I lifted the hard, frozen rags into the grave and scraped earth over Bea’s body. Unwanted by any of the servants, we had found her shivering under the horse’s drinking trough in the yard. A stable boy had despatched her as his last job. She lived on in the puppy that had gone to Traquair with Anne. As I stood over her grave, I reflected that her life had been the same as any other female. We try to breed, sometimes we lie down in a patch of sun, then we die. I replaced the turf and pressed it down with my boot.
In the kitchen, Grace pulled me close but our cheeks didn’t touch. We said goodnight, hoped that each other might sleep, and Grace took a candle and went to her room. Her light vanished as she turned into the passage. I took my candle and wandered the empty rooms. Some of the furniture was covered with old bed linen, hostage to our possible return. Other furniture was earmarked for Traquair, to be kept for our children should they lose us. Where was my home? Was it this house and its cold, sparse interior? I’d lived here for fifteen years yet had never felt that I belonged. In a flickering pool of light I climbed the stairs to Anne’s room, missing the tap of the dogs’ claws following behind. I sat down on her small bed and looked around me at her familiar things, dark silhouettes in a palette of grey. Would she want her doll’s house or her puppet theatre? Perhaps Charles could fetch them with the furniture.
Until the dawn smeared the sky an ominous red, I lay curled on Anne’s bed. I had given up my child. If I died and William was beheaded she would belong to Charles and Mary. I’d made this decision because of the assumptions of others. I hadn’t found the courage to say, ‘No, wait. I haven’t decided whether to go. Let’s talk about it. What’s best for the children? Is there another way to help William?’
I heard Grace in the kitchen; for the last time, she had lit the hearth and boiled water so that we could wash. Porridge bubbled in a pot hanging from a trivet.
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Not a wink. Did you?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t like the look of that sky. I think it might snow.’
‘As long as it’s not too heavy it will be safer. People will stay by their firesides. We won’t attract any attention.’
I washed my face and hands in a bowl that Grace had set upon the kitchen table. A clean, folded cloth lay beside it. I thought of these objects lying undisturbed for months, perhaps years. I would come back and the towel would be lying, curled up and dry exactly where I had left it.
I trickled honey across my porridge and took my first mouthful, dragging it from the spoon with my teeth because it was so hot. ‘We should be in Newcastle in a few days. Charles showed me a route that avoids most towns and there are inns where we can rest overnight. Once we’re on the coach to London, the worst will be over.’
‘Charles should have provided us with some men to see us safely to Newcastle.’
I thought this too but felt it disloyal to agree. ‘It would be too obvious with men. We’re better on our own.’ I carried on eating, spooning the porridge down fast. We cleared our plates and poured water on the fire then wrapped ourselves in layers of our warmest clothes.
Grace laughed. ‘No one will recognise us like this. You look like that fat woman from the village.’
‘And you look like her sister,’ I replied. ‘Come on, Grace,’ I linked arms with her, ‘it’s time for one last journey.’
Chapter 19
It took us five days to reach Newcastle. The snow fell in plump, heavy flakes, swirling around us like feathers burst from a torn pillow. Our horses were slow, sturdy animals with thick winter coats, not easily alarmed but not easily hurried either. They lowered their heads and shook their harnesses, pushing through the blinding flurries on paths that were still familiar. When we reached strange territory, the sun came out and we stepped softly across countryside empty of animals or people, only the wisps of smoke rising from cottages reminding us to keep quiet. We passed through secretly, protected by the blanket of snow.
The innkeepers showed little curiosity about two middle-aged, sturdy country women on their way to Newcastle. The assumption was made, time and time again, that we were farmers’ wives, used to travelling alone through the Borders. We avoided conversation but if we needed to speak, our English accents raised no alarm. Around us we heard grumbling about the heavy tax burden on farming communities imposed by the government but the failure of the recent uprising was met with resignation and cynicism. The union with England seemed to be disliked but accepted with a shrug. I wondered whether William and his friends had been misled about the level of popular support for their cause and whether we hadn’t deluded ourselves by mixing only with those of like minds. The people drinking in these inns seemed to want fair government and food in their bellies and anyone who delivered this would be respected. There was certainly no enthusiasm for a Catholic king.
In Newcastle, we hurried to the offices of the coaching company. The man who sold tickets took an agonising time to scan his lists but looking over his shoulder I could see that all the coaches to London were full until Christmas. A man behind me in the queue suggested the three of us ride on to York together, as there would be more coaches from there. I thanked him but I knew we needed to rest and our horses fed and stabled. He bowed to me, accepting my decision but offered to book seats for us all when he reached York.
I had another reason to make sure I took a night’s rest. The night before William left to fight at Preston we had made the sort of love that can produce a baby. My monthly bleed was late and my breasts were swollen and tender. This brought me no joy. We had tried so hard to fill our house with children but now, with no home and William in prison, another child would be unwelcome.
I had to tell Grace as soon as we were huddled over the tiny fire in our room. Her silence was uncomfortable and then words spilled from her mouth, cruel words that only echoed my shame.
