“Mrs Norton has asked Dr Gorge to look at your man after supper, madam,” Pope said as they climbed the stairs.
“Oh,” Jane faltered, “that’s most kind.”
She tried without success to think how she could plausibly refuse the offer and decided she would just have to warn Charles. Fortunately, Pope left her at the door of Charles’s room, and she slipped in to find him stretched on a bed before a blazing fire. He sat up as she came in, grinning at the sight of the steaming bowl.
“Your friend is very kind to accommodate me so well,” Charles said. “Please give her the humble thanks of William Jackson, and let us hope that I can make more suitable thanks later.”
He tilted the bowl and drank hungrily, reminding Jane of a ravenous dog.
“Ah, that’s good.” He sighed in satisfaction.
“Don’t worry,” Jane smiled. “I’ll tell the butler you’re up to proper food, and I’m sure he’ll see to it that you’re well fed. But there’s a doctor visiting the house, and Ellen has asked him to look at you.”
Charles shrugged. “It’s not much of a part I have to play, being wan and weary.”
“Good,” Jane said. She knew she must hasten to the dinner table, but she was loath to leave him. “Shall I look in on you later, to make sure all is well?”
She said it carelessly, but wondered if Charles could hear her heart thumping in her chest.
“I would take it most kind,” he said, taking her hand, and she cursed herself because she knew she was blushing as she took the empty dish from him and went out the door.
THE HOUSEHOLD AT ABBOTS LEIGH WAS LARGE, CONSISTING NOT only of Ellen and George and George’s mother, but of sundry siblings and cousins and friends, including the clergyman and physician Dr Gorge, who had been watching the bowls when they arrived, and seemingly dozens of servants.
Over supper the discussion turned inevitably to the battle at Worcester and speculation about the fate of the king. Jane was glad Charles had suggested being kept secluded, and as soon as she could excuse herself after supper, she slipped up to his room. She was alarmed to find him with a bloody handkerchief pressed to his nose.
“What’s amiss, sir?” she cried.
“It’s nothing.” Charles waved off her concern, pulling the handkerchief from his nose to see whether the flow had stopped. “I get nosebleeds from time to time, with no rhyme or reason to them, but I suffer no ill effects beyond the inconvenience.” He patted the bed. “Come, sit with me.”
She sat beside him, very conscious of their being alone. He turned to her and took her hand, and she felt suddenly shy.
“Did the doctor come?” she asked, a trifle too brightly.
“Indeed he did. And as soon as I caught sight of his face, I knew him.”
Jane caught her breath in alarm.
“He was chaplain to my father when I was a boy. I kept to my bed, and as much as I could, turned my face from the candle so that I should be in shadow, and I don’t think he knew me.” He gave a wry smile. “Perhaps it was foolish to say I was ill. It’s made me an object of many kind attentions. The butler himself brought my dinner, and a maid came, too, with a warm posset to speed my recovery. Maybe it’s only my fancy, but I felt that they looked on me strangely.”
Jane’s stomach tensed in panic. “Oh, dear, what shall we do?”
“Nothing for now. Wilmot should be here tomorrow, and with any luck he’ll have news of a ship for me.”
Jane remembered with a catch in her heart that this might be the last time she would have Charles’s company alone. He seemed to read her mind.
“Oh, Jane,” he said, brushing a curl from her cheek and letting his hand trail down her jaw. “Would that I might keep you with me a little longer. I have been so much alone.”
She looked up into his face, seeing both the warrior king and lost little boy, and felt overwhelmed by desire and tenderness.
“When the war started,” he said, “my family scattered. I was twelve. I went with my father, and I tried to be a man. I cried most pitifully when I was parted from him three years later. It was in Oxford. It was raining, and I hoped that the raindrops would conceal the tears on my face. No ocean could have hidden my tears if I had known that I would never see him again.”
Jane saw that tears glistened in his eyes. He took her hand, and kept it resting on his thigh.
