‘And I’ve never been allowed to forget it. Martyrs are no fun, Win. I simply wanted you here with me at my death. You should have asked me what I wanted.’
Accusation and counter-accusation cracked across the cell until Mr Mills walked into an acrid silence between us.
‘Have you heard the news?’
We nodded miserably.
‘Is it true that Derwentwater hung for me?’ William asked.
‘They weren’t hung, they were executed, which is a blessing. He certainly wasn’t expecting to die. He had no suitable clothes and he hadn’t written a speech. The poor lad was quite tongue-tied, I’m told. But I wouldn’t listen to the gossip. We won’t know why he was executed until we see the papers. You must remember that he was quite a favourite at St Germain and had spent his youth as a companion to the prince.’
I felt some comfort from these words but I could see from William’s preoccupied expression that he preferred his own truth.
Mr Mills blustered on. ‘The good news is I’ve secured a passage for William across the channel. You’ll be travelling as a manservant of the Venetian ambassador.’ In the gloom I felt Mr Mills turn towards William. ‘You’ll have to hide in a servant’s room for a day or two. To be honest, we have to get you out of here fast. I don’t think the old woman’s to be trusted. Mrs Mills is downstairs plying her with cakes and ale but if anyone paid her more than we’re offering, she’d take it. I’ve come to take you to the embassy now.’
‘And what about my wife?’ William spoke about me as if I wasn’t there. ‘When does she come to France to join me?’
‘If I come at all,’ I thought.
‘Ah, that’s the problem.’ Mr Mills rubbed his chin. I heard his beard scratch. ‘Winifred is, if anything, more wanted than you. She’s not the king’s favourite person right now and he’s said he wants her head for yours. I think she’ll have to lie low for some time. You’ve got a better chance of getting away safely without her.’
‘That’s fine. It’s a good plan,’ I interrupted. ‘I’ve business here, a daughter left at Traquair House. Of course William should go on alone.’ I turned my back on them both and with my finger traced the path of water spilt on the rough table. ‘One last thing, my most loyal friend,’ I added, ‘have any of you been approached as suspects?’
‘Not so far,’ he whispered. ‘Your plan was so brilliant I don’t think anyone has a clue who assisted you, or how many women went in or out of the cell. All that’s being said is that you didn’t act alone. The story that’s circulating says you left a poor woman behind in William’s cell to hang for him.’
William gave a bitter laugh that was just audible.
‘Come on,’ Mr Mills chivvied William, ‘I can’t hang around here. Get out of that bed and get dressed. Here’s another of my wife’s dresses and a hat.’
‘Here we go again,’ William muttered.
After my husband left, with only a dry, cold kiss between us, I climbed back into the stinking bed, fully dressed. I couldn’t rest. My mind churned over every word of our bitter row, answering William’s accusations with quick responses that would have shown him how wrong he was. I never wanted to see him again. The words that had passed between us could not be undone. Every joyful moment of our past, St Germain, our little boy’s first steps, our daughter’s birth so late in our marriage, was tainted by this revelation of his dislike for me.
At last, there was a tap on the door and Grace whispered. ‘Winifred!’ She had come … I wouldn’t have to lie here in darkness until the old woman sold me for a price. I sat up and finding Grace’s arms around me, I cried.
For weeks, we were moved from house to house, relying on the charity of friends and Jacobite sympathisers. I sent messages to my sisters and brother, seeking some financial support and had no reply but at least they didn’t betray me. My situation was very serious and Grace was at risk too, since it was well known that I rarely acted without her at my side. News came that William had arrived safely in Paris and I had a letter from him, asking me to join him. There was no word of forgiveness and I learned that he had recruited a servant, despite having no money to pay his wages.
Grace and I spent hours in our solitude talking about our perilous act. When I told her about William’s reaction to the death of Lord Derwentwater we both fell quiet, sharing thoughts that couldn’t be spoken. He wasn’t worth it.
