‘Winifred, at last. I’ve waited every day for you.’ William held me close and I pressed my forehead into his neck. I could smell his familiar scent, a mix of vanilla and earth but there was an overlay of old, anxious sweat. He felt thin through his clothes which were sticky with grease.
My new friend Marian brought us ale and slices of thick, rough bread and I thanked her many times.
‘Marian, please may we have a fire?’ The room was damp with a clammy, penetrating cold.
‘He can’t pay for fires,’ she announced, hands on hips.
‘He’ll pay for fires now I’m here, and better food, please. And Marian,’ it was important to keep using her name, ‘how much does it cost to have clothes washed?’ I used my mother’s gracious tone, the one that expected no argument.
Marian’s eyes narrowed and she curtseyed. I watched the thought track across her open face that, at last, someone was in charge of this prisoner. Even better, someone with money. It would be worth her while to look after him.
Once we were alone, William and I studied each other in the candlelight, holding hands. His skin was pale and deep shadows fell beneath his cheekbones.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, my love,’ I whispered. ‘The journey took over two weeks. The weather was appalling and there were times when I thought we’d lose our lives. I’ve money from Charles and the name of a good lawyer in London. Now I’m with you, we can start fighting for your release.’
William shook his head and sat down at the table. He poured ale into two pewter tumblers and began to tear at the bread. I sat facing him and waited for his reply.
‘I’ve been charged with high treason, along with the six other peers. We’re to be sentenced in early February. It’s certain to be execution, what else could it be? I’m preparing for my death, Win. I’m ready for it.’
I grasped his hand. ‘No William, we must fight. You will not die.’
William looked at me with his hooded eyes and shrugged. ‘What is there to live for? Do you know that our so-called king has finally arrived in Scotland, too late of course to give any help to that fool Mar. He landed at Peterhead just before Christmas but I’m told he was too ill to meet anyone. The guards love giving me such news.’
‘But we could move abroad, perhaps to Rome. Think of me, our children, your family.’
William wiped his hands over his face, stretching back his cheeks and allowing them fall back. His lower eyelids were reddened and the skin below his eyes dark and pouched.
‘I’m tired of failing,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to run. The Jacobite cause has been my life.’
‘You can have a life without a cause,’ I reasoned.
‘They’ve already hung the officers. Why should I live? Because I’m a peer? What sort of country is this, where a title makes a difference to whether a man lives or dies?’
He leaned forward, became animated. ‘Do you know what they did to us when we reached London?’ He jabbed at the table. ‘We were trussed like chickens and blindfolded. They led us through the streets on horseback, so that everyone could see us. People threw rotten food. The worst thing was the jeering.’
William took a deep draught of ale and wiped his mouth. I sipped at mine to stop the tears. I had a pain low in my belly and I had started to sweat.
‘But if you live you could still make a difference.’ I tried to keep my voice low and reasonable but it caught and trembled as frustration and rage flushed across my face and neck. ‘There is much to put right in our new country.’
‘And how would that work if I was hiding in Rome?’ William sneered.
I felt exhaustion wash over me. I stood to leave and pulled my cloak around my shoulders. ‘I must go, William. I’ll speak to the warden’s wife and make sure you have what you need. I’ll come again tomorrow, but now I must rest.’
Chapter 20
I returned from the Tower and splattered my unborn child into a porcelain bowl after hours of pain, shaking like a dog in whelp. I developed a fever and lay in Mrs Mills’ perfect guest chamber, sometimes lucid but at other times hovering in a world where sound and time obeyed no ordinary rules. The bed had drapes of kingfisher blue and sometimes the colour shone so brightly it hurt my eyes. Above me on the ceiling swooped a plasterwork eagle which I saw preen its feathers and pause, staring at me as if I were a mouse on the ground.
Grace and Mrs Mills visited William and it seemed I had paid Marian enough to secure adequate food and warmth. In my conscious moments I went over our meeting and tried to understand how it must be to face death in full awareness of your fate. Most of us slip away without planning and are not reprimanded for a self-centred attitude at the point of death. I must not judge him, I decided. Until I faced my own death before an executioner, I couldn’t possibly know how I would behave.
