I also pulled myself to my full height, glad I was taller than Grace, and put my hands on my hips. ‘Yes, I’m a meddler. Yes, I interfere. I don’t believe we have to meekly accept things. That’s how I am and I’m not going to change.’
Grace and I glared at each other, our eyes almost level. Grace’s expression softened and she shrugged. ‘You’ve become just like your mother.’ She slammed the door behind her.
Our neighbours gathered in the formal gardens, already smothered with weeds. It was a beautiful day, almost summer, and many had arrived with their children and food and ale. I watched Grace move among them, shaking their hands, and I saw that she had once been part of this community, whereas I had always been a visitor. John rang a bell he found in the stables and gradually the voices and laughter became a murmur and then stopped. I addressed the crowd from the steps of the terrace.
‘My dear friends and neighbours, you may have heard rumours that I am implicated in the escape from the Tower of London of the Earl of Nithsdale. There is no evidence to connect me with this deed.’ Even the children were silent. ‘I have the permission of the government to be here and I will leave tonight. Please enjoy today and buy whatever takes your fancy. Everything is laid out in the stables.’ I gestured towards the yard.
A man raised his hand and stood up, twisting his hat in his hand. I nodded to him and all heads turned. ‘My lady, if I may be so bold, I have a question for you.’
‘Go ahead,’ I smiled encouragement.
‘Is it true that the Earl wears women’s dresses?’
The crowd roared with laughter but I waited for silence. Eventually, they wiped their eyes and looked at me expectantly. ‘I can confirm that he does but only when the occasion demands and certainly none of mine.’
The crowd whooped and cheered and a fiddler began to play. We were about to have a magnificent party.
I took my chance to slip away with Isobel. Grace had found a young woman in the village who had given birth to twins and one had died. Suspecting I was going to snatch her child, the only thing she had ever owned, Isobel trailed behind me but I dragged her along by the wrist. We found the cottage and knocked on the door. A woman without any teeth peered out.
‘Can we see your daughter?’ I asked.
She held open the door. News belongs to everyone in a tiny village like Terregles and we were expected. My eyes adjusted to the dank interior. There were two rooms downstairs and the woman, probably no older than me, beckoned us to follow her into the back. A young woman was nursing a baby, her expression blank. I knelt down and looked into the empty crib. ‘I’m so sorry that you lost your baby.’
She nodded and looked up at me, waiting to hear what I had to say. Isobel pressed her child against her shoulder and he gave a barely audible mewl. The young woman’s eyes widened. I spoke simply, so that Isobel would understand.
‘I want you to nurse this baby. I will pay you. Once he is weaned his mother,’ I pushed Isobel forward, ‘will come back for him.’
I opened my bag and brought out some of the gold coins given to me by Charles. The older woman stepped forward and pushed them into her pocket. The deal was done. She nodded to her daughter. The girl placed her own child in the crib and raised her arms for Isobel’s baby.
Isobel tried to run with her baby towards the door. The grandmother blocked her way and I had to prise the child from her arms. ‘Isobel, if you don’t give this woman your baby, he will die. Probably today.’
We watched Isobel’s baby attach to the young woman’s swollen breast, which glowed in the half light like a lantern. He struggled to swallow at first but then his cheeks found the rhythm and I saw him relax. I put an arm around Isobel and steered her through the cottage to the door. She wailed but without any sound.
Our neighbours weren’t people of wealth, so little was sold. By late afternoon, most of the villagers had gone and Grace had engaged two ladies, sisters who shared a pretty cottage by the church, to hire a man and a cart to pack up everything that remained and send it on to Traquair. I hoped that Charles would find buyers and send the money to me, wherever I might be.
There was still much to do and I walked through the garden with Anne trotting beside me, considering whether to stay one more night. I heard my name. One of our neighbours called to me from the terrace. He seemed distressed and I hurried towards him.
