life, at least not that I could remember, and I was aware of her body and the importance of not touching. We lay in silence and I tried to match my breathing to Lucy’s to help me sleep. Then she spoke.