“His death was a cruel shock to England,” she said. “I cannot think what an unbearable grief it must have been to you.”
“I was told that on the scaffold he said just one word,” Charles said. “‘Remember.’”
A shiver ran through Jane.
“Like Hamlet’s father.”
“Yes. And here I am, like Hamlet, charged to avenge my father’s murder and the loss of his crown.”
“But you are not like Hamlet. You do not hesitate.”
“No, I need no Mousetrap to know where the guilt lies. And when the way seems hard, as now, I think to myself, ‘Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe.’”
He bent his head to Jane and kissed her, taking her head in his hands and pulling her close to him, and she responded hungrily, sinking back onto the bed as he moved towards her. He showered her with kisses, her eyes, her ears, her throat, then back to her mouth, and she burned for him with an intensity of feeling she had not known was possible. This was what she had been longing for—passion and love, lifting her above the dreariness of daily life.
Charles pulled away from her, hand stroking her throat, his breathing rapid.
“Go from me, Jane. I should never have touched you so.”
His eyes were searing into her, his touch hot on her skin, and she had never felt so alive. This was what she had feared she would never know, this rush of rapture and fever of excitement throughout her body. She had torn herself away from him the night before, but to do so again, knowing that they would likely part on the morrow, called for more strength than she possessed.
“I will not go from you, Your Majesty,” she murmured, her hand trembling as she laid it on his chest. She felt his heart thudding and saw his throat move as he swallowed.
“Jane,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “If you stay, I cannot answer for the consequences. I’ve not been with a woman in a year and a half. My blood quite overcrows my scruples, and if I am much longer in your presence, I will lose mastery of myself entirely.”
Jane took his hand and kissed it.
“It is well lost in such a cause. I give myself to you.”
“Jane.”
His voice was husky. He pulled her to him, kissing her deeply as they sank together onto the bed. His hands were lifting her petticoats, and he was on top of her, parting her legs with his knees.
It was wrong, Jane knew, but she didn’t care. She would have let him take her though the mouth of hell gaped before her. His fingers were caressing, exploring, making his way easy. She gasped to feel the hard flesh pressing against her, entering her, driving deep within her. She pulled him into her, rising to meet his thrusts until a wave built and crashed within her, and he put a hand over her mouth to stifle her moans. A moment later he arched his head back and his whole body gave a convulsive shudder. Then he was still, and rolled to the side to hold her close, and they lay panting in each other’s arms.
“Oh, Jane, forgive me,” he whispered at last. “I should have stopped myself, no matter what you said.”
“I didn’t want you to stop,” she said into his ear, her hand stroking his sweat-soaked back. “I don’t want to lose you. After tomorrow I will see you no more, but I can always remember tonight.”
“Stay with me,” Charles said. “Don’t leave until morning, if this night is all we have.”
AS THE LIGHT OF DAYBREAK CREPT THROUGH THE WINDOW, CHARLES and Jane made love again, this time more slowly, unencumbered by clothes or hesitation. Jane looked up at Charles, memorising each detail of his face, the dark stubble of his beard on his flushed cheeks, the
heavy lashes of his eyes, the fall of dark hair. She found her hands grasping him to her and marvelled at the hardness of his muscles, their tightening as he moved within her.
When they had both spent, she lay nestled in his arms, not wanting to move. But Henry or Pope the butler or someone else could come to the door at any moment.
“I must go,” she said, kissing his chest and inhaling his scent. “Before I am discovered.”
“And I will brave the kitchen,” he said, reaching for his breeches. “Perhaps I may hide better by going among the household than by staying mewed up here. But I beg you, come back in an hour or two, and tell me what news you hear.”
She pulled on her clothes hastily, and he bent to give her a last kiss before she tore herself from him and crept out the door.
JANE AND ELLEN WALKED OUT AFTER BREAKFAST, ELLEN HAPPILY showing Jane the gardens and the sweeping views downhill in all directions.