‘My lady …’ he had been running and he struggled with the words, taking gasps of air between each phrase. ‘Soldiers are on their way … from Dumfries.’ He bent over, holding his belly. ‘They’ll be here in two hours.’
‘Thank you, thank you, my good friend,’ I called over my shoulder as I ran to find the others.
I sent John and Isobel on the big horse to Traquair, pinning a note for Mary on Isobel’s shift. I lied and said she was a hard worker and didn’t mention how much she ate. I told Mary about the child and knew Isobel would be cared for. Isobel’s baby would have to take his chance. As for John, he could make his own way home if he wished. I imagined Charles would persuade him to stay.
We left the house open, goods spread across the yard, trusting the sisters to save what they could. We were gone within an hour and by nightfall we were well on our way to Carlisle. Our journey to London was untroubled, although we were always careful, and as we picked our way along a narrow track, somewhere in Leicestershire, I expressed aloud my puzzlement.
‘Why do you think we attract no attention?’
‘That’s easy, my lady,’ Alice grinned. ‘They’ve been told to look out for the Countess of Nithsdale. They’ll be watching out for someone grand, in a coach, with loads of servants. Just look at us.’
I saw what she meant and roared with laughter. Two middle-aged ladies, none too clean, travelling with their daughters, Anne and Alice, on ponies that would have fetched nothing at a horse fair. It was a perfect disguise.
We entered London in the early morning across the marshes of Moorfields. A deep mist hung across the fields, the orb of the sun visible as if viewed through fine muslin. Bulrushes rose from the invisible landscape and the snickering of goats the only sound of life. We fell silent, like the birds, and travelled in single file, trusting our ponies to find the well-travelled path to Moorgate, an entrance I had heard was less heavily guarded than the main London gates. But the guards were on alert and we were stopped and questioned. I made much of our guise of being country women on business and many more coins had to be exchanged before we were allowed through.
To attract less attention, we dismounted from our ponies and walked into the London streets, already throbbing with morning trade and people pushing through the crowd to their place of work. Anne folded her small body into my cloak and Alice linked arms with Grace. I saw that they were both terrified, neither having ventured further than Traquair House. Even for me, a frequent but privileged visitor, this felt like a different London and I was overwhelmed by the clamour of different tongues, the jostling of bodies and the smell of people who did not have the means to wash.
We found cheap lodgings with stables, two rooms with food provided by a couple who worked at the nearby Bethlehem Hospital; too busy to be curious and even better, absent for most of the day. The rooms were bare but clean and our new hosts rushed to provide us with bread and ale before they left for their day’s work at the hospital. Leaving the others to doze under rough blankets, I pulled my cloak around me and risked the streets to find a private messenger. I sent word of our safe arrival to my brother, no longer wanting to involve our friends Mr and Mrs Mills, and begged him to meet me the following day at an inn close to our lodgings. That night I slept poorly, my blood humming in my ears as I listened to every footstep, every call from the street, fearing that the king’s men had found us at last. Grace and I would be arrested, of course, but what of Alice and Anne, where could they go?
In the morning, our landlord brought word from my brother. If he was curious about the message with its unknown seal, his expression betrayed nothing. After remi
nding my companions not to leave our lodgings or answer the door, I travelled across the thoroughfare and down the opposite street with my hood over my face, expecting a hand on my shoulder at any moment. The inn was empty of customers and the innkeeper and his wife were busy sweeping dirty sawdust from the floor. I was directed to an upstairs room, suitable for a woman to meet a gentleman alone, and chose to sit in a corner by the window, since the light was poor. Splinters from the furniture caught at my clothes as I rested my arms on the chair. I waited for William, my breath fast and shallow, listening to the sounds from below.
I heard the heavy tread of footsteps rising up the external staircase and saw my brother enter the doorway, frowning as he searched for me in the dusty shadows.
My skin prickled with relief and I called out, ‘Hello!’
