The King's Mistress

by Gillian Bagwell

  “You have a letter, Mistress Jane.” Abigail appeared at the bedroom door, letter in outstretched hand, and Jane took it from her eagerly.

  “It’s from Ellen!” Jane cried. “Mrs Norton. Ellen Owen as was.”

  “Oh, I hope she’s well,” Abigail smiled, her dark curls bobbing. “I always did like that lady.”

  Jane sat on the window seat and broke the seal on the letter. It was not often she received mail, and it made the day seem special. Her dearest friend Ellen had married the previous year and gone to live at her husband’s grand home, Abbots Leigh, near Bristol, a hundred miles away. When Ellen lived nearby, she and Jane had visited each other frequently, sharing their hopes and dreams, and it seemed that Ellen’s dreams had come true. George Norton was everything she had wanted in a husband—handsome, rich, earnest, and above all, passionately in love with her. In November her happiness was to be crowned with the birth of a baby and her letter was full of her joy at impending motherhood.

  I feel so peculiar and yet so wonderful that I don’t think I can describe the sensation with any justice. My belly has begun to swell, and with marvel I run my hands over it and know that within lies a copy of my dear George (for I am sure it is a son, and my mother writes that carrying a baby low as I do is a sure sign that the child is a boy). My bosom, too, has grown, though surely it is too early for milk to be there, and though perhaps it is indecent of me to put it to paper, George seems to take even more delight in my body thus than he did when we were first wed.

  An image of the grinning Gypsy flashed into Jane’s mind. She wondered what it would be like to lie with a man, and then wondered whether she would ever find out.

  Oh, Jane, I wish that you were sitting next to me so that I could whisper to you these thoughts and feelings that I blush to write. Nothing would give me more joy than were you to come to visit when I am brought to bed and remain for some time after the baby is born. Though in name I am mistress here, in truth I feel as if I am still the guest of George’s mother. I have no real friends and long for your company.

  I will go, Jane thought. Perhaps Ellen can tell me what I’m waiting for, and whether I’m a fool to wait. There must be some sign she can point to, something that will tell whether I should marry Clement or no.

  She ran to find John and discovered him in shirtsleeves in the stables among a crowd of grooms and stable hands. The big stallion Thunder was out of his box, and the gate was open into the stall where the pretty new dappled mare stood, whinnying and jerking nervously at her halter. The men looked embarrassed to see Jane, and she realised they must be about to put the stallion in to cover the mare, but she was so excited at the prospect of the trip that she couldn’t wait.

  “Ellen wants me to visit her when she has her baby! I so much want to go.”

  The scent of the mare in his nostrils, Thunder blew out a great whuffling breath and reared, and the boy holding his bridle narrowly avoided the slashing hooves.

  “Have a care there, Tom.” John turned briefly to Jane, but his attention was on the horses. “You’ll need a pass to travel, you know.”

  “Oh.” She had not thought of that. “But surely you can arrange it?”

  “I daresay.” He laid a calming hand on the shying mare. “But let’s speak of this later, when I’m at leisure.”

  He sounded impatient, and as Jane made her way back to the house, she realised that perhaps it was because the arrangements for her travel would have to be made with the governor of Stafford. John had been governor of that town, as well as nearby Lichfield and Rushall. But Stafford had fallen to the enemy and the Parliamentary colonel Geoffrey Stone, once John’s friend, was now governor, though even the rebel officers regarded John with respect.

  She had her own reasons for feeling uneasy about a meeting with Colonel Stone. Just before the war had begun, when she was fifteen, young Geoff Stone, then twenty-three, had begun paying court to her. The matter had not gone so far as an engagement, but Jane had liked him very much, as had her family, and it had been painful and embarrassing for everyone when it became apparent they were on opposite sides of a disagreement that would be settled on the battlefield.

  THE NEXT MORNING JOHN POPPED HIS HEAD IN JANE’S BEDROOM door, booted and his coat over his arm.

