Lady of the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  ‘What’s this got to do with us?’

  ‘You cannot be that naïve. You housed the dissenters, didn’t you? You betrayed your class, you betrayed your God. You whored yourself with the enemy. You chose your side. Unfortunately for you, it’s the wrong one.’ He shrugged.

  ‘What will you do?’ Abi broke her silence. ‘Where are we going?’

  He looked at her coldly. ‘Does it matter so much? Death comes to everyone. We are all only here for a short time, and none of us pray enough.’

  I looked to Abi to see if she’d lip-read his words in the dark. She shook her head at me. She’d understood enough. It was then I realised we were dealing with a fanatic. One who would not be open to reason. An involuntary shiver shook my body.

  The coach rattled on. Abi’s gaze was fixed on the passing landscape. I guessed she was committing the route to memory. I tried to reach for Jamie again, but each time I leaned forward Grice nudged me back with the barrel of the gun.

  The coach slowed and turned onto a rutted track. Through the gloom I could see the stark outline of crumbling walls, rafters with no roof.

  ‘Out.’ The musket nudged me and I half fell out of the doors. Thomas was there with a pistol trained on the door. Abi passed me Jamie and for once, Grice did not object. We were outside a ruined house. I recognised it as Milbury House, the residence of Lord Milbury. I’d been here with my mother when I was a child, but then it had been a grand place with ornate plasterwork ceilings and chandeliers dripping wax onto parquet floors. Now it was clearly a ruin and uninhabited. With a sinking heart I realised nobody would have any reason to come here.

  The two men hustled us inside into what had once been the main chamber, though now only two walls were standing amid a heap of rubble.

  ‘This is what Cromwell’s New Model Army did to Milbury’s house. Low-bred louts, all of them. No respect for heritage or property,’ Grice said.

  ‘Serves well enough for a hideout, though.’ Thomas said.

  Grice ignored him. ‘Here or Markyate Manor. What does it matter?’ he said. He pressed us forward to the walls, and urged us to sit. We perched on dank stone boulders, our shoulders against the dripping wall. Thomas kept the muzzle of his pistol pointing at us; it was an eye that was hard to ignore.

  ‘What do you want with us?’ I asked.

  Grice leaned back to ease his foot onto a stray boulder, whilst he kept his musket lazily propped within reach. ‘They’re hunting for us, and we know it’s only a matter of time before we’re caught. We won’t leave the country, why should we? But I’m not stupid enough to think they’ll let us be, and I want to maximise what we can do in the time we have left. I’ll blast out as many of Cromwell’s sympathisers as I can. Especially two-faced men like Downall,’

  ‘Downall’s dead,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. He wanted me to sign a paper to swear allegiance to Cromwell. Bastard. I shook Downall’s hand, but from that moment I vowed I’d have him, and all those other Roundhead dogs. I’d have slit his throat myself, but my damned leg is too painful for me to walk far. Thomas did the honours.’

  Thomas smiled, as if it was a compliment.

  ‘But now I need you,’ Grice said. ‘Thomas is no use; Puritans won’t open their doors for him. But they will for you, so you will come with me in Thomas’s stead.’

  I stared, pulling Jamie closer. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Grice picked a piece of dirt from his thumbnail before looking up. ‘Tomorrow we wait. Until the hue and cry has died down. Then the day after, you will rid us of Owen Whistler.’

  I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again. I could not believe I’d heard him aright.

  ‘He will open the door to you. You know them, all the Puritan men. One shot, is all it will take.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘Whistler won’t open the door to me. We had a falling out.’

  ‘Then you can go and apologise.’

  ‘He’s not a Puritan. He’s one of Winstanley’s men—’

  ‘No difference. Did he fight for the king?’

  ‘No. I can’t—’

  He overrode my words. ‘Your choice. It is him, or your maidservant and your baby.’

  I tightened my grip on Jamie. He began to cry. Grice made a sudden move towards me and seized one of Jamie’s flailing arms, pulling him away.

  ‘Let go,’ I said, clinging tight.