‘You ought to have told me this before we left home. If you’re with child, we could have stayed. Neither Charles nor William would ever have expected you to travel to London in winter if they’d known.’
‘We couldn’t have stayed. After what’s happened, how long before the troops arrived at Terregles?’
‘But we might have sought protection at Traquair,’ Grace agued.
‘And involved Charles and Mary? Charles would have been arrested and what then?’
Grace fell silent, then spoke again. ‘For goodness’ sake, Winifred, you’re forty-three. How do you know it’s not the change?’
‘Because I have no signs of the change. My monthly bleed is regular, my skin is smooth and unlined, there’s no hair on my face. I’m having another baby.’
‘This is a bad thing, Win. We have a perilous journey ahead of us. You need your strength to fight for William. I can’t act for you if you’re laid up in bed. You should have thought about this before you did the act.’
I studied my hands. ‘If they’d won, if he hadn’t been taken prisoner, another child would have been glorious,’ I whispered.
Grace said nothing more but turned her face from me. Was she thinking that the chains that bound her to me grew tighter with this news, that she wouldn’t ever be able to leave me if the worst happened to William? I would set her free, I told myself. I was determined.
The weather turned bitterly cold with a hard frost but our ride from Newcastle to York was without incident. There was only one seat on the coach from York to London, reserved for us by our friend from Newcastle, but he was not so gallant as to give up his own seat for a lady, or at least a lady he assumed was a servant. I argued with Grace that she should take the seat first and I would hire a fresh horse and ride alongside the coach. I hoped to shame our hero into offering his seat when he saw me mount the horse. From his fawning good humour, I guessed that he was looking forward to my company to pass the long hours ahead and I hoped to spoil his plans. But Grace was stubborn and wouldn’t agree, since she knew that I was probably with child, even though I reminded her how sick the rolling movement of the c
oach would make me.
We had been travelling for less than a day when snow fell in deep, blinding drifts. From the window there was only a grey light, filled with darting white arrows. The other passengers complained as I opened the blinds, struggling to keep Grace’s dark shape in sight. Her new horse, panicked by his temporary blindness, made certain he kept close to his companions but there were times when I couldn’t see her and I called out for the carriage to stop in case her horse had stumbled and she was lying in a ditch. I was terrified we would lose her. There were moments I was so fearful that the other passengers joined me in banging on the roof for the driver to stop.
We were delayed many times. The wheels sank into deep drifts in the ditches at the side of the track and we had to climb out so that we could free the coach. Some of the passengers were elderly and there was nowhere for them to shelter, as those of us fit enough to thrust a shovel into snow were put to work. This wasn’t the beautiful snow of the Borders. There was a penetrating wind that froze the nose and fingertips in seconds. Nothing of the landscape was recognisable and it was as if the world had stopped. I felt certain that someone would die; from cold, from lack of food or from exhaustion. When we moved, the carriage was silent. Everyone was afraid and I imagined that we all thought of death and were preoccupied with the manner of our dying. No one would give up their seat for Grace.
My own thoughts were troubling. I believed I was being asked to pay too high a price for my husband’s foolish ambition. This is completely and utterly pointless, ill-judged, reckless and foolish, I raged. In my anger I dropped the back of one hand firmly into the upturned bowl of the other, making a smacking sound that startled the terrified passengers. We should have considered other ways to fight for William’s freedom. What were the other wives doing? Grace was right, perhaps I could have stayed at Terregles and held onto our home for the children’s sake. If we lost William, better that they should still have their mother and their home.
But I could never say these words. It was too late to turn back. We were committed to the journey and it had to be endured, day after endless day. The snow now fell on ice and the horses’ hooves slid, making the carriage swing and sway. We stopped hourly, to dig out the wheels or for a passenger to vomit. I begged Grace to let me ride the horse. I could barely see her eyes through the ice that had settled on her hood but she persistently refused. We stayed at whatever inns we found open along the way as the horses were exhausted after only a few hours of travelling.
After six long days our carriage turned over in a ditch. We knew exactly where we were because, at last, the blizzard stopped and a sign told us that in sixteen miles we would have reached Grantham if our carriage wasn’t broken and one of our horses dead. Two of the elderly passengers, both women, were confused and one had a cut to her head. We could see smoke rising from a settlement across open land and after some argument, we pushed through snow that was thigh deep, digging our way out from the deepest drifts, so that the old women could be carried by the men. Finally, the horses were led to safety behind us. There was a small hostel, a low-ceilinged dark hovel with smoking fires and rooms that smelled of dogs. The landlord was persuaded to find space for our large party and stable our horses while we waited. No one was quite sure what we would wait for but there was a general consensus that we would wait.
I found Grace in one of the bedrooms, cleaning the wound on the woman’s forehead. She saw me peer around the door and hissed ‘Winifred, wait!’
She lifted the shaken old woman’s hand and pressed it against the cloth to hold it in place, then joined me at the open door. ‘We can’t stay here, Win. Let’s go on, alone.’
I was horrified. ‘Go on! You can’t mean it.’
