She backed away. He heeled his horse round, came after her, and leaned forward to grab her arm. She shouted and wrestled free before he got a good grip; he grabbed at her again and caught her cap, tearing it off her head. She screamed, lashing out at him. The high-strung horse was startled: it kicked and bucked, and Bailey had to pause to steady it. She turned and started running back along the muddy road toward London. At once the stallion’s hooves were pounding after her. She ducked and dodged, aware of the mass of the animal almost on top of her. There was a cart coming the other way. She darted desperately to it and seized the footboard. The driver’s startled face looked down at her; an old man, white-haired. His horse squealed as Bailey’s almost knocked it down, and the cart came to a skewed halt in the muddy road. ‘Help!’ she pleaded.
Bailey loomed over her and bent to grab her shoulder. ‘Let be!’ he warned the cart driver. ‘This is between me and my wife!’
‘He is not my husband!’ Lucy screamed, in incredulous outrage. ‘He lies! He . . .’
Bailey flung her against the side of the cart. She struck her chin, and bit her tongue, and had to cling to the side of the cart to keep herself upright. Bailey grabbed her again and tried to drag her on to his horse. She screamed as loudly as she could, kicking and flailing her arms. Bailey’s horse, now thoroughly unsettled, shied and reared, almost unseating its rider.
‘Here, here!’ said the old man, flapping his hands in alarm.
Another man on a horse trotted up, frowning. ‘What’s amiss?’
Bailey swore, loudly and savagely. He let go of Lucy, heeled his horse round, and galloped off.
Lucy clung to the cart, gulping and sobbing. Her cap was gone and her hair was coming down. She wiped her wet chin, and her hand came away red. ‘That man . . .’ she gasped. ‘He said he was my husband’s friend. He said my husband was hurt, and calling for me. But he lied, he lied!’
‘This was some piece of villainy!’ the old carter exclaimed. He sounded more delighted than disapproving.
The carter offered her a ride to the next inn; the horseman offered to take her back to London. She declined both offers: she never wanted to travel with a stranger again. She searched the road until she found her cap. It was in a mud puddle, but she picked it up, rinsed it and wrung it out as well as she could, and pinned it on over her straggling hair. A lone woman with her hair loose would attract attention everywhere she went, and she didn’t feel she could cope with trying to explain herself. She began the trudge back to London, glancing over her shoulder nervously every ten paces to check whether Bailey was coming back. The only thing that happened was that it began to rain.
It was dark by the time she reached the Overtons’ house in Coleman Street. She was soaked through, and her head ached, both from the bang against the cart and from crying. When she knocked on the door, Faith Overton opened it. The girl cried out, and her parents came running.
Richard and Mary Overton both exclaimed over Lucy’s unexpected reappearance, but hustled her into the kitchen without asking any questions. Mary fetched a towel, and Lucy hugged it round her wet gown and sank down gratefully on a stool by the kitchen fire. She told her story in sodden gasps, pausing every now and then to wipe her nose. Mary made her a tisane of chamomile, to ward off fever, and gave her some bread and butter – the family supper of soup had all been eaten.
When Lucy had finished, Richard came over and crouched next to her stool. He was a short, scrawny, lively man whom she loved like a brother. ‘Are you sure that he lied?’ he asked, frowning.
‘Dick!’ protested Mary. ‘Look how ill he used her!’
‘Aye, but if he’d sworn to his friend to bring her, and she of a sudden refused to come, and he lost his temper . . . men that have been long at war can lose all sense of civil and lawful conduct.’
Lucy hunched her shoulders miserably. She was not sure now that Bailey had been lying. On the long trudge back to London that certainty had faded. What had seemed indisputable became ambiguous. Perhaps she’d imagined things, or misunderstood what he said because of her own shock and grief. Perhaps she had misjudged and provoked him, and now he would go back to Jamie and tell him that he must die betrayed, because his wife wouldn’t come to him. That was the thought which had made her weep until her head ached.
