Lark (Sally Watson Family Tree Series)

by Sally Watson

  The desolation in her voice nearly undid James, but the unnatural meekness of her words caused him to slant a suspicious eyebrow in the direction of the keyhole and grin wryly. So that was it, was it? The frontal attack hadn’t worked, so now it would be a flank movement. What a transparent child she was, really—once a person was on to her.

  “Doing it rather too brown, aren’t you?” he murmured at the door.

  “What did you say, James?”

  James didn’t enlighten her. Neither did he comfort her very much. For one thing, having once decided she was putting on an act, James didn’t in the least realize how truly strongly she felt about having to confront Uncle Jeremiah. And for another, he was inclined to want to punish her just a little bit for her behavior earlier and her probable intentions for the future.

  “Have you got plenty to eat in there?” he asked. “We can let something down from the roof, I dare say, if you should run out before your odious cousin comes back with his cursed key.” James had developed an immediate and intense dislike for Will-of-God.

  Lark giggled shakily. “Doll put enough food and water in here for a large family,” she told him. “And I’d as lief Will didn’t come back at all, even with the key,” she added, achieving the light-hearted touch with some effort.

  “Oh, he will,” James predicted darkly. “And,” he added, with just the slightest touch of malice, “you’d better save some of your acting ability to use on him. I don’t mean insulting him, either. I know that’s satisfying, but you’ll just make him angrier, and it’s better if he’s puzzled and a little sorry for you. Be as pathetic and idiotic as you can. You know what I mean. Cry. Be afraid of him.”

  “All right,” Lark agreed reluctantly. And when Will-of-God returned, early that evening, she played her part as effectively as James could have wished.

  Will, definitely shaken, left the room fairly quickly, locked the door, and turned a disturbed face to the impassive James. “Do you think it’s the Lord or the Devil who has afflicted her?” he asked, almost humbly—for Will.

  James looked wisely thoughtful. “It’s a bit too soon to say,” he declared, leading the way down the narrow stairs. “I do think perhaps you shouldn’t keep asking her how she got here, though. She probably doesn’t know, and you see how it upsets her. I do wish you would entrust the proprietress with the key, Master Talbot. I worry about fire, and in any case, it might be that we could help her somewhat.”

  Will-of-God was looking both annoyed and bewildered as he thought of Elizabeth’s behavior. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered shaking his large cropped head. “Why should she fear or dislike me?”

  James maintained a rather grim silence at this, hoping that Will might remember a few reasons why. Nothing of the sort happened, of course. Will did not even know he was a bully. He thought of himself as a fine fellow, one of the Superior Sex, and of those Elected To Salvation; and he thought he had always treated Lark rather better than she deserved.

  “Perhaps I pampered and spoiled her too much at home?” he suggested. “Father always said she needed more discipline.”

  James controlled his impulses. “Not now, I fear,” he said judiciously, turning at the front door to look gravely into the stolid face of Will. “Uh—about the key—”

  Will-of-God looked at him. “I’ll ask Father when he comes back,” he said stiffly, and left.

  James’s next remarks were not intended for his ears, and it was just as well they didn’t reach them.

  The next five days furnished both Lark and James plenty of time for a great deal of thinking. It was not altogether pleasant for either of them. Lark hated being closed in, to begin with. A Greek student might have called it claustrophobia; Lark knew only that she kept wanting to knock down the walls which pressed in on her, and sometimes she sat and fought with herself for what seemed hours, to keep from screaming. And even when she wasn’t busy not screaming, her thoughts were not very cheerful.

  At first she felt very hurt and cross about James, who was suddenly no longer a combination of fond playmate and chivalrous knight, but rather more like a brisk but unadoring older brother. Lark blamed Doll for this. She had influenced him, and that was something only Lark was supposed to do.