“Breathtaking,” Jane said, gazing at the shadowed fields and forests far in the distance.
“Yes,” Ellen agreed. “I do love it here, as much as I miss you and my family.” She put her arm through Jane’s. “Oh, Jane, I hope you will stay for a long visit.”
“I’d like to.” Jane smiled. “I’ve missed you more than I can tell you, and have longed for your advice.”
It was true, she reflected, though now everything seemed to have changed. A few weeks ago she had wondered if she would know love if it came to her. Now she knew without a doubt that she was in love, but she could certainly not confess it to Ellen or anyone else.
“Good.” Ellen squeezed her hand. “There will be plenty of time for confidences.”
A LITTLE LATER, CHARLES ANSWERED JANE’S SOFT KNOCK AT THE door of his little room and drew her in swiftly, holding her to him and kissing her.
“Oh, Jane, I feel so alive in your arms.”
Her head swam at the intensity of his presence, the taste and smell and feel of him.
“And I in yours.” She thought she had never felt so vibrantly aware of her body or been swept by such emotion as she felt now looking up at him.
“Come,” he said, drawing her down to sit beside him on the bed. “I must consult with you. I feel like a hare being chased by hounds, and I don’t know whether to hide in the thickets or run for it.”
“What’s happened?”
“I went down to the kitchen after you left, having a very good stomach after such a night.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she blushed and smiled.
“The doctor saw me, and asked what news I had of Worcester. It took me by surprise and I scarce knew how to answer, and seeing my hesitation, he said, ‘I am afraid you are a Roundhead, but I will try what mettle you are made of.’ Then what should he do but takes me into the buttery and drinks me the king’s health in a glass of wine! So what could I do but drink as well, wishing myself good health, did he but know it.”
“Then he didn’t know you last night!” Jane felt a surge of relief.
“It would seem not, but things only got hotter from there. I went to the buttery hatch to get my breakfast and the butler Pope was there with two or three other fellows. We fell to eating bread and butter, along with some very good ale and sack he gave us. One, that looked like a country fellow, sat just by me, and began to talk of the fight at Worcester, giving so particular an account to the company that I concluded he must be one of Cromwell’s soldiers.”
Perhaps her relief had been premature, Jane thought.
“I asked how he came to know so much, and he told me he was in the king’s regiment, by which I thought he meant one Colonel King. But questioning him further, I perceived he had been in my regiment of guards, in Major Broughton’s company, that was my major in the battle.”
“My cousin!” Jane exclaimed.
“Is he? No wonder you are so valiant, coming from such a family of warriors.”
He shook his head in admiration, and Jane felt herself glow at the compliment.
“So I asked the fellow what kind of a man I was,” Charles continued. “To which he answered by describing exactly both my clothes and my horse, and then looking upon me, he told me that the king was at least three fingers taller than I.”
Jane burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
“Upon which,” Charles said, “I made what haste I could out of the buttery, for fear he should indeed know me, being more afraid when I knew he was one of our own soldiers than when I took him for one of the enemy’s.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Jane said, her mind whirling. What on earth should they do? Was the danger too great to wait for Wilmot? Must they make their escape now?
“So Pope and I went into the hall,” Charles said, “and just as we came into it, Mrs Norton was coming by. I plucked off my hat and stood with it in my hand as she passed, and Pope looked very earnestly on my face. I took no notice of it, but put on my hat again, and went away, walking out of the house into the field.”
“Probably the best thing, but if he thinks he knows you, others might, too! Surely we must get you out of here? Shall I find Henry?”
“I don’t know. Wilmot should be here tonight, and I will need his help, whatever comes next.”
Jane nodded, thinking. “Then perhaps it’s best if we can wait until he’s here, but be prepared to fly should anything change.”
The uncertainty did not last long. That afternoon, Henry pulled Jane aside and whispered to her urgently.
“We must talk with the king. I’m afraid the butler knows him.”
Her spine went cold with terror, and they hurried to Charles’s room. He looked grave when Henry repeated his story, running his hands through his hair distractedly so that it stood on end.
