I knew then that he found the affair distasteful, almost as distasteful as he found me. What had I done to him, I wondered, that he has taken me in such instant dislike? I ignored the itch of tension he brought out in me.
“Am I supposed to guess what ‘this kind of affair’ may be?” I asked. I infused a mocking brightness in my voice. “Do I win a prize if I’m right?”
Queen Charlotte raised a brow at my tone. “It is about Ethan’s, that is, Captain Delaney’s cousin,” she said. “We want you to help him escape from Dartmoor Prison.”
Chapter 8
“Escape from prison?” I asked, bemused. “Oh, my. Is that all?”
“To be sure,” she remarked, “there is much the sound of a fairy tale here, is there not? I promise you, my dear, it is not a fairy tale. We do need your help.”
I summoned a weak smile. “Don’t tell me, ma’am—you’ve heard I have vast experience as a mastermind of prison escapes and decided to enlist me in your service.”
Queen Charlotte smiled slightly in return and raised her hand, hushing Captain Delaney in mid-breath as he opened his mouth to speak. “Do not take Annabelle too literally, Captain Delaney,” she said to him. “She has always been a most lively jokester. Indeed, I believe you will find her wit of great advantage in this venture.”
“If you say so, Your Majesty.” Captain Delaney bowed, so I knew he doubted I had any wit.
Lady Emma trotted back through the sitting room into the bedchamber, her unnamed errand complete. We three held our breaths until she closed the door behind her, and only Sally had the presence of mind to hum a little tune while she pretended to dust one of the many tables that stood about.
As for me, my mind reeled under the impact of the queen’s revelation. So much so, I nearly agreed with Captain Delaney’s opinion that I lacked any wit. While hard to believe I’d heard her correctly, I knew I had.
The only thing I could think to do was to glare at Captain Delaney.
“Well, Annabelle, have you nothing to say? Have you no questions to ask?” Queen Charlotte cocked her head to one side, like a curious bird.
“Questions? At least a thousand.” I didn’t ask any of them, though, because I didn’t know how to phrase them without sounding rude.
“Perhaps Miss Winthrop does not wish to be party to circumventing the law,” Captain Delaney said softly.
To my ears, his words sounded like a dare, and of course, as Queen Charlotte well knew, and had probably passed on to him, I have never been one to turn away from a dare.
“The law? Pooh!” I snapped my fingers and with that, started the stream of questions flowing.
“Who is your cousin, Captain Delaney?” I demanded. “What crime has he committed that has caused him to be incarcerated in Dartmoor prison? Isn’t Dartmoor prison only for French soldiers captured from Napoleon’s army? Is your cousin French?” I fired this salvo at Captain Delaney, then, taking scant notice when he winced, I turned my bombardment in the queen’s direction.
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but why in the world are you entangled in this imbroglio? Who is Captain Delaney’s cousin? Do you know his crime? Can you not arrange for his pardon without going to these lengths?” I paused for breath. “I can’t believe you’ve told me you actually intend to…”
I quieted abruptly when a sudden commotion arose from behind the closed door of the queen’s bedchamber. Quarreling voices, though unclear of words, resounded even through heavy cherry panels and above my staccato interrogation. A door slammed. I thought I heard a slap, then someone sobbing.
“Tsk,” said Queen Charlotte, looking distinctly annoyed. “So many interruptions! How is one to decide anything—how is one to respond to Annabelle’s questions—with this constant to-ing and fro-ing? One might as well shout their intentions from the council chamber as to try to have a private conversation here.”
Her attention rested on the captain and she rose from her chair in quick decision.
“Come, my dears,” she said. “Annabelle, we have a most capable coachman with us, do we not? What do you say we take advantage of his presence?”
“Whatever pleases you, ma’am.” I knew nothing of his ability to drive a team of horses. All I knew is that he wore a coachman’s coat with great style.
“I believe I could do with a little air, sir.” She looked archly at Captain Delaney. “Will you drive Miss Winthrop and me around the park?”
