Grantville Gazette Volume 25

by editor Paula Goodlett

  "Yes, sir." Michael retreated quickly from the room, scribbling as he went.

  Chapter 6

  Leighton

  Alexander Leighton smiled. Today brought a pair of miracles. William Prynne was released from the Tower, and the mercenaries were leaving Denmark House. He knew God's mechanism for performing these miracles was the earl of Cork. Not the earl himself, of course, but God working through the man. Satan was to receive a blow today. A blow from the hand of a righteous God. The right God. His God.

  He looked at the early morning sky. Cloudy. Gloomy. Grey. He smiled again. He nodded to the boy whom he kept, and the boy began to beat the drum. Leighton began to preach. This time, he would not hold back. This time, he would let the crowd grow, simmer, boil, and then organize. Then he would preach some more. Show them his back full of scars. Pull his hair back from where his ears used to be. The crowd would rise in strength, grow rigid in their resolve, and then he would not hold them back as he had done so many times before. He would release them, to do his bidding—God's bidding—against the Papist devils that resided within.

  The boy continued to beat the drum, Leighton began to speak. The crowd began to gather.

  * * *

  "Master Geoffrey! Master Geoffrey! You must awaken!"

  Geoffrey rolled over sleepily and looked at his servant, Jerome Gregoire, whose wife was also servant to the two female dwarfs in the court, Anne Sheppard and Sara Holt. Both of the female dwarfs were older than Geoffrey, and were always happy to pull a cruel trick on him whenever the opportunity presented itself. It made them feel better about themselves, he always figured. He shook his head. "Enough, Jerome! I am awake. What time is it?"

  "You must get dressed quickly and look at this sir. Now, sir. Please."

  "Very well, grab my trousers and give me the green doublet . . ."

  Moments later they were trotting down the hallway toward the part of Denmark House that faced the Strand. Geoffrey was still tucking in and fastening as he ran. It took them only a few moments, as Geoffrey's rooms were very near the queen's, which looked over the large gardens and the Thames, opposite the Strand. Servants and attendants were gathered about the windows, a few still in their nightclothes, pointing and whispering.

  Jerome waved them aside. "Make way, make way for Geoffrey."

  People reluctantly moved out of the way. Someone pushed a velvet upholstered footstool to the window, and Geoffrey climbed up to look at the street below.

  It looked like a normal early Thursday winter's day. The sky was barely grey. The small fish market across the street was open as usual, the preacher was where he always was, much earlier than usual, but in the same place. It looked completely normal.

  It took a moment to realize what was missing. Geoffrey felt the color drain from his face. His mouth went dry. He knew they weren't ready. He took another moment at the window to gather himself, before turning around. "Where are the troops?"

  A serving boy offered up what he knew. "They just left. As soon as it was light, they picked up and marched away, didn't say a hardly word to anyone. I was helping the breakfast cooks. Soldiers just said they had orders."

  Geoffrey's brain was reeling. "Have we sent a messenger to Whitehall?"

  The servants all looked at each other in the hallway, confused. "Have we awakened Jean Garnier?" Blank looks. "Either one of them. Father or son?" Heads shook in the negative. Geoffrey swallowed and realized he hadn't pissed yet. "Father Phillip?"

  One of the female servants answered. "He is always up at this hour. He is in the chapel."

  Geoffrey took a deep breath. "Listen to me."

  The body language of the knot of people changed to one of crossed arms and averted eyes.

  Geoffrey could feel his frustration rising. This time he let it erupt. "Listen! As soon as that man, the preacher, across the street gets enough of his rabble assembled, they will force their way in. They will kill everyone and destroy this entire place. Kill everyone! You, me, even the damned dogs. The only thing keeping them out were the mercenaries. That is why Captain Vanderbeek was here yesterday. He was supposed to get us out of here before this could happen. We may be too late."

  He turned to Jerome, who looked pale. The rest of the servants looked incredulous. Geoffrey smiled a bit inwardly. None of them had ever heard him shout. "Jerome, get to the stables as quickly as you can. Get a horse and ride to below the tower where Vanderbeek's ship is anchored. Have him get his men and boats up here as soon as possible. If he can send us help overland first, that would be even better."

