by Jane Feather
As a result, he was preoccupied and, apart from sending the señora abovestairs to see if Henrietta wished for any supper, he did not trouble himself unduly about her retreat. Once his mission here was accomplished, successfully or no, then he would tackle this great morass of misery that enwrapped them both.
Henrietta slept little and was up and dressed long before the first gray showed in the east. She picked up her hamper and crept from the room and down the stairs, slipping the heavy bolt on the front door with exaggerated care.
Señora Alvara, in her little chamber off the kitchen, heard the soft footfalls in the courtyard and sat up abruptly, her thoughts full of robbers. But when she tiptoed to the casement, she saw only Doña Drummond, carrying a wicker hamper, slipping through the gate. Frowning and curious, the señora pulled on a wrapper and ran out into the dawn in her nightcap. Peering down the steep street, she saw Doña Drummond turn the corner at the bottom, heading in the direction of the cathedral square. Whatever could she be doing? Not out for an ordinary stroll, that was for certain.
Señora Alvara stood nodding to herself, her lips moving, as if she were debating with some invisible person. She knew matters were not right between Don Drummond and his lady. There was no laughter in the house anymore, and the lady no longer smiled mischievously and teased both her husband and the señora. But of most consequence: Don Drummond now slept in the little chamber adjoining his wife’s. And Señora Alvara was grown accustomed to these lodgers for whom the pleasures of the bedchamber were manifestly important.
Still nodding and muttering, she returned to the house and went upstairs with a firm, purposeful tread.
Chapter 16
“Oh, my heavens, Henrietta, you poor dear! But of course you must accompany us. There is ample room in the coach, is there not, John, particularly now you intend to ride.” Betsy appealed to the saturnine figure of her husband, who had listened in silence to Lady Drummond’s breathless explanation and request.
“But of course,” he said politely, bowing to Henrietta. “We are happy to be of service, Lady Drummond. Does your husband not come to see you safe away?”
“He…he could not,” Henrietta said. “I did not wish to tarry in case I missed you, and he had letters of instruction he wished to write without delay in order that they may go back immediately with the messenger who brought the bad news. The messenger will be able to make better speed than we, you understand.”
“Indeed.” He bowed again, but Henrietta could not help the uneasy feeling that his eyes carried a glint of skepticism at this explanation for her unceremonious departure. However, he turned to a postilion. “Have Lady Drummond’s basket put on the roof.”
“Oh, I cannot tell you how wonderful it will be to have your company,” chattered Betsy, clambering cumbersomely into the coach, where the wan nursemaid, her aching jaw wrapped in cloths, already sat, holding the baby. Master John, still half asleep, was whining ominously in a corner of the coach.
It was going to be a long journey, Henrietta reflected miserably, squeezing onto the leather-squabbed seat beside the nursemaid. However, she had no other options, and once they were away from this city that had brought so much unhappiness, she would perchance feel easier. It was hollow comfort.
The six horses pawed the cobbles of the square outside the Troughtons’ lodging. The postilions mounted the near side horses; the outriders took up their positions alongside the vehicle. John Troughton cast a final searching glance around the deserted square and up at the coach roof to check that the luggage was securely fastened. Henrietta plaited her fingers, twisted the slender gold band that had replaced Daniel’s signet ring, and resolutely swallowed the lump in her throat—when she saw her husband stride into the quiet square, nestling under the bulk of the cathedral.
It was clear that he had dressed in haste. He was bareheaded, wore no doublet beneath his cloak, his sash was twisted, the collar of his shirt opened. But the set of his jaw, the line of his mouth, a grim anxiety in his eyes, indicated a purpose that transcended the obligations of sartorial neatness.
“Ah, Drummond, y’are come to bid your wife godspeed, after all.” John Troughton, in the act of mounting his horse, greeted the new arrival matter-of-factly.
“On the contrary,” said Daniel. “Where is she?”