  But Grice continued to pull and twist Jamie’s arm until his little face turned red and he let out a piercing scream of pain. Grice was hurting him. I let go.

  ‘See,’ Grice said, dangling Jamie by one arm. ‘I know what your choice will be.’ He threw Jamie roughly into Abi’s lap.

  25: The Shot

  The night passed slowly, and the next day was torture. The men talked in whispers, yet their faces showed they were talking about us. Grice was clearly in control, Thomas seemed to grovel before him. Abi and I shivered in the damp and wind, despite the protection of the Milbury walls. Once, Grice went outside to piss, and I signed to Abi to make sure she had understood what was happening, what he wanted me to do.

  She was shivering with cold and fear. I told her not to worry. I’d make sure they were safe. Yet I did not trust Grice. His eyes were restless and his temper short; in this mood he was unpredictable – he might kill us all anyway, whether or not I did what he asked. Negotiating with him was a dangerous quagmire. Yet I still hoped there’d be some way out, some path I could take.

  ‘Be ready,’ I said to Abi.

  ‘What for?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Just some way out of here, some answer.’

  She nodded, passing me Jamie to feed.

  The next morning, dawn came too soon. I was nudged onto horseback, leaving Jamie and Abi in the ruins with Thomas. I did not want to leave them, but tried to act braver than I was. I prayed I would see them both again. I prayed Thomas had some ounce of charity left in his body somewhere.

  Grice set the horses going as soon as a glimmer of light hit the sky. He had my horse on a leading rein grasped in one hand, with his own reins, and his other hand rested on the loaded pistol in his belt. My horse was a rangy bay with a roman nose, probably stolen from some other traveller. I bumped along astride, skirts showing bare ankles. At the village all was quiet, like a village already bereaved. The doors and shutters were closed. A few wisps rose pungent and grey, from chimneys that were still smoking into the morning.

  Grice stopped outside Whistler’s lath and brick house and told me to knock at the door. ‘Don’t try anything. Thomas has instructions to shoot them both, if you or I don’t return.’ He reached into his saddlebag and passed me the second pistol of his pair. ‘It’s primed,’ he said.

  My hand trembled as I fought the urge to turn it on him and shoot. But I had to hold back. What would happen to Abi and Jamie if I did? His pistol might catch me first. I wanted to hitch up my skirts and run, but found myself glued to the ground.

  The gun weighed cold and heavy in my hand.

  ‘Knock.’ Grice’s voice.

  I mustn’t do anything foolish. My hands were wet with sweat as I put my fist to the door. The last time I had stood there, I’d left coins in his churn.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Whistler’s voice.

  ‘It is I, Kate Fanshawe, from the manor.’

  ‘What do you want, waking me at this hour?’

  ‘Don’t come outside,’ I whispered, my breath as close to the wood as I dared. I sent up a silent prayer.

  Grice’s horse came nearer, I glanced behind to see the pistol trained on my back. My thoughts were thorny, tangled like briars. If I waited until Whistler opened the door, and I didn’t fire, Grice would shoot him, and then there’d be chance I could run… but no I couldn’t. I still hesitated.

  ‘Tell him to come out,’ Grice said.

  ‘I need to speak with you,’ I called desperately. Please, don’t open the door, I willed.

  But the door seemed to creak ajar in slow mo
tion, the dark in the cottage revealing Whistler in his nightshirt, peering out into the light with bleary eyes. He looked less imposing, with his bare ankles and reddened feet.

  His face was hard and his mouth set into a scowl. ‘I don’t know what you want, but you’re no friend of mine. Now get off my—’ he began, but then he saw the gun in my hand and stopped short.

  His words hurt. If he’d said something different, if he’d welcomed me as Ralph’s friend, treated me civilly, then maybe things would have been different.

  As it was, my finger was slippery on the cold trigger, and before I knew what I did, I closed my eyes. Fired.

  26: Death and Deliverance

  When we rode back into Milbury house it was drizzling with rain, and I was panting from the ride. The horse I’d been given was nothing like Blaze. It threw me from side to side with its uneven loping gait, and Grice was determined to gallop ahead of me. It was all I could do to keep up. I was afraid someone was after us, and afraid too that Grice would do something to Abi and Jamie if he got there before me. I rode as if the hounds of hell were both behind me and in front.

