‘My lady,’ Jack’s voice was low as he approached the bench. The young girl and her mother looked up expectantly, but her coachman was looking only at Caroline as he continued. ‘Bad news. I have been warned that given the recent battle at Newbury and all, we might be turned back at the Lines of Communication – or worse. Security is very strict. I dare not risk thy safety or mine. I am turning back toward Oxford.’
‘But Mistress Whorwood assured me that we could get through. She said it was your regular route. Surely—’
‘A week ago, we could have. But thou saw the carnage in the field we passed.’
Caroline closed her eyes, trying to banish the vision of the ghost-like scene in the frozen field, the scavenger birds gleaning the remains of the battle. ‘Don’t worry. I will not abandon thee here. Accompany me back to Oxford. I will even take thee back to Forest Hill.’
Back to Forest Hill. Back through that dreadful landscape. And what would she find back at Forest Hill? More hopelessness. More desperation. Mistress Powell and Mary were depending on her to find refuge for them if they were forced to leave.
‘That is very gracious of you, but I have nothing to return to. I will stay here until safe passage becomes available.’
‘I will make inquiries and do what I can. But I doubt if any will try to make it through until things cool off a bit.’ He shrugged as she shook her head. ‘Very well then. I will bring in thy traveling chest.’ He started to leave then turned back and asked, ‘Be thou sure?’
‘I am sure,’ she said firmly.
At the other end of the bench, an officer of the King’s army had approached and was speaking quietly with the other woman. She stood up and handed the youngest child to the man. The little girl started to cry and reach out to the woman in protest, ‘Maman.’
‘Stop crying like a little baby,’ the older girl said in a long-suffering voice. ‘You will see Maman soon.’
‘Yes, my darlings. Soon, I promise. Now go with the nice soldier.’ The child’s wails became louder. ‘He is a friend of your mother and he will give you a sweet, if you are good,’ she cajoled. ‘And you will see Maman soon. She will be so glad to see you.’ She handed a packet tied with string to the officer. ‘Give these letters into her hands only. That is very important.’
Maman – she will be glad. This woman was not their mother after all, Caroline thought. Manner and dress too fine for a governess. A young grandmother, perhaps, or godmother. But Caroline turned away, too preoccupied with her own dilemma to be too long distracted by this little domestic drama. She could sit here by this fire throughout the night. Maybe tomorrow things would look better, but if she had to stay too long, she would become conspicuous. There was nothing else for it. She had to dig into her hoard and come up with a night’s lodging. Maybe if the current circumstances lasted, she could work in the kitchen for her keep. Her mind was preoccupied with her schemes for survival when she was startled by a light touch on her shoulder.
‘I couldn’t help but overhear what the coachman said.’
Caroline looked up to see the woman who had scooted down the bench, closing the short distance between them.
‘My name is Lucy Hay, Countess of Carlisle,’ she said. ‘I will be returning to London in the morning. You can travel safely through the lines with me. You will be quite safe, I assure you. My coachman is skilled with the sidearm he carries, should we encounter any trouble, and I have a pass from Sir Edward Hyde to get us through the checkpoints.’
Caroline’s first thought was relief. Her second followed closely. Why would this strange woman make such an offer? Truly out of compassion? Or had she some darker motive? Circumstances argued that she should presume the former.
‘How very kind you are, Lady Carlisle,’ she said. ‘Please don’t think me the disreputable vagabond I must look, though I do admit my situation is not optimal.’
The woman smiled at the understatement. ‘I heard your driver addressing your plight and your speech is far above the common sort. There are many sad stories in these difficult times. I shall not pry into yours. But if all you want is to get to London, it would be no indisposition at all, I assure you.’
‘In that case I would be pleased and very grateful for your assistance. Perhaps, I can help with the children to repay you.’
‘They will not be returning with us. Payment enough is the pleasure of your company.’ She stood up then and picked up the small valise she carried. ‘I plan to leave at dawn.’
