by Jan Constant
Slowly the girl opened her eyes and looked at him with mute appeal, her face pale with dread.
“As my wife, you would be protected from such an ordeal.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him, wondering if she could have heard rightly. For a second he held her gaze, reading her astonishment with wry amusement before seating himself beside her; then he added to her surprise by taking one of her hands in a warm grasp and advising her kindly not to worry.
“Wife!” she could only repeat weakly.
“As my wife you would not be expected to ride through London to provide entertainment for the mob, and I am sure that if you were married to an Englishman who could guarantee your good conduct in future, a whole new complexion would be put on your trial.”
Anstey had not been listening. “But - are you saying you love me?” she cried and held her breath while she waited for his reply.
He had stiffened at her words and she sensed his withdrawal although he still retained her hand.
“I had not supposed that love came into the matter,” he told her, and reading his expression, Anstey knew he was remembering the many times she had proclaimed her hate for him.
“I was proposing a marriage of convenience,” he went on.
For a wild moment the Scottish girl had thought that he returned her love, and now turned away to hide her bitter disappointment as she realized that he had only offered her marriage out of sympathy for the plight in which she found herself.
“If the matter went as far as a trial, which I doubt, you would certainly be acquitted. As mistress of Wrexford Manor you would be a lady of some substance and with my mother and sister there, not lacking in company. I would expect you to give me an heir, of course, but apart from that my demands would be few as my army duties would often take me away.”
“Why?” she asked. Although knowing the answer, she had to be certain of his reason. “Why do you offer me marriage, Captain Ward?”
The grey eyes fell under her questioning gaze, and he examined her small hand which he still held. “During our time together, I have come to admire your courage and strength of spirit,” he told her quietly. She was silent and after a short pause he continued.
“For all your protestations, I am certain that you did not shoot Leo Smythe but are protecting a member of your family ... and, in some measure, I feel involved in your ordeal. Having brought you away from your homeland and subjected you to the hardships of a long journey without regard for your comfort or sex, my conscience tells me to make what amends I can.”
Anstey sighed and gently removed her hand from his grasp. “It seems a very poor reason for marriage,” she said reflectively.
“Do you expect me to declare my undying love?” the man beside her queried.
Lifting her head, she studied his face. To her ears his question held a jeering note and her own expression settled into one of pride and indifference.
“No!” she said forcibly, to hide her feelings. “I would find it of the utmost embarrassment.”
“At all costs we must avoid embarrassing you,” Captain Ward agreed between his teeth. A moment ago he had found himself on the verge of declaring his affection, but wary of the Scottish girl’s reaction and unwilling to be humbled, he had restrained the impulse, and now was certain that her dislike of himself was as strong as ever.
Sitting very straight, he folded his arms and stared at a point above Anstey’s head. “You still have not replied to my proposal,” he pointed out icily.
“I am aware of the honour you do me,” she began, recalling her manners, but was interrupted by a snort of impatience from the Captain.
“Yes or no, Miss Frazer?” was his ostensibly weary question.
“If I marry, Captain Ward, which seems very unlikely in view of the future, it would be for mutual love and respect, not to ease a guilty conscience or to avoid an unpleasant happening.” Her eyes were bright with tears as she faced him. “But I do thank you for your offer ... I am aware of the effort it must have cost you to make it, and I assure you that there is no need for you to feel constrained to offer your name to me. You have always been fair in your attitude towards me, while I ... have perhaps taken advantage of my sex to annoy and plague you. I am well aware that if I had been a man, my treatment would have been much harsher.”
She smiled tremulously and stood up, shaking out her velvet skirt. “And now, if you will allow me, I should like to retire.”
James Ward’s expression had softened during her speech and he made an involuntary gesture towards her, but, her eyes blinded by tears that she refused to let fall, Anstey did not see his proffered hand. Eager to leave the room before her distress became uncontrollable she turned, brushing aside his unseen arm, and ran from the room leaving the English officer alone with his own troubled thoughts.
Once in her room, Anstey flung herself face down on her bed and gave way to her emotions, stifling her sobs with her handkerchief. At last, drained and exhausted, she fell asleep, to wake abruptly to a dark room and the night air stirring the window curtains. Rising, she poured water into the basin on the wash-stand and rinsed her face and hands, before going to stare out of the open window at the silent sleeping world beyond.
Resting her hot forehead against the cool panes of glass, she idly looked down at the yard below, her attention suddenly caught by a still figure among the shadows. While she watched he moved slightly, the moonlight striking his white wig, and she recognised the tall figure of the English officer. Deep in thought, he smoked a long clay pipe, his head sunk against his chest.
Drawing hack into the safety of the shadows, Anstey gazed down at the soldier, aching with a wild longing to go to him and accept his offer of a few hours previously, even while she knew that the action would be foolish and one that she would regret. Once or twice during their long journey she had thought his manner towards her had softened, but she knew now that it had only been his natural gallantry to a female in an unhappy situation. Knowing herself only too well, she was perfectly aware that she could never be satisfied with anything less than love in her marriage, she could never be happy, even wed to the man she loved, if the only feelings he had towards her were those of guilt and duty.