The reaction from London society was mixed. We heard that in private, many found the humiliation of the king amusing but few expressed such a view publicly. It was widely reported that William’s name had actually been included on a list of those to be reprieved, so my rescue had been pointless, but others told me that the document looked as if his name had been added as an afterthought, in order to make my actions seem reckless and unjustified. I was reassured that the execution documents confirmed that Lord Derwentwater had always been facing the axe. I heard a lot about my bravery but not much about my sense and there was resentment amongst Jacobite women about my disregard for the safety of the other husbands. The older women shared my sister’s view that I might have been better to stay my hand and wait for society to forgive a wife who had played no part in her husband’s misdeeds.
However, time moves on and in the political mire of London society, my story was quickly forgotten. Loyal friends began to petition for my safety on the grounds that there was no evidence I had been involved. Everything was circumstantial, they argued, and no-one should be kept a prisoner in society without being charged with a crime. The Solicitor General decreed that active searching for me should cease but if I was found in either England or Scotland, I would be arrested. I had been given liberty to flee the country unhindered. However, ungrateful and stupid as ever, there was one more journey I had to make, risking the lives of both myself and my loyal companion Grace.
Chapter 24
The distant Cheviots were dusted with snow. Our little horses, still heavy with their winter coats, pricked up their ears as we picked our way along the banks of the Tweed. The river sparkled as it coursed over shallows and folded deep and brown under the roots of trees. The lambs here were newborn, pure white and fragile. Their mothers were protective and alert. It was the middle of April and we were almost at Traquair. My brother had lent us money to make this journey to Scotland but he expected to be repaid by my brother-in-law Charles.
Once again we had travelled the hidden paths of England and Scotland, avoiding all but the most remote inns and seeking lodgings in farmhouses and cottages. With the reluctant consent of my sister Anne, we were accompanied by John, our young companion on our flight to France over twenty years ago, now a middle-aged man. We faced no trials like those encountered in the winter but we made a quiet group, each too preoccupied with what had been and what the future might hold, to concentrate on the present. Poor John found us sad company and he also fell into thoughtful reflection. Emptiness had settled on me like a weight. This wasn’t the panicked terror of old, where fears jumped out at me in daylight and haunted my sleep. I travelled through each day certain that I would always be William’s wife but we would now live apart, even though I was several months with child. The irony of my late burst of fertility brought more sorrow, as we had once shared a dream of a house noisy with children. I knew that Grace had much to reflect on too, not least the bitter words we had sometimes exchanged in our enforced isolation. I was facing a life without my husband and a future without my dear Grace but I reminded myself that each day brought me closer to Anne.
Grace had needed persuading to be with me on this journey, breaking every law in the land, but I promised to release her once I had secured my daughter and the estate papers. She yielded to my desperate pleas for a female companion to accompany me, since I was with child, and finally agreed to come. My brother had promised to find Grace a home after I had left the country, since I argued that our mother had taken Grace from her family as a child and we had a duty to her.
We avoided the villages of Innerleithen a
nd Traquair and crested a hill. The land fell away into a hollow where the ancient house of Traquair rested solid and patient as it had for six hundred years. I stopped my horse and the others waited for me, turning back in their saddles. I wanted to look at the house, to fix Traquair in my mind as a memory. It was a beautiful house, like my own Terregles but better. It was still a home.
Our horses became impatient, suspecting that stables were close and without a signal, they cantered together down the hill. As we approached, we laughed and called out and John did his amazing two-fingered whistle. This was madness, as magistrates may have been waiting for us, but we were lucky, as ever, when foolish bravado overcame sense. The door opened to a tumble of children and dogs, including my perfect little girl.