‘I will be right here. And I am already in your debt. Thank you again, my lady, for not being put off by my unconventional attire. I am a widow. My husband, Sir William Pendleton, was killed fighting for the King. I am trying to return to my home in London. And his greatcoat seemed, as you so astutely observed, a practical choice.’
‘I think your choice of traveling attire is very clever, Lady Pendleton. I will enjoy your company, I am sure.’
‘My lady, you are an answer to prayer.’
Lady Carlisle threw back her head and gave a little musical laugh. ‘It has been a long time since anybody said that to me. It is quite a nice thing to hear. I will see you in the morning.’
Jack returned shortly and, placing the chest on the floor in front of her, said, ‘I’ve had no luck in finding anybody going into London. Maybe things will settle down and we can get through the lines later. Mistress Whorwood has good connections.’
‘Thank you, Jack. You have been very kind to me, and I do not blame you for not wanting to go on after what we have seen. Don’t worry about me. Tell Mistress Whorwood that I can complete my journey by another means and that I am grateful for her compassion. I have found a friend. A lady from London who has a letter of passage from Sir Edward Hyde himself. She has invited me to accompany her.’
‘Well. If that don’t beat the devil,’ he said, looking taken aback. Then he grinned and added, ‘There’s more to thee than meets the eye, I reckon.’ He nodded at her and took his leave.
Something – the look of admiration, perhaps, or just the relief she felt – made Caroline laugh. For one moment that laugh broke the pall that was her constant companion. As she sat munching on her withered apple with a warm fire at her back, her knees propped on her smallish wooden chest, and a plan for the morrow, she almost forgot the throbbing in her ankle. She remembered too that this was the second time she had found a savior in an unlikely coaching inn, and was very grateful to whatever angel was watching over her.
TURNING POINTS
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
Litany chanted by celebrants on Guy Fawkes Day
5 November 1643
The house was too quiet without Prince Henry’s squeals of laughter and Princess Elizabeth’s earnest scolding. Voices ghosted in Lady Carlisle’s head. Do not bounce balls in the salon, Henry. It is an outside ball.
Lucy picked up the offending ball and stowed it away. In the three weeks since the children had been gone, the silent routines of Syon House had been broken only once with a brief visit from Edward Hyde reassuring her that the young Princess and her brother had been safely reunited with their mother. He had also delivered to Lucy a token of appreciation from Henrietta. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for the small wooden box containing three exquisitely embroidered silk handkerchiefs – it was after all a gift from the Queen – but she would have preferred a personal note from the woman whom she had befriended and served since the Queen was scarcely more than a girl. Given the times and the circumstances surrounding their initial parting, the ivory inlay of a crucifix adorning the lid was at best an insensitive gift for a Presbyterian lady-in-waiting. At worst, it was a gouge.
‘How fares Her Majesty?’ Lucy had asked.
Edward Hyde had answered that the Queen was well and had established a somewhat festive court at Merton College. She looked a little pale, thinner t
han when she had left for the Continent a year ago, but she was putting on some weight now. At first, she had been unhappy because His Majesty and young James and Charles were away fighting in the West Country and had talked about joining them in the field. But that was before the younger children came. She appeared satisfied now and was already talking of celebrating Christmas with her ladies and the children. Then he had added with a flush as he looked away, ‘She is enceinte,’ he said, as if the Queen’s condition sounded less earthy in the French tongue. ‘Only a few months. The babe is expected in the spring.’
‘Well,’ Lucy had said, laughing. ‘The war hasn’t taken too much out of King Charles.’
Hyde had answered with an awkward little laugh and had taken his leave, promising to return when he had more news of the children. He did not know if or when they would be returning to Syon House, but he would keep her informed.
