A Woman of the Road and Sea

by Amy Wolof

  “Yes,” he replied. “God has other plans for us.”

  “He well might,” I said, “but I know mine. And that is to stay off the sea unless there’s another Flood!”

  He smiled as we watched Jeffries gather kindling for firewood, then ignite a cheerful blaze. I felt its warmth along with Aventis’s. When Carnatus returned from the hunt, he held up a hare by the ears, along with a brace of quail.

  “It may not rival France,” he said, “but at least we won’t go hungry.”

  “Speaking of France . . .” I said. I did not wish to sound harsh, considering he had just rescued me. “Wherever did you get to?”

  “Uh,” said Carnatus, blushing as red as his cloak. “Well, Gad and I thought we’d step into—”

  “—where is Gad?” I asked.

  “A moment. As I was saying, we thought we’d step into a homely inn.”

  “I know what follows,” I said. “You entered a game of cards or dice and lost your smuggler’s profits.”

  “Well . . . something like that. Luck had left me desolate, and before I could play the next hand, I realized I was down by some paltry amount.”

  “Fifty guineas?” asked Aventis.

  “A hundred?” Jeffries guessed.

  “Oh no,” I said, “he had earned fistfuls of gold.”

  “Well, yes.” Carnatus looked down. “The exact sum escapes me . . .” He looked away and mumbled. “But I believe it was over five-hundred.”

  “Five-hundred?” cried Jeffries. “My God, man, that is a fortune!”

  “Your profits and more besides!” I exclaimed.

  “Indeed,” said Carnatus. “The others were favored by goddess Fortuna, or perhaps they simply cheated. In any event, I was barred from further play. The rogues at the table seized upon me and Gad, crashed some pitchers over our heads, and, when we were insensible, carried us into a room where we spent a fortnight, our limbs bound by harsh rope. All the while being cursed by knaves in the most indelicate language!”

  I stifled a laugh, and found I was not alone. By the fire, Jeffries shielded his face, while Aventis took an interest in the roasting quail.

  “It was my life’s nadir!” cried Carnatus. “I, a born duke, with bounteous lands in York—”

  “—which he gambled away,” Aventis whispered.

  “—held hostage by these not-even-close-to-gentlemen. Oh, how low I had fallen!”

  Now, we three laughed openly.

  “How did you escape this horror?” Jeffries asked as he wiped away tears of merriment.

  “I persuaded Gad to free me by virtue of his handing me a small knife. When our captors next arrived, I smote them down like Samson! It was then that I sent Gad to London, to see to our interests there, while I went in search of Jeffries.”

  “And spared not a thought for me?” I asked.

  “I reckoned you had left the docks,” he said, “and were conducting our business in France.”

  “Oh, I was conducting all right. Until Customs snatched my baton.”

  I folded my arms in mock-anger.

  “Let us make peace,” said Jeffries, handing round our supper. “We are together, and that is all that matters.”

  I nodded as I gnawed meat from a dainty bone. How long had it been since I’d eaten? Not since Newgate, which seemed a lifetime ago.

  “Shall I forgive him?” I asked Aventis as we concluded our meal.

  “Our Lord said we must, not just seven times, but even seventy-seven.”

  “Very well,” I said. “I suppose I’ll give him one.”

  Aventis smiled as we settled before the fire, both of us eager for rest. I could not help but marvel at the day’s events: right now, I could be in the Condemned Men’s Hold, hearing the sexton drone. And Aventis! He would have been marched to the Tower and separated from his head . . .

  Thank God for Jeffries! Without his network of spies, we would both be dead. Feeling a certain guilt at my Valentine’s Day deceit, I vowed henceforth to obey him, silently swearing fealty as if he were a king. And, as much as it hurt, I would not deceive Aventis. To these two, I had made solemn oaths, and—being me—hoped I could fulfil them.

  Blackheath and London

  Over the next several months, we had a few adventures carried forth from our hollow at Blackheath. Our most amusing involved the procurement of horses, and went something like this:

  A week after we had arrived, Carnatus began to grow restless.