  Jerome stood there for a moment as if in shock, then turned and ran toward the stables. "The rest of you, wake the house and meet in the large courtyard, as quickly as possible." Some of them started to move, and then stopped, uncertain of whether to believe him or not. Geoffrey put his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. "I don't care if you believe me. Don't worry, I will take responsibility. If I am wrong, you can sling jibes and stones at me all next week in the courtyard. But for now, please do as I ask."

  They looked at each other. One person nodded slightly, then another. Within moments they organized and dispersed to all parts of the house, waking people as they went.

  * * *

  The drum continued to beat, and Alexander Leighton continued to preach. People gathered. Faces he recognized from his weeks on the street. Some were armed. But . . . not enough. It was too early. They were coming. Oh, yes. Oh, yes . . . coming. Soon.

  * * *

  Geoffrey came dashing out of his rooms with his sword and dagger, and a pair of custom-made pistols tucked into his waistband. He stopped for a moment and looked back at the small suite of rooms. They had been his home since he was six years old. No matter how this day would end, it was unlikely he would ever see them again. He turned and trotted away, down the hallway.

  Denmark House was a series of three segments as it faced the Strand. In the center stood the main building with a massive enclosed courtyard in the center. Residences encircled the courtyard taking advantage of the light. Facing the Strand was a large gate, closed off by heavy wooden doors, much like an entrance to a castle. Unfortunately, it didn't have the accessories that a typical castle entrance included, such as murder holes and ports to drop boiling oil.

  To the west lay the stables, which were enclosed by a wooden fence, ten feet high and facing the street, again with a sturdy gate. That fence extended all the way to the Savoy Hospital. The area behind the stockade fence included the servants' quarters which extended down near the river, as well as the new chapel. The Catholic chapel, which had started off life as a tennis court.

  Behind both of the main buildings were the formal gardens, extending to the wall shielding Denmark House from the river. Now, in the early winter, the gardens were bare and wide open. A small wall separated the formal gardens from the servants' quarters and the stables. The layout was defensible, but not with the small number of people they had. Nearly all of the servants were gone and the quarters were emptied, as soon as the court had dissolved after the death of the queen.

  When Geoffrey arrived at the main courtyard, it looked like the majority of the people who still called Denmark House their home were present. Some looked confused, others worried, and others were laughing at the whole thing. He clambered up on a window ledge, and from there to the roof of a shed used for storing horse tack. It was now fully light, and he scanned the crowd. Present were the former queen's cupbearer, carver of fowl, carver of beef and game, a dozen musicians, the ten Capuchins, the handful of priests along with Father Phillip who was the queen's confessor and head priest. The Vantelet clan was present, as was the majority of the Garniers. Between the forty members of those two families, they had most of the high-level servant positions covered, from personal cook to the queen down to her panter and tailor. Maurice Aubert, the queen's physician, Madame De Blainville, an old lady who once served the queen of France, and Bocan, the dance master, were all there, along with a handful of others. Dependents were
there, too. The African servants were present, and of course all of the freaks, including Sara Holton, one of the other dwarfs. The freaks were standing somewhat away from the others in a corner.

  He finally picked out the people he was looking for, the highest ranking servants. Henry Jermyn, James Shirley, the master of the queen's bedchamber, and finally Jean Garnier, the master of ceremonies. The three were clumped together, and Jermyn saw Geoffrey first. Geoffrey waved at them, and the they were on their way to him in a moment.

  "Geoffrey," began Jean Garnier, "do you really think this sort of an alarm is needed? All they have done is pull the troops away. We are in no immediate danger. Let's just send everyone back to their duties and be done with this, shall we?"

  The rest of the group pressed closely so they could hear. Geoffrey sat on the roof of the tack shed so he could talk. Father Phillip had arrived. Geoffrey knew he would have to handle this just right. The famously fussy Jean Garnier pere, at nearly sixty-five years of age, was the sort who, once he had an idea in his skull, was loath to give it up. He was like one of the dogs they used for bull baiting, that would clamp onto the nose of the enraged bull and stay there until the animal buckled from lack of breath.