News of the Queen’s pregnancy left Lucy feeling even more forlorn. Some women pushed out healthy babies – wanted and unwanted – like ewes, season after season, but after one disappointing attempt, her womb had shriveled. It was hard not to be resentful. Until she remembered the frightened young girl whom the Duke of Buckingham had coldly delivered to an indifferent bridegroom. Thanks to Lucy Hay, who by then had some experience in the art of love, the little French Princess had soon bound the young English King to her. Henrietta owed much to Lady Carlisle. Lucy hoped she did not forget the debt.
Some days she thought too about the young widow to whom she had bid farewell at a house in Gresham Street not far from the Guildhall. Caroline Pendleton had been surprisingly good company and in good spirits considering all she had seen. They had parted in front of a respectable townhouse in an area frequented by wealthy merchants. Lucy had offered to wait, but Caroline had seemed certain she could move right in, since her late husband held a lease there, and requested the driver to unload her chest. When the door opened, and Caroline went inside, Lucy ordered the driver to drive on with a feeling of unease and no small sympathy for the new widow. Caroline had lost so much to the King’s cause, she deserved a little bit of happiness. Happiness did not come easily in these hard times, but Lucy hoped this new widow would find safety at least.
She thought too of going again to Westminster, an official visit, to tell John Pym of her independent decision to send the children to their mother. But no. Let the Parliament man, who had made himself scarce of late, come to her if he was concerned about their well-being – or hers. She even thought of writing him a formal letter, but determined that a communication of such a secret nature would not be secure. Spoken words could be denied. Words written in one’s own hand could not. Besides, with the war, everything had become so much harder. Syon House lay outside the Committee of Safety’s established Lines of Communication, making travel inconvenient and time consuming. There were always delays at the checkpoints. Surely, she would hear from John soon.
But when it came, it was not in the guise she could ever have expected. She and Carter were in the salon, returning the chairs to their proper places and the giant candelabra to its spot in the center of the table; who knew when or if the children would ever return, or if she would ever entertain again there for that matter, but seeing the room restored to its former use made it and her feel less empty.
Tom, the half-witted usher, shuffled in and stood leaning uncertainly against the door. Old Carter slid the covers from off the damask chairs and said, ‘Well, say what it is you have to say, boy, speak up. Don’t just slouch there like the cat’s got your tongue.’
‘A visitor is come. Wants to speak to milady.’
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Who is it?’
The stupid boy just shook his head.
‘Not someone you have seen here before?’
Again, a shake of his head, as though he were mute.
‘Man or woman?’ she asked, still hopeful.
‘Woman, milady,’ the would-be footman muttered, without looking at her.
‘Go back and ask for her name,’ Carter said with irritation in his voice. ‘Oh, I’ll go.’
‘No, wait. I shall go myself,’ she said. ‘Any diversion is welcome.’
When she got to the foyer she was surprised to see a well-dressed young woman she did not recall at all. But this was no casual call, Lucy suddenly realized, as the sober-looking woman curtsied uneasily.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Lady Carlisle. My name is Dorothy Drake, wife of Sir Francis Drake. We have not met before.’
Lucy’s heart gave a little jerk of recognition at the name. ‘You are John Pym’s daughter. I have heard your father speak of you. He is very proud of his children. But pray, what brings you to Syon House? Though, of course, you are heartily welcome.’
‘Thank you, my lady. My father speaks highly of you as well. He has sent me to summon you.’
The day was overcast but it was to Lucy as though a sunbeam had suddenly illumined the room.
‘At his office in Westminster? Did he say when?’
‘Not at Westminster. At Derby House in Canon Row.’
Derby House. That was not discreet.
The girl gazed at her with a knowing look but without resentment. ‘My father asks that you attend him immediately. He requests that you return with me.’
Lucy looked down at her plain skirt and dust-streaked bodice. ‘I am sure your father will not mind if I take the time to make myself more presentable. We have been house-cleaning. I will come in my own carriage and spare you the wait.’
Dorothy Drake inhaled deeply. ‘My father insisted that I bring you back with me. I was instructed to wait.’