  “I say, Jeffries,” he remarked over a breakfast of quail eggs, “last night, I heard the rumble of wheels over Watling Road.”

  The captain nodded.

  “Folks wanting to get from Kent to Dover,” he said.

  “I wish them good travels,” said Carnatus, “and a chance to share their riches, as the Bible commands.”

  “Hmph,” said Aventis.

  “Why don’t we ride out?” asked Carnatus, “for my purse is damnably empty.”

  “Very well,” said Jeffries. “If the Bible commands it.”

  “Yet, we have but two mounts,” I observed, pointing to our horses as they nosed among the gorse.

  “A trifle,” said Jeffries.

  It was only a matter of minutes before our horses were harnessed and burdened with two riders each.

  “I am sorry,” I told Carnatus’s mount. “I myself am light, but my friend obscures the sun.”

  The beast made no retort.

  Blackheath lived up to its name, for that is all we saw. Before I came fully awake, Jeffries stopped on a small hill from which we could the see the road.

  Nothing untoward passed: just some private and public coaches, their wheels avoiding large potholes. Then Jeffries sat up in his saddle, raising his sword and pistols.

  “Now, lads!” he hissed.

  Aventis behind him, he loped down the hill, pointing out a dull coach that bore no coat-of-arms.

  “Megs, would you?” he asked, as Carnatus and I whirled to a halt beside him.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Stand and deliver!” I yelled, feeling life course through me as it hadn’t since Lyon. As many times as I’d done this, it still gave me a thrill!

  The coach had no choice—it stopped. The driver, alone on the box, quickly put up his hands, for he was clearly no fool.

  A young man’s head appeared out the window.

  “Blackguards!” he snarled.

  “Blackguards on Blackheath,” I answered, leaping down to the road. “Even Milton might like that.”

  “Your brains are addled,” said the gentleman. From his ribboned hat to the sneer on his lips, he clearly thought himself something.

  “Get out, if you please,” I said, recalling the highwayman’s creed of always being polite.

  “Dam’d if I will!” he cried, then put out a hand which held a shaking pistol.

  Carnatus was the first to laugh.

  “Come, little man,” he said, bending and swatting the gun aside as if it were a stick. “You might burn yourself with the powder.”

  All of our band laughed heartily.

  “Scoundrels!” huffed the man. “I shall see you hang!”

  “That desire is common,” I said, then gestured for him to get out.

  “This is outrageous!” he huffed, stepping onto the Watling. “Why cannot the king ensure that our roads are safe?”

  “He has other concerns,” said Jeffries.

  “Whoring, balls, taxes,” said Carnatus. “He keeps himself occupied.”

  “Footpads!” snorted the man.

  “Watch yourself,” warned Carnatus. “Footpads travel on foot. We have horses.”

  “Not many,” sneered this impudent fellow.

  “Why, that is why we stopped you!” cried Jeffries. “You have a fine team there.”

  The man stared down his nose at the captain. That was too much for me.

  “Hands up,” I said, holding my gun as steady as his had formerly shook. In an instant, I searched his person and emerged with a fine go
ld watch, a fat silk purse, and even the ribbon from his hat!

  “I thank you,” I said. “You have been most generous.”

  “You can go to the devil! I’ve seen your like swinging from gibbets.”

  “If we meet our end there,” said Aventis, “it will not be determined by you.” He crossed himself. “Sed omnipotens Deus.”

  “You,” the man spat, “a Papist! Even now, they swarm about London, ready to murder our king. Dr. Oates has absolute proof!”

  “‘‘Doctor!’” snorted Aventis. “If there is justice in England, he will swing from a gibbet.”

  “Not before you and those dam’d Jesuits!”

  “Halt!” I cried. I would not hear the order defamed.

  “Get on with it,” said the man. “Murder me like Godfrey!”

  “Nonsense,” said Jeffries, “we are tobymen, not assassins. Now, if you will kindly resume your seat . . .”

  None-too-willing, the man re-entered his coach.

  “Carnatus, you know what to do,” said Jeffries, pointing to the man’s two-horse team.