I couldn’t stop touching her and crying and she grew impatient with a mother who wouldn’t pay attention to important things like her new ribbons or the amazing servants’ bells that rang a different sound for every room. Charles and Mary hurried Grace and I away to the drawing room upstairs. There was too much to say, so we were silent. I couldn’t stop looking at my child, who was healthy and grown. I wanted her on my knee but felt uncertain to ask. She circled the furniture, banging the keys on the harpsichord and stealing glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. We were brought cakes and sweet wine and Charles talked about crops and the weather. When I thought of the rescue I felt that an aura of shame hung over me. I suspected Charles and Mary caught my mood, so apart from a hug and a whispered thank you from Mary, neither of them questioned me. That night, Anne slept in her own bed in my room and in the morning I found she had crept in beside me.
Charles asked me to meet him in the library and I waited for him there, pulling books from the tightly ordered shelves and smelling the new leather binding. The library was almost complete. There were sections for philosophy, history and the great writers of the day and I wondered whether Mary or Charles ever sat here to read. I thought of Anne having lessons in this room with her cousins, part of her everyday routine I was about to destroy.
I heard Charles’ footsteps on the stairs and he appeared without his wig, as he often did on days spent only with the family. He pushed a hand through his thinning hair.
‘It’s too hot in here,’ he fussed. ‘Why do they lay fires in April?’
‘You asked to see me, Charles,’ I reminded him.
‘Ah yes.’ Charles made a point of trying to remember why. He frowned and paced the room, one hand on the back of his neck.
‘Look here, Winifred, you must know how incredibly grateful we are to you for saving William. You were so very …’ he hesitated.
‘Brave?’ I helped him.
‘Yes, that’s it, brave, of course. The thing is, how long do you think you’ll stay? My friend, the Lord Lieutenant, will tip us off if soldiers are on their way but I think it’s only a matter of time.’
‘I only came to pick up Anne and say farewell to you and Mary. I plan to leave for Terregles tomorrow.’
‘My dear sister, you don’t have to leave so soon. Stay with us a few days. I’m sure Mary’s told you how much we have enjoyed your daughter. We’ll miss her. And is it wise to go back to Terregles?’
‘Thank you, Charles.’ I bowed my head towards him. ‘But I must retrieve something. Only I know where it is. Also, I must try to save anything that’s left at Terregles. William and I are in desperate need of money. If I could trouble you for horses for Anne and Alice, her nurse. I’ll try to sell them to a stable in London and return the money to you.’
‘Nonsense!’ Charles roared. ‘Keep the money. You’re absolutely right. The government don’t own Terregles, whatever they might think. Get over there and sell what you can but don’t hang around. They’ll be watching out for you. Your tenant farmers did well this year, so I’ll give you all of the rent money. The trustees can go hang.’
‘Charles, I’m grateful to you. You’ve done so much for us already.’
Charles studied the terraced garden below. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. ‘We haven’t done enough. It was never enough.’
The following day we arrived at Terregles in the late afternoon, untroubled by soldiers or brigands. I was beginning to feel safe. It was unlikely that our passage had been unnoticed but perhaps there would be enough time to rescue what we needed. Anne rode in front of John on a large horse from Charles’ stable and she was the first to see the turrets of our home. She squealed and bounced with delight and I found my own excitement rise as the familiar landscape unfolded.
But the bustle of life and work was, of course, gone from the estate buildings. Where things had been made and grown, there were weeds and decay. Apart from us, there was no sound beyond the screaming gulls. Anne turned to me, her young face full of dismay. ‘Mother, where is everyone?’
The house was worse. Broken glass scraped on the floor as I forced open the thick oak door and the smell of smoke and urine swept me back to the destruction of my family home at Lincoln’s Inn. I didn’t want Anne to see this. I gave Alice some money and asked her to find rooms in the village for herself, John and Anne. Grace and I would have to stay.
We worked for many hours before dark, identifying anything left intact that could be sold. I was glad that Anne didn’t see the doll’s house broken and scattered across her bedroom floor. We lit a candle in the kitchen and burned some broken furniture in the grate. Our supper was bread and cold bacon, carried from Traquair.