  But Lark’s mind had a tendency to look for logic whether Lark’s feelings liked it or not. Now it began to follow a relentless train of thought which she found exceedingly unpleasant, because it came to the distressing conclusion that she, Elizabeth Lark Lennox, had been guilty of a number of things. She had been babyish and selfish and unreasonable. Worse, she had been so delighted to get her own way about things that she had expected James always to do exactly as she wanted—and he a grown-up man, practically, and about the king’s business!

  Even all alone in her prison, Lark hid her face in her hands as the awfulness of her behavior slowly sank in. No wonder James had turned a bit testy! It was really, she decided humbly, astonishingly noble of him to have rescued her from Will-of-God at all, and she must show her gratitude by reforming at once. As soon as he saved her from Uncle Jeremiah, she would be simply unbelievably sweet and meek, and never try to dictate to him in the least, but go to Devon or wherever he wished, except, of course, to battle.

  Lark realized with some chagrin that she wasn’t really reforming at all, but only deciding to be nice as long as she had her own way. If she wanted James’s good opinion and affection, she must not make any conditions, but truly leave all the decisions up to him, even if he should decide to leave her here and go join the King’s army.

  But Lark balked at that. It was too much. Besides, what good was James’s good opinion if she was back with Aunt Judith and he dead on a battlefield? If she were really brave and patriotic and unselfish, of course, she would wave and smile as he went, as Mother had waved and smiled when Lark’s father and brother went. Lark decided sadly that she was not brave and patriotic and unselfish. She would try to learn to be these things, but she would have to start on something smaller, like not trying to twist James around her finger any more—or at least, not on unimportant matters.

  She sighed. Growing up was turning out to be quite as complicated and difficult as she had suspected it would be.

  James still wrestled with his awful dilemma about loyalty, and tried to figure out how to rescue Lark. Sometimes he argued with himself, and sometimes with Doll, and occasionally with Will-of-God. None of it seemed to help much.

  In the meantime, Shrewsbury waited for the Scottish army to arrive, and Cromwell behind it, while the garrison at the castle wondered what had delayed Colonel Talbot’s return. Will-of-God became more and more sullen, for the story was all over town about the half-witted child whom he claimed as his betrothed, and he found this extremely embarrassing. He began to dislike his cousin very much, and to wish Satan would fly away with her and be done with it.

  When he had finally stayed away from the inn for two days altogether, Doll put on a shawl and marched down to the castle for a word with Captain Dove. Did Talbot intend to starve his little cousin, she demanded? She didn’t mind keeping the child safely locked up, it being all, in a manner of speaking, for the Cause of Cromwell and God, but she drew the line at child-slaughter, and it was two days now since she had been able to get food and water in.

  Doll neglected to mention, of course, that what with the wide crack under the door and a pole across from the window in the next chamber, Lark was in no danger of starving. Captain Dove, not knowing this, was as horrified as she had planned him to be. He roared for Will-of-God and ordered him to give the key to Doll at once. And Will-of-God, muttering about What His Father Would Say, obeyed.

  Doll bore the key triumphantly back—not to the waiting hands of James, but into some mysterious depths of the inn. When she appeared again the key was not to be seen, and she was wearing an air of virtue victorious.

  That night she and James had a long, low-voiced, and heated discussion in the privacy of the fireplace alcove. At the end of it, Doll looked more tri
umphant than ever, and James very meek and defeated. He almost overdid it. It was a mercy Doll didn’t know him any better than she did. Lark would have perceived instantly that he was Up To Something.

  But Doll went to bed happy in the thought that she had led the nice lad back to a sense of his proper duty, and at the same time made sure of one more soldier for King Charles. It was a pity she had to use a sort of blackmail to do it, but if people didn’t see the Right for themselves, then it was necessary to force it upon them. And he had given in without too much struggle once she had threatened to keep Lark locked up until he did. She went to sleep with a sense of having done a good deed that day.