I was desperate to see William on the day of sentencing and persuaded Grace and Mrs Mills to allow me to rise from my sickbed even though I was still weak from a month of fever. After hours of waiting to be admitted, the families of the peers were crushed into seats at the back of Westminster Hall. I tipped my head in recognition of Lady Kenmure, like me thin and pale. The other wives, who looked as distraught and anxious as I felt, I didn’t recognise.
We could not have doubted that this was a grand state occasion, that our husbands’ fate was a spectacle, as the members filed silently in from the Commons and the Lords from the Upper House. The presence of the Prince of Wales reminded everyone, including the judge Lord Cowper, that the fate of these prisoners was of great interest to the king. A rumour swept through the women that all the prisoners had agreed to accept a guilty verdict and were hoping for the king’s mercy.
My head ached and I struggled to hear William’s plea. His voice was unrecognisable and he persistently cleared his throat as if he hadn’t spoken for some time. I wanted him to see me, for him to know that I had come. I tried to stand but an usher signalled that I must sit down.
I listened to William beg for his life. Something shifted beyond my understanding, as I heard my husband deny that he had ever plotted to overthrow the monarch. It had all, somehow, been an accident. Our glorious days at Braemar, at Jedburgh, had been nothing more than William falling in with a bad lot, accompanied by only a few servants from our estate. It was nothing really, nothing at all. George of Hanover could count on William’s loyalty, most definitely.
Again, I reminded myself that I should not be quick to judge. I too had persuaded him to fight for his life. But how would we live together with this between us? He would hate what he had said and he would hate me for having heard it. My ears buzzed and I felt my scalp tingle as the fever crawled back inside me. The judge’s words sounded like an echo, as if he had spoken from the depths of a cave. I heard the words ‘cut down alive’ and ‘bowels taken out and burnt before your faces’ before I fell across Mrs Mills in a deep faint.
The next day I was allowed to sit up in the library, wrapped in a blanket, to receive Lady Kenmure and Lady Nairn. I listened to their plan for a joint petition to parliament and agreed to help fight for our husbands in any way my health would allow. Time was short. The date would be set for the execution in a matter of days and we had already received word from the Lieutenant Governor of the Tower that if I visited William again I would be held with him until the execution.
I sat alone, looking out on the February garden. It was unusually cold and the bare branches and statuary melded into a pattern of grey and brown. Nothing moved. The door opened and Mrs Mills, followed by Grace, pushed backwards into the room with a tray. Grace sat down next to me and placed cups of steaming chocolate on a small table between us. I noticed how pretty the table was, with its pie crust edge and inlaid wood of different colours.
‘How are you feeling?’ Mrs Mills asked.
‘Frightened,’ I replied.
‘It’s an awful sentence. The judgement was very harsh.’
I took a sip of chocolate to help me speak. ‘There’s brandy in th
is.’
‘Just enough to give you some strength. There’s much to do.’
‘I can’t face it. I can’t face his death, not like that.’
‘Then we have to fight to save him. We only have a few days. You have to contact everyone you know of influence.’
‘Perhaps we can’t live with this either, hiding for the rest of our lives in France or Rome, without our children or any income. We’d be better dead.’
‘Win, you have to snap out of this,’ Grace interrupted. ‘You don’t have to live abroad. You don’t have to live without the children. If William survives, those are choices you can make. But at the moment William has no choice but to face being hung, drawn and quartered. You must try to save him. If you don’t, you will exist but not live, wherever you are. William means everything to you, he always has …’
‘What can I do?’ I pleaded. ‘The other women have the petition in hand.’
‘We should try to tap into the disgust the country feels at the way the ordinary men were treated at Preston. The sentence given to William and the others is barbaric. The king won’t want to be regarded as an animal. If we can generate enough disapproval, he might be persuaded to show mercy.’