William kissed my outstretched hand and sat heavily in a chair across from me. ‘Thank goodness you’re all safe. Everyone seems to know that you’ve been in Scotland and the king is furious. At court they say he regards you as the most troublesome woman in the country. I’m afraid they’re searching for you again. You can still be prosecuted for your husband’s treason.’
I tipped more of Charles’ money onto the table between us. ‘My dearest brother, can I beg two favours? Please try to secure our passage on the first possible boat to Ostend and don’t reveal my identity.’ I looked down at my clothing, ‘We’ll travel as an ordinary family.’
William glanced over my dirty cloak and gown. ‘A most effective disguise if I may say so. I barely recognised you myself. The king wants you gone but not dead. He still hopes to be remembered as a modern king and executing women isn’t what a modern king does. But you’re not popular and there’s been much unrest. Groups of lads calling themselves Jacobites and Whigs have been fighting in the streets. It’s just an excuse for trouble but your capture could make things worse.’
He couldn’t hide his pride at what came next. ‘You perhaps haven’t heard but my title has been restored and I seem to be accepted at court. I have the influence to make sure you escape safely. You’ll be allowed to travel without hindrance if I let the right people know that you’ll leave within days.’
I clapped my hands. ‘That is good news and so much deserved. You have suffered a great deal. I’m proud that you’ve always tried to live peacefully for the sake of your family.’
William smiled and tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I was arrested after your husband’s escape and was so angry with you. It felt as if you’d repeated what our mother did to me. I thought I’d lose everything again; stuck for ever in a lifetime of gain, imprisonment and loss. But friends spoke out for me and I was quickly released.’
The innkeeper entered with ale and I waited until we had been served and coins exchanged before asking the question that most troubled me. ‘I understand how my behaviour must have affected the lives of many ordinary people who trusted me but our Jacobite friends, what do they think of what I did?’
William’s eyes became tender and he looked at me with an expression I remembered from my childhood. ‘Win, you were always headstrong, impetuous and sure of yourself, so no one would have expected anything else. There will always be criticism but your bravery can never be in dispute.’
This wasn’t what I wanted to hear but I recognised his honesty. If I was uncertain about the sense of my act, how could I expect other people to think differently? William saw my disappointment and ploughed on with his news. ‘I’m convinced it won’t be long before our estate is restored. I have my eye on the very cottage for Grace Evans.’
He watched my reaction, his face bright and seeking my approval. I thanked him but my words lacked conviction. I was not ready to part from Grace. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased,’ I mumbled.
Other fears needed to be allayed before we parted. ‘I trust that the Mills and Mrs Morgan have not come under suspicion?’ I asked.
My brother stared into the empty grate between us and rubbed his hands as if there was warmth from a fire. ‘None at all, so far. You planned it well and luck was on your side but we shouldn’t prolong this meeting. I’ve probably been followed and if you are arrested, none of us will be safe. What was the other task?’
I gave him the legal papers retrieved from Terregles and asked him to deposit them with my lawyer. We both stood, awkward with a parting we knew would be final. Looking around, William reached into his cloak and produced a letter from my husband. Promising to send the tickets to our lodging he whispered farewell, holding my hands and pressing a small leather pouch of coins into my fist.
I stepped back and exclaimed, ‘William you can’t afford this.’
He laughed but his eyes glistened, ‘I haven’t forgotten your loyalty, Win. Visiting me every week in the Tower.’ With a small bow, he was gone.
I hurried back to the lodging, only aware of the ragged trews, faded petticoats and worn shoes of passing pedestrians. Every time I dared look up from under my hood to make a safe crossing, I thought I saw Marian’s vengeful face in the crowd.
The boredom and fear of waiting in lodgings made us too impatient with Anne, as she whined again and again about wanting to go home and, at last, I agreed that Alice could take her to see the ponies in the stable. In the simple parlour of our rooms, I was alone with Grace and she watched me read William’s letter. I tossed it aside, impatient with his petulant rant about money and the boredom of living with the elderly remnants of the exiled Stuart court. Grace spoke casually, as if the question of my future had only just occurred to her.
