A Woman of the Road and Sea

by Amy Wolof

  “Now what?” I asked. “How do we free the Mask?”

  “We must leave France,” said Aventis. “No other may see him—not with Louis’ reach.”

  “Hmm. . . I said, “but in good old Protestant England . . .”

  “Most still hate James and consider Monmouth a hero.”

  An Expert Is Called

  It was no small matter transporting the duke to London. Hidden by his hood, he spent night and day in a coach while the rest of us followed on horse. I offered to bring him his meals, an act painful to us both, for he could have but a morsel of bread, or a few mouthfuls of soup. His endurance of this state for three years told me that his Will—like his mask—must be forged from the hardest iron.

  “Do not despair,” I told him, when we had reached Calais. “Once in England, we will find some supporter to hide you.”

  “Perhaps,” he answered. “But how to unlock me from this death-within-life?”

  He dropped his heavy head.

  “Please trust us,” I begged, as we bundled him into the harbor. “Aventis is a prodigy, and in London, we have many friends.”

  To myself, I questioned what Moll, Frances, or Charles could possibly do to help . . .

  One more relinquishment of horses; a short voyage across the canal; the retrieval of our mounts at Dover. With Monmouth in a hired coach, we three rode beside him so he would not be robbed! That last stretch to London, then the Garden and all its clamor, and we were almost there! Glancing at Aventis, I saw that he threw me a smile.

  “Moll!” I cried as she answered my knock.

  Aventis and Carnatus quickly bundled our guest inside.

  Then I heard a small voice.

  “Mama! Papa!” it cried, and there was Frances running toward us. “I see that you have triumphed, for you are joined by another. Sir.” She curtseyed to Monmouth as if she herself were a duchess.

  Monmouth, ashamed, would not cast off his hood.

  “Please excuse me,” he said to Moll. “I don’t wish to frighten the children.”

  Frances looked puzzled but was too polite to question. Young Charles, however, crossed his arms and scowled.

  “Is it not customary, sir,” he asked, “to greet your host with face revealed?”

  Monmouth sighed, the sound like the hiss of a forge.

  “Prepare yourselves,” he said.

  Slowly dropping his hood, he revealed that hideous mask. Frances let out a sharp scream.

  “Is the young man satisfied?” asked Monmouth.

  Charles ducked his head.

  “I-I most heartily beg your pardon, sir.”

  “That is all right,” said Monmouth, his tone surprisingly warm. “In fact, you remind me of me when I was just a lad.”

  He put out a hand which Charles heartily grasped.

  “I too must apologize,” said Frances with a blush. “I was not brought up to have such terrible manners.”

  “No need,” said Monmouth. “I myself would recoil if presented with such a sight.”

  Moll, always soft-hearted, wiped away tears of pity.

  “You are most welcome, sir,” she said. “If it suits you, please take a seat. Frances and I will bring tea.”

  Before she left on her mission, Frances ran toward me and showered my face with kisses.

  “Mama,” she whispered, “I am so glad you are safe. I have done nothing but fret while you were away.”

  “We are here now,” I said, motioning to Aventis.

  He came over and hugged her, saying, “God willing, we will not be apart again.”

  “God willing,” I echoed, but how was it to be? Still, I reserved my present concerns for Monmouth.

  “Who affixed that device to you?” I asked.

  “I do not know. I thought I had been beheaded, but when I awoke, I was ensconced in this. In truth, I wish Uncle had put me to death.”

  “No, no,” I said quickly, but honestly could not blame him.

  We all sat in silence until Moll returned with our tea. Frances, as if at court, poured each of us a cup. She halted at Monmouth, who merely raised a hand.

  “May I have a saucer?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, and carefully poured his beverage.

  “Thank you,” said Monmouth, and proceeded to sip his tea.

  “Aventis,” I whispered, “this cannot be borne! We must do something to help him.”

  He nodded but looked grave.

  “I do not know what.” He looked at the mask and its cruel headgear. “How can that be removed without killing its occupant?”

  I put down my cup and cake. How could I enjoy life’s pleasures while Monmouth was so deprived? I bent forward on my chair to closely examine the mask: there could be no doubt—it was welded to his head. Then I saw something else.

  “God’s blood!” I cried, springing up. “How could I have missed this?”

  “Margaret?” Aventis asked.

  “Wait—” said Monmouth, puzzled at my new name.

  “Excuse me, everyone!” I yelled, running for the front door. “If all be well, I shall return in an hour!”

  I was as good as my word. When I returned to Moll’s, I was not alone, for behind me trailed a man with long unkempt hair and a frown. In one hand, he held a massive steel ring.

  “Ah,” said Carnatus, in the midst of downing some ale, “and who might this be, Margaret?”

  “This,” I said, “is the Head Gaoler of Newgate.”

  My two fellow highwaymen jumped.

  “It is all right,” I said. “He likes gold as well as anyone.”

  Aventis folded his arms.