  James was awake for quite a long time planning, and thinking how ironic it was that he was now having to struggle against his own side as well as the enemy. Of course, he admitted fairly to himself, Doll might be perfectly right. James frankly didn’t know. But he did know that he was not going to be forced into anything, right or not. He had to make up his own mind, and that he certainly couldn’t do with Lark a hostage.

  Doll meant well, of course, he knew. She had worked everything out in a simply splendid plan, except for just a few minor details such as trying to run James’s life for him. James was sick and tired of having assorted females of various ages trying to run his life for him. He was a good-natured sort of person who liked to be obliging and to make people happy, but there was, he felt, a limit. Doll was about to discover this. And once he got Lark safely away from that brute of a cousin and an uncle who was probably just like him, Lark, too, was due for a few surprises.

  James returned to his plans for the immediate future, and it was at least two more hours before he fell asleep.

  13

  Under the Wall

  The next day dawned as if it had just remembered that this was still August, after several days doubt. A glorious radiance of sun poured into Lark’s casement windows, accompanied by the golden-green smells of a hot morning. Lark put her small face close to the narrow opening permitted by the chain, and reflected that the walls did not seem nearly as close and threatening in the sunshine.

  A few minutes later the key turned in the lock, and to her surprise Doll came in alone, bearing a large tray of food balanced against one hip, and a bundle under her arm.

  Lark hardly noticed these. “Isn’t Will here?” she breathed cautiously, one eye on the door which had closed behind Doll. “Then you have a key now? Can I get out? What happened?”

  “Tsss,” Doll remarked, setting the tray down on the table. “Be patient, girl. I have the key, but you can’t leave now; surely you can see that.” She looked at Lark with severity, and then went on quite kindly. “But I’ll see you have three good hot meals a day now, and plenty of water, and I’ve brought things to help pass the time. Here’s some knitting, and both of my own books, and my old rag doll, and scraps and needle and thread so that you can make clothing for her. And I’ll bring up cleaning things later. As long as you’re here, you may as well keep the room tidy.”

  She hurried off, leaving Lark both encouraged and a little confused. Doll had never been this kind before. But she didn’t seem to know whether Lark was a child who played with dolls or a young lady who read Shakespeare. Lark preferred the latter. It was a novelty after two years with Uncle Jeremiah, and besides, reading helped take her mind from thinking and walls that closed in.

  It was nearly noon when she heard James hiss at the keyhole and flew over to talk to him. “Are you all right?” he breathed softly. “Lark, listen: we’re going to try to get away tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Lark whispered. “But Doll said—”

  “I know she did,” said James grimly. “We’re running away from her as well as the Roundheads now. I’ll explain later. She’s at market now; we’ll have to plan quickly. It’s going to be hard, because she keeps the key hidden. I can’t think of anything except just to try to make her give it to me—even if I have to—” He stopped, very much afraid it would not work. He couldn’t think of any way to make her tell, even if he were willing to kill her, which of course he wasn’t. “Do you have any other ideas at all?” he asked Lark, but without much hope.

  “Couldn’t I go out the window?” asked Lark calmly.

  For a moment James thought perhaps her wits had turned. “With that chain on it?” he demanded. “I looked at that when they put you in there. You can’t possibly open the casement more than six inches.”

  “I don’t know how many inches it is,” returned Lark, “but it’s exactly as wide as my head, and my head is quite small. If I scrape my ears a little and then turn sideways for the rest of me, I can get through quite easily. I’ve already gone half through twice—but just at night,” she added hastily, thinking James’s silence might mean that she had been imprudent.

  Actually, he was busy seeing their escape in a whole new perspective, and also feeling a great admiration for Lark’s ingenuity and courage. He did not at all care for heights, himself. It didn’t occur to him that Lark was perfectly comfortable in high places, and it hadn’t required any courage at all for her to stick herself half out. On the contrary, she would have dared much more to escape those awful in-pressing walls.

  “I think it might work,” he whispered after a minute. “The room under you is empty; Doll saw to that. It isn’t so far down, but how could you do it? You can’t climb a rope, can you?”

