One by one the Articles of Impeachment were read out, and one by one the peers made their answers. Derwentwater, Widdrington and Nithsdale had all prepared speeches, expressing their sorrow for their past actions, and pleading for mercy, and they read them now; Carnwath and Kenmure simply asked for mercy; Nairn spoke anxiously of his being a Protestant and having played little part in the rising.
Karellie said simply, 'I followed my orders, given to me by the man I hold to be my King. What could I do more, or less? And what could any of you have done?’
There was no reaction to any of the speeches from the assembled jury, not so much as a sympathetic sigh. The result of the trial, as Karellie had said, was a foregone conclusion. The Lord High Steward asked the prisoners why judgement should not be passed upon them according to the law, and again each of them was given the opportunity to answer. Carnwath and Kenmure retained their dignity and said nothing; Widdrington claimed his health was poor, Nairn that his family would starve without him. Poor Lord Derwentwater, a young man recently married with two infant children, trembled, and said that the terrors of their lordships' sentence that would deprive him of estates and life and leave his wife and children destitute, robbed him of thought, and that he could only say that he was guilty, but that he had done what he did rashly, and without premeditation. Now it was Karellie's turn.
‘Lord Chelmsford, what have you to say?' Lord Cowper asked. Karellie straightened his back.
‘My lord, I am a simple soldier, and have no readiness with words. You have accused me of treason, and if I am guilty of treason, I deserve to die. But I have always understood that treason was an act of rebellion against one's lawful king, and of that I am not guilty, for my lawful king is King James III, and I know no other, and him I have served faithfully and with my whole heart, as a soldier is bound to do. Therefore I must say to you that I am not guilty of any treacherous act, and do not deserve to die.’
There was a murmur at that, though whether sympathetic or not Annunciata could not tell.
Lord Cowper said firmly, 'Lord Chelmsford, we are not here to debate the possession of the Crown of England or the legality of the succession. Treason is an act harmful to the common weal of England, and against the head of that weal, which is King George I, who is the best of kings. You have come from a foreign country to levy war against the people of this realm, which is a terrible thing, and worthy of no mercy.’
After that it was impossible for Nithsdale, the last of the prisoners, to say anything, except to plead that he had been very little involved in the rebellion. At last Cowper stood up to pronounce the sentence.
‘It is adjudged that you return to the prison of the Tower from whence you came, and from thence you be drawn to a place of execution; when you come there you must be hanged by the neck, but not till you be dead, for you must be cut down alive and your bowels must be taken out and burned before your faces; then your heads must be severed from your bodies and your bodies divided into four quarters, and these must be at the King's disposal. And may God almighty be merciful to your souls.’
The white staff of office was broken in two, and the prisoners left the bar and were escorted out of the hall, followed by the executioner, the blade of his axe turned towards them.
Judgement was passed on 9 February, and the executions were to take place on the twenty-fourth. In the intervening two weeks, Annunciata was not idle. She had heard the sentence with incredulity and horror, and could not believe that Karellie would really die. She paid a visit to him daily, and saw to it that he had a priest with him, for he seemed determined that he would die. Meanwhile she got together with the families of the other condemned peers to make up a petition to go before the House of Lords. Then one evening Lady Nithsdale came to see her.
‘I have heard that the King is to go to the Drawing Room tomorrow, and I plan to go with a friend to stop him on his way and plead for my poor husband's life. Now, my lady, surely you will go with me? You must be as anxious about your son as I am about my husband. Moreover, the King is your kinsman, and your presence must help our cause. Will you not come with me?'
‘Certainly I will,' Annunciata said, 'though I have no great hopes of this King as you call him. But I will try anything that may help, and if you think my kinship with the Elector will weight matters in our favour, I shall come along and cry him cousin.'
‘I have had my clerk write out a petition - would you like to read it? If you would like to make one out similar for your son, we can give them to His Majesty before he reaches the Drawing Room. My friend Mrs Morgan tells me there is a long saloon between the King's own apartments and the Drawing Room where we can wait.'