  The crowd grew quiet.

  Geoffrey began. "Monsieur Garnier, certainly you recall yesterday when Captain Joos Vanderbeek came to discuss our rescue. He was quite persuasive as to the need."

  "Of course he is, my little fellow. He is selling you a bill of goods so you will hire his vessel, which probably does not exist at all, so come down there and let the rest of us get on with the day, shall we?" He smiled his condescending smile up at Geoffrey, who still refused to cede the high ground at the top of the shed.

  Geoffrey could see Evans make his way through the crowd toward him. Evans was smiling at him, and nodded encouragement.

  Geoffrey took a deep breath, stood up on the roof so all could see, and began. "Monsieur Garnier. Everyone. We are in grave danger here today. Denmark House will be in flames before the end of the day. I say this with all certainty."

  The crowd mumbled, and looked quite incredulous. The body language changed like it always did. "If you do not believe me, then please listen to Father Phillip, or to James Shirley. They were there yesterday and spoke to the captain. Those of you who have been out on the street know what it's like. There is anger, and no one will protect us. The only thing protecting us were the troops in front of the gates. And now they are gone!"

  Geoffrey looked below him to Father Phillip and James Shirley. He urged them to speak with a hand motion.

  Father Phillip went first. "The French ambassador has fled the county, and he is of no help. None of the Catholics in England can help us; they are either in hiding or dead these last weeks. There is no one."

  Jermyn picked up the argument, although much less confidently. "Listen to me. The troops going away, the preacher out early in the morning . . . he is never out this early. These are signs of something coming."

  Geoffrey picked it up again. "Those of you who have somewhere to go in the town, I urge you to do so. Take whatever belongings you have and go. Now. Go this moment before the crowd gathers in the street. The rest of us will have to await rescue by the captain. We will have to defend Denmark House until then."

  "Wait! Wait a damn moment!" Jean Garnier was furious. His normally pale skin was red and blotchy with anger, quite a contrast with his white hair. "This is preposterous. Simple troop movements are not the end of the world. This is an overreaction. All we need to do is petition Lord Cork that we need continued protection. We can pay for it, if needed; we have the funds. This little man is overreacting."

  He gave a withering look to Geoffrey, and turned back to the crowd. "As a matter of fact, it must be a joke! That's it! This is the same sort of joke as when you almost blew away in a strong wind that time, or perhaps when you almost drowned in the teacup. That's it! This is all Geoffrey the dwarf's little game. Pah! Get us all out of bed. Go back to your duties everyone. This foolishness has gone on long enough!" He glared at Geoffrey, still standing on the roof of the tack shed and whispered, "Get down here, you foul little boy. For you deserve a good spanking for this. Damn you. Scaring these people like that—"

  Geoffrey reached for his sword, and for a moment the old man looked frightened. Geoffrey simply left his hand on the blade, and didn't pull it from the scabbard. They locked eyes. The old man looked confused.

  "Uncle. He is right. You must listen to him." It was Marie Garnier. She turned to the crowd. "You all must listen to him. Everything he says is true. Geoffrey is right." She addressed her uncle so that only Geoffrey, Jermyn and Father Phillip could hear. "I am sorry, Uncle, but he is right. I agree. I know, because I sent the message to the earl of Cork myself that we were planning to leave—a rescue operation. You know I have been corresponding to him regularly."

  Geoffrey saw the expression change on the old man's face, and his head swiveled between Geoffrey and his niece. Jermyn and Father Phillip chimed in at the same time with their arguments again, only quietly, and directly to Jean Garnier. There was much hand gesturing and serious head shaking for a time, much of it by Marie.

  Finally the old man held up his hands. "Very well! It seems I have been corrected. We will get ready to leave. Those of you who can get to safety, do so."

  Jermyn and Father Phillip strode through the crowd issuing orders and answering questions. Geoffrey saw Marie pull her uncle aside one more time, whisper something in his ear, and then look at him.

  The elder Garnier recoiled, and looked up at Geoffrey. "Is it true?"

  Geoffrey sat down on the edge of the low shed roof, legs dangling in space at about head height for both of the Garniers. He was confused. "I think the mob will attack, yes. Before the day is out."