  “I’ll ride to Stafford today and see Geoff Stone. I don’t think he’ll give us any trouble about letting you visit Ellen. Someone must travel with you, though. I’ll ask him to make the pass for you and a serving man, and we’ll settle later who is to go.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “It means so much to me to see Ellen. And I’m just as glad not to have to see Geoff myself.”

  John was so much older than she that it was almost like having a second father, Jane thought. And while she revered Thomas Lane for his gentle wisdom, John was a big bluff soldier in his prime, and with him she always felt that nothing could hurt her.

  “It’s little enough I can do,” John said. “The wars brought trouble in so many ways, we must find our way back to as many ordinary pleasures as we can.”

  That evening he returned with the precious pass, authorising Mistress Jane Lane to travel the hundred miles from Bentley to Abbots Leigh, accompanied by a serving man.

  “Colonel Stone asked me to send you his compliments and best wishes for a safe journey,” he said. “He’s a good man, for all that I disagree with him about the governance of the country.”

  ON AN AFTERNOON A WEEK LATER, JANE HEARD THE WAGON RUMBLE up the drive and then excited voices in the stable yard. John and her father had set out for Wolverhampton for the weekly market, but they had hardly been gone long enough to accomplish their business. She peered out the window and saw Richard and her cousin Henry listening intently to John, though she couldn’t catch the words.

  She ran downstairs and out the door on the heels of her mother and Athalia.

  “What is it, Thomas, what’s happened?” her mother cried. Her father turned to them, his eyes burning with emotion.

  “King Charles has crossed the border at Carlisle with his army and was proclaimed king at Penrith and Rokeby.”

  Jane’s heart thrilled. Something real was happening, after all the rumour and uncertainty.

  “How many men does he have?” she asked. “Is it the Scots, or has France or someone sent troops?”

  “It’s mostly Scots so far,” John said. “But yesterday the king issued a general pardon and oblivion for those who fought against his father, and is calling on his subjects to join him and fight.”

  He took a printed broadsheet from his coat pocket, and Richard pulled it out of his hands.

  “Dear God,” Jane’s mother moaned. “More war.”

  “But this will be the end.” Richard’s eyes were gleaming. “This is our chance to defeat the rebels for good and all.”

  “Let’s not stand here to discuss it,” John said as a groom took the team of horses by the bridles and led the wagon away. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”

  AS THE FAMILY GATHERED AROUND THE TABLE, SERVANTS EDGED IN from the kitchen to hear the news.

  Jane had seized the Parliamentary Mercurius Britannicus newsbook her father had brought home, and snorted in disgust.

  “They’ve set forth in the most alarming terms every invasion of the Scots since 1071. ‘Un-English’, they call those who would join the king, and say they deserved to be stoned.”

  “Hardly surprising from that source,” Henry said. “But hear what the king says. Read it, Dick.”

  “‘We are now entering into our kingdom with an army who shall join with us in doing justice upon the murderers of our royal father …’”

  “It’s really happening!” Jane cried. “He’s coming to take back his throne!”

  “‘To evidence how far we are from revenge, we do engage ourself to a full Act of Oblivion and Indemnity for all things done these seven years past, excepting only Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, John Cooke, and all others who did
actually sit and vote in the murder of our royal father.’”

  “That’s only right,” Henry said, to murmurs of agreement.

  “‘We do require some of quality or authority in each county where we shall march to come to us …’”

  They were all silent for a moment, and then John spoke.

  “I’ll go to Walsall tomorrow to begin to form a regiment. We’ll send word around tonight. And we shall hasten to the king’s side as soon as we may.”

  Oh God, that I were a man! Jane wished. Then I, too, could rally to his side and fight, instead of sitting here to await the outcome.

  AS SUMMER RIPENED, THE EMOTIONAL TEMPERATURE OF ENGLAND seemed to rise. Every day there was more ominous news. The Catholics of Lancashire had failed to rise for King Charles. Parliament ordered the raising of militias in each county. A month’s pay was provided to the militiamen who were flocking to support the Parliamentary army, and the generals Cromwell, Lambert, and Harrison were harrying the king’s forces as he moved southward. The government clamped down, ordering that all copies of the king’s proclamation were to be turned over to the authorities to be burned by the local hangmen. Public meetings were forbidden. The already stringent restrictions on travel were tightened.