  “Indeed,” said Carnatus, and, using his sword like the world’s longest knife, he freed the beasts from their harness.

  “Excellent,” said Jeffries, nodding at them with approval. “Kind expressions . . . black stockings, points, and bay coat . . . perfectly bred Cleveland Bays.”

  “And they are big enough for me,” said Carnatus.

  “I’d say a good sixteen hands,” I added.

  The man stuck his head out the window.

  “For God’s sake—" he began. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “We require horses,” said Jeffries, “and you require humility. I’ll pray that a storm doesn’t blow until you’ve walked safely home.”

  “A pox on you!” the man cried, but there was naught he could do as we led off his team. Before we departed, I gave his coach one last glance. It looked quite sad, stranded mid-road, its harness empty and drooping.

  “What a lark!” roared Carnatus, leading a Bay with a rope. “Pity he has no saddles.”

  Jeffries smiled.

  “I take it that God,” said Aventis, “or, in this case, the captain, provides?”

  “Wait for me at the hollow,” said Jeffries, and that afternoon, he returned with two new saddles and bridles. Where he had obtained them—and, at what price, if any—were questions I best thought unasked.

  Blackheath and Watling proved excellent for our trade. We avoided the common spots—Gad’s and Shooter’s Hill—instead awaiting our prey where we were least expected. Over the next eighteen months, I must say we did very well, and, when Carnatus’s purse was full, Jeffries deemed it safe for us to return to London.

  In truth, I was not dismayed after sleeping rough for so long. But Aventis’s reaction differed, for his face was limned with sorrow.

  “Ah, Jeffries,” he said, “I cannot go with you.”

  “Whyever not?” asked Carnatus.

  “Catholics have been banned from town,” said Aventis. “I am forbidden to enter.”

  “That hardly includes my house!” Jeffries cried. “There, you will always be welcome, regardless of the untruths which that scoundrel Oates spouts.”

  “I propose we create a spout with his arm,” said Carnatus. “Like a teapot.”

  Jeffries smiled.

  “Once we arrive in London,” he said, “it is but to remain indoors. That we must do regardless, considering our . . . state of wantedness.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” said Aventis, and I could tell from his tone that he was truly moved.

  “Let’s to it!” cried Jeffries.

  We were able to ride in style—each on his own fine horse!—on our short jog into town.

  Once we had put away the beasts, Jeffries knocked loudly on his door. He was greeted by the sight of Moll in naught but her robe, since it was well past midnight.

  “Oh, Charles!” she cried, flinging her arms about him. “I have been so worried! Could you not at least think to write?”

  “I beg your pardon, my dear, but a letter cannot be delivered by quail. Yet, I think you will find yourself pleased with how we’ve been spending our days.”

  With a wink, he strode into the kitchen and spilled coins upon its table. The thick guineas clanked to the wood, looking like pirate’s treasure.

  “Oh, Charles!” Moll cried again, wiping tears from her cheeks. “How well you provide for me and Charles!”

  “Where is the rascal?” asked Jeffries, looking around in mock rage.

  “Of course, he is asleep,” said Moll, “for it is one in the morning!”

  “I heard the church bells strike,” he said. “But I cannot wait to set eyes on my namesake! How much has he grown?”

  “Three inches,” said Moll. “He is quite the young man now. But you must not disturb him. You may all see him tomorrow.”

  “Does one have to wait that long for a drink?” Carnatus asked.

  “Of course not, my friend,” said Jeffries. “I hope that this will suffice.”

  He strode over to a wood cabinet removing a bottle affixed with a private label.

  “‘Jeffries’s Own,’” he proclaimed, then poured each of us a glass.

  “Ah, a Haut-Brion,” said Carnatus. “It is quite likely, Jeffries, that Megs and I smuggled this very vintage!”

  “I do not doubt it,” said the captain. “For that, I salute you. But now, I suggest we rest.”

  I remained downstairs in my usual place, sighing as I loosened my hair, then rid myself of “Megs”. Ah, such comfort, without those thigh-length boots, tight breeches, and even tighter white cloth which sought to mask my breasts.