It took Lucy a minute to absorb what the girl had just said. Insisted? Why so demanding? His choice of messenger was puzzling. And to ask that she come to his house? She had never been invited to his residence. Through his spies he must have heard that she had allowed the children to go to Oxford. Why hadn’t she had the good sense to tell him immediately? He must be very angry, might even consider her actions a betrayal.
‘I will go with you now,’ she said.
When they reached the checkpoints, the sentry waved the carriage bearing Parliament’s seal through without so much as a look inside. Dorothy Drake was a woman of few words. The silence that lay between them was charged with an awkward kind of tension, as though something went unsaid – as indeed it did – precluding small talk.
Unable to endure the silence any longer, Lucy spoke. ‘I must be frank with you, Lady Drake. The urgency in your father’s summons as you delivered it, and the speed with which you insisted we depart, leads me to assume that this matter is of more than slight importance.’
She desperately hoped that John was not going to tell her that he felt she had betrayed his confidence by sending the King’s children away without consulting him and therefore found their liaison too burdensome to continue. But that would mean that all along he had been using her to keep Parliamentary control over the royal children. That was not – could not be – true. She had won his heart, she was sure of it. A scolding perhaps – she probably deserved that – and would promise to make it up to him. Why hadn’t the girl given her a chance to at least put on fresh clothes? His seeing her like this might put her at a disadvantage.
‘Yes, Lady Carlisle. More than of slight importance.’ She turned her direct gaze on Lucy and with a sober expression on her face said, ‘Simply put, my father is very ill. He may be … dying.’
Lucy was momentarily stunned. ‘Did you … did you say dying?’ Her tongue could not shape the words. Her breath was shallow and quick. This was some cruel joke. Or he had an ague maybe, and the girl was just being melodramatic. He would recover. His will alone would not let him die. Not in the middle of a cause to which he was so committed.
The girl diverted her gaze to the clasped hands resting in her lap and said very softly, ‘I do not know when you saw him last, my lady. But I must prepare you. He has not eaten in three days. He can only take water in drops. The
doctor has bled him three times during this last fortnight and each time he gets weaker.’ She paused to swallow and continued in the same low tone, ‘His flesh has fallen away, and he is very pale. He cannot last long without a miracle. I hope that you can bring him some comfort. He says that you are a dear … friend.’
‘Is he … is he in pain?’
‘The apothecary has pounded some China seeds and mixed them with a few drops of wine. He cannot drink it, but a drop or two on his tongue helps him to sleep. Though he mostly refuses, complaining that it makes him drowsy and gives him strange dreams.’
Lucy rested her head on the hard frame of the carriage and closed her eyes, still struggling for breath, her mind as jumbled as her thoughts. Neither spoke until the carriage reached Derby House. She would have run into his chamber, but voices, men’s voices, stopped them short. Dorothy laid a restraining hand on Lucy’s shoulder.
‘You should probably wait out here. I will go in and see if he is ready to see you.’
She came back shortly, whispering, ‘He is with some members of the Committee of Safety. I always try to keep them away. I think Oliver Cromwell is with them this time. General Cromwell and Lord Essex are always at each other’s throats. Manchester too. They are all strong willed and do not always agree on military matters.’ Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, her tone betraying frustration, as she said, ‘They should not be bothering him now. He has given them all he can give. It would probably be best if you wait here.’
Before Lucy could protest that she was well acquainted with the Committee of Safety and they her, the determined young woman had hustled her into a tiny anteroom and was about to close the door. ‘It will not be long now,’ she said. ‘I shall be quite firm with them. My father is past the kind of Parliament schemes that brought on the ill-humors sapping his life force.’
She was as good as her word. Lucy had no time to try to summon the innate optimism that had always seen her through before she heard the men leave, muttering to themselves about how Pym would never see the New Year and how they could think of none to take his place. Parliament was in the middle of a war for the soul of England, and England would soon be leaderless. Lucy cared not a pile of dog’s dung about the soul of England. The soul of England was sucking the life out of the friend and lover on whom she had wagered all.
A Far Horizon Page 3