“I should be delighted, of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed, a soldier’s salute quite without the superficial grace of a dandy.
Heavens. Did this mean his persona as a coachman was not a complete myth?
“Sally,” Queen Charlotte turned peremptorily to her maid. “Fetch my cloak, if you please. The black velvet with the sable lining—it’s chilly today—and bring along that wooden chest I showed you this morning. Oh, and you may tell Lady Georgina she will accomplish more if she will use better self-control. If I must make this move to Windsor, I would desire to go quietly.”
Sally smiled, I presumed with delight at the prospect of giving a lady of quality a set down, and whisked herself into the next room. The altercation halted and presently she reappeared carrying the queen’s outdoor garb, warm bonnet and a fur muff, and a smallish wooden case that reminded me of a miniature treasure chest.
Within moments, first the queen, and then I stepped from the distraction of her sitting room into the cold, elegant corridor. Sally followed a few steps behind and, with Captain Delaney trailing at a discreet distance we made our way through the dark hallways outside to where the queen’s landau stood with its top down. I knew then that Queen Charlotte and the captain must have been working together on this plot for some days; long enough, at least, for her new coachman to have become well established in his role. A tiger held the horses’ reins, prepared to walk them should they become cold or restive as they waited, and I noticed he eyed Ethan with respect.
We grouped on the outer steps, waiting a moment for our vision to adjust to the light as we left the dim passages of Buckingham House.
Ethan Delaney stood just behind my shoulder as we waited for Queen Charlotte to lead the way, and he whispered, so only I could hear,
“Agree with whatever the queen says to you. I have all in readiness—
you needn’t worry your head. In fact, I suggest you forget you ever heard any of this mentioned.”
I whipped round. “What do you mean?”
The words died on my lips as he slipped past, going quickly to check the horses’ harness and mount to the driver’s seat. A footman let down the landau’s steps for Queen Charlotte to enter first, then me, and lastly, Sally. He snapped the half-door closed as Ethan, in his persona of coachman, picked up his whip and got the carriage under way. The tiger jumped agilely onto the rear as the carriage passed him.
I relaxed as I sank back on the leather seat. After the morning’s rain, I enjoyed the warmth of the weak sunshine upon my face. I found the rhythmic clop of the team’s hooves on the cobbled street soothing.
For the moment, I ignored the queen’s mission and simply enjoyed being here. The sights seemed new and quaint to me today, as if I saw them with fresh eyes. I hadn’t been out in far too long, I decided. My sister and her child must have occupied more of my time than I’d thought.
We rode in silence as Ethan expertly—I might have known he’d be an expert—guided the team of horses through the maze of traffic crowding the palace gates. Queen Charlotte answered her subject’s curtsies and salutes with bows of acknowledgement. I began to think I’d dreamed the idea of a wild conspiracy until finally we reached open country and Ethan put the horses into a trot.
“Are you serious, Your Majesty? Do you truly want Captain Delaney and me joining forces to…” The question burst forth, only to be forestalled by the queen’s stern shake of her head.
“We will be at the park soon,” she said. “You may ask all the questions you like when we get down to walk. I will tell you now that I am
serious, yes. The rest will have to wait.” Her eyes wandered to the boy riding at our back, a reminder that persons so placed often sold their information to any interested party.
On second thought, he did not look quite so young, being more a small man than a youth, and with a certain cast to his face that I distrusted. Chastened, I retied the ribbons holding my green silk bonnet on my head against the rush of wind and waited with all the patience I could muster until our arrival at St. James Park.
We circled nearly half way around the lake before Queen Charlotte, who had been gazing out over the vista of water, tree-covered hillocks and a pallid blue sky, banged on the back of the driver’s seat. Captain Delaney drew the horses to a halt.
“This will do, captain,” she said. “I wish to walk around the point of the lake just here. There is a seat placed where one may watch the swans and other waterfowl.”
