by Sally Watson
She slipped a confiding hand into James’s strong one— not merely because her role demanded it, but also because she felt safer that way. James, she firmly believed, would have full control of any situation that might arise.
James himself, having had more experience, was less sure of this. He hid a certain amount of nervousness under a matter-of-fact air as they passed by the neglected cathedral and went on up High Street toward the market square. Not that anyone was likely to see anything unusual about two more brown-clad people on a market day, but he was not at all sure that even a clever little girl like Lark might not happen to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. He hurried past Silver Street, even though Lark craned her neck to stare down it at Poultry Cross. She had never before seen such a thing—a tiny, six-sided open building of carved stone, with a central pillar rising from the top. It looked terribly interesting, but James hurried her on. “It’s just the place where people go to buy and sell poultry,” he said.
Lark looked deflated. “Chickens and geese!” she muttered in disgust. “They should at least have something interesting!”
James laughed and turned up Castle Street. “This leads to Heale House,” he murmured when he was sure no one could overhear. “They’re good—uh—friends there; I know them. We can stay the night. You understand, poppet, that you must never talk about anything we say or do, or it might turn out most uncomfortably for both of us.”
Lark looked at him indignantly. “Haven’t I lived with Uncle Jeremiah for two years? And even before that, my grandmother used to chide me when I—” She stopped, thinking it might not be wise to mention that her grandmother used to tell her she prattled too much. Instead, she shifted ground, and chuckled suddenly. “Grandmother isn’t very good at holding her tongue. Grandfather says she used to have the most awful temper, and she still does sometimes, but not very often. All the same, she can make people listen even without losing her temper.”
She peered sideways at James to see if he was interested. He was, so she went on, not knowing that a great deal of his interest was in picking up some clue as to who Lark might be.
“She even makes kings listen to her,” Lark told him, her eyes dancing. “She used to get awfully cross at King Charles—the old one, I mean—and once she told him right to his face that he was an idiot.”
James couldn’t help laughing—especially since his own father had wished more than once to do the same thing. He also made a mental note that anyone who said that sort of thing to a king must be rather important and entitled as well as outspoken. “What did the King do?” he asked.
“He didn’t like it very much,” Lark admitted. “But then I think he knew she was very loyal to dare to speak to him like that for his own good. Anyhow, everybody knows Gran did the same thing to his father—King James, you know—and she even talked back to Queen Elizabeth once, when she was a girl, so it’s the sort of thing everybody expects. So King Charles didn’t stay angry, but Queen Henrietta was very displeased about it.”
James chuckled again, feeling that he would like to meet this redoubtable grandmother, and wishing that she might have addressed a few pithy words of advice to young Charles before he went to Scotland. Then he fell silent as they walked along the road curving northward along the River Avon. Who on earth could Lark be, with a grandmother in royal circles and a Puritan uncle who was a tyrant and an officer under Cromwell? Not that it was unusual for families to be bitterly divided in these wars—but unless Lark was telling whoppers, she belonged to a very important family.
He smiled determinedly. With such a famous grandmother, surely it might not be hard to find out who she was.
“What an unusual person she must be,” he remarked blandly. “How surprising that I have never heard the story of her scolding the king! That’s the sort of thing that usually gets told all over. What is her name, Lark?”
Lark, not caught out for a moment, gave him a roguish smile and then considered the question seriously. Then she shook her head. “I thought for a minute I might tell you,” she explained, “because I should think Grandmother and Grandfather are doing something exciting this very minute to help the new king, and it would be nice if we could find them. Only they’re in exile, too, so they’re probably doing whatever-it-is in France; and I’m afraid if I tell you who any of my family is, you might find out who Uncle Jeremiah is.”
She smiled at him again, very sweetly. James ground his teeth.
Heale House spread its lovely old roofs and chimneys amid a stretch of smooth lawns and gardens overlooking the River Avon. James pulled Lark into the shadow of one of the cedar trees which sheltered the gardens and watched carefully for a while before venturing up to the door. One could never be quite sure, in a Royalist home, whether the Roundheads might have taken possession. His own cousins had lost their house that way last year, and who knew whether his parents might have been put out in the two months since he had seen them last?
But presently he glimpsed a groom he recognized, and after that the travelers found themselves wrapped in hospitality. The widowed and elderly Mistress Hyde seemed to be a busy and hospitable sort of person with bright eyes and several relatives living with her and a great interest in outside affairs. She welcomed James as if he had been at least a nephew.
Lark, who had already assumed that James was a member of her own class, was now sure of it. Moreover, she caught a few phrases here and there which suggested that he was, in some mysterious way, on the king’s business. She wasn’t in the least surprised. Any king worth his salt would surely have the sense to recognize James as a most remarkable and wonderful person.
But Lark, as she had told James, knew very well how to keep her observations to herself. He never suspected that every word of the cautious conversation, every detail of manner and behavior was being absorbed by the wide-eyed child beside him, and put together into a terrifyingly accurate picture.