  “You cannot think of going to Abbots Leigh now!” Jane’s mother cried over supper on a warm evening towards the end of August. “Soldiers everywhere, and thousands of Scots among them!”

  “The Scots are with the king, still far to the north,” Jane responded. “It’s the Roundheads and the militias I would run into, and in any case, my pass provides for a manservant. I’ll take one of the grooms with me.”

  “That’s scarcely better. John, you must accompany your sister.”

  “You know I can’t, Mother.”

  “Or you, Dick.” Anne rounded on her youngest son.

  “No more can I,” he said, doggedly tearing into a piece of bread. “I mean to join the king as soon as we are provisioned.”

  “I’ll get a son of one of our tenant farmers to travel with Jane,” Thomas Lane intervened. “Some great strapping lad who’ll make sure no harm befalls her.”

  Jane’s mother shook her head in exasperation. “That’s a step in the right direction. But, Jane, surely Ellen would understand if you cannot come?”

  “I would not ask her to understand.” Jane tried to keep the irritation from her voice. “She wants my company, and I would not miss the chance to be with her for anything.”

  JOHN, RICHARD, AND HENRY WERE DAILY AT WALSALL, AND THE TROOP of men and horse they would take to the king’s aid was growing as the people of the surrounding countryside took heart at the prospect of his return to the throne. Jane joined her brothers and cousin in the parlour after supper each evening to hear about the events of the day, and shook her head in disgust as she read the latest proclamation, “An Act Prohibiting Correspondence with Charles Stuart or His Party”.

  “‘Whereas certain English fugitives did perfidiously and traitorously assist the enemies and invaders of this Commonwealth and did set up for their head Charles Stuart, calling him their king’!”

  “The more frightened they are, the harder they strike out,” Henry said, his booted feet propped on a stool before him. John lit his pipe and blew a smoke ring, watching it dissolve into the shadows before he spoke.

  “They’ve made it a capital offence to give aid to the king in any form. There will be no middle ground. If we’re defeated, the repercussions will be bloody and terrible.”

  “The king has reached Worcester!” Henry crowed a few nights later. “He summons all men between the ages of sixteen and sixty to rally in the riverside meadows near the cathedral.”

  Richard tilted the newly printed broadsheet towards the firelight. “He promises the Scots will return home once the war is done. Perhaps that will mollify Mother.”

  A few days before the end of August, Jane heard the men return home earlier than usual, and ran down to the kitchen to hear the news. John was bathing his face with water from a bucket near the door. Henry and Richard stood nearby, their faces ashen.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

  “The worst news we could have hoped for.” John shook his head, drying his face and hands. “The Earl of Derby had stayed in Lancashire to defend against Cromwell’s advance. Cromwell’s men caught up with him at Wigan. It seems he may have escaped, but more than two thousand have been taken prisoner, including the Duke of Richmond and Lord Beauchamp.”

  “The enemy had word of where he was,” Henry said, sinking in despair onto a stool. “There must be spies in the ranks. Some of the Scots are abandoning the king now, and making for the border.”

  “The king was already outnumbered,” Richard fretted, slamming his fist onto the big worktable. “The battle could come any day. John, we can’t wait any longer.”

  “Another two days,” John said. “Mistress Hawkins has promised a dozen horses, and we’ll need every beast we can get.”

  “Let me leave tomorrow,” Richard insisted. “With the men and horses we have now.”

  Oh, that I could be riding with you, Jane thought.

  “Very well,” John said. “Henry and I will follow the day after.”

  THE NEXT EVENING AFTER SUPPER JANE SLIPPED INTO THE PARLOUR to find her brothers and cousin huddled together near the hearth, their worried looks and low urgent conversation presaging some further bad news.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Come in and shut the door,” John said. He handed her a printed broadsheet.

