by Mez Blume
Frederick looked tense as he backed away. I’m sure he expected the horse to rear up and send me flying to my death at any moment. I filled my fists with Vagabond’s thick mane, hugged tightly to his sides with my calves and urged him forward.
Like a bolt of electricity had zapped him into action, Vagabond gave a heroic whinny and shot off. Up the hill, careening through trees, leaping over fallen logs in our path. Soon we were out into the open meadows with a mist stinging our faces and a stormy wind whipping my hair back.
Brum drum, Brum drum, Brum drum. Vagabond’s hooves beat our coming, like a mighty war drum. Though we might have been riding to our doom, my heart swelled up and burst into a smile across my wind-blown face. This was joy.
Vagabond felt it too, I knew he did. I hardly needed to steer him. He knew what I was thinking, just as Gypsy used to do. Soon we were flying through the park gates and up the lane to the parish church where already the bell was tolling the arrival of the Queen and Sophia. Carriages filled the narrow, pebbly street outside the church, but Vagabond manoeuvred around them like a champion dressage horse. We skidded to a halt in the churchyard in a cloud of dirt and gravel. I hoisted myself off his back and landed with a dusty thud on the gravel. I didn’t bother to tether Vagabond; I was sure when I came out of that church, for better or for worse, he would be there waiting for me.
An amazing thing happened to me on that glorious ride. All my hunger, my exhaustion, all my fear had been blown away with the wind. I felt the fierceness I’d seen in Frederick’s eyes when he’d brandished that sword. I was as ready as I’d ever be to face the enemy.
There was only one thing stopping me. The doors were locked. I bashed my body against them, but they didn’t budge. I banged on them with my fist, but nobody answered. My banging was drowned out by the thunder of a booming organ. This is stupid, I thought, kicking the gravel. I did not come all the way from the twenty-first century to let a door stand in my way.
A crazy idea dropped into my head. I led Vagabond over to a tombstone and climbed up it to mount him, then rode him out a way into the churchyard. “Alright, Vagabond. I need you to harness all that anger you’ve been using to smash pigeons and take it out on those doors. Ready?” He whinnied, which was a good enough answer for me.
“Ya!” I yelled, kicking his sides with a force that sent him bolting forward with a vengeance towards the doors. Right when it looked like we would smash into them, he reared up on his back legs and pummelled them with his two, boulder-sized front hooves. We smashed right through them and didn’t stop until Vagabond had cantered right down the aisle to the middle of the church.
The organ played a sour chord. Screams and shouts rent the perfumed air. The King stood up from his golden throne on the dais. His eyes were wild with what could only be terror. He pointed his finger and bellowed, “God save me! ’Tis that demon horse and the devil’s child herself come to torment me!”
“No, Your Majesty,” I called out, pulling back on Vagabond’s mane to bring him to standing. “The only devil here is that man.” I pointed my finger at the Baron where he stood in front of the bride’s and groom’s chairs. At his side, Sophia beamed. “He is the traitor,” I shouted loud and clear.
The room fell completely silent. All eyes zeroed in on the King. The King looked at the Baron, then at me on the horse. The Queen caught my eye and nodded a “go on” sort of nod.
“I have evidence, Your Majesty. And witnesses.”
“What is this? Who are you? What is this evidence? Who are these witnesses?” The King sounded more desperate with every question.
“I am a witness.” Sophia stepped forward. She looked so queenly in her enormous golden skirts that the Baron appeared small and puny, even with all his ruffles and lace. “Please Your Majesties to hear what she has to say. This is Katherine Watson, my most intimate friend, and I will speak for her truthfulness.”
“As will I!” A shock wave went through the pews as everyone turned to see Frederick standing in the doorway with Tom Tippery, Jack Hornsby and a dozen armed men at his back. They looked fierce, panting and sweating and with the fire of justice in their eyes.
The Baron stepped forward, his glowing charcoal eyes full of bewilderment. “It can’t be. Why aren’t you locked away, getting fitted for your noose? You should be hanging by the time my wedding is finished!”
