Tapestry

by Fiona McIntosh

  Jane did not have to feign her fear … having to turn around, run the short distance back to the Lieutenant’s Lodgings and face climbing those stairs once again felt far more daunting than the previous occasions. She forced Winifred to retrace her steps, even though all she wanted to do was turn and run into the relative safety promised by London’s dark, honeycombed streets. As she ascended slowly to the first landing, she could smell food being cooked in the warders’ quarters and she was suddenly acutely aware of the combined hum of voices: chattering children, the soft laughter of women, men’s heavy footsteps creaking on the boards around her. All of this detail had been lost to her while her ‘sleight of hand’ had been occurring. Yet now she felt anchored in the reality of the magician’s craft; here was the moment when she had to pull off the climax of the trick.

  She climbed the second flight of steps and felt the suffocating press of the gaol’s stone walls embracing her, reminding her that it could easily become her keeper.

  Once more Jane forced her brave host to cross the now-all-too-familiar Council Chamber, deliberately dabbing at their shared eyes, Jane making sure Winifred sniffled and appeared upset, but also looking as though she were gathering her wits for a last teary scene, which the wardens were surely expecting.

  The yeoman with the halberd was not back at his usual position, but was lingering close.

  ‘I can let myself in,’ she said softly to him. ‘This is my final farewell,’ she added, so sadly he looked away, clearing his throat with embarrassment.

  ‘I shall not disturb you, My Lady.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and entered the empty cell.

  She leaned against the door, trying to calm Winifred’s pounding heart. The tension of the escape had caused a headache to erupt and she needed, now more than ever, to think clearly.

  Come on! she howled to herself. You can do this, Win! He’s on the outside. He’s waiting for you. He’s alive. Both our Williams will live!

  Jane demanded that Winifred take several deep, slow breaths until she thought that her host felt less light-headed, and that her voice would be steady. Here we go, Winnie. The last part of our performance.

  And now she began to act out her charade. Comical though it was, she knew all she had to do was promote the power of suggestion. The unwitting guards and their trust in the woman they had come to admire would do the rest.

  ‘William, my love,’ she said in a voice filled with heartbreak, ‘hold me one last time.’

  In a deep tone, the best she could effect, Jane replied, ‘Hush, my darling. Do not cry. I go to my Lord with a clear conscience.’

  And so Jane kept up a halting conversation with her invisible husband, acting out both parts as she moved nervously around the room. All the while she imagined William’s coach moving through the back streets — or maybe they were already on foot, having given up the bulky horse and carriage to move with ease through the darkened, filthy alleys. She had no idea where Mills would take him, but surely the darker and grimier it was the better. She didn’t care, so long as it was beyond the King’s reach.

  After approximately fifteen minutes and a worried glance over the darkening London sky, Jane felt that long enough had elapsed for William to be sufficiently distanced from the Tower. By now the threat that fresh candles would be delivered to the condemned man felt so tangible it was making Winifred’s throat tight with fear. Jane straightened herself and wished her husband goodnight in a tremulous voice that did not have to be faked.

  She opened the door slightly and added, looking back into the room: ‘I will away, my lord, for I fear something has happened to my woman and I cannot trust anyone but myself now to petition on your behalf.’ She gave a weepy smile to the empty room. ‘If the Tower permits, I may try to visit later tonight. But if not, I shall be here at first light, my love, bearing good tidings, I hope.’

  The guard was standing ahead of her, but with his back turned out of respect. Another man just ahead of him — the valet de chambre, she presumed — was preparing candles, slicing away at their bases to fix the wax solidly into the pewter holders.

  Jane sucked in a terrified breath, looking down at the worn latch-string on the door. She had mere moments. She took her chance and wrenched it, snapping the string soundlessly and hearing the latch fall into place. Now it could only be opened from the inside.

  ‘My good man,’ she called in a wavering voice that she did not have to work at. Both men turned, but the valet noticed that her attention was riveted on him.

  He bowed. ‘Yes, My Lady?’