James, she saw clearly, was of the nobility, for he was treated as an equal here, and even was lent a suit of fine azure taffeta with a lace collar. He was perfectly at ease, too, at the fine dinner table set with silver and linen, and tended by stiff, liveried servants.
It was also clear that James and Mistress Hyde guessed the same thing about Lark, and for the same reasons. Although it had been more than two years since she had been in such gracious surroundings, she slipped into them as easily as a fish into water.
The talk at dinner was, of course, all of the Scottish army which was presumably still on its way southward along the west of England. As far as anyone knew, Cromwell was still following, and there would surely be a battle. But the others were more optimistic about the outcome than James seemed to be.
“Well, I hope you’re right,” he said at last. “But I still think I’d best get to Shrewsbury as soon as I can to meet—uh—my friend.” His eyes flickered briefly at Lark, who knew perfectly well that he was being cautious because of her, but she kept her face carefully blank. “I wonder,” James went on, “whether I might ask you to take care of Lark for a little while. I can’t very well take her with me.”
Lark’s mouth dropped open in reproach and outrage. “But I’m going to Scotland!” she protested indignantly.
Everyone looked at her. “Scotland?” they echoed. “Nonsense!” they said kindly, chuckling a little at the very notion. “A child like you can’t possibly go to Scotland,” they told her indulgently, and dismissed the whole thing as the prattling of a babe.
Lark opened her mouth to announce that she was no child at all, but a young lady of thirteen. Then she remembered Mistress Tillyard’s advice, and decided to go on following it, after all. All the same, she wasn’t about to give in to this outrageous sort of decision.
“I perfectly understand that James can’t take me,” she said sadly but with dignity. “But I can still go by myself. I got along quite well for nearly two days before we found each other.”
“Yes, and you were in trouble when I found you,” retorted James.
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br /> “Well, I won’t sing that kind of song again, that’s all,” said Lark reasonably, and James raised his eyes heavenward in despair.
“You can’t go, and that’s final!” he said.
“You can’t stop me unless you lock me up,” Lark returned briskly, looking at Miss Hyde. “I don’t think you’d like doing that, would you? Besides, I’d raise an awful fuss, you know.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to keep you a prisoner,” she agreed with great sincerity. “But I shall, if it’s necessary to keep you from endangering yourself. I do hope you’re old enough to listen to reason, my child. You’re clearly from a fine family, and I feel responsible for your wellbeing. And you know you simply cannot go wandering over the countryside alone, especially in times like these. I shall be happy to keep you here as my guest, and to write to your sister in Scotland, telling her you’re safe with me.”
Lark saw that she was being out-argued, and it was time to take another tack—especially since she couldn’t think of any answers to these reasonable arguments. She smiled in what she hoped was a sweet and childish way. “Mother always said I must never argue with my elders, and especially at the dinner table,” she said, looking dismayed at her own bad manners. “I mustn’t say anything more, must I?”
Everyone smiled at her kindly, under the mistaken impression that she had given up her silly notion about Scotland. James felt a mixture of relief and pain, but mostly relief. He intended to be on his way the first thing in the morning, and when Lark awoke and found him gone, she might not understand why he slipped off without saying goodbye. He hated to hurt her, and he hoped she would understand some day, but it would be a great load off his mind, too.
He should have known her well enough, even after this short time, to suspect that she had given in much too easily.
Although James was up at dawn, Lark was up well before dawn. She had found a quill and ink in her bedroom the night before, and written a brief note explaining that she had to go to Scotland. In the early hours of the morning she got up, dressed, and slipped quietly out of the house. She had no chance, this time, to make mental notes of things like squeaky boards, but it turned out that in this fine house there were not very many, anyway. The front door was not even bolted.
She sighed as she looked around through the blackness. Running away in the dark of night was getting to be a habit, and it was just as dark this time as it had been the last, and she did not know the countryside around here. The only thing to do, of course, was to go along the driveway until she reached the road that had led them from Salisbury, and then continue northward on it. She set off.
It was very lonely traveling by herself, and not as much fun as the first time. She had got used to James. She trudged on, as the sky slowly turned gray and then apricot. And then, just before sunrise, she came to a crossroad and stopped.
Across the way, to her left, stood a circle of gigantic stones, many of them lying on their sides, but some of them erect, with others balanced across their tops like giant’s tables. Lark stared. She had heard of this place. It was called Stonehenge. Her father had said it was old beyond imagining, and that no one knew who built it or where the stones came from (for that kind of stone simply wasn’t found within hundreds of miles), or how anyone got them here. Uncle Jeremiah had an explanation for this. He said they came from hell, and Satan had brought them up so that the godless heathen of old could use them for devil worship.