  I took up a single lit candle. As I had done years before, I snuck a peek in the mirror. God’s blood! Who was that aged creature, well past thirty-five, her face burnt from the road; her body hardened by muscle earned on land and sea! With a trembling hand, I traced the wrinkles beneath my eyes and those lining my lips. Dammee, I was old! How could Aventis, even if he desired, possibly love me now? With so many young beauties in town, I could be cast on the dust heap of those who had lost their looks!

  Groaning, I turned from my sad reflection and threw myself on my bed (actually Moll’s divan). How had I not been aware of my Hell-sent aging? Decades of being an outlaw had turned me into a crone!

  After a fitful night, I awoke to the happiest sound—a child’s laughter.

  “Mister Megs,” young Charles addressed me, bowing from the waist. “For I am told that is your name.”

  “Indeed, Master Charles,” I said, peering over my blankets. “Of course, you cannot remember, but I attended your birth.”

  Beneath his dark, curly hair; I saw his eyes grew wide.

  “How old are you now?” I asked.

  “Mister Megs, I am five,” he said, standing straight as a soldier. In fact, I saw he was dressed as a small Cavalier. “And two months, three weeks, six hours,” he added.

  “Good Lord,” I exclaimed, “that means that Frances is—”

  The boy waited, a small sword strapped to his side.

  Nearly eight, I thought. It had been two years since I’d seen her. What does she look like? I wondered. She must be a great deal taller. And perhaps more reserved; less inclined to talk to a strangers . . .

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the boy. “But who would be this Francis? Does he work for papa?”

  I smiled. This child could chase gloom away even from the breast of a Cromwell! What a true joy he was. I resisted the urge to lift him, hold him close to my breast, and kiss the top of his head.

  “So, Master Charles,” I said, “how are you generally known? Since your household boasts more than one.”

  “I am called Little Charles. But papa likes Charles III.”

  “Ha!” I laughed. “Perhaps you are destined for kingship.”

  “Oh no, Mister Megs,” he said gravely. “I am a Jeffries, not a Stuart.”

  “So you are,” I grinned. “Now, don�
��t tell your papa . . .” I reached over to my surcoat and bent to grab my purse. “Here is a shilling. Buy candy or what strikes your fancy. But this is our secret, agreed?”

  He rose in his child-sized boots to whisper into my ear.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Steady, I told myself. This is no time to drop your disguise. I must still pretend to be Megs, who worked for his papa: not Margaret, a mother herself.

  And so we lingered in London, sensing the rhythm of life just beyond Jeffries’s walls. We spent all our time indoors, sipping good wine while Carnatus ordered from a cookhouse. Of course, he had called back Gad and so we lacked for nothing. Still, I worried about Aventis, who could not even look out a window.

  “It is a shame you must always hide,” I told him as snow fell beyond our sitting room walls. “Perhaps a sort of disguise—?”

  “Too much risk,” he sighed. “Besides, I would not feel easy with such deception.”

  I resisted the urge to slap him.

  “Whom do you think you address?” I cried.

  “Apologies, Margaret,” he said. “I do not know how you do it. Such a burden must be crushing.”

  “More than you can know. If you think it hard to play a role, try one not of your sex.”

  As I blinked back emotion, he reached across the divan.

  “I can never forget what you are,” he said, “for you are my comely Margaret.”

  “Ha!” I said bitterly. “There is no need to lie. I saw what stared back in the mirror—an old and wrinkled hag!”

  Aventis stared in amazement.

  “Then that glass was surely bewitched!” he cried. “The woman I see is older, but she has grown into herself. In her eyes, there is wisdom; in her form, a timeless beauty.”

  “It is to my benefit,” I said, “that your own sight must be failing.” I brushed my fingers across the back of his hand. “A clearer-eyed lover would have given me up.”

  “Never,” he said, then moved his chair closer to drape his arm around me. He brought his face up to mine, gently stroking my cheek. For that moment, I was Margaret, youthful again and desired. But, as he bent closer, the world came rushing in.

  “Master Charles!” I cautioned. “We cannot—”

  “No,” he agreed. “And there is our promise to Jeffries.”