“You monster!” Sophia shouted and stormed off the dais to stand beside her brother. “You never arrested Frederick, because he wasn’t even there the night of the banquet when you murdered the Earl. You arrested a stable hand.”
The Baron went scarlet. “How dare you accuse me! You forget that I was not present when the Earl was murdered,” he growled, baring his teeth like a cornered tiger.
“You know that’s a lie, and we can prove it!” I dropped to the ground and ran up the steps onto the dais. Yanking the woollen beard from my backpack, I waved it in the air for all to see. “Here is your Master Van Hoebeek, Your Majesty. Put him in his black sheep beard and you’ll see for yourself.”
At first, no one moved. Then, in a split second, the Baron made a dart for the side door, and the King shouted, “Seize that man!”
Two guardsmen dragged the Baron to the middle of the dais, before the King and in full view of every courtier in the place. His nostrils flared with anger. “This is madness, Your Majesty. Surely you’ll not be taken in by children and riff-raff.”
“Madness or not, Baron, I will see you wear that beard.”
I stepped forward, giving the beard along with the hat and wig to the guards. One of them fitted them onto the Baron then stepped back for the King to see.
When he had taken a good look, he staggered backwards a step or two. “It looks the same as the man that did stand before me with talk of plots and witchcraft. But can it truly be?”
“I have more evidence, Your Majesty.” I gave the guardsman the bottle and the letters. “These were taken from the Baron’s trunk in a room where he’s been hiding his secrets at Otterly Manor, along with Bessy Tippery who, by the way, only confessed because he threatened her.”
The King’s skittish eyes flitted over the first letter. He held out his hand for the bottle, sniffed it, turned away. When he turned back, he looked frightful, every bit the angry Scotsman. His moustache twitched and his eyes bulged. When he spoke, his voice was more thunderous than the organ pipes. He raised his finger to the Baron. “I have had my fill of murderous plots. First that papish rogue Guy Fawkes. Now you?” His voice rose to a shout. “Is none of my kingdom’s nobility safe from plotters?” He turned away and brandished his hand in the air. “Guards! Arrest the Baron. Transport him immediately to the Tower to await sentence.”
“Majesty, ’tis trickery!” The Baron screeched as the guards bound up his hands with ropes. “These fiends blind you with witchcraft!”
“Silence! I will not listen to warnings of trickery from a master of deception.”
The Baron shouted and struggled against the guards all the way down the aisle. He only stopped to curse and swear vengeance at the group of us standing around the horse in the middle of the church. Chances are, he never stopped screaming and cursing all the way to the Tower.
28
The Earl’s Court
What had begun as the most miserable day of my nearly twelve years ended as one of the happiest. Once the Baron was good and out of the way, the King publicly cleared Frederick of all accusations, then and there at the front of the church.
Then, of course, Frederick insisted we return to the Manor where Digby and Bessy still sat in prison cells. Apparently, most of the Otterly Manor household servants had sided with Frederick when he’d turned up, and that was enough to keep the King’s guardsmen from doing anything rash. But they’d refused to set the prisoners free without the King’s orders.
We led the procession of courtiers in their carriages up the lane and through the park to Otterly Manor. I rode Vagabond alongside Sophia who rode in the Queen’s carriage.
>
“Just wait until Digby and Jack see you riding that horse as if he’s a show pony!” Sophia called out the window. She was dressed like a little queen, but she giggled as merrily as a child at Christmas. I could see she was enormously relieved by the way she couldn’t stop beaming at everybody, but especially at Frederick and me.
The guards released Digby and Bessy immediately once the King gave the command. Digby clasped Frederick’s hand and hugged Sophia and me. Bessy and Tom wept in each other’s arms. But it soon became clear that the two prisoners hadn’t been quite as miserable in their cells as we’d all feared. The two of them kept close together and kept giving each other dreamy glances. I’d seen Charlie make the same disgusting faces at his high-school sweetheart.