‘So are you planning to be with William when we reach France?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I’ve made my decision. We’re sailing to Ostend and from there, I plan to travel to Bruges, to Lucy’s convent. I’ll have the baby there, we’ll be cared for and Anne can join the girls for lessons. I can’t look too far into the future but I might remain within the convent. Grace, when we reach Ostend you can return to London. You’re guilty of no crime – at least none that anyone knows about.’
Grace frowned. ‘Is the pregnancy secure?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. It’s over four months now and the child isn’t moving yet.’
‘Then I’ll accompany you to Bruges. When you’re safe with the Abbess I’ll come back.’
‘Oh Grace,’ I gasped in relief. ‘But I promised to release you. My brother thinks that he will soon regain the estate and that means a home for you.’
She spread out her hands, resigned, ‘And could I settle for a single moment in my solitary cottage if I was worrying about the most troublesome woman in England travelling to Bruges on her own? Of course I’ll come.’
‘But what about Alice? I’ve made mistakes, Grace, assuming too much and not thinking about what you might want. We mustn’t repeat this with Alice. Perhaps she could return from Bruges with you.’
I saw that Grace looked wary and I hurried to make myself clear. ‘I don’t mean that you would be responsible for her but my brother might find her a post at Powis or she could return to Traquair. What I’m trying to say is, Alice must know that she has a choice.’
Grace frowned. ‘Why can’t she stay at the convent?’
‘Of course she can. I’m sure my sister would be glad to employ her but she’s only twenty-five. A convent is not the best place for a young woman. Think of what we were doing at her age!’
An enigmatic smile flickered across Grace’s lips and her eyes narrowed. ‘I remember what you were doing. As for myself, nothing more will be said.’
That evening, the tickets for our passage from Gravesend arrived. We would leave in a farmer’s cart the following morning and must be ready by dawn. I lay awake listening to the rhythm of night sounds from our shared beds and, sitting up, saw the shadow of our bundles tied and ready by the door. Parting the thin cloth at the windows, the streets were empty and the moon was waning. It was almost dawn. Kissing Anne’s hot brow, I slipped out into the night.
This was my last night in London, my las
t in my country of birth and I wanted to feel the streets under my feet, smell the sewers and watch the people wake and light lamps in their windows, as they woke to an ordinary day. I had walked only a short way from our rooms when a hand reached out from a doorway and gripped my arm. From behind, I heard a rasping voice.
‘I know who you are.’
‘You know who I am?’ I gasped, seeing the face of my assailant, an old woman with wisps of tangled grey hair hanging from the folds of a dirty shawl.
She tossed back her head and laughed at me, her wide mouth showing a few black teeth. Her grip tightened. ‘I’ve found you. At last.’
Panic gripped my throat and stomach. Was I strong enough to push her away? A man stepped from the shadows and grasped the old woman from behind.
‘It’s fine, Mary. Let the lady go. She’s not your daughter.’
I recognised my landlord and my legs trembled with relief. ‘She’s from the hospital, m’lady. Wanders off from time to time to find her daughter. She does no harm and we always catch her. Gave you a fright though,’ he grinned.
‘I was terrified. I can’t thank you enough.’
He led Mary away by the hand, calling to me over his shoulder. ‘Get off home now. Your transport will soon be outside the door. And I do know who you are. Godspeed on your journey, Lady Nithsdale.’
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to my editor, Yvonne Barlow, who has taught me so much and has always been patient, insightful and flexible. I am grateful to the members of Leicester Writers Club for their support and accurate, constructive comments. A thank you to my husband who has always been happy to talk about this story and to my children for their support. Finally, a special thank you to my mother for giving me a lifelong passion for fiction.
About the author
Morag has spent almost 30 years as an educational psychologist. She also has an MA in creative writing from the University of Manchester’s Centre for New Writing. This is her first novel.
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