Drop of the Dice

by Philippa Carr

  ‘Your uncle was misguided to send you away,’ said Frenshaw. ‘He will have to answer for that. I myself discovered you listening at the door. Quite clearly you were sent to spy on us. General Eversleigh primed you on what you must do. He thought it ingenious to send a young girl into the enemy’s camp. It was a godsent opportunity to him that Hessenfield happened to be related to you.’

  ‘You are quite wrong. There was no question of my finding out anything. This attempt to put another King on the throne only came about after I arrived at the castle.’

  ‘Don’t think to fool us with infantile babblings. You know and we know that we have been trying for years to bring the rightful King back to the throne.’

  ‘I didn’t think of it.’

  ‘Oh come, come… and you in a hotbed of Hanoverian supporters! We all know that General Eversleigh is one of George’s greatest commanders. Tell us what you have discovered. We know that you sent your findings to the General in York.’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort. I have had no communication with him since I left him in York.’

  ‘Do you think we are going to believe that?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  One of the guards slapped me hard on the side of my face. I cried out and Frenshaw said: ‘There is not need for that… yet.’

  ‘She was insolent to you, sir.’

  ‘She will tell us in time.’

  ‘How much time is there?’ asked one of the men whom I had just noticed. I was so tired, and it was only my terrible apprehension which was keeping me awake. I had had no sleep the previous night and all I had had since was the hour I had snatched in the woods just before my capture. I was hungry, but what I wanted most was sleep.

  ‘We will get what we want from her,’ said Frenshaw. ‘She seems dazed just now.’

  ‘She could have had no sleep last night, leaving the Rising Sun in the dead of night. Look, she’s exhausted.’

  I realized that the best thing I could do was to pretend to fall asleep. That would give me a little time to think of what I could do and to discover if there was some means of escape.

  As Frenshaw rose and came over to the stool on which I was sitting, I closed my eyes and let my head fall to one side. He leaned over me and shook me. I opened my eyes sleepily.

  ‘Where… am I?’ I said; and shut my eyes again.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Shut her up for the night. We’ll deal with her in the morning. There’s time.’

  I was shaken and made to stand up. I did so, yawning.

  I was half dragged across the hall to a staircase. I tried, under the guise of sleepiness, to note where I was going. As we left the hall the two men who were escorting me took candles from a shelf by the staircase and lighted us up the stairs. We came to a landing on which there were several doors. I was prodded towards another staircase which we mounted and which led to a long gallery. We walked through this to a wooden door beyond which was a passage with more rooms. Then we ascended a pair of steps to a kind of attic. It was large and the roof, which had two windows in it, sloped steeply. I noticed a bed, a stool and a table. I was pushed inside and left alone. I heard the key turn in the lock.

  I stood in the centre of the room, my heart beating wildly. I was wide awake in spite of my exhaustion. How was I going to get out of here? The windows were in the roof, I should have to stand on the stool to see out of them and then all I would see would be the sky. There was a curtain at one end of the room. I went to it, and drawing it back disclosed a hip bath and a small table. I turned away and going back to the bed, sat on it.

  How could I possibly escape? If I told them all I knew they would not be satisfied because I knew nothing that was of importance. It was common knowledge that the Jacobites had always been a threat. They had been for years. What could I tell them more than that?

  And they would not believe me.

  I lay down on the bed and in spite of my bewilderment and fear, in spite of my growing apprehension, I fell fast asleep.

  When I awoke the attic was filled with light which came through the windows in the roof. I was stiff with cold. At first I could not remember where I was and then the horrible realization dawned on me.

  I got off the bed and went to the door. I shook it, which was a foolish thing to do for it was of heavy oak and I had heard the key turn in the lock. I wondered what my captors intended to do with me and horrible thoughts came into my mind. I thought of what I had heard of prisoners tortured in the Tower of London. I visualized the thumbscrews, the rack, the Scavenger’s Daughter, that fearful iron case shaped like a woman, with nails lining it, into which victims were forced and, as their tormentors cruelly joked, ‘embraced’ until the nails entered their flesh.

  They would not have one of those, I reassured myself. But there were other cruelties they could inflict without such complicated instruments.

  I was growing more and more frightened as the minutes passed. I had longed for adventure. Now I longed for nothing so much as to be back in my cosy cocoon.

  I started, for I thought I heard footsteps.

  I looked at my watch, which was still hanging on the chain round my neck. I was surprised to see that it was nine o’clock.

  Yes, the footsteps were coming to my door; a key was turning in the lock, and the door wheezed open. I realized later that the attic was rarely used.

  I expected to see the villainous Frenshaw, but instead a young boy stood there. I was astonished because he seemed to be about my own age and that comforted me. Moreover, having expected Frenshaw or one of his men, this boy looked beautiful by comparison. He was wigless and his waving hair was cut to a fringe so that it made a shiny bell about his face. His skin was clear and pale, his eyes deep blue. I thought I was dreaming or perhaps that they had killed me and I had gone to heaven. This boy’s face had that purity of expression that might have belonged to an angel.