  But I dare not think. If I did, I might realise what I had just done. I would not be able to bear myself. My limbs were chill, my mind blank. We clattered up the drive and I threw myself off. Abi and Jamie were where I had left them - it seemed like days ago. I hesitated, shivering. I didn’t want to go near them. It might taint them, what I had done.

  One look at my face, and Abi began to weep.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I dare not speak more words in case I should break down too.

  ‘Come here,’ Abi said.

  ‘No.’ I was ashamed.

  ‘He needs his mama,’ Abi said.

  I felt tears prick my eyes. Abi went to pick up Jamie, put him into my arms, and enfolded us both in a fierce hug.

  I turned to Grice. ‘Let us go now. You have what you wanted.’

  ‘And leave the task half done? No. This afternoon you will hold up a coach. Two more of Cromwell’s supporters will lie in the dust.’

  I said nothing. There was nothing to say, except to pray.

  *

  Before leaving I managed to get a moment with Abi, who was huddled next to an overhang to keep out of the weather.

  ‘Kate,’ she said, ‘I asked Thomas how Grice escaped the night we tied him up and left him for dead.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The Royalists thought that Roundheads had captured him, not us. They rescued him.’

  ‘I wish you’d killed him,’ I said.

  ‘We all make choices in an instant. Choices we wish we hadn’t made.’

  Her words hung in the air. A vision of Whistler’s face gave me a pang that made me twist my hands together. I pushed the image away. ‘Listen. If the chance comes for you and Jamie to get away, take it. I don’t care about myself. But don’t take risks. And keep Jamie out of the rain.’

  ‘Will you—?’

  ‘I’ll do what I need to do, to keep you both safe.’ I kissed them both, before Grice told me to mount.

  The waiting was the worst. The rain had stopped, but my shoulders were soaked. Grice gripped my horse on a tight lead rein in the brake of the woods. From there we overlooked the stony byway. Water from the trees dripped onto my hat. Two lone riders passed us and we had to retreat into shelter. I did not call out to them. It would have risked their lives. Grice would show no mercy, he’d shoot without asking questions.

  Grice fidgeted with the reins, restless. ‘Our man should be along any moment,’ he said. ‘He’s stupidly regular. Returns from St Albans courthouse every week, at the same time. I tried to stop him last week, but he outwitted us. Came this road instead of the main highway. But if we can finish him, it’ll be one in the eye for Cromwell—’

  I had no time to register this information before he fell quiet. In the distance, the unmistakeable sound of a carriage. Crows flew up from the trees cawing, and wheeling overhead.

  Grice pointed his pistol at my chest. ‘Get down,’ he said. ‘Fire through the window. No mercy,’ he said. ‘Nobody to tell tales. Or your baby won’t live to see another day.’

  I slithered down just as two dark horses rounded the bend. They were pulling a closed carriage with an open space at the back for luggage. The back was piled high, with an oilskin covering the trunks to keep off the rain.

  ‘Git!’ Grice clapped his heels into his horse’s sides, and it sprang into the road before the coach. A startled cry, as the horses skewed and the coach teetered and skidded to a stop.

  A crack, and the smell of sulphur.

  The coachman toppled from the driving seat, and the horses, panicked, reared up and tried to bolt. But Grice’s massive gelding blocked their path, and the shafts prevented them going anywhere. I ran alongside the window, my pistol raised.

  The woman inside was screaming, flailing, wanting to get out. The man struggled to restrain her. I pushed my gun through the window. The woman turned. It was Elizabeth. Her eyes opened wide and black with terror.

  In that split second my stomach turned over. My gun faltered. I could not shoot Abi’s sister.

  My gaze swivelled to the man, but I already knew who I would see.

  Jacob put his arms around Elizabeth to protect her. She closed her eyes, waiting for my shot.

  Tears blurred my eyes. What was I doing? How had I come to this? I remembered Jacob and Ralph building their houses on the common, how they’d helped me because I was unused to such labours. They’d been building a better world. Grice had said I was on the wrong side. But in my heart I knew it had always been the right side.