We knew something was definitely up when King James not only pardoned Digby for his crime of dressing in courtier’s clothing (Frederick explained that Digby acted on his orders), but offered to make him a steward at the palace for showing such loyalty to his lord.
“I need more men in my service like you whom I can trust with my life,” the King said. “Pack up your effects and you may join my court when we take our leave on the morrow.”
Digby gaped like a fish. Then he took one look at Bessy and knelt before the King. “Your Majesty does me the greatest honour. But, if it please Your Highness, I think I’ve had my fill of Court life. Prison and near death changes a man. Makes him think about what he really wants in life.” His eyes darted over to Bessy then returned to the King. “I’d prefer to go back to work in the stables, if I may, Your Highness. Earn an honest wage … enough to provide one day for a wife and children.” He shot Bessy another sheepish glance. Her cheeks went pink.
The King hadn’t missed the look between them. “With my blessing.” He leant down as if confiding in Digby, but spoke loud enough for us all to hear. “But I believe ’tis not my permission, but rather the maid’s father’s you have need of.”
Digby blushed then and grinned like a jester. He got up off his knees and went to Tom who’d been watching the whole comical episode. “Master Tippery, I haven’t any fineries to offer her, but I promise to treat Bess just like the lady she is.”
Tom took his daughter’s hand and joined it to Digby’s. “If your love could blossom in a prison cell, I have no doubt it will flourish ever after.” Bessy kissed her father’s cheek while Frederick and Jack slapped Digby hard on the back.
Everyone was in a holiday mood and ready to celebrate. It seemed a pity to waste the seven-course wedding feast the Baron had ordered, especially when Mary Hayes and her crew of kitchen hands had laboured day and night to prepare it. So Frederick — Earl Frederick that is — declared an Exoneration Feast, and invited the entire household, servants and all, to join in!
Sophia and I twirled each other around when Frederick announced there would be music and dancing, though at that point, I was more excited about the food. I still hadn’t eaten since the day before. Sophia noticed how pale I was and ordered soup, bread and cheese to be brought to me in the bedchamber while we discussed the important business of what to wear to the feast.
It felt heavenly to be back in the red bedchamber again. Everything was back to normal. Sophia and I chattered away and laughed at any and every little thing. Britannia stretched out in front of the hearth on the Turkish rug. It seemed as if the Baron and the past two horrific days were no more than a bad dream fading from memory.
While I gobbled down my soup, a maid came in to deliver the good news that the Countess was improving since the Queen stopped her “medicine”. She would see us both in the morning. She’d heard the whole story about the Baron and wanted to thank the little maid who had done so much for her household.
“How I do hope Nurse Joan is waiting on the Countess in the morning,” Sophia said. “She deserves all the humble pie she gets.”
I sighed. “I think Nurse Joan would be happy never to lay eyes on my devil-kissed hair ever again.” We laughed until I was choking on soup.
Tatty and Elinor were in a chirpy mood when they came to help us dress, possibly because the new Earl had invited them to the feast as well. They removed Sophia’s wedding dress, which weighed as much as a full-grown rhinoceros. She exchanged it for a simple, pale blue silk one. I traded my kitchen maid uniform for my old yellow velvet gown, and we were ready.
“I’ll see you on the dance floor!” I said when we’d got to the bottom of the Great Staircase.
“Katie, you jest! Of course you are to sit at High Table with the rest of us. This is an Exoneration Feast. Nobody would have been exonerated today if it weren’t for you.” She took my hand. “You are the guest of honour.”
That evening was perfection. All of my fondest acquaintances from Otterly Manor were there — Digby with Bessy, Jack Hornsby, Tom — all mixed in among the courtiers and having a whale of a time. We ate the Baron’s choice dishes, toasted the new Earl, and danced until the sun went down and the firelight cast its dreamy spell.
But something pestered at the back of my mind all evening, even as I danced and ate and laughed. The images I’d conjured the night before of my family kept pushing into my mind’s eye, and I kept pushing them back again. Only when I lay in bed with Sophia breathing peacefully beside me, did the feeling crash over me like an ocean breaker. There was no mistaking that deep, hollow ache. I was homesick.