‘You may be right,’ she told Richard. Then she looked up determinedly. ‘So I must go to Colchester and find what the truth is! I will set out tomorrow.’ She had thought about this, too, on her walk back to London. It didn’t matter if she lost the press. If Jamie died calling for her the guilt would haunt her till her deathbed. She cast a pleading look at Mary. ‘Can you – can you print Mrs Alkin’s newsbook while I’m away from London? I will repay you when I can.’
‘Of course!’ said Mary warmly. ‘But how will you get to Colchester? The coaches are stopped on account of the siege.’
‘I will borrow a horse,’ Lucy said.
There was a silence. They all knew that it would be very hard for a woman, unaccompanied and not an experienced rider, to borrow or hire a horse – particularly to go to a military camp, where the animal might be requisitioned. Richard looked uncomfortable, and Lucy at once guessed that he felt he ought to offer to accompany her, but didn’t want to leave his work – particularly since his helper would be doing Lucy’s. ‘Never fear!’ she told him. ‘I know I can’t take both of you from The Moderate!’
‘But will you be able to borrow a horse, on your own?’ Mary asked doubtfully.
‘I think I know who might lend one,’ Lucy said.
The horse-owner she had in mind was Marchamont Nedham. She had never actually seen his mount, but he had complained regularly about the cost of keeping it when he rarely used it. She did not like having to ask a favour of him, but anything was better than allowing Jamie to die thinking she’d refused to come. She rose at dawn, packed up a small bundle of things for the journey, and set out into the still-quiet streets, hoping that Nedham was still in his old lodgings. Like his press, he moved about regularly to avoid arrest.
She was in luck. When she banged on the door of the house, his landlady told her that he was asleep.
‘I need to speak with him,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s most urgent.
The landlady sniffed, gave Lucy a disapproving look, but went off upstairs. Presently Nedham shambled into the parlour, barefoot, hatless and coatless, with his shirt tails hanging down and his belt undone. He stopped short when he saw Lucy – then grinned. ‘Sweet Lucy!’ He hurried forward, took her in his arms, and kissed her soundly.
She gave an uncomfortable jerk, but bore it. Nedham let her go and blinked at her suspiciously. ‘What’s amiss?’ he demanded.
‘Sir,’ she said nervously, ‘I’ve come to ask a favour. I need to go to Colchester, most urgently. I know you have a horse. I beg you, let me borrow it! I’ll return it and give you its hire as soon as I can!’
Nedham gaped at her, running a hand through his dirty black hair. ‘What time is it?’ he asked abruptly.
‘About five o’clock, sir.’
He groaned. ‘Christ save me from such a damnable hour! Why do you need to go to Colchester – Colchester! A city besieged! – so urgently you must needs wake a man in the middle of the night?’
She licked her lips. ‘A soldier came yesterday with some very ill news, but I don’t know whether it is true. He said my husband was hurt near to death and asking for me, and that he’d come to fetch me to him. But when we were on the road he did not speak as though he were my husband’s friend, and I questioned him, and he . . . he was offended. He tried to take me with him by force, and then he went off in a rage.’
Nedham stared. ‘Your face. He did that?’
She touched her chin where she’d bruised it when Bailey flung her against the side of the cart. ‘Aye. When I tried to run away.’
Nedham let out his breath with a little hiss. ‘This fellow tried to abduct you? When was this?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. And I cannot say whethe
r or no he meant to abduct me. Perhaps he was honest, and simply angry at being questioned. But he didn’t speak as though he were Jamie’s friend.’
‘God have mercy!’ Nedham put his hand through his hair again, then scratched his neck. ‘This smells of some jape or wager. Your fine brave husband bet that you would be willing to cast all aside and come running when he whistles; this fellow is trying to ensure the bet’s not lost.’
Lucy blinked. The idea that it might have been a bet hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t believe that Jamie would play such a cruel trick, but she could easily imagine Bailey doing so. ‘It might be so,’ she said. ‘And it might be that Jamie’s dying. Sir, the horse?’
‘The horse, the horse! What would you do with a horse?’
‘Go to Colchester, to learn if my husband truly is hurt!’
‘On your own?’ Nedham asked incredulously. ‘A pretty young woman, to a camp full of soldiers?’
‘The Army is no rabble, and a camp should be safe enough. There will be officers I can ask help of.’