  ‘My lord husband is saying his prayers and asked that he not be disturbed this night. He requires no candlelight for his communion with God.’

  The valet blinked in consternation. ‘He wishes not to be disturbed this evening … not even for a final meal, My Lady?’

  ‘Especially not for food,’ she said, knowing she was visibly trembling. ‘He insists on being left alone in the dark with his prayers.’

  The man bowed. ‘As you instruct, My Lady.’

  She glanced at the guard and he nodded too, moving to stand back outside the cell, his halberd positioned diagonally across the door to assure her that no one would pass.

  ‘Thank you, both. I shall bid you goodnight. Do not come early for my husband,’ she warned, ‘for I make haste now to make a final petition.’

  Hugh met her as she passed the warders’ room.

  ‘My Lady,’ he bowed, ‘my deepest sympathies are with you.’

  She nodded, now desperate to be gone.

  ‘Let me escort you downstairs,’ he said, and Jane had no choice but to allow him to accompany her not only outside the lodgings, but back down to the gate, where a small queue of hackney carriages had gathered. He offered his hand to help her inside one of them. Jane couldn’t help but feel sorry for Hugh, and she hoped he would not pay the price for her subterfuge.

  She deliberately glanced up toward the window as though taking one last look at her husband. ‘Thank you, you have been so kind.’

  He bowed slightly again. ‘Drive on!’ he called to the coachman, and Jane felt the reassuring lurch of the horses as they whisked her away.

  She wondered when the gaolers would discover the truth. With a curious sense of the macabre, she suddenly wished she could be a fly on the wall when it happened.

  THIRTY

  Everyone loved a happy ending, and Ellen was beginning to believe the story of Will Maxwell might deliver just that.

  She squeezed his mother’s hand. ‘He’s off life support now, Mrs Maxwell. Your brave boy’s doing everything on his own.’

  In fact, the room now looked positively bare, since most of the electronic equipment had been unhooked. A monitor was keeping track of his heart, there was a drip in his arm and a waste bag at the side of his bed, but to the lay visitor, Will was just resting. He was breathing deep and rhythmically now; his countenance was serene and somehow more here in the moment. Ellen had seen it before in patients; it was as though they’d surfaced from a void and were suddenly more alert in appearance, even though they were still technically comatose.

  She would admit, if anyone asked, that she had never been happier for a family, secretly hoping she would be the first person Will saw when he finally opened his eyes. Ellen knew it was unprofessional to think like this, but at some stage over the course of her silent night shifts in the intensive care unit, when she kept a special vigil over Will Maxwell, she’d developed a connection that she knew was dangerous in her line of work. Her fondness for the handsome American, cut down in his prime, was known, but with each hour her affection for him intensified. She didn’t care now if he woke here in London and denied her that holiday in the US, she just wanted to hear his voice. And who knew? Perhaps they might share a flute of champagne together sometime, so he could thank her properly for her care. She smiled at the daydream, knowing she was ignoring the fiancée in his life, but in her dreamscape there was no one. This was her fantasy and she fashioned it a
s she chose: featuring just Will and Ellen.

  She cleared her throat softly and focused back on Will the patient. She could see the telltale firmness around his lips; his eyes when they moved behind his lids, though still random, seemed less ‘loose’; and his expression didn’t have that ghastly corpse-like slackness any more. Will was so close now.

  Ellen watched Diane Maxwell’s face crumple a little, but she recognised it as a meltdown of relief and happiness. The despair was retreating. She then glanced at Will’s father; these days, she’d found a new respect for the man. He was tough, but she’d learned how to be around John Maxwell and not be offended by his manner. She’d been impressed when he had looked straight at her last night and apologised unreservedly for his behaviour.

  ‘I’ve been unforgiving of all of you,’ he’d said, ‘and I’m ashamed of my behaviour. I know you’ve been absolutely dedicated to Will’s recovery.’

  She especially liked the way that, for the first time, he showed anything but robotic affection toward his wife. She watched now as Maxwell reached for Diane and pulled her close. ‘He’s coming back, darling. Keep the faith.’