“In the coach with Betsy and the children.” Troughton took his foot from the stirrup. “Is something amiss?”
Daniel ignored the question. Walking to the coach, he pulled open the door.
“Oh, Sir Daniel, what a lovely surprise,” exclaimed Betsy. “Y’are come to bid farewell to Henrietta. I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am at the prospect of her company. You could not have hit upon a happier plan.” Then she reddened slightly. “I do beg your pardon, I did not mean to make light of your grave news from The Hague.”
Daniel appeared not to have heard a word of Betsy’s bubbly burble. His eyes were on his wife. “This is not necessary,” he stated evenly.
“Oh, d’ye mean there’s better news of your family?” exclaimed Betsy.
Daniel had no idea of what she spoke, but decided that an affirmative seemed safest. “Aye, thank you, madam. And we shall be leaving ourselves for The Hague within the month.” He held out his hand to Henrietta. “Come.”
“I shall want your company,” Betsy said to Henrietta a little disconsolately. “But I can be thankful for ye.” She brightened bravely and patted her friend’s hand.
Henrietta, momentarily in the grip of unreality, made no move and could find no words.
Daniel saw the small, heart-shaped face white with despair, her eyes great dark puddles of unhappiness, and his heart turned over with remorse. Absorbed in his own angry hurt, he had not seen how deep were her wounds—deep enough to cause her to take this drastic action. It was time for the balm of forgiveness, and someday he would forget. “Come,” he repeated. “This is not necessary, Henrietta.”
She swallowed and seemed to come out of her trance. “I think ’twould be best if I continue with Betsy, even if you have had better news from home.”
“Indeed, perhaps it would be so,” Betsy said eagerly.
He shook his head. “Nay, I do not give leave for that.”
Betsy sat back, resigned. When husbands spoke such words in such a tone, wives could only accede.
She could not continue this argument here in the coach, Henrietta realized. The proprieties had to be observed and not even Betsy would openly aid a runaway wife. Meanwhile, Daniel was standing in the open door, his hand outstretched in an invitation that embodied command. For the sake of appearances, she let her fingers brush his as she bent to climb down, but his hand closed hard over hers, his free hand cupping her elbow, and she felt his breath on her cheek, the muscular tension in his frame as he assisted her to alight.
She stepped away from the coach, out of earshot, and spoke with soft, fierce intensity. “I think it is right that I leave now.”
“I do not,” he replied quietly. “Running away is never the answer.”
“I am not running away,” she denied, soft and fierce still. “I am simply leaving because I cannot live where I am not wanted. I have spent enough years in such a situation and I will not endure it again. You cannot wish me to remain either, if you are truthful, so let us have done with this—”
“This is no subject for the open street,” he interrupted, brusque because he could not bear to hear her talk in this fashion, comparing the neglect and unkindness of her childhood with her life with him, could not bear to see the pain etched upon her face. “We will continue in the privacy of home.”
“No.” She stood her ground. “I will not cause you embarrassment, if you will only let me do what I must.” She turned back to the coach. Exasperation came to his assistance.
“Must I carry you, Harry?”
The question struck her as too absurd to require response and she stepped toward the still-open door of the coach.
Daniel glanced at Betsy’s puzzled face peeri
ng through the opening. He cast an eye up at John Troughton, now mounted and looking a trifle askance at this strange, whispered parley. Daniel shrugged. Let them make of it what they would. Gossip was the least of his worries at the moment. Without further words, he scooped his diminutive wife off the ground and settled her in his arms.
“Oh, my Lord,” squeaked Betsy, as Sir Daniel began to stride down the hill with his momentarily stunned burden. “Had we better have Henrietta’s hamper taken back to their house, John?”
“It would seem so, my dear,” replied John, apparently unperturbed. “I gather there has been a change of plan.”
“Put me down!” Henrietta demanded, recovering breath and wits together.