Now that I had done the thing I thought I had come to do, what next? I loved Sophia like a sister, and Frederick and Digby had become almost like brothers to me. But nothing could replace my own life, my family. I closed my eyes and let the pictures come into full focus. When I woke, my heart felt as heavy as a pail full of water.
29
Goodbyes
The morning sun veiled the forests and meadows of Otterly Park in silver gossamer when the household lined up outside the gatehouse to send off the Royal Court.
One by one, the carriages paraded up the hill to carry away their lords and ladies to the next great house on the royal tour. Frederick did his duty as host like a pro, graciously thanking each and every member of the Court by name and offering his future hospitality. When at last the royal carriage topped the hill, its wheel spokes glistening gold, the King and Queen themselves offered their goodbyes.
When the King came to me, he said a civil farewell, and I curtseyed back. But the Queen smiled with real warmth and offered me her hand. This time I was prepared, but before I could bend over to kiss it, she gave mine a gentle shake. Her eyes twinkled. “I do not know the family Watson, but I hope you will give your parents my regard and tell them the Queen says their daughter does them great credit.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I managed to peep as I curtseyed low.
As we watched the royal carriage disappear behind the park’s bracken curtains, Sophia linked her arm through mine, and we meandered back under the gatehouse archway. “The Queen is right, you know. You do your family great credit. And a family with so noble a daughter deserves to have her with them again.”
“Then what about you?” I argued, afraid that admitting my homesickness might let loose the knot forming in my throat. “You’re the one who’s truly noble. I don’t think I’d have married the Baron for anything! Doesn’t your family deserve to have you back as well?”
Sophia smiled. “I have family here.” She gave Frederick, walking alongside the steward, a look full of pride and admiration. But concern filled her face when she turned back to me. “Katie, tell me. Something weighs on your mind. You have brought happiness to all of us at Otterly Manor. I wish so much I could help you find your own.”
We sat down on a bench in the grassy courtyard. The knot in my throat kept getting tighter. “Oh Sophia, I know I have to make the most of my circumstances, and you’re all like family to me, but …” One insistent tear squeezed its way out and fell into my lap.
“But Katie, you have made the most of the very worst of circumstances. And now you wish for home. That is not ingratitude. It is only natural in all creatu
res blessed with a heart to long for home.”
“I’m not sure that … that there is a way back home.” I wiped my eyes as another tear swelled up, ready to take the last one’s place. “I spoke to Tom, but he doesn’t exactly seem to know how the magic worked, or how to make it work again. It all comes down to these strange paints he bought off some woman, and heart’s desires and … oh I don’t know.”
Sophia offered me her handkerchief and waited for me to blow my nose before she spoke. “I’m not sure there’s a way either, Katie. But you mustn’t give up hope. I spoke to Tom last night too.” Still wiping my nose, I gave her a questioning side look. “Yes. Last night while you were dancing with Frederick. He has an idea, and I believe it is worth a try.”
We took our time walking to Tom’s wagon, enjoying the sun puddles beneath the trees, the smell of sweet grass, the hilarious sight of Tannia stalking up behind unsuspecting deer only to lunge out of the bracken and send them springing far and wide. Most of all, we enjoyed being two friends out on a summer’s walk with a dog and not a single worry of nurses, maids or tutors calling after us to come inside at once and behave like little grown-ups.
We found Tom in his usual spot, concentrating over his easel before a smouldering fire that sent up those familiar wisps of smoke.
Tom spared a quick glance in our direction, then returned to the painting. “To what do I owe the honour of a visit from two such fine ladies?”
I stopped to cradle Vagabond’s nose before plopping down beside the fire in a not-so-lady-like manner. “We’ve just come for a visit. What are you painting now?”
“Oh it’s just a little experiment really. In fact, I’d value your advice.”
“My advice? Sophia’s the better artist. You should see her birds!”