He scowled at her. ‘Can you even ride?’
She flushed. ‘I’ve done so. On my father’s farm.’ She didn’t add that it had been when she was a child, and that when she grew up her father forebade it: I’ll not have you exposing your legs to the lewd gaze of every man that passes by!
Nedham grunted in disgust. ‘I won’t be party to this! No, you may not borrow my horse. Send your precious husband a letter!’
She stared a moment, bitterly disappointed. ‘Then fare you well!’ She started for the door, trying to think how else she might get a horse. If the livery stables wouldn’t hire her a horse, perhaps she could offer to buy one, and let them buy it back when she returned? How, though, would she get enough money for that at short notice? Who else did she know that had a horse? Wildman had, before his arrest. What had become of it?
Nedham ran after her and caught her arm as she started into the street. ‘What will you do? Nay, don’t answer! You’ll ask the same favour of another, and ride off on this mad errand anyway.’
‘Aye!’ she agreed, hotly.
‘Your husband’s a careless knave, to set his treasure posting up and down the public road! God damn him and all his works! I see that I must take you to Colchester myself.’ He began to smile. ‘Now that I think on it, I’d do well to get out of London for a few days – and where better to go than Colchester? I should see this famous siege for myself.’
She was dismayed at the prospect of making the journey with Marchamont Nedham, but it would take time to arrange an alternative even if she could, and if Jamie really was dying she had no time to spare. She waited impatiently while Nedham went back to his room and finished dressing, then followed him through the city to the livery stable in Smithfield where he kept his horse.
The horse was a bay mare. Her fine head and slim straight legs indicated breeding, but she was small, and her muzzle was going white. Lucy doubted that she’d be able to carry two riders all the way to Colchester and back. So, apparently, did Nedham. He went to the owner of the stable and spoke in an undertone, occasionally gesturing at Lucy. The man stared, nodded, went off, and presently came back with a second horse, a pretty dapple grey mare fitted with a side-saddle.
Lucy had never ridden with a side-saddle: it was the sort of gear used by well-born ladies, not dairymaids. She thanked the man, however, hoicked her left foot into the slipper-stirrup, and pulled herself up. Getting into the saddle was easier than trying to fit in behind a man, and once she’d settled there she discovered that it was much more comfortable than sitting pillion. She was particularly pleased to have the reins in her own hands rather than Nedham’s. The owner of the stable smiled up at her – then took off his hat and bowed his head. ‘God speed your ladyship!’ he murmured.
Lucy stared in surprise; ‘Hsst!’ exclaimed Nedham, and laid a finger alongside his nose. The groom at once replaced his hat, but gave Lucy a knowing smile and a wink. Nedham mounted his bay. ‘We’ll be back next week,’ he told the groom, and turned his horse to the road. Lucy followed him.
The streets were once again crowded, and, this being Smithfield, there were cattle being driven to the meat market to contend with, in addition to all the carts, riders, and foot passengers. Nedham dropped back and offered to lead Lucy’s mare for her.
‘I thank you, no,’ she said firmly. In fact, the mare seemed untroubled by the commotion around them. Presumably she was accustomed to Smithfield. ‘What did you tell that man?’
He smirked. ‘That my companion was a lady of quality whose husband has been wounded in Colchester.’
Lucy frowned at him. ‘You made him believe me the lady of one of the cavalier lords inside the city!’
‘He chose to believe that,’ agreed Nedham, still smirking. ‘He’s a loyal subject of King Charles. The thought that his wife’s mare is carrying a faithful lady to the aid of her loyal lord will make him happy. Where’s the harm in that?’
Lies are of the Devil, thought Lucy disapprovingly, but she was glad of the mare, so she said nothing. Besides, she was a liar, too: she certainly hadn’t told her new employer who her old one was.
It was sixty miles from London to Colchester. The post- and dispatch-riders would cover that distance in a day, but ordinary riders, who couldn’t obtain a fresh mount when their horses became weary, had to travel at a slower pace. Nedham, however, pushed hard. They walked and trotted, walked and trotted all morning. Midday found them thirty miles from London. By then Lucy couldn’t imagine how she’d ever thought the side-saddle was comfortable. Her right leg was rubbed raw by the pommel and saddle-horn, her back ached savagely and her seat was numb. When they stopped at an inn for dinner, her legs almost gave way when she slid out of the saddle. She had to cling to the leathers to stay upright.