  “‘We do hereby publish and declare Charles Stuart, son to the late tyrant, to be a rebel, traitor, and public enemy to the Commonwealth of England,’” Jane read. “‘And all his abettors, agents, and complices to be rebels, traitors, and public enemies, and do hereby command all officers civil and military in all market towns and convenient places, to cause this declaration to be proclaimed and published …’”

  She let the proclamation drop to the floor, suddenly wishing that she could bar the doors of the house, locking out danger and keeping these men she loved so much safe at home.

  “It’s not that I mind risking my life,” Richard said, his cheeks flushed with anger. “But if we fail and are captured, the dogs will take the house, the land, and we’ll not be here to protect Mother and Father.”

  I can’t strap on a sword and a pistol and ride to Worcester with them, Jane thought. But there is something I can do.

  “I’ll take care of Mother and Father,” she said. Her brothers and cousin looked at her. “And your family, too, John, if it comes to that. You must go.”

  “How can you?” Richard shook his head. “Your love won’t feed them nor yet put a roof over their heads if Cromwell’s men burn the house.”

  The reference to burning hung heavy in the air. An earlier Bentley Hall had been burned down seventy years ago by the mayor and members of the corporation of Walsall during a dispute over common rights, and during the wars many houses had been destroyed by troops on both sides.

  “I can marry Clement Fisher,” she said.

  She felt numb and then consumed by panic, as if her air were being cut off. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, swallowing back tears. If they can risk death on the battlefield or scaffold, how can I hesitate? The men were all staring at her, and she squared her shoulders and swallowed the sobs that were rising to her throat.

  “If you go, we will stand firm here at home, whatever comes.”

  John came to her and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

  “Thank you, Jane. It’s a weight off my mind to think so. But let’s pray the battle ends with the king on the throne, and it doesn’t come to such a pass.”

  RICHARD AND PART OF THE NEWLY FORMED WALSALL ROYALIST REGIMENT set off to join the king on the first of September. Cromwell had arrived at Red Hill outside the city walls of Worcester, his New Model Army augmented by local militias from across England, and the battle must begin any
day. On the third of September, John and Henry rode northward with another hundred men and horses. The house seemed eerily empty and quiet as the family gathered for dinner.

  “It was a year ago today that young King Charles met Cromwell’s forces at Dunbar,” Thomas Lane commented, and Jane shivered, recalling her despair at the news of the terrible rout, and Cromwell’s subsequent subjugation of Scotland.

  Jane felt restless all afternoon. She tried to read but found no pleasure in it and could not make herself sit still, so she gave up and went outside. Clouds hung overhead and the air seemed to crackle with tension. She felt lonely, but there was no one to talk to, no one who would satisfy her longing for easy companionship. Maybe she would stay with Ellen for a month or more, she thought. Maybe she would feel happier with a change of scene. And perhaps, a voice at the back of her head whispered, perhaps you will meet a man there.

  JANE LAY AWAKE THAT NIGHT, HER MIND AND SPIRIT DISTURBED. SHE had only begun to drop off to sleep when she was startled into wakefulness by the furious pounding of horses’ hooves and dogs barking. She ran to the window. There was no moon, and by the silver starlight she could barely make out fleeting shapes in the blackness as several men on horseback pelted into the yard as though the forces of hell were after them.

  “All of them into the stable!” It was John’s voice calling out hoarsely.

  “Quick, man, quickly, away!” And that voice was Henry’s, low and urgent. Something must be terribly wrong, that they should be back so soon.

  Her heart pounding, Jane threw a heavy shawl around her shoulders and ran downstairs, meeting her parents, Athalia, Withy, and Withy’s husband, John Petre, as they converged in the kitchen just as John slammed the door shut and dropped the bar into place. Henry had collapsed onto a stool at the great table, and was slumped forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “What is it, John?” Thomas Lane asked, striking a flint and lighting the lantern. Its blue glass panes bathed the kitchen in a spectral glow.

  “There’s been a great defeat at Worcester,” John said, his face haggard. “We got no further than Kidderminster before we began to meet soldiers fleeing. We left it too late to join the king. The battle started this morning.”