  “Enough to keep silent?” he asked.

  “Sir,” the gaoler rasped, “I have seen things you cannot grasp. Torture on the rack; having to boil heads before putting them on a pike. But my specialty, sir, is locks—locks, an’ fetters.”

  “He is the one from the Press Yard who undid my own before Tyburn,” I said. “I shall never forget his face.”

  “So you weld bonds?” Carnatus asked with something like disdain.

  “And take ‘em off,” said the gaoler. “‘Fore them poor souls go to their death.”

  “A nice profession,” sniffed Carnatus.

  “Have a care,” said Aventis, “to recall our own. Now, sir—”

  “You may call me John,” said the gaoler.

  “John. Are you able to help this man?”

  John looked over at Monmouth with not the least reaction. He ran his hands over the headpiece as if he caressed a lover.

  “It’s on the back,” I told him.

  John went round the duke, then found what I had discovered: a lock so small it could have been worn as a ring.

  “Is it easy to open?” I asked. “Can you fashion a key?”

  “No . . . and yes,” said John. “Dam’d right it’s hard—sorry, miss,” he said, with a shrug toward Frances. “This is sure to be tough, for it was meant to stay closed forever.”

  Everyone in the room stared as he took some tools from his coat: an ungrooved brass key so shiny it looked like glass; a vise grip; and a file with a thin pointed end.

  “What—“ I asked, but John interrupted.

  “Silence,” he commanded, waving his hands like a conjurer.

  I watched, dumbfounded, as he filed down the key until it was fit for a mouse. Then, he gripped it in his vise and shook it—very gently—back and forth in the lock. Satisfied, he withdrew it, gave it one harsh mark with his file, put it back in the lock, and began to wiggle with vigor.

  “Is he quite . . . sane?” Carnatus whispered, and, if a vote had been taken, the answer from all would be “no.”

  John continued working the key as the rest of us sighed. From Monmouth’s slumping posture, I could tell he had little hope.

  “Just . . . a few . . . times more,” said John, squinting over his work as he repeated the process: file and mark, put the key in the lock, wiggle, then mark again. Good God, I thought, we could be here for d
ays!

  “Dam’d thing,” John mumbled, after his fifteenth file. Then, to my surprise, with the smallest of clicks, the hasp of the lock unclasped, springing open the two sets of bars!

  Beside me, Frances gasped.

  The front of the headpiece drooped until John cast it off, followed by the rear. When they were gone, Monmouth put a hand to his face and tore from it that hated mask. I cannot say I blamed him as he stomped it with his boot!

  “Huzzah!” cried Charles and Frances, joining hands in an improvised dance. Carnatus took some more ale, Moll began to weep, and Aventis came forward to offer the duke his hand.

  “How does it feel?” asked Aventis.

  “Glorious,” Monmouth replied.

  For the first time since that pea field, I could see his face: same handsome features, same noble mien. Despite being deathly pale, he was the man I knew.

  “You are free, sir,” I said, bowing.

  “Yes . . . and no,” he said in an echo of John. “I am free of the mask, but as to my future fate . . .”

  Aventis stopped him.

  “Thank you, John, thank you!” he said. “You have rendered a merciful service. Back to Newgate with you and remember: no word of what you have seen may ever pass your lips.”

  “Or,” said Carnatus, standing over the gaoler, “you may expect a visit from me.”

  “Do not bestir yourself, sir,” said John, stepping back. “If I speak, you may cut out my tongue.”

  “With pleasure,” growled Carnatus.

  John scurried out the door.

  “Well,” said Aventis, “we must trust to his love of gold.”

  “Which seldom fails,” I answered.

  Aventis approached the duke.

  “You cannot remain here,” he said. “It is best that you go south. There, you still have allies who have dodged the Hanging Judge.”

  “Carnatus,” Aventis went on, “I entrust you to escort the duke. Ensure that his face is hidden and not seen by any man.”

  “Done,” said Carnatus.

  “I thank you all,” said Monmouth, turning to look at our band. “I know you merely by alias, but would like to learn your true names.”

  “I am Count Bernardino of Spain,” said Aventis.

  “And I, Phillip of York,” said Carnatus.

  “I am Margaret,” I said. “Margaret Tanner.”

  The duke gave a low bow.

  “I fear that at present,” he said, “I am wholly without fortune. Yet, if there is anything I can do for you—within an outlaw’s means—I beg you to seek me out.”

  “An outlaw,” I said, “can accomplish quite a bit.”

  The duke gave us a smile.

  “I see that now,” he said.

  Rebuilding

  Monmouth donned his coat and hood, said his farewells, and prepared to go off with Carnatus.

  “Wait,” said Aventis.

  The whole room went silent.

  “There is a last affair to be settled,” he said, “and my friend Carnatus’s presence is humbly requested. Along with that of James Scott.”

  I searched my mind, wondering what it might be: had we left something undone?