  "No, young man. That's not what I mean. Did you kill a man in a fight while bringing this captain to us to arrange the rescue?"

  "How-how did you know about that? Did she tell you? How did you find out, Marie?"

  "Joos told me about it. Said you are a man to be reckoned with."

  Geoffrey crossed his arms and tilted his head in thought. "Joos. You know him, don't you? From somewhere before. Am I right? Some of those trips you have taken. So mysterious. That's how the captain knew you were a spy."

  "Please. A correspondent. That is all."

  Geoffrey began to get angry. "You're the one who told Cork. We might have had a day or two to plan if you hadn't told him what we were up to."

  "And how do you know that, Geoffrey?"

  "I had your servant followed after your meeting with Captain Vanderbeek."

  "My, we are industrious aren't we?"

  Jean Garnier broke in. "Enough. She had my permission to correspond with the earl. I encouraged it. Her relationship with him is one I thought would help us. Looks as if I was wrong on that."

  "Looks that way," said Geoffrey grimly.

  Chapter 7

  Prynne

  The crowd began to gather, much faster than he anticipated. Alexander Leighton was thrilled. Then he saw a familiar face. Prynne. He was out of the Tower, exactly as Cork had promised. He arrived with his own group of followers, swelling the ranks. Alexander motioned for Prynne to come near the small wagon-mounted platform from which he spoke. Leighton climbed down and greeted him; they slipped behind the wagon for what privacy they could manage.

  "You look well, Prynne. How did you manage to escape the knife and the whip?"

  "I know not, Alexander. But I am grateful to God for the things we have been given. I shall not waste my freedom. We have much to do and an opportunity has been given to us. I was told you would be here."

  "We are here to destroy the cradle of Satan within Denmark House."

  "The Catholic chapel?" Prynne was a tall man, a lawyer by trade. He pushed his broad brimmed black hat back on his head, and peered down at Leighton. "How are you going to do that? Isn't Denmark House still occupied? Bunch of leftover French?"

  "It is."<
br />
  "What are you going to do about them? The queen is dead, of course, but the rest of the people in there are not going to just let you go in and knock the place down."

  Leighton looked up at the taller man's eyes. Prynne's eyes were not eyes of resolve. They were not the eyes of a man who truly wants to defeat Satan on Earth. There was an innocence in them at first, then a realization. Prynne's eyes widened and he looked horrified.

  "You can't mean you are going to force your way in. There will be a fight. A large fight. There might be terrible bloodshed!" Prynne kept his voice to a whisper. An angry whisper.

  Leighton grabbed Prynne by the collar, shaking the tall man violently. "You do not understand! We cannot be weak! This is our time!" He held Prynne against the wagon, still holding his collar, choking him firmly. "You must show resolve. There was a time when you were a leader, I was a follower. It's not that way anymore, Prynne."

  Prynne looked terrified.

  Good, thought Leighton. Very good.

  "What has happened to you, Alexander? You . . .you are mad, you know," said Prynne shakily.

  "Perhaps. But I am mad for right, Prynne. And you cannot stop me." He pulled the taller man close, and whispered into his ear. "Truthfully, you do not want to stop me. God will forgive us. Of that I am certain." Leighton tossed the taller man aside like a doll, down to the cold cobblestones, and turned to go to back to his podium. As he was threading his way around the wagon, he looked back at Prynne. His complexion was deathly white and he huddled against the wall of the alley, in shock.

  No resolve.

  Chapter 8

  Captain Hudson

  By midday, Geoffrey had heard from Jerome, the servant he sent to mobilize Captain Vanderbeek. The boats were on their way, but could not row past the bridge until the tide had turned. From the bridge, it was just a short pull up to Denmark House's watergate. He spent his time organizing what defenses they could muster, helping those who wanted to escape to do so, and doing his best to keep up morale. They found a few weapons, including some pikes and a collection of swords and armor. Five matchlocks were found with powder and shot. In all they had about twenty-five men who were in good enough shape to fight. The rest of the group, women, children, and old men could not fight, could only stay out of the way.