‘I’m going to call all our neighbours to the house tomorrow morning,’ I mumbled, so hungry I couldn’t wait to empty my mouth.
‘Isn’t that asking for trouble?’ Grace answered.
‘They must already know we’re back. I’ll try to stop anyone informing by pretending we have the government’s permission to be here. They can then pick over the things we’re selling.’
Grace shrugged. ‘It might work. We shouldn’t stay long though. We must get out into the garden and dig up the papers.’
I nodded, my mouth too full to speak, and wiped my hands on my petticoat. Grace was already at the passage that led to the pantry and still room and I hurried after her. The spades were where they had been left, just inside the door of the estate workshops. Our thieving neighbours clearly had no need for such mundane items. Tonight there was no moon but we knew exactly where to search. The ground was soft from the spring rain and only a few deep shovels of earth revealed the top of the leather case. We brushed the soil away with our hands and reached down, lifting it onto the grass. I knelt to open the lid then hesitated. Something had moved behind me. I felt rather than saw the presence. Grace stood up. I knew she had seen it too. We waited. My heart hammered in my chest. There was a sound, a thin wail.
‘It’s a rabbit,’ Grace laughed, ‘probably caught by a fox. Open the case, Win. Those papers better have survived.’
I picked up the box and held it close to my chest. I didn’t feel safe. ‘Let’s go inside.’ I peered into the dark. ‘We don’t know who might be watching.’
Inside, we built up the kitchen fire and I prised open the lock with a knife. The papers were intact, dry and legible. I hugged Grace and we laughed with relief. This was my proof. The estate belonged to my son, not to William, and could not be taken away.
That night, I rested on the bed I had once shared with William, the case next to me. There was almost no bedding and what remained was soaked with rain from the broken windows. I knew sleep was impossible and I lay and stroked my belly, swollen with pregnancy, and wished for the safe delivery of one more child. Dawn would come soon and I had no desire to linger. There was nothing for me here.
I must have dozed and woke, startled. Someone had stepped on broken glass. Again, the high, thin wail. I cursed that I’d let John sleep in the village. I’d been too confident. It might end here after all. I picked up the broken rocker from the child’s crib at the foot of the bed and crept from the room, raising it above my head as a club. There was no sound, just someone small and quiet moving through th
e rooms downstairs. I followed the wraith, catching a glimpse of a figure ahead of me, flitting from room to room. They knew the house. Finally, I found her in the kitchen, pushing the bread and bacon we had saved for the morning into her mouth and her pockets. A tiny baby, almost newborn, lolled on her shoulder. If I didn’t immediately recognise her, I recognised the greed. It was Isobel.
Before dawn, Grace crept downstairs into the kitchen and seeing me already there with Isobel, stepped backwards, her hand over her mouth. ‘What on earth is she doing here?’
‘I found her in the house last night. She has a newborn boy. I’ve sat with her all night trying to help her feed the baby but she can’t. She hasn’t the strength. And she’s eaten our breakfast.’
This was too much for Grace. ‘I’m cold, dirty and haven’t slept. I will not go without breakfast. I’m going to one of the farms to buy eggs, bread and milk. I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I’ve had enough. While I’m gone would you please ask her,’ she flapped at Isobel with her hand, ‘to lay a good fire and boil some water so that we can wash.’
I stood up and searched in my purse for money. ‘Could you ask the farmer’s wife if anyone in the village is nursing a baby? We could save this child.’
Grace straightened to her full height, nearly as tall as me. ‘Sometimes you have to let things be.’ She lowered her voice, so that Isobel wouldn’t hear. ‘The child will die soon. Surely that’s the best thing.’
‘But who knows what this child might become?’ I whispered. ‘We can’t decide who lives and dies. We must give him a chance.’
‘Winifred, we’ve got other things to think about. Getting back to London safely must be our only ambition. You are a meddler. Leave this!’
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