‘Yes, I know it,' Annunciata said. 'A long room, with three windows, and seats in the windows. We can sit in the middle window, where he is bound to see us.'
‘And I think we should wear black, as if we were in mourning,' Lady Nithsdale said with a glance at Annunciata's finery. 'That will make a better impression on his mind, and may touch his heart.' Annunciata gave her a look of amused scepticism, but agreed the plan.
The following morning they assembled in good time. Annunciata had worn black, as agreed, but had scorned to ape sorrow with plain drab. Her gown was of black satin, drawn back to shew the petticoat of quilted black satin, piped with crimson. The bodice was sewn with jet beads, and in the centre she wore the pearl and amethyst cross her mother had given her, which had once belonged to Anne Boleyn, and round her neck the diamond collar given to her by King Charles II. She thought it wise to remind the Elector that she had been favoured by those who had held the throne, with right on their sides, before him.
George Lewis emerged at last from his apartments, attended by four blue-riband servants, and walked down the saloon towards them. His eyes went from Annunciata to Lady Nithsdale, and then fixed themselves determinedly upon the far door, and Annunciata saw he had resolved to ignore them. She prepared to step firmly into his path and address him, but was forestalled by Lady Nithsdale, who flung herself to her knees before the Elector, clutching at him and babbling a frantic plea for mercy in very bad French.
Annunciata was exasperated, but could only try to make the best of a bad situation. She added her own plea in German, explaining that the kneeling woman was the Countess of Nithsdale, and saying that they both had petitions for him. She held out her petition; Lady Nithsdale, still babbling in French, was trying to push hers into George Lewis's pocket, and the Elector was trying to pretend the whole thing was not happening. He pushed Annunciata's hand away quite roughly, and tried to walk on, sidestepping the kneeling figure of Lady Nithsdale, who grabbed desperately at the tail of his coat and held on so hard that the determined stride of the Elector dragged her forward.
It was a disgraceful scene; the kneeling woman was towed from the middle of the room to the door of the Drawing Room, while the Elector tried to pretend that nothing was amiss. Then the blue ribands grabbed her from behind and forced her hands open, releasing the Elector, who made his escape, whisking into the Drawing Room, whose door was shut hastily behind him. Lady Nithsdale's petition fell from his pocket and was crushed by the closing door.
Annunciata made an attempt to see the Elector alone the next day, thinking she had a better chance without the Countess of Nithsdale, but when the Elector saw her he frowned and said, 'I have nothing to say to you. Rebels must hang. That is the law.’
That same day she learned that the petition that had been placed before the House of Lords had been rejected, and that the Elector had been angry with the peers who had dared to suggest that he pardon rebels. It all looked hopeless. Annunciata sat up all night with Father Renard in prayer and discussion; the following morning she sent Daniel out to a remote part of London to purchase a file.
If there was to be no pardon, she thought, then there must be an escape.
Three days before the date of execution, Annunciata received a visitor. The young woman came masked, and gave her name as Mrs Freeman, the time-honoured pse
udonym of the incognito.
‘Have you any idea who it is, or what she wants?' Annunciata asked Chloris.
‘Her height and her red hair and her voice are all unmistakable, my lady,' Chloris said. 'Mrs Freeman can be none other than the Divine Diane herself, and therefore what she wants is easy enough to guess.'
‘Something to do with Karellie,' Annunciata said. 'Is she hysterical?'
‘No, my lady, very calm, but excited I should say.'
‘Well, she may have an idea, then. Send her in.’
Annunciata had never seen Diane di Francescini, but she had heard about her, both as a singer, and from Karellie, who had said enough for Annunciata to guess a great deal more. She had expected a haughty, shallow, vain charmer, a woman so convinced of her beauty she could afford to reject the love of Annunciata's son Karellie. When the tall young woman took off her mask, Annunciata saw that the beauty and pride had not been inflated in the telling, but that the intelligence and feeling had not been mentioned. There was distress in those great blue eyes, and determination in the set of those lips, which were being prevented by exercise of character from trembling.