  “First,” said Aventis, “I must leave you. I will be gone all night. Tomorrow morning, at nine precisely, I bid you all to be ready.”

  My mood that evening plunged from elation at freeing the duke to unease at Aventis’s words. I paced, I drank wine, I mumbled to myself. What scheme could he be hatching? Did he plan to take us to Dover and from there depart for Spain? Or lead us on one last robbery?

  It was this that spun through my mind until the others bid their goodnights. It was only Frances who stayed with me.

  “I do not understand,” I said, as I paced the sitting room floor. “What ‘last affair’ could he mean?”

  She smiled.

  “I do not know, mama. Surely nothing to vex us.”

  “Your acquaintance of him has been short,” I said. “I know him better than any. And, like Jeffries, he can confound all expectation.”

  “Do not fret, mama,” she said. “I trust papa as I do God.”

  “That is the problem,” I muttered. “His staunch faith in his Faith.”

  That night, I could not sleep: I tossed and turned on my narrow divan. Once light streamed through the windows, I was up and about. A short time before nine bells, I flung open the front door—to find Aventis there.

  “Ah, Megs,” he said breezily. “I neglected to mention. For our outing this morning, I require Margaret.”

  “Why did you not say so?”

  Shutting the door upon him, I proceeded to go upstairs, borrowed some clothes from Moll, and changed.

  “Will this suit?” I asked, after stepping outside again.

  “Perfect. Ah, Margaret, you are as beautiful now as you were upon the Heath.”

  “It is kind of you to say so, but time and the road have done neither of us any favors.”

  His shoulders shook as he laughed.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I am quite as dashing as I was in 1660.”

  “Just a bit greyer,” I said.

  Then, uncaring as to the neighbors, I rose to kiss his cheek.

  “How chaste!” he cried, mock-pushing me away.

  “You are impossible,” I said, and again, I closed the door.

  At the appointed hour, our whole party emerged: Moll, Carnatus, Monmouth (his face draped with a hood), young Charles, and Frances.

  “Let us be off,” said Aventis, and he led us, in a tight line, through the streets of London. What could he be up to at such an ungodly hour? Why parade Monmouth to the world when his every step was a danger? I shook my head, focusing instead on how to walk in skirts.

  I had to smile as we passed the Old Bailey. A vision of Jeffries jumping those gates on his horse seemed entirely real to me. And there, next door, sat Newgate, where I supposed even now, John practiced his trade. Jeffries had saved me from that gaol’s ultimate sentence, thundering through Tyburn to make sure I did not hang. I sighed, blinking back tears. How I missed my friend.

  Trying to focus on those around me, I saw that Aventis had stopped before a building without a roof. This was the new St. Paul’s. I had heard that a man called Wren was rebuilding it after the Fire. Hasn’t made much progress, I thought. By the time he is through, we will all be dead!

  “Aventis,” I called. “Why have you brought us here? Do you wish to relive our Plague year?”

  He laughed.

  “Let us forget that,” he said. “And all other hardships. Come.”

  He stepped past piles of stone with workmen chipping away to approach what one day might be a nave. There, he halted and took my hand.

  “Margaret,” he said. “I have known and loved you since the late king took the throne. Not so long ago, I was fool enough to think that I could force you, to make you adopt my religion—even obey my will.”

  Carnatus laughed heartily.

  “I take it you failed.”

  “Shhh,” I admonished.

  “Again,” said Aventis, “I ask you to marry me, this time without any strictures. You are welcome to stay with your church—raise Frances in it if you like. The fact that we three are together is far more important than how you worship God. And, as I have for most of my life, I hereby flaunt the law by claiming you not as my property: not chattel to be owned or a being lesser than I. Before God, we are the same, though we be of different faiths: and if I ever forget this, you are more than free to remind me.”

  Frances clasped her hands as she—and my old love—waited for my answer.

  “Yes,” I said without thinking.

  Aventis summoned two men who emerged from behind a wall. I only noted that they were not carpenters. Carnatus strode toward the both of us and put his hands on our shoulders.

  “Ten-to-one it’ll last!” he roared.

  The two men—one a Catholic priest, one Anglican—stood before our company, taking turns to perform the ceremony.
I felt so blessed by my good fortune that the sounds of stonework around me were like the chirping of birds.

  Now it was time for our kiss. Not caring who witnessed—even the Duke of Monmouth!—I cradled Aventis’s head, stroking his hair as our lips met—finally!—declaring us man and wife.

  There was but one burr to my happiness. The man who had brought us together, who loved us as much as we loved each other, could not be present, for he was far to the west, in a lonely unmarked grave. Such thoughts beset me as I briefly opened one eye, then spotted a beaming mason who observed our passion with glee.

  “That’s it, sir!” he cried. “Kiss ‘er for all she’s worth! Make ‘er stand and deliver!”

  I broke from Aventis, giving Frances a hug as I looked to the open sky.

  “Jeffries,” I said. “Thank you.”

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