The viewpoint she mentioned was also far enough away from any paths to ensure complete privacy.
Captain Delaney instructed the tiger to stay with the horses, and then helped the queen alight from the carriage. I managed on my own, holding the door for Sally who insisted on toting the little treasure chest along with her. As Queen Charlotte took Ethan’s arm and walked side-by-side with him on the path, I must admit I felt a pang of jealousy at being left out of their discussion.
Of course, my ears burned. I knew they discussed me because Queen Charlotte peered from under cover of her lashes at me every so often. Captain Delaney was more discreet. He did not so much as glance in my direction.
At last, Queen Charlotte settled upon the rustic bench overlooking the lake and smiled invitingly at me. “Now, we may begin. Annabelle, the first of your questions, if you please. We may as well get this over with.”
“You should’ve written out a list,” Ethan said. “So to make sure you don’t forget anything.”
“Oh, I shan’t forget.” The queen did not ask me to share her bench, so I stood beside her, admiring the vista before us, while Captain Delaney began a slow, measured pacing. Step, hesitate, step, step. How queer that I listened for the missed beat of his limping stride.
“I hardly know where to begin.” Perhaps I needed that list after all.
“The first, most important thing is just who is Captain Delaney’s cousin? What claim does he have on you, Your Majesty, that induces you to help him escape from Dartmoor prison?”
The queen sighed. “I knew you would ask that. The one thing I wish I didn’t have to tell you, and yet, I suppose it is also the one thing that sums up the whole business.” She paused, her pale cheeks flushed. “He is my—my grandson.”
“Hoo, boy.” I don’t know where those words came from, only that for some reason they seemed appropriate. I stammered this time.
“Who…um…is the father?”
“My son, the Prince of Wales.” She said it with a sense of resignation.
“Oh.” Not much of a surprise, I suppose, even though the sire could have been almost any of her other sons as well. Or for all I knew, one of the princesses might have spawned a child, although I believe they were watched much too well for that. When were any of them ever turned loose to experience such a peccadillo?
“Yes.” She was terse. “We avoided a scandal at the time. Sent the child and his mother away—well provided for, of course, including a husband for the young woman. They went to America not long after the war of revolution and, although we had reports occasionally regarding the child, we have not seen or heard from or even of him during these intervening years. Until now.”
“So who…what is Captain Delaney’s connection?” Cousin, they had said. How odd that a coachman should have such a close connection—acknowledged connection—with the queen.
Captain Delaney ceased his slow pacing to speak for himself. “My mother and Jonathan’s mother are sisters. My mother is Lady Gresham.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. Coachman, indeed! “I believe I’ve met your mother.” A flash of memory showed me a slender lady with very erect posture and a warm smile who used to visit privately with the queen.
Now I knew why.
“Still…Dartmoor, Your Majesty? How did your grandson come to be shut up in Dartmoor prison. Surely he has not joined the French?”
“Certainly not! No, it is because of politics , and the annoying habit our navy has of drafting sailors off American ships. Oh, if they are not careful, we shall be in yet another war with our American cousins.”
The queen clicked a disapproving tongue.
Drafting. What a strange way of describing what amounted to wholesale kidnapping. Still, I didn’t quite grasp the connection.
“Wha…?”
“My cousin Jonathan is—was—half owner as well as first mate on a merchant ship, Miss Winthrop. An American merchant ship.” Captain Delaney took pity on my ignorance and continued the explanation.
“The Royal Navy took him from his own deck and impressed him into His Majesty’s Service. His crime is in being American, and taking exception to this role. He was sent to Dartmoor for his pains.”
“That hardly seems a crime,” I said. If he’d meant to shock me, he hadn’t succeeded. “My sister is American. That doesn’t make her a criminal.”