  He looked at me steadily and said: ‘Are you ready to tell us what you passed to the enemy?’

  So he was one of them after all. It was strange that he should be so young and look so innocent of evil.

  ‘I told them I knew nothing,’ I said shortly. ‘I have nothing to tell. You had better let me go from here. When my family hears how I have been treated…’

  He held up a hand. ‘I shall not let you go from here until you have told us all you know.’

  I cried out in desperate exasperation. ‘How can I tell when there is nothing to tell! If you keep me here until I die of cold and starvation, I can tell you nothing… because I know nothing.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

  ‘I have not eaten for a long time.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said.

  He went out, shutting and locking the door after him.

  I felt a certain lifting of my spirits. He looked so young and as if he might listen and take heed of what I said; I might be able to convince him that I was speaking the truth. But what about the others?

  It was a tense ten minutes before he returned. I heard his footsteps coming along the gallery and mounting the three or four steps to the attic. He opened the door and came in bearing a tray on which was a bowl of oatmeal.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Eat that.’

  I took the tray. I was ravenously hungry and food had never tasted so good.

  When I had eaten it all he said: ‘Do you feel better… more inclined to talk?’

  ‘I feel better,’ I replied, ‘and inclined to talk, but I cannot tell you what you want me to simply because I do not know it.’

  ‘You are a good spy,’ he said, almost admiringly. ‘But you will weaken in the end.’

  ‘How long will you keep me here?’

  He lifted his shoulders. ‘It depends on so much.’

  I was sitting on the bed; he took the chair and studied me intently. ‘When were you born?’ he asked.

  ‘February 1702.’

  ‘I was born in November 1701, so I am quite a bit older than you are.’

 
‘I make it three months.’

  ‘Three months can be a long time. I am your jailer now, until the men come back.’

  ‘Come back… from where?’

  My heart had begun to beat faster. Everything seemed brighter since this handsome youth had come into the attic.

  ‘Did you hear the commotion in the night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t up here. They have all left in a hurry. It will soon be over now. The loyal Highlanders are marching into England. The call came for all here to join the triumphant army of Highlanders. They are marching towards Preston.’

  ‘Do you mean to say they have invaded England? Is there a war, then?’

  ‘It will all be over soon. The English are falling back before the brave Highlanders. James will soon be here to claim his throne.’

  ‘You are a staunch Jacobite?’

  ‘Of course. And you have been brought up in error. I know about you. They told me some of it and I gathered the rest. They didn’t know what to do with you. Some of them wanted to kill you.’

  ‘Kill me! They must be mad.’

  ‘They said my uncle was mad to let you live.’

  ‘Who is your uncle?’

  ‘Sir Thomas Frenshaw.’

  ‘Oh! So you are his nephew.’

  He nodded. ‘I live with him here. He brought me up. Of course I see very little of him. He is a brave, good man.’

  ‘He has scarcely been good to me. As for his bravery—to bully an innocent girl does not show much evidence of that quality.’

  ‘You have a sharp tongue.’

  ‘Sharp tongues are often good weapons. Not quite as effective as swords, but they have their uses.’

  ‘You are a most unusual girl. You seem much older than you say you are.’

  ‘That may seem so to you because you are young for your age.’

  ‘I am not. I can outride many of the grooms, and my fencing master says I could fight a duel with success tomorrow.’

  ‘Great achievements,’ I mocked. ‘You can also act as jailer to a girl who is not even in a position to attack you… except with her sharp tongue.’

  He laughed. ‘You are different from anyone I have ever known before,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I am, I’m a spy.’

  ‘You admit it then,’ he said quickly.

  ‘You are very young,’ I said loftily. ‘You don’t even know when that tongue of mine is mocking you.’

  ‘Remember you are my prisoner. Until the men come back I have sole charge of you.’

  ‘Then beware… I might escape.’

  ‘You can’t. There are servants here. They all know that you have to be kept prisoner. My uncle and his friends will soon be back.’

  ‘Then if they are victorious and poor George is sent packing to Hanover and James the Saint is crowned, then my little sins won’t amount to much.’

  He considered this. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘That might be your salvation. So you hope for James to be triumphant?’

  ‘Nay!’ I cried. ‘George for ever!’

  ‘That’s treason.’

  ‘On the contrary, you are the one who is guilty of treason.’

  ‘You are a spy.’

  I laughed at him derisively. Odd as it seemed, I was beginning to enjoy this. I was a captive, it was true, but my jailer was only a boy and I believed I could outwit him.

  He was angry with me. He picked up the tray and went out, carefully locking the door behind him. I had been foolish. I should have played along with him. I should have found out more about the arrangements of the house. I might now be planning a way of escape.

  I sat on the bed. In a few moments I heard the footsteps again. He had returned and he had a scared little maid with him.

  ‘This is Janet,’ he said. ‘She will take you where you can wash and see to your toilette. I shall be on the alert, so do not attempt to escape.’