  Ellen joined in. ‘Yes, he is coming back to us, Mr Maxwell. You’ve raised a big strong boy, Mrs Maxwell, and he’s a fighter. Look how good he looks,’ Ellen soothed, avoiding the dark cloud that still hovered.

  Diane Maxwell couldn’t avoid it though, it seemed. ‘Now I’m worried about brain damage,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine my son without his faculties.’

  ‘Diane, yesterday we were worried whether he would live to breathe on his own … and now look at him,’ her husband admonished. ‘We will deal with whatever we must when he finally opens his eyes.’ He glanced over at Ellen, looking momentarily anxious that he was saying the wrong things.

  She nodded with a small smile of encouragement.

  ‘You two should get some rest. I’ll be on duty tonight, and you know he’s my favourite, so I rarely leave his side,’ she said, grinning at Diane.

  His mother gulped, laughed sadly and patted her husband’s arm. ‘Thank you, Ellen. I think you’re his guardian angel.’

  She nodded, liking immensely that they’d noticed. ‘Any news of Jane yet?’

  ‘We hope she’ll be home any minute,’ Will’s father said, clearing his throat.

  Jane sat up against the leather of the carriage, oblivious to what was passing by. She barely heard or saw anything. Winifred’s blood, pumping so hard, was creating enough disruption in her head to make it ache, her temple pounding with pressure, her ears echoing the powerful thump of her heartbeat. She stared ahead into the darkness, unblinking and glassy-eyed, still stunned that they had pulled off such a trick. Not only that, they’d each made their departure safely and, she prayed, without anyone being hurt or stopped.

  As the great fortress, with its stout walls and sense of imperviousness, fell behind, Winifred’s body began to tremble uncontrollably. The sound of her host’s chattering teeth added to the internal cacophony, but Jane could only feel elation. The childish, almost comical plan had worked.

  Is it over yet? she heard herself wondering.

  Not yet, came the answer from Winifred. The execution date is tomorrow. We have to see out that day and keep William hidden … and then get him to real safety.

  Real safety?

  Away from England.

  Scotland?

  The continent. Where the Church of Rome can protect us.

  Jane was drifting away on her thoughts; the peril of her own situation was only now striking her. If William Maxwell could be kept safe, then according to Robin it meant Will was safe too. But where did that leave her? She was still stranded. How would she be made safe? How would she and Winifred be made whole?

  The carriage arrived at Duke Street and Winifred was met by a triumphant duo of Mrs Mills and Mrs Morgan.

  ‘Oh, my dear, you were marvellous!’ Mrs Morgan chirruped quietly in her ear, being careful in front of the coach driver.

  The women welcomed her, but knew she must not tarry. Mrs Mills already had Winifred’s bag packed. ‘Here, dear,’ she said, handing her a note as well. ‘The sedan is waiting. Have the men take you to that address. Do not speak your name. I have asked for the sedan men to be waiting for you around the corner from here, so they will not even know which house you have come from.’

  She hugged the two women. ‘I do not know what to say, how to thank you both.’

  ‘The glow in your face is more than enough,’ Mrs Mills said, shushing her. ‘Now go, my dear. And lie low. Cecilia and my husband are with him.’

  She nodded, and gave them each a fierce hug. ‘Give one of these hugs to your dear good husband for his help,’ she told Mrs Mills. ‘I shall get word to you somehow.’

  The sedan men hurried her off and within moments she was bouncing along in the chair, this time headed to a poorer part of London; heading back, in fact, toward Smithfield and ultimately to Byward Street again, sitting in the shadow of the Tower of London.

  Jane felt nausea simmering at her throat. Why here? Winifred’s thoughts echoed her own fears.

  ‘Sure you will be all right here, madam?’ one of the chair carriers asked, frowning at the address that she’d had to read for him. ‘The entrance is down that lane.’

  The three of them were standing in a street of merchants, staring down a dim alley that led to a barely visible doorway. She steeled Winifred as best she could. ‘I shall be fine, thank you. I have come to visit a friend and will not be staying long.’