At last the man below stirred. Pushing his shoulders away from the wall, he looked up at her window, the moon etching the planes of his face in black and white. Involuntarily, Anstey backed hastily into the shadows behind her, and as though he had seen the movement and recognised her, Captain Ward lifted his hand in what might have been a salute. His arm fell to his side when she did not reply and pausing only to give a slight nod in her direction, he turned and marched briskly away, the metallic jingle of his spurs carrying clearly across the silent night.
A sleepless night had done little to quiet Anstey’s fears of meeting the London mob and she rose nervous and apprehensive, unwilling to face the new day. Some perversity in her nature made her take especial pains with her appearance, pride making her present her best impression to the hostile world.
The English officer was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs and came forward as she appeared.
“I would spare you this,” he said quietly, “but if I refused the duty, another would take my place and he might not be inclined to have a care for you.”
“I understand,” Anstey responded, pulling on her gloves and settling the wide sweep of her riding skirt more gracefully over her arm. Taking pity on Captain Ward’s obvious worry, she told him kindly that she had no intention of throwing a fit of the vapours.
“I have no fear of that,” he assured her, “but rather of what you might meet during the day.”
Anstey could think of nothing to say, having faced the memory of the crowd at Grantham during the long hours of the night. “I’m ready,” she said evenly and accepted his arm.
Sliding her fingers into the crook of his elbow, she was comforted by the warmth from contact with a fellow human and allowed herself to be led out into the road where the tr
oopers were already mounted and drawn up in two rows.
“We’ll look after you, miss,” whispered Sergeant Wright as he helped her to mount. “The Captain ordered that all our pistols and muskets should be loaded, so you’ve nothing to fear.”
Anstey shivered a little at what the Captain’s forethought implied and seeing her expression Will Wright hurried to reassure her.
“Not, of course, that we expect to use them, but it’s best to be prepared, like. So never you fear. You may be a Scot and a rebel, but there isn’t one of us as wouldn’t defend you.”
She could only smile tremulously and thank him quickly before the order to move off was given and the double column trotted smartly between the rows of houses.
The troop of soldiers drew only cursory glances from the walkers they passed and Anstey could only conclude that the handbills had not penetrated so far out of the city. Soon, however, the people began to thicken, at first only a few waiting on the village greens as the column approached, but by the time they arrived at Islington, the crowd was two or three deep. A few shouted and some small boys threw stones, but the Scots girl felt that her worst fears were groundless until the villages were left behind. As the houses became closer together, so the people grew steadily thicker until, by the time they entered the City Road, crowds of jeering, gesticulating humanity were lining the road.
The soldiers closed about her, Captain Ward placing himself at her side, doing his best to shield her from the missiles which suddenly showered about them. A stone struck a horse, making him start and rear, while the troopers kept their faces carefully blank as rotting vegetables and refuse fell among them. Grateful for the Captain’s protecting bulk, Anstey lowered her head against the flying filth, trying not to see the excitement on the faces nearest to her.
Suddenly something white flew through the air and landed among the folds of her habit. About to brush it off, Anstey stopped in amazement, almost unable to believe her eyes, as she stared down at a white rose lying on her lap. Incredulously she picked it up and smelled it. As the heady perfume filled her nostrils, she glanced across at the man by her side. Holding his grey eyes with hers, she raised her chin and defiantly tucked the rose into her buttonhole. Frowning, he reached out and would have snatched the blossom away, but even as his hand touched the soft petals a voice rose about the murmur of the mob.
“That’s right, my pretty - show ’im you’re not afraid,” advised a crone raucously. “Law love you, I ’ates to think what you’ve ’ad to put up with alone with all them soldiers all the way from Scotland!”
Those nearest her laughed and the sally had to be explained to others who had not heard. Suddenly the mood of the throng changed; the Londoners’ usual dislike of authority returned, and the fickle crowd was ready to take Anstey to its heart. To her astonishment her progress down Bishopsgate and along Eastcheap was almost a triumphant march. Flowers were tossed towards her and smiling she gathered them up, and by the time they reached the Tower of London, had quite a posy.
Suddenly a shadow fell over her as they rode under an arch and the girl shivered at the unexpected chill. A gate closed behind them, shutting out the crowd, and Anstey looked about with startled eyes, realizing for the first time that they had arrived at their destination. The posy fell from her nerveless fingers to be trampled unheeded under the hooves of the soldiers’ horses, while fright, like a physical pain, closed tight fingers about her heart.
Grey stone walls and black arrow-slits seemed to dance madly round and round and she closed her eyes against a deadly giddiness which seized her. James Ward was just in time to spring forward and catch her in his arms as she slumped in the saddle.
Sick and trembling, Anstey fought against the faintness which threatened to overwhelm her. She could not explain the flood of fear and apprehension that the grim fortress had engendered in her, knowing only that the ancient walls and cold stones had so filled her with despair and foreboding that she had come near to losing consciousness.