  I was grateful. I followed Janet out of the attic and down the stairs. There was a small place where I could wash and make myself generally comfortable. I saw cans of hot water standing there with a ewer and basin. She went out shutting the door behind her, after she had indicated that she would be waiting for me.

  In due course I emerged and was conducted to where my young jailer was waiting for me. We went back to our attic and I sensed that he was still annoyed with me as he said nothing. However, I thanked him. ‘It was very thoughtful of you,’ I said. ‘Not the sort of treatment a spy would expect.’

  ‘We are not savages,’ he said, and went out locking the door after him.

  I felt better now. In fact, I was aware of a certain elation creeping over me. I was a prisoner in this house; my captors had hurried away to join in the victory they were expecting and my jailer was a boy more or less my own age. It did not seem such a desperate situation as it had when they had first brought me here.

  It was midday when he came again. This time he brought me hot soup and a chicken leg. It tasted like ambrosia.

  ‘You enjoy your food,’ he said.

  ‘Have you ever heard that hunger seasons all dishes?’

  ‘Not an original remark, I believe,’ he said.

  ‘That does not detract from its truth. However, thank you for my excellent meal.’

  He smiled and repeated that they were not savages.

  ‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘Thank you for the information. I might not have known… had I not been told.’

  ‘You are very foolish,’ he told me. ‘You should be trying to ingratiate yourself with me.’

  He was right, of course. My mocking manner was making things worse for me.

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Good kind sir, I thank you for the benefits you have bestowed on me. To feed one in my position is gracious of you. I bow before your magnanimity.’

  ‘That,’ he said severely, ‘is worse than ever.’

  I began to laugh and to my amazement he was laughing with me.

  I thought: He is enjoying this too. Of course he is. He has a position of responsibility. But I think he rather likes me.

  From that moment our relationship began to change. At moments I thought we were like two children playing a game in which I was taking the part of the kidnapped girl, he her guard. There was something unreal about the situation and we were both enjoying it.

  He sat in the chair and looked at me.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said.

  I began to tell him how I had visited my uncle Hessenfield and had come north from my home in the south but he interrupted: ‘Not that. I know all that. I have heard them talk about how you came to York with your Uncle, General Eversleigh, and on to Hessenfield. They thought it was a good opportunity for you to do a little spying for them and

  ‘You are wrong about the spying but the rest is right.’

  I told my story. It seemed very romantic. My beautiful mother… my incomparable father, the great Hessenfield.

  ‘The great Hessenfield,’ he repeated, his eyes shining. ‘He has always been a hero to us. I was always taught that I must grow up like him.’

  ‘He was wonderful. I used to ride on his shoulders.’

  ‘You rode on great Hessenfield’s shoulders!’

  ‘I was his daughter.’

  ‘And you could bring yourself to spy for the other side!’

  ‘I keep telling you I did not spy…’

  ‘You really came up here to work for us?’

  ‘I did not. I did not. I want none of your wars. I want old George to stay where he is and for everyone to stop shouting about it.’

  ‘Can this be Hessenfield’s daughter?’

  ‘The very same.’

  I told him how my parents had died and I had been taken by a faithful maid and how Aunt Damaris had come to Paris to find me.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, surveying me with admiration. ‘I can imagine all that happening to you…’

  Then he told me about himself. It seemed very mild compared with my adventures. His f
ather had died at the Battle of Blenheim when he was about five years old.

  ‘Not for the Jacobites?’ I asked.

  ‘No. My father was not one. But I was sent to my uncle soon after when my mother died, and I learned all about the cause, so I became a Jacobite and you can mock all you like, but I tell you King James is coming back to rule over us.’

  ‘You should never be too sure of what is going to happen. You may be wrong, you know.’

  ‘Soon my uncle will be coming back from Preston with the good news.’

  ‘And then what will happen to me?’

  ‘So much will depend on what it is necessary to do.’

  I shivered. ‘At least they are not here yet,’ I said.

  We talked of other things including horses and dogs. I told him about Damon and he said he had a mastiff. He would show me… Then he stopped. ‘But you are a prisoner,’ he said.

  ‘You could let me free… just to see the dogs.’

  ‘What if you ran away?’

  ‘You could catch me and bring me back.’

  ‘You are mocking again.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

  And so the day passed not unpleasantly and when it was dark he came up with a fur rug and two candles for me.

  Looking back, I realized that that was a very happy day.

  Even now it is difficult for me to know what exactly happened to me during those days I spent in the attic. They seemed, even looking back, to have been touched with a mystic light. He came to me every morning with my oatmeal and he would stay during the morning, then go away and return with my midday meal. Before the second day was over we no longer pretended to be antagonistic towards one another. I did not disguise the fact that I greeted him with joy any more than he could pretend he did not want to be with me.

  He was called Richard Frenshaw and he told me those who were intimate with him called him Dickon. I called him Dickon. I thought it suited him. Clarissa suited me, he told me. We used to look at each other in silence sometimes. I thought he was the most beautiful human being I had ever seen—with a different sort of beauty from that of my parents. I suppose it was what is called falling in love but neither of us realized it at first, perhaps because it had never happened to either of us before.