“If you wriggle in this fashion, I shall be obliged to put you over my shoulder,” said her husband calmly. “’Twill be even less dignified, I fear.”
Henrietta instantly offered a creditable imitation of a corpse. “I will walk.”
“I do not think so,” Daniel said in the same calm tone. “I feel more confident we will attain our destination by this means. Y’are not in the least heavy,” he added reassuringly, as if such a consideration might be preying upon her mind.
Confusion swelled, fogged her brain. This was the old Daniel talking to her, holding her. Yet it could not be. He could not suddenly return, wiping out that cold, harsh stranger, eliminating that disastrous happening as if it had never been. But her every nerve and fiber yearned to believe that it could be so.
“Ah, Don Drummond, you have brought her back!” The señora greeted their return in customary voluble and enthusiastic fashion, flinging up her hands and exclaiming with pleasure, apparently not a whit surprised at the captive position of the retrieved wife, who was herself shrinking with embarrassment.
“Yes, thanks to you, señora,” he replied in her own language, looking down at his speechless, red-faced burden and switching to English. “Fortunately, Señora Alvara heard you creeping out and woke me up. When she told me she had seen you going toward the cathedral square, I was able to draw the correct conclusion and thus spare us both a most tedious amount of trouble.” So saying, he marched up the stairs and into the bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him.
He set her on her feet, but kept a hand on her waist while his other gently cupped the curve of her cheek. His eyes were now grave, not a trace of amusement in his voice as he said, “It is over now, elf. We will not speak of it again.”
Henrietta wanted to believe him with all her heart, wanted to accept the simple words of forgiveness and forget the whole dreadful business, but she could not. She moved away from him, shaking her head. “No, it can never be over if you will not understand. You will always remember and you will always despise me. You will never trust me again.” Her voice was low and she was biting her lip fiercely.
“What is there to understand?” he asked quietly, unable to dispute her statement for all that he was determined to put the wretched business behind them.
“I did not think I was violating your trust,” she answered in the same low voice. “I only wanted to help you—”
“Help me!” Daniel broke in. “God’s grace!” He ran his hands distractedly through his hair. “I suppose I should have guessed. ’Tis always when y’are feeling at your most helpful that the worst trouble occurs.”
Henrietta made no attempt to contest this melancholy truth, saying only, “I do not know why that should be. It seems unjust.”
“I rather suspect ’tis because y’are incurably impulsive.” Daniel sighed. “I think it’s time you told me the whole, don’t you?”
“I do not suppose it will make any difference to the way you feel,” she said. “I had thought it an excusable trespass, but I must have been mistaken.”
“Let me hear the excuse.” He listened attentively as she told him of her conversations with the queen and her ladies, of her deductions, and of her plan.
“It seemed so clever,” she said at the close. “’Twas such a good idea. But when you would not share the dispatches with me, I thought…” She paused as the dreadful memory of those moments of discovery returned in full force. “I was going to tell you all about it once I had put the plan in action, so I was not intending to deceive you at all. But when I tried to explain that to you, you would not listen. You were only interested in what you thought I was doing.”
Which was perfectly true, Daniel reflected. He had not been in the least interested in her motives for her underhandedness, and he had been far too shocked and angry to listen anyway. “So, you were intending to confess the whole, were you?” When she nodded, a tiny smile born of relief glimmered in his eye. “I see. But it was still an abominably unprincipled act, Harry, even if you intended no deception.”
“I know,” she acknowledged simply.
“I do not imagine you will ever do such a thing again,” he prompted carefully. The look of horror that crossed her face was answer enough. “Just one more question; although I am certain the answer is perfectly clear, I don’t seem to be able to hit upon it. Why on earth did you not come to me immediately you had realized what the queen wanted of you, instead of attempting to deal with it alone?”
Her eyes widened in surprise at such an obvious question. “But that would have been so ordinary!”
“Ordinary,” Daniel murmured. “Yes, of course. I knew the answer had to be staring me in the face. How stupid of me.” He shook his head and tutted as if annoyed with himself.