  ‘Should we wait? This is a rough neighbourhood, madam.’

  She shook her head, glad of the hood that covered part of her face. She did not want these men to remember her or the address. ‘No — thank you for your concern.’ She gave them a larger than necessary tip, hoping they might knock off early and get in their cups so their memories of tonight would be impaired.

  They touched their caps to her and were gone. Jane bounded down the alley to the doorway of a squalid building that smelled of urine and something long dead. A woman in a grubby bonnet and shabby clothes, topped off by a stained apron, opened it on her knock.

  ‘Are you Mary?’ she asked.

  Jane stared back, confused. ‘Er …’

  ‘Wife of Gillam?’ she said, struggling with the word.

  Guillaume — French for William. It was how the Earl had been addressed at the French court.

  ‘I am Mary,’ Jane said, smiling, remembering it was his sister’s name. ‘Where is my husband?’

  ‘In the turret with your sister. It is small, but the quietest room I have. How long will you be staying?’

  ‘A few nights at most.’

  ‘Well, you will have a very good view from up there as your husband demanded,’ the woman said, sucking air through her missing bottom front teeth.

  ‘Over London? How nice. Thank you.’

  ‘Not of London, ma’am!’ she cackled. ‘Of the executions of them Jacobite lords!’

  Jane felt Winifred’s body freeze to the rickety front step, and it was nothing to do with the temperature. Until this moment Jane had thought Mr Mills would have found William a place to be strictly incognito. But the landlady was tapping her nose and grinning.

  ‘Well done, My Lady. None of us likes how you was treated by our king. Mayhap that is how they treats their genteel women in Germany, but not in England. You are safe here, My Lady. Among friends.’

  Jane took a steadying breath. ‘You are very kind,’ she said, her voice shaking.

  The woman nodded. ‘Quiet as a mouse up there, My Lady … least until the hullabaloo dies down. You can trust us. We’ll keep your secret and keep you safe.’

  As exhausted as Winifred was, Jane felt new energy coursing through her fatigued and frail body as her host found a fresh skip in her step. She nearly ran up the four flights of narrow steps into the gods of this tall slum. She knocked on the door, feeling a fresh ringing in her ears, unsure of whether it was from the climb or the
excitement.

  ‘Who is it?’ William asked.

  ‘Me.’

  The door was flung back and there he was, grinning as wide as he stood broad.

  Emotion surged. ‘You still have rouge on your cheeks.’ She wept, but laughing through her tears. Winifred reached to touch his face where Jane had slapped it. ‘I’m sorry I had to —’

  ‘Hush, my love. It was necessary to startle a man from his pride.’

  Jane allowed herself to be held as Winifred for a long time. Nothing needed to be said that was any more meaningful than a close embrace; two people hugging, their cheeks feeling the warmth of each other’s neck, communicated it all. Besides, she had never felt more in need of a congratulatory hug in her life as she did in this moment, suspended between a husband and the wife who loved him enough to risk her security, reputation, financial status … even her life.

  And all that went through her mind while in this blissful embrace was a treacherous yearning for the touch of Julius, in whose memory she lost herself while she allowed Winifred and William this intimacy.

  Cecilia broke the spell between the loving couple.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said, stepping out of the shadows of the tiny room. She cleared her throat and dabbed tears from her eyes. ‘Mr Mills left earlier and now I shall leave you both too. There is wine and some bread and cheese left by the landlady for a modest supper. I will come tomorrow with more news, after the executions have taken place.’

  ‘Dear Cecilia. What a faithful friend and co-conspirator you have been; brave to the last,’ she said as Winifred embraced her friend. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  ‘Look after her, My Lord,’ she said to William, nodding at his diminutive wife. ‘I have never known such fierce courage or strength of will. She just took control of the situation and has been strong for everyone.’

  ‘I am a lucky man,’ he admitted, kissing his wife’s hand and giving a short bow to Cecilia. ‘To have both of you,’ he added.

  Cecilia was probably blushing, Jane thought, but it was impossible to tell in this low candlelight as she was kissed farewell.