Lark walked a little closer, slowly. She was not quite sure whether or not she believed this last bit, but there was certainly an awesome feeling about the place. It was a little bit frightening. The stones loomed so starkly in the pale light that they seemed to be almost alive, and brooding over the remote past. Still, Lark began to sense as she got closer that it wasn’t really an evil feeling. No doubt there was some sort of magic left over from the old days, and perhaps if it wasn’t evil it might be good—or at least safe.
She moved slowly to the very center of the circle, and as she stood there, the sun began to rise, the edge of it almost directly over a giant stone that stood by itself like a sentinel some two hundred feet away. The magic got stronger than ever, she thought, and it occurred to her that surely this was the proper time to make a wish.
She made it earnestly, clasping her hands and screwing her eyes shut. Then she went and climbed onto one of the fallen stones, on the side where she could watch the road from Heale House.
And a little more than an hour later, James came in sight.
5
The Blue Dolphin
“I should have taken you right back to Heale House,” James said disagreeably.
“You’d have had to drag me every step,” retorted Lark, sticking her chin out. “And wouldn’t that have been nice? Besides, this isn’t your road, and I can walk on it if I want to. Nobody asked you to go with me.”
This wasn’t strictly true, as she had definitely waited for him and made it rather plain that she wanted his company—but then nobody is very reasonable in the midst of a quarrel. Lark draped her heavy cloak more firmly over her arm and increased her speed with an air of leaving something unwanted behind.
“Oh, do try to show some tiny bit of sense for a change!” James growled, keeping up with no difficulty.
“Shan’t!” muttered Lark, relieved to find him still with her. She gave a tiny glance sideways to see his expression. It was very much annoyed, and Lark’s own anger ebbed suddenly as it occurred to her that she wasn’t being very clever. She should be making James want her company, and here she was, instead, being as unpleasant as ever she could.
At precisely the same moment it was occurring to James how idiotic it was to argue like this with a little girl—even a very clever and precocious little girl. He laughed at himself, and Lark joined his laughter with a sense of great relief.
But James sobered after a moment. His good humor was restored, but his problem was as unsolved as ever. What on earth was he to do with her? He couldn’t go about the king’s business saddled with a little girl! On the other hand, neither could he abandon her. He frowned again, and suppressed a brief desire to shake her until she told him her uncle’s name and town. It was too late to take her back now, even if she did tell him. And he had a strong feeling that she would not. She really was a most determined child, he reflected, glancing at the smooth brown head with some awe. One would have supposed her Puritan uncle would have made her more tractable.
James couldn’t know that Lark’s Puritan discipline was part of the trouble. After over two years of sternly enforced obedience, freedom was going to her head. She walked along blissfully, quite drunk with the unaccustomed experience of asserting her own will once again. From now on, she decided dreamily, she would always do so. Not that she meant to be unreasonable, of course, but when she was perfectly sure she was right about a thing (which was usually) she intended to be firm about it—and it seemed that lovely and discriminating people like James then saw her point and gave in. Naturally, she told herself with a sense of great virtue, she would respond by being as helpful and considerate as possible.
She peered up into James’s face, which was troubled with his perplexing thoughts. Where next would they place the mythical dear old Aunt Prudence? She had already been moved from Tilshead to Devizes as they made their way northward. Where next? Was he going to have to take Lark all the way to Shrewsbury? What on earth would Doll say? And what would he do with her then?
“I won’t interfere in any business you have to do for the King,” said Lark, reading his thoughts so uncannily that he stared at her in alarm.
“What made you say a thing like that?” he demanded, and Lark perceived that she had said too much. She put on the expression that Mistress Tillyard had called affable imbecility.
“Or Cromwell or your father or anyone,” she prattled on innocently. “I don’t know where you’re going, really, but if you were having an adventure I think it would be nicer to do something for the King, because we both like hi
m best, don’t we?”
James breathed more easily. “You see, it isn’t safe to say things like that, even when you think we’re alone,” he said. “You might get us both into trouble. Remember that song of yours?”
Lark nodded meekly. Whatever James was doing for the king must be extremely important and dangerous, and she loved him more than ever and wished she could help. “All I meant was that I won’t interfere with anything you’re doing, and whenever you have to go and do it, why I’ll just go on the rest of the way to Scotland by myself, and you mustn’t bother or worry or anything.”
James groaned.
They walked on for a way in silence, and then Lark looked wistfully at James’s pack and at an inn which stood under some cool-looking trees half a mile ahead. She wondered whether they had more food or more money. “Do you suppose,” she suggested tentatively, “that we might stop soon for just a tiny bite to eat?”
James followed her glance and read her mind with no difficulty whatever. “Do you mind if we don’t stop there, Lark? I happen to know that it’s a meeting place for some of the most rigorous Puritans around here, and it might not be very safe for us.”
Lark agreed readily, having no desire for any trouble. They walked past the inn with shatteringly saintly faces, and breathed easier when they were well past it and around the next bend of the road. They sat down under a tree, for the weather was still unusually hot, ate the food which James had brought with him from Heale House, and then went on.