Diane, on her part, had not expected the Countess to look so beautiful or so human. An old woman of seventy was, to Diane, a thing past understanding, who must therefore be a creature apart, difficult to communicate with. She found a woman like herself, of pride and self-confidence, and they regarded each other with the frank interest which acknowledged beauty reserves for acknowledged beauty.
‘You have come, I take it, on some errand concerned with my son Charles,' Annunciata began. 'Forgive me for not employing all the usual courtesies, but where my son's life is concerned, there is no time to waste. Have you news? or some plan?'
‘Thank you for being frank, madam,' Diane said. 'I shall be frank in my turn. I love your son, and want to help him escape from the Tower. He must not die, madam, of that I am determined.'
‘Yet you rejected him,' Annunciata said curiously. She wanted to know if she could trust this young woman. Diane drew herself up to her full height.
‘I am a singer, madam, the finest singer in Venice, which means the finest in all Italy. I am known as the Divine Diane. For no one can I give up that honour, not even for Karellie, whom I love. I will never love anyone else; but I can love without wishing to surrender. Can you understand that?’
Annunciata could; this was a woman that she could trust.
‘You speak of escape,' Annunciata said. 'That is on my mind, too, now there is no hope of reprieve. So far I have only one plan. I shall smuggle a file in to his cell, and a rope, and he shall break out at night.'
‘If you will forgive me, madam, I believe I have a better, but it requires your help,' Diane said, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. Annunciata gestured to a chair.
‘Please sit down, and tell me about it.’
*
Annunciata, Diane, Alessandra, and the two serving women, Chloris and Caterina, presented themselves at the Tower to see Karellie on the evening of the twenty-second. Annunciata had been doubtful about involving Alessandra in the plot, but Diane had said she could be relied on, for a lifetime of obeying Diane's orders would make her quick and docile, and would obviate the necessity of explaining the plot to her, which was all to the good. Annunciata was dressed more formally, and more in accordance with her age, than was usual. She was well-covered-un. and wore a thick cloak with a hood, which she said was necessary to keep the cold from her 'old bones'. It was a good thing that she had complained to the guards before about the cold and dampness of the Tower, for the cloak was concealing a great deal. It was a good job also that she was very thin, for she was wearing two sets of everything, and managed not to look unduly bulky.
Alessandra and the two maids chattered to the guards while Annunciata and Diane remained in the cell with Karellie. On Diane's orders, all three came and went from the cell several times so that the guards should not get too fixed an idea of them. Meanwhile Annunciata was having difficulty in persuading Karellie to escape.
‘It would be dishonourable to involve Diane in such a thing. It could be dangerous for her,' he objected. Annunciata grew exasperated.
‘For God's sake, Karellie, don't you love life? Do you want to die to please the Elector? Do you want to let him execute you for something of which you are innocent? Diane has involved herself, and she will be safe enough -the Venetian ambassador's immunity will protect her, even if anyone should suspect her, which they won't. I say you must not die. Will you break her heart, and mine?’
It took Diane's pleadings as well to persuade him, and then they had to act quickly. Choosing her moment, Diane looked out into the passage and told Caterina to run down to the coach with a message for the coachman; the girl left, and a moment later, on receiving Diane's nod, Alessandra slipped away unseen by the guards, who were talking to Chloris. The guards on the doors below would let her through without question. Meanwhile Annunciata was taking off her outer garments, and Karellie was putting them on, along with a dark wig which Annunciata had brought in the usual basket of food. Diane made up his face, darkening his eyebrows and whitening his skin, and applying rouge to his lips and cheeks, and then draped him in the thick cloak, pulling the hood up over the wig.
Diane looked out again, and called to Chloris. 'Come here at once. Your mistress is unwell.'
‘What's the matter, mistress?' one of the guards asked, coming closer. Diane looked coolly at him.