Nedham came over with his arms out. She hastily pushed herself away from the mare and made her way unsupported to the inn, though her legs were shaking. Nedham sighed and lowered his arms with a reproachful look.
‘Are you able to continue at this pace?’ he asked her, when they were seated in the common room with a dish of roast capon.
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Surely the horses can’t keep it much longer!’
‘I thought to leave the horses here. Hire fresh.’
She stared. She had been resigned to spending a night on the road with Nedham – and to fending him off when they stopped.
He grimaced. ‘The master of that stable is a loyal man, but who knows about all the grooms? There’s still a watch kept on horses taken out of London.’
She understood that. The week before there had been a Royalist attempt to raise troops for the relief of Colchester; it had failed, in part because somebody had noticed that the Earl of Holland, who led it, was collecting horses all over London.
Now that she thought of it, the Earl of Holland and his plot explained why Nedham thought it a good idea to get out of the city for a few days, as well as why he was in such a hurry on the road.
‘And besides,’ he said, cheering a little, ‘I’ve no wish to take my sweet Honey into the camp of His Black Lordship. If horses are to be seized, let them be other horses!’
She looked down quickly. He’d named his pretty bay mare Honey and grown fond of her, had he? ‘I am very willing to ride on, sir,’ she said. ‘But I fear I have not the money to hire another horse.’ She was not sure what Nedham was paying for her to make this journey, but she was determined to pay it back. She didn’t want to owe him any more favours than she had to.
He waved that off. ‘I do. We can settle when we are back in London.’ He gave her a sly look. ‘I suppose your new press makes you a good living?’
She was determined not to give way before him. ‘It would be strange indeed if it did, the fortnight after I bought it! But if you will allow me credit, I will repay you when I have the business on a better footing.’
He snorted, tried to sip his beer, and found the mug empty. He leaned back, caught the s
erving man’s eye, and held it up. ‘How’s the old bitch’s newsbook coming along, then?’
‘The first issue will be out in two days,’ she said, and bit her lip at the thought that she wouldn’t see it off the press.
‘And you left London?’ Nedham asked incredulously.
‘What choice had I?’
‘Why, you might have stayed and seen to your duty!’
‘Oh, and when you marry will you think your wife’s duty is to her business, not to you?’
Nedham snorted. ‘Indeed not! My wife will be loyal and obedient, for I’ll not harbour a rebel!’ The serving man returned the mug, full, and he took a deep drink, then wiped his mouth. ‘I’ll grant you your duty to this boasting tinker of a husband, though I fear he has abused your loyalty shamefully. Is the old bitch’s newsbook any good?’
She hesitated unhappily. The Impartial Scout was clumsily written, vehemently partial, and short on news. ‘Not as good as yours,’ she admitted.
‘Hah!’ Nedham said triumphantly. ‘Well, I’d be willing to have you back when it fails – on terms, of course.’
After the meal, and another pint of ale, Nedham negotiated with the innkeeper, who kept some horses for hire and was willing to stable the animals they’d ridden from London. Their destination, Lucy noticed, was not mentioned; instead, Nedham spoke vaguely of going ‘north’. A price was agreed, and the side-saddle was shifted to a mangy chestnut nag. Lucy found it harder to mount up than it had been that morning, but she gritted her teeth and did it. Nedham gave a few more instructions about his precious Honey’s care to the ostler, then climbed on to his fat roan and started back on to the road. He edged his horse close to hers.
‘I’ve no wish to visit a New Noddle camp under my own name,’ he told her in a low voice. ‘From henceforth I will be Ned Wentnor, your cousin, come to help you on the road.’
She had no choice: Mercurius Pragmaticus could expect speedy retribution from the Army he’d satirized, and she could not let Nedham come to grief because he’d helped her. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And I am grateful, sir, truly, for your help.’
A Corruptible Crown Page 10