  I leaned in through the open window, determination making my voice harsh. ‘Don’t get out of the coach,’ I said. ‘Grice will kill you if you do. Stay there.’

  Jacob’s eyes were panicked. He ignored me, he was trying to open the opposite door.

  ‘No, Jacob. Stay there!’ I shouted.

  But I had no time to think, from behind me another shot split the air. I turned to see the oilskin flapping and three men on foot running towards me. More shots. I suddenly understood. It was an ambush. A deliberate trap to catch the highway thieves. More of Jacob’s men had been hiding on the back of the carriage.

  Grice appeared behind me on his big horse, fired two shots at Jacob’s men. Two of them fell. He gestured at Jacob and Elizabeth, still cowering in the coach. ‘Shoot them, damn you,’ he said to me.

  ‘No. It stops here.’ Another death in her family would finish Abi. I threw myself in front of the window, gun facing Grice.

  Grice was raising his pistol again. ‘Don’t be foolish. Get out of the way,’ he said.

  I stood firm and braced myself; raised my own gun, cocked it.

  Grice’s lips tightened into a small hard knot. The black hole of the muzzle was pointing right at my chest.

  I was about to fire when there was a flash, and at the same time the carriage door slammed into my back. I keeled sideways. Grice’s shot hit me like a whip-crack. A bolt of fire. My shoulder jerked back as if I’d been punched. Something white hot flashed in my eyes.

  Blinded, I clung to the door. Shock waves reverberated in my ears. Jacob and Elizabeth were trying to get out of the coach. Grice went for his other pistol, but he was a fraction too late. I’d already raised mine.

  I felt the slight resistance of the metal as I pulled the trigger; sensed the snap and release as it fired. The blast and recoil jerked my hand upwards.

  Before me Grice swayed atop his horse, blood spreading a dark stain across his chest. He stared at me one long moment before his eyes lost focus and he toppled sideways. He hit the ground like a boulder, his wooden foot splayed out unnaturally to the side.

  Another shot seared past me and I realised one of Jacob’s men was still firing at me. Grice’s horse reared and squealed. I shoved my foot into the stirrup and hauled myself up. The horse set off like a lightening streak, nearly unseating me as he leapt over something. I looked down, through motes of light.
Grice’s body was beneath us, lying spreadeagled in the road.

  The rain pelted down in a sudden squall. My arms were weak. I could barely hold the reins. Grice dead. Thomas would kill Abi and Jamie. I would have to go back there, try to persuade Thomas it was not my fault. I turned the lumbering horse towards Milbury. Another shot. Shouts and running feet behind me. I did not stop, for the other men were on foot. On this big beast I could outpace them easily.

  The rain lashed into my eyes. I knew only one thing, I must get back to Abi and Jamie. I turned off the main track, galloping through the rain-drenched woods until I came to the walls of Milbury. By now it was coming dusk, my skirts dragged on my legs; the world seemed wreathed in a kind of fog.

  I slowed, preparing to tell Thomas what I knew. That Grice was dead, and that Jacob’s men would be after us. I was ready to beg. When I slid down from my horse my legs almost buckled. I was breathless. I put my hand to my chest and it come away sticky. I lifted my hand to look. It was black with blood. A buzzing in my ears.

  Staggering, I made my way across the rubble to the main chamber. The place was empty. In the hedges the sparrows busied themselves with their dusk twitterings as if it was any other day. ‘Abi?’

  No answer. No sign of Abi. No Jamie.

  And no Thomas. What had he done to them?

  I lurched from wall to wall, searched the whole place. It was then I came across it, the little bone rattle Cutch had given Jamie. It was trodden into the mud as if they’d left in a hurry.

  I bent to retrieve it. The silver bells tinkled but it was a sad lonely sound. Nausea and hopelessness overwhelmed me. My knees trembled and I sank down onto one of the stones.

  The rain had softened to a fine mist. Through it, a blurry figure was walking towards me. I blinked. Ralph stopped about a man’s length from me. I heard