The Redcoat’s strong arm held her steadily and for one moment she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder. Under her ear she could hear the regular beat of his heart and was seized by a wild longing to stay in that position for ever, safe from the dreaded future that awaited her. Instead she opened her eyes and found Captain Ward’s gaze upon her face, with such an expression in his own eyes that for a second she could not speak.
Immediately his eyes were shuttered and careful blankness settled over his face, leaving Anstey to wonder if she could have been mistaken in thinking that for one second she had read love in the gaze bent upon her.
“P-pray put me down,” she managed to say and at once she was set upon her feet, the Captain keeping a supporting arm about her waist.
An elegantly-dressed gentleman came forward and made a bow as he introduced himself. “I am the Governor of the Tower. Until recently I have had the honour of looking after three of your fellow countrymen.”
Anstey was unable to repress a shudder, knowing he was referring to the three Scottish peers who had been beheaded a few weeks previously.
“My Chief Warder will take you to your cell. Perhaps we shall meet later for dinner, when I shall look forward to hearing your adventures. I assure you I have no prejudice against the Scots - in fact I only parted from your peers with the greatest regrets.”
Anstey looked at him with horror, until she realized that far from attempting to terrorize her, the Governor was making what he considered to be small talk. Instinctively she leaned nearer to the Redcoat.
“Miss Frazer is feeling a little unwell,” put in James Ward quickly, making her grateful for his intervention. “With your permission I will accompany her to her ... accommodation.”
“Just so - I quite understand. The journey must have been a trial ... for all concerned. I’ve put her in the White Tower, a little unusual, but then we’ve not had the care of a lady rebel before. My Warder will escort you. ” He gestured to a stout man in the uniform of a Beefeater to show them the way and with another elegant bow sauntered away across the Tower Green towards his own house.
Perhaps when it had been new the White Tower had lived up to its name, but now its walls were only a little lighter in colour than the others that surrounded it. Crossing the expanse of grass towards the building, Anstey was surprised to notice a quantity of large black birds hopping about, eyeing her with disconcertingly human interest.
“Ravens!” she ejaculated, having no difficulty in recognising them, but somewhat surprised to encounter them in such surroundings.
“The legends say that England will fall when the ravens leave the Tower - so their wings are clipped,” Captain Ward told her laconically.
They had reached the entrance to the tower by this time, and Anstey could think of nothing to say as she gazed at the immense building which seemed to hang over her with a grimly menacing air to its ancient fabric. Pausing on the step, she turned to look back at the courtyard behind her and saw the troopers who had escorted her for so many miles, sitting their horses like statues. At their head, Sergeant Wright raised his hand and saluted gravely. Acknowledging his gesture, the girl took a last look round before, yielding to the pressure of Captain Ward’s hand on her arm, she crossed the threshold and the heavy door thudded closed with a finality which made her heart leap against her ribs.
The passage in which she found herself was extremely dim, being lit only by a single narrow slit window on the stairs ahead. Aware of her nervous fears, Captain Ward tightened his hold on her elbow reassuringly.
“You’ll get used to it in a minute,” he said. “Close your eyes until you are accustomed to the darkness.”
“Not afraid of the dark, are you, miss?” asked the warder, climbing the stairs and shutting off the meagre light with his bulk as he passed the tiny aperture.
“I - don’t like small places,” Anstey confessed, following him.
‘ Then it’s a good thing the Governor thought to put you where he did. Some of the c
ells aren’t fit for a pig, let alone a lady like you. Your cell is like a little palace, with a window and all. My wife’s to look after you, so you’ll live like a queen while you’re with us.”
He laughed at his joke and, wheezing slightly, opened a door and stood aside for the girl to enter.
Slowly Anstey walked into the room, strangely reluctant to look about her. When at last she raised her eyes she found she was in a small square cell, its walls of grey stone scratched here and there with initials or devices, its only window set deep in the thick wall above her head, through which could be seen a patch of sky. A table and chair and bed were its only furnishings.
At once her situation was brought forcibly home to her, and she was seized by an uncontrollable urge to escape. Panic-stricken, she turned back, conscious only of a wild desire to break out of the building that was to hold her prisoner, and found herself against James Ward’s red-clad chest.
Her hands held captive against his scarlet coat, he recognized the signs of rising hysteria in her wide eyes and white face, and changing his grasp to her shoulders shook her slightly.
Slowly Anstey relaxed, the wild look leaving her face as her breathing returned to normal. Across the room the warder’s eyes met his and obeying the jerk of the soldier’s head towards the door, the older man nodded amiably and ambled out.
Once alone, the soldier produced a purse which he dropped into Anstey’s hand, closing her fingers over it when she instinctively protested against the gift.
“Take it,” he commanded. “The warder seems a good enough fellow, but you’ll find you have need of money.”
He seemed to have forgotten that he still held her hand, and finding the contact singularly comforting, Anstey allowed her fingers to lie in his grasp and said nothing except her thanks for his gift.
Drawing her to the other side of the cell, Captain Ward put himself between her and the open door and bent towards her ear. “I had meant to say nothing in case it came to nought,” he whispered for her alone to hear, “but seeing you so despairing and afraid, I feel I must urge you not to give up hope that all will yet be well.”