‘What is the matter? Surely that is obvious. A mother saying goodbye to her son, who is about to be executed -what do you expect? She is half-fainting with grief. Chloris, come here and take your poor mistress to her carriage. She had better not strain herself with a longer visit. She is an old woman, after all.'
‘Yes, madame,' Chloris said, looking suitably anxious. The guard, who was a kindly man, tugged his friend's sleeve and pulled him away, to give the women privacy. A moment later Chloris came out of the cell half-leading, half supporting the cloaked figure, bent with grief, sobbing into a handkerchief held to the face. The guards stood back sympathetically and allowed them to pass.
Diane said, 'Take her straight home, Chloris, and send the carriage back for me and Alessandra. I will call on you later tonight to see how you are, your ladyship.’
For half an hour more, with the door of the cell closed, Diane carried on a conversation with Karellie of which the guards could only overhear the odd word or two, not enough to distinguish how many voices were speaking. Then she took her leave accompanied by Annunciata dressed in a replica of the clothes Alessandra had been wearing, her face also concealed in the shadow of her hood. Her slenderness was again helpful, for it made her look young enough to be mistaken, her face hidden, for a much younger woman.
The guards stepped back for them, and Annunciata went on down the stairs while Diane hung back to say, ‘His lordship is saying his prayers, and is much distressed. I should be grateful if you would leave him undisturbed as long as possible.'
‘Of course, mistress. We understand. Poor gentleman, it's a terrible thing, isn't it?' the guards said. They liked Karellie, who had been gentle and courteous to them, and Diane tripped away down the stairs, feeling rather sorry for the guards, but hoping that they would not be punished too heavily for being hoodwinked.
*
At Chelmsford House, behind closed shutters, there was a joyful reunion. Karellie and Maurice hugged each other with silent tears, Karellie kissed his mother, and grasped Diane's hand in a gratitude that was almost painful to her. But there was no time to delay.
‘They will come here as soon as they discover you are missing,' Annunciata said. 'You must get away — and tonight.'
‘But what will happen to you?' Karellie said, looking from his mother to Diane. 'They will know you have plotted the escape.'
‘My story is that I knew nothing about it,' Annunciata said. 'The guards saw me leave on Chloris's arm, in deep distress, leaving you to escape afterwards disguised as Alessandra.
The plot was between Alessandra and Diane.'
‘And what is to happen to them?' Karellie asked, even more distressed. Diane took his hand.
‘We shall be safe abroad, where they will not be able to touch us. We are leaving tonight, the three of us — you, me, and Alessandra. My father has hired a boat for us, which is waiting at Dover. He went down yesterday on the pretext of arranging for the reception of the Venetian ambassador's brother, who really is due to arrive in a few days' time.'
‘You have worked it all so well,' Karellie said in painful admiration. 'I can never thank you enough. But will not Alessandra mind leaving England and her father?'
‘She will be glad to be with me,' Diane promised him. ‘Besides, you will visit her in Venice, will you not, Maurice? The soul of music will call you to us again, I am sure.'
‘I miss Italy, it's true,' Maurice said. He stroked Alessandra's hair and smiled at her. 'Venice is home to you, isn't it, cara? You have never really liked London so much.'
‘It's true, Papa,' Alessandra said, 'but —' She looked from him to Giulia and back again.
‘We will visit you, very soon. In fact, when the fuss has died down, Giulia can go back to Venice too, and live with you and Diane.’
Annunciata tapped her foot impatiently.
‘Come, it is time to go. You must change into your new disguises.'
‘More disguises?' Karellie asked in a dismay Annunciata found comic, considering he was fleeing for his life. It was Diane who answered, with half-concealed glee.
‘We cannot flee in our own persons, my lord. We are to be Signore and Signora Rinaldi, travelling back to Italy with our maid, Caterina. We came over for the opera, to hear the Divine Diane sing before the King of England —and for the love of God, do not argue with anyone who calls this George Lewis King, until we have got safely out of the country.’
The Chevalier Page 37