I thought about this, sipping my chocolate, feeling the warmth of the brandy creep into my limbs. Grace was right, I must act. No one else could save my husband. I had to try to see him again in the Tower.
Marian required a very generous bribe and cake from Mrs Mills’ kitchen before she agreed to let me see William and give me her word that I would be allowed to leave. I needed her on my side, so I lingered with her.
‘Your mother healed me when I had a fever,’ she poured me some warm ale. ‘My old mum was ever so grateful. She had time for people, your mother did. She was special.’
‘Many people thought so,’ I agreed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t inherited her qualities.’
Marian peered at me. ‘You look very peaky if you ask me, but no wonder, what with everything that’s going on.’
‘I was with child when I came before. The child was lost but I’m lucky, I have a healthy son and a little girl …’ I couldn’t find the words to continue.
Marian lifted her skirts to warm her knees in front of the fire. ‘Gawd, we lose too many. I’ve had twelve but only three living.’
‘You must ask my husband about his sister Mary. She’s had seventeen births with thirteen living.’ I saw Marian’s interest in her prisoner stir and at last, she offered to lead me to his room.
William was crouched at a table, his back rounded and his neck sunk between his shoulders. He was reading the Bible and raised his eyes from the text with reluctance, as if he minded being disturbed.
‘Winifred,’ he stood to kiss me, ‘you’re recovered at last. Grace told me you’d lost another child. I’m so sorry.’
‘The baby was conceived in hope. It’s best he wasn’t born to live in despair.’
‘I’m preparing for my death,’ William indicated the Bible. ‘The priest comes every day. It’s allowed. They’re being generous at the very end.’
We sat on opposite sides of the table and I reached across for his hand. ‘There’s still hope. Help me with a plan.’
William sighed and shook his head. ‘The lawyer says that Terregles has been sequestered and is now in the hands of the government. They’ve confiscated all our land to pay for the cost of the trial and execution.’
‘But they can’t do that,’ I stammered. ‘The estate belongs to our son and he’s done nothing wrong. We must fight this.’
‘You’ll have to fight alone. I know you will. You’re beautiful, clever, strong. I’d have been nothing without you. I’m sorry if I haven’t told you often enough.’
‘Your love has meant everything to me,’ I whispered. ‘We’ve made a family together. We still have a home. I’m sorry I’ve been so sensible. I haven’t always been able to share your …’
‘But you helped me fly, Win. I found a purpose. Without you I’d have been a Scottish dilettante, hanging around whatever court would have me. My only regret is that I pleaded for my life in Westminster Hall. I hated every word I said. It made a mockery of all the men who died at Preston, the men who were executed or frozen to death and those who now slave in the colonies. I have to be executed.’
‘Listen to me, William, we must fight this even if all we achieve is a better death for you and future prisoners. This country must learn to act like the civilised land it pretends to be. We could try to persuade the king that it’s to his advantage to be seen as a modern man. You might still be able to help others, even at the moment of your death.’
‘I’m not afraid. It won’t be painful. The priest has assured me I’ll quickly lose consciousness. But if you want to fight I won’t stop you. I know you well enough not to try. If I were you, I’d try to meet the king and plead your case. You’re still a very handsome woman and he’s just a man. Use it to your advantage.’
Chapter 21
Mr Mills listened to me explain William’s plan as we travelled home from the Tower. ‘He thinks I should try a personal approach to the king, since it’s tradition that the king must listen to a petition from a woman. Is it possible for me to meet with him in the short time we have left?’
He frowned and took time to answer. ‘I’m not sure if a petition from you would be accepted under the circumstances. You might be arrested. It’s very risky.’
‘But if I was willing to take the risk, can you think of any way the king might be persuaded to meet me?’
Mr Mills rested his elbows on his knees and thought. Finally he spoke, ‘We have a friend, Mrs Morgan, who attends social events at the palace. I believe there’s a gathering tomorrow night. You might be able to slip in with her.’