“He says very positively to me that it is you, but I have denied it,” Henry said.
“Do you think him to be an honest man?” Charles asked, pacing.
“Yes, most certainly,” Henry said. “He was a trooper in your late father’s regiment of guard, in our cousin Major Broughton’s company, and then served at Lichfield under Jane’s uncle Colonel Bagot.”
Charles shook his head in amazement and turned to look at Jane.
“Bagot your uncle? It seems your family has been more help to me than any host of angels.”
“Pope has been always upon our side,” Henry continued, “and I would trust him with my life.”
“Then I shall have to do the same,” Charles said. “I pray you bring him to me.”
A few minutes later, the door of the little room safely shut, the butler John Pope knelt and kissed the king’s hand. Jane was touched to see him wipe tears from his eyes before he raised his grizzled head to look into Charles’s face.
“Your Majesty,” he said, rising a little stiffly from his knee, “I knew you at the first. For I was falconer to Sir Thomas Jermyn when I was a boy at Richmond, and saw you often.”
“Of course,” Charles said, “for Jermyn was groom of the bedchamber to my father. I am very glad to meet you, and upon the word of Mistress Lane and Lascelles, I will trust you as I would an old acquaintance.”
“Then I beg Your Majesty to tell me what you intend to do.” Pope spoke urgently. “I am extremely happy to know you, for otherwise you might run into great danger in this house. For though my master and mistress are good people, yet there are at this time one or two here who are great rogues, and I think I can be useful to you in anything you will command me.”
Thank God, Jane thought. Pope might save them from unforeseen dangers.
“Then here is how it lies,” Charles said. “I have come hither with the intent of taking a ship from Bristol to any French or Spanish port. Lord Wilmot is to arrive today, and you can help him look for a ship.”
Pope looked alarmed.
“Then I am even more glad you have taken me into your confidence, Your Majesty. For there are many in the house who would certainly know Lord Wilmot, and know he was at Worcester with you, and might put two and two together. With your permissi
on I will endeavour to meet him on his way and bid him wait until tonight when I can bring him into the house secretly. And once that is done, I shall go to Bristol myself to seek out a ship.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE SUN STREAMED INTO ELLEN’S LITTLE SITTING ROOM, JUST off her bedroom. Jane, reclining on a chaise with her feet up, only a few feet away from Ellen on her daybed, luxuriated in the cosiness of the small chamber.
“If I had such a wonderful room as this, I don’t think I’d ever leave it!” she exclaimed.
The afternoon was too warm for a fire and it still felt almost like summer. The sky outside the window was a cloudless and brilliant blue, and before settling herself on the chaise, Jane had marvelled at the views, sweeping away down hill to distant farms and pastures. A small table beside the chaise was scattered with books, and a maid had placed a tray with cups of chocolate and small cakes on another table within arm’s reach of the two women.
“I do spend much of my time here,” Ellen smiled, biting into a cake. “Oh, this is good. Two more advantages to being with child. I can eat anything and everyone is only too happy to indulge me in whatever I fancy, and whenever I want to be alone in my own little domain here, all I need say is that I am feeling in need of rest and quiet and no one disturbs me.”
“Are you not happy here?”
“Oh, happy enough, I suppose. Everyone is kind, but so polite. I have no true friends, really, and no chance to make any, as I cannot go out in society like this.”
“Perhaps once the baby is born.”
“Yes, perhaps then. But, Jane, it brings me such joy to see you. Tell me all your news.”
“News have I none, really,” Jane laughed, looking down. She longed to tell Ellen about Charles, and was afraid her friend would read her heart in her face. “Sir Clement Fisher has asked me to marry him.”
“You call that no news?” Ellen’s cheeks dimpled in a smile.
Jane shrugged.
“I’ve asked him to wait. I don’t know, Ellen, I hoped you could advise me. Did you know right away when you met George that you loved him?”
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