Henrietta regarded him suspiciously. “I wanted to show you that I could be skilled at intrigue. I want to be a part of what you do, but I do not think you always accept that I can. I am not such a baby, Daniel, as you believe me.”
“I do not think you a baby,” he said, smiling. “But y’are still only sixteen, love. There are things about the world you have not learned yet.”
“Well, I will not learn them if you do not give me the opportunity,” she pointed out reasonably.
“I suppose that is true.” He glanced at the watch hanging at his side. “Hell and the devil! ’Tis past eight of the clock and I’m bidden to the king’s presence at ten.”
“Oh, it worked!” Henrietta clapped her hands involuntarily, a radiant smile chasing away the drawn look she had worn for so many days.
“What worked?” He went to the clothes press, drawing out his best suit of richly brocaded silk edged with silver lace.
“Why, my plan, of course…Oh, I forgot to tell you about what I did when the marchioness came to visit.”
“Tell me.” He listened incredulously to the details of her conversation with the lady. “What an astute little thing you are,” he said finally.
“Did I say the right things?”
He nodded. “Exactly what I would have said myself, had I the wit to conceive of such a clever plot.”
“Y’are pleased?”
He nodded again. “I’d have to be a monster of ingratitude not to be.”
She plaited her fingers, staring down at them with an air of great concentration. “Then perchance you think that ’twould be wise of you to take me into your confidence in the future?”
“I beg leave to tell you, madam wife, that y’are an artful wretch,” Daniel declared roundly. “Yes, indeed I have learned the unwisdom of excluding you from my affairs, just as I trust you have learned the unwisdom of unprincipled behavior, regardless of the purity of the motive.”
“I could not endure such a time again,” she said quietly, holding out her hand to him. “To have you say such things to me again.”
He took her hand and gently pressed his lips into the palm. “I was unwontedly harsh, elf, and I ask your pardon. But I was cut to the quick. Let us put it behind us, now.”
“I do not care for this place any longer,” she declared. “’Tis hot and devious, and nothing goes aright. I would go back to The Hague and the girls, and bear you a child.”
Daniel laughed softly. “Such wishes are not beyond the granting. But do not be in too much of a hurry f
or the latter.” He touched her lips with a long finger. “Were you greatly disappointed when the flowers came?”
“I thought you had forgotten.”
He shook his head. “Nay, love, I had not forgotten your impulsiveness in the garden. But let us wait now until we return home.” A shadow crossed his face. “Home? God knows, but I would have you brought to bed at Glebe Park, as is right and proper. Will this damned war never be done so that Englishmen may go home and tend their lands and look to their families again? ’Tis been all of ten years since England was truly at peace.”
“You will fight again?” A chill arrowed through her, as she suddenly confronted what that would mean. Somehow, she had not thought of the inevitable conclusion of Daniel’s open support of Charles II…Had not permitted herself to think of it, she realized. He would face the battlefield again.
In confirmation, he said gently, “You know that I must. I am committed to my king’s cause. There must be one last attempt.”
“And if King Philip will not lend his aid?”
“Then we must do without it.”
I do not think I could bear your death, she thought bleakly, but she kept the thought to herself, turning toward the door. “D’ye wish to break your fast before going to the palace?”
“Just bread and meat and ale,” he replied, following her change of subject because he knew he could offer no comfort on the other that would not be a lie.
“I will fetch it for you.” She went down to the kitchen, wondering what had happened to the maid who had herself plunged headlong into the Battle of Preston not that long ago, quite fearless, all unthinking of what the realities of battle were, seeing only adventure and excitement. Now, such a prospect filled her with the greatest dread, not for herself, since such battlegrounds were no longer in her destiny, but for those she loved. There would be Will, also, fighting for his king. And what of Julia? Had that spark between them ignited? Would Julia also begin to live in fear for the man she loved?