After dinner, I was introduced to Mrs Morgan, a tall, handsome woman, the wife of a respected Jacobite sympathiser. We sat in a circle, Grace and Mrs Mills included, and my gaze swept over the group before I spoke. ‘I know I’m asking too much of you all but I have to grasp every chance until William’s fate is certain.’
Mr Mills explained the plan and Mrs Morgan listened, never taking her eyes from his face. I couldn’t read her expression. Would she agree? These gentle people had to live here after Friday’s execution whereas I would be gone, either executed like William or fleeing from capture.
Mrs Morgan hesitated before she looked at me. ‘I will have to ask my husband but if he agrees, be ready for my carriage tomorrow evening. I will make sure you meet the king, one way or another.’
Although I was introduced without challenge to the drawing room where invited London society met to play cards, flirt and plot, I doubted that Mrs Morgan would ever be asked again. Voices lowered as we entered and people whispered, glancing at me before dropping their eyes and turning their backs. I was the wife of a condemned man, dressed in black as if already a widow. I carried the aroma of death and no one would dare make the social misjudgement of acknowledging me.
We scanned the room for the king but he wasn’t present. Rather than waste more time, we found our way to a passage where the king must pass. We walked and talked in low voices, trying to look interested in the paintings and tapestries, as if we had left the party only moments before to take some air. Mrs Morgan sat on a window seat and fluttered her fan but I paced the floor and bit at the corner of my nail. I was dressed in black because the dress was borrowed but I knew that black suited my pale skin and dark hair. I wore Mrs Mills’ best jewellery. The king must notice me. If he did, there was a chance.
After an hour or more I heard the sound of German accents. The king was coming. Here was my chance. As the sounds grew close and he entered the hall, I threw myself on my knees in front of George of Hanover. He recoiled as if he had been bitten. I spoke rapidly in French, begging him to read the petition held out in my hands. He stepped over me, staring ahead as if he could neither see nor hear me. Still kneeling, I snatched at the tails of his coat and tried to push my petition into his pocket. T
he king walked on and I was pulled over, flat on my face and dragged behind him. A servant caught me by the waist. Another prised my hands from the king’s coat. I saw the petition fall from his pocket and roll under a window seat. I tried to reach for it but a servant was there before me. The king and his entourage passed on, leaving me prostrate on the floor. A smell of dust and polished wood and baying laughter from young men told me I had failed.
In the morning, the news was all over London. At Duke Street we had many callers. My sister Mary was the first. Widowed again following the death of Viscount Montague, she was now betrothed to Sir George Maxwell. Her expression left me in no doubt of her horror that her younger sister’s behaviour had so shamed and humiliated the king.
‘How could you, Winifred? Everyone is laughing. My future husband and I will no longer be welcome at court.’
‘I must do everything I can to save William. I didn’t intend to shame the king. The shame was mine.’
‘The rumour is that he behaved like a boor. It’s exactly the image the king’s trying to avoid.’
‘I can’t help how he’s seen. People have interpreted my story to feed their own prejudice. If he wants to be respected as a civilized monarch then he should pardon William and the others.’
Mary’s eyes narrowed. ‘You might be better, young lady, to let the execution happen.’
‘How might it be better, to lose my husband and in such a terrible way?’
‘If he dies, you’ll get your widow’s settlement. If he lives, you’ll have nothing. Be realistic, Winifred, and plan for your future as a widow with two children.’
Seeing that I wasn’t in any way penitent, my sister refused Mrs Mills’ offer of chocolate and swept from the room, saying that she would show herself out. I promised myself that I would never speak to her again.
The Duke of Montrose was our next visitor. He was anxious to protect his reputation and was brought into the house through the servants’ quarters. His news was better. The servant who picked up my petition had given it to Lord Dorset, Lord of the Bedchamber who had read it with interest and passed it to the Prince of Wales. Montrose explained that the prince was keen to distance himself from his father’s reputation as an uncultured man and after Mrs Morgan and I had fled he had read the petition aloud to everyone in the drawing room, many of whom were lords. Montrose reassured me that it had been received well. I clapped my hands. Surely this was excellent preparation for the women’s petition to the House of Lords?
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