  Lark considered this. “I expect I could climb down a sheet,” she suggested. “In the stories Gran used to tell me, people usually climbed down sheets or ivy. Besides, I can cut little holes in the sheet for my fingers and toes. It’s good stout linen.”

  James had a sudden vision of Lark clinging to a frail sheet on the sheer wall of the inn. How could he have considered such a thing? Better to have her stay a prisoner and safe, even if it should mean going back to her uncle. He would not consider risking her life! Very much upset, he explained this to the keyhole.

  The keyhole immediately began to sputter and hiss in such a fury that James drew back a little and eyed it with disapproval. Really, she could be an extremely difficult person to handle!

  On the other side of the door, Lark caught an echo of his thoughts, and her sputtering stopped abruptly as she clapped both hands over her mouth. Here she was behaving like a very shrew—and after all her good resolutions, too! How wicked and stupid of her!

  She peered anxiously through the large keyhole and caught a glimpse of an angry brown eye peering back at her. “I’m sorry, James,” she said so humbly that James was thrown off his stride with surprise. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  James recovered at once, and decided—most unfairly this time—that she was just using guile again. It wasn’t going to work, he decided with some amusement, and set about devising another plan at once.

  Disconcertingly, Lark agreed to everything he proposed, so that he descended the steep stairs a few minutes later in some confusion. Perhaps he had misjudged her? At any rate, she was certainly a surprising small person, and perhaps he was lucky to have such a practical and gallant companion in adventure. All their plans were made for getting out, and now he needed to explore the town a bit and see if he could figure out the best way of getting outside the wall.

  Downstairs he met Doll just returning from market. “Any news?” he asked casually. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back. I want to wander around and pick up rumor myself. No word of the king?”

  Doll shook her head. “I’ve decided to move into the room just beneath Lark,” she said, equally casual. “Then if she should need anything during the night, she can just knock on her floor. I should have thought of it sooner.”

  Her eyes were very bright as they looked at James, and he knew quite well that she had a different reason for her move. He stood still and hoped he hadn’t gone pale. “Yes, I should think you ought,” he agreed with a show of indignation. “I said so from the first. What if the inn caught fire or something? I’ll go up and tell her now; she’ll feel less lonely just know
ing.”

  Doll nodded, and James fled upstairs to whisper the shattering news into the keyhole. “I’ll try to think of something else,” he promised. “If I get a plan I may have to slip a note under the door. You be thinking, too.”

  And then he went out into the sunny town quickly, because he really didn’t want to talk to Doll just now, and also because he had a good deal of thinking to do. He wandered around the streets closest to the town wall, one eye open for a place where it might be possible to climb over. The other eye was turned inward on a mental picture of the attic just over Lark’s room, and the arrangement of the casements. He had the beginning of a plan, but it seemed even more dangerous than the first one.

  The town wall was beginning to look extremely discouraging. There seemed to be no trees conveniently close, and as a matter of fact, it was difficult to get very near the wall at all, since there were walled back gardens right up against it almost all the way around town. It was not at all promising, and James began to cast around in his mind for some other way out of Shrewsbury.

  But then in a narrow street in a shabby section, he saw a bit of garden wall next to the town wall that was crumbled in one spot. James sauntered on very casually, but his sharp eye noticed that the house belonging to that garden had a vaguely deserted look about it, and the weeds in the cracks of that bit of wall were thriving. He yawned a little, arranged himself in a patch of shade within sight of that bit of wall, and made himself a part of the scenery until at last there was no one in sight. Then he squeezed himself through the gap, thankful that his strength was of the lean and wiry variety. If he had run to heavy bulging muscle, he would never have got through.

  Inside, he found himself in a labyrinth of fallen stones and overgrown shrubs, and one or two trees—but none, he saw with a sinking heart, at all close to the town wall.

  “S’teeth!” he muttered, and stood still, telling himself that he really shouldn’t have hoped for such luck, anyway.