‘I do. What’s the point of this journey if we don’t get to William as quickly as possible? He must be desperate, with no word from you, and your family will be beside themselves with worry. Anyway, if we hang around here we’ll be left in charge of these two.’ She swept her thumb backwards to take in the two old sisters, now dozing by their smouldering fire.
‘But you’ve ridden for days, in the bitter cold. Surely you want to rest?’
‘Look at the weather, Win. It’s not snowing. Let’s take our chance and go. If we stay we’re wasting money that you’ll need in London. The landlord is certain to overcharge.’
I crossed the room and looked out of the dirty window at fresh white snow, like sweet, sugar icing and a fierce blue sky.
‘You’re right, Grace.’ I agreed. ‘Let’s hire new horses and leave this lot to fend for themselves.’
On Christmas Day we reached the George Hotel in Stamford. We stayed for one night, demanding hot, scented water and bath sheets and dried our hair before the fire in our room. We ordered food, roasted pigeons with vegetable broth, and ate with our fingers, letting the gravy dribble from our fingers onto the shifts we’d borrowed from the hotel. We insisted that the hotel find a washerwoman to make our clothes fit for London. In our shared bed, we giggled at stupid things; how Grace had looked with icicles hanging from her eyebrows and the selfish men who had shared our coach. Now we were safe, these things were funny. I could smell Grace’s warm body and twisted between my fingers a strand of her hair that spread across my pillow. I moved over to rest my head on her chest. We fell silent, listening to men and woman calling to each other in the street. My thoughts were of William, without visitors on Christmas Day, and Anne, without her parents, and Will, in France, without news. No doubt Grace thought of Terregles, standing cold and empty without her.
The snowbound countryside vanished as we travelled south, and late the next day we arrived at the Mills’ house in Duke Street. The servant was reluctant to let us in but we persuaded him to lead our horses round to the stables and allow us wait in the hall while he sought Mrs Mills. In the mirror we saw what he had seen, two rough-looking women, with dirty riding cloaks and faces reddened with cold. Mrs Mills rushed into the hall, flapping her hands.
‘My dears, we’ve been so worried about you. Thank goodness you wrote from that inn or we would have thought the worst.’ She led us up the fine oak staircase to the drawing room, where Mr Mills put aside his book and stood up, holding out his hands to us in welcome.
‘Winifred, Grace, come in and get warm. I’ve tried to see William but he’s allowed no visitors. Thank the Lord you’re here and safe.’
Our travelling robes were carried away and we were encouraged to sit close to the fire. I had forgotten how elegant English houses could be and while our hosts fussed arranging food and warm ale, both Grace and I gazed at the plasterwork ceilings and the tall marble chimneypiece and overmantel. The walls were coloured a deep pink in the latest wall covering which I remembered was called wallpaper. We had only heard of such things in rural Scotland. Our hosts wanted to talk about the terrible defeat at Preston and how bravely our men had fought but I stressed that I must go to William at once. They saw that arguing was pointless and Mr Mills offered to take me to the Tower as soon as we had eaten. I left Grace in the company of Mrs Mills, pleased she could rest at last. I would rest once I’d seen my husband.
Access to the Tower was only possible through narrow pathways lit by rush torches that created dark corners and threatening shadows. The cobbles shone, wet with melted ice that would soon freeze. Mr Mills waited in the carriage as close as he could to the nearest entrance for William’s prison. Alone, I hurried past the Bloody Tower, where men and women had once been tortured, when our country was a little less civilised, and Traitor’s Gate, where the executed bodies had been disposed of in silent boats at night. I turned past the green and ran down the path to the Lieutenant’s Lodgings.
I was prepared to be refused and had enough money with me to guarantee a change of heart in the most ethical warder. But to my relief, I found that the Lieutenant’s Lodging was now guarded by wardens who had once been in charge of rooms where titled women had been held prisoner. I was recognised immediately by the warden’s wife, once employed as a g
irl to do my mother’s washing.
‘Heavens!’ She squealed with delight. ‘I’d know you anywhere! When you were a little girl you used to visit your mother. Every week you came and a right sad little thing you were too.’
I smiled as broadly as I could manage and, to my surprise, I remembered her name despite my exhaustion. ‘Marian! My mother always said her clothes were washed perfectly.’
My ingratiating words were ignored, as Marian called her husband to see the little girl who had once visited the Countess of Powis.
‘Tom, come over ’ere,’ she bellowed. ‘Guess who this is? It’s that little girl who used to visit her mother. Yes, that’s right, it were years ago. Do you remember? The lady from Wales who had the castle.’
As Tom hurried over, Marian studied me. ‘Such a good little girl you were. Always a polite and grateful child.’
‘You were such a good little girl,’ Tom repeated, ‘and a pleasure to serve your mother.’
I shared the sad news of my mother’s death, hardly unexpected given my all too evident age, but their sympathy meant that only a few coins had to pass between us before I was allowed to see William. Tom escorted me up familiar stairs, through the guards’ hall to a room close to where I had once visited my brother.
I pressed my clammy hands together as the warden explained to the guard who I was. The door was unlocked and I was announced, as if this were a social event. William had his back to me but he spun on his heel as he heard my name.
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