Quite obviously Captain Delaney, although also in His Majesty’s service, could not bring himself to believe the punishment suited the transgression. “I must admit I don't see he has done anything to deserve Dartmoor. He is a law-abiding man, abducted while going about his own business. He tried to escape—as would anyone under the circumstances. Even the French…well, that is another story.”
“I’ve heard the conditions are very bad in Dartmoor,” I said. “The food, the living quarters—” I looked bit warily at the queen. “—the rather inhumane treatment. There have been riots reported in the papers.”
“The French are criminals,” Queen Charlotte said. She’d caught the nuances of disapproval I had tried to keep from my tone—to no avail, apparently. “They make war on England, and this is their just reward.”
“And my cousin, Jonathan?” asked Captain Delaney softly.
“Excepting, of course, my grandson.”
How many others, I wondered, just as innocent of wrongdoing, are shut up in Dartmoor? Dartmoor—isolated in the raw, cold marshes—a maximum-security facility few ever escaped. Yet the queen said she wanted my help. What on earth did she have planned and what could possibly be my role? I shifted on the cinder path, barely aware of the trill of bird song and the sound of waves lapping at the lakeshore.
“Pardon me, madam,” I said to Queen Charlotte. “While I’m sure this is a very great honor, would you mind telling me why you have selected me? What do you expect me to do? Perhaps I can be of some use in finding a ship for him to take if he makes his way to the coast.” I made this admission a little guardedly. I might as well since I’d already admitted a connection. She knew my brother Bart had arranged my sister’s departure only a fortnight ago.
“However, I’m afraid I have no connections which would help get your grandson released from gaol in the first place. I am not, after all, a magician!” A little frisson, like a slice of guilty conscience, slid down my back. I had a sense I’d just lied, though, for the life of me, I couldn’t think where the lie might be. Did I know someone who could help her grandson and had forgotten?
“I must agree with Miss Winthrop,” Captain Delaney said. He moved restlessly, as if tired of this bucolic view and impatient to spring into action. “If she knew the warden and could persuade him to free Jonathan, I could credit transporting her privately to Dartmoor and back, but as this is a clandestine endeavor, a female will only complicate things. There could be danger. It may be more than I can manage, taking care of both Jon and an hysterical female.”
I straightened my back and glared at him. “I’ll have you know I have never been hysterical in my life. How dare you?”
“In my experience, Miss Winthrop, all young, well-bred females turn hysterical at the first
indication of unpleasant circumstances, let alone real danger.” His mouth twisted, his expression hard. He must have an unpleasant memory of just such a circumstance.
“If you think that, then you’ve been associating with the wrong type of women.”
“No doubt,” he said.
“Annabelle—Ethan, attend please. There is work to be done. Plans to make—and we must go quickly. There is no time to waste.” No time for quarrels she meant.
There is great difficulty in making a graceful curtsy while standing on a rough, rain- slick path, I found. Ethan managed more creditably, bowing so low I thought I heard his back creak.
“Madam,” Captain Delaney said, gentle now. “You must know I can do this better alone. Brave as brave may be, Miss Winthrop can only get in the way of accomplishing this service for you. Can you not trust me to see that word is brought to you the minute we have Jonathan away?”
Queen Charlotte lifted her chin and said stubbornly, “A letter just isn’t the same, Captain Delaney. Of course I know this is soldier’s work. Only I am afraid of you being so caught up in the execution of your duty that you will forget the details dear to a grandmother’s heart.
A grandmother longing for news of the grandson she has never met.
I’ve had some experience with Annabelle’s reports, and she is very good at providing all—even the most insignificant—of the details.”
She smiled, a wry little smile that told me she hadn’t forgotten the hibblety-hobblety escapades Princess Amelia and I sometimes used to concoct between the two of us. “And in this case, the details—large and small—are what I most want to hear.”
“Jonathan himself can write you,” Captain Delaney protested.
Judging from the frustration in his voice, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. “The moment we are away, I shall see that he takes up his pen. I promise you.”
In The Service Of The Queen (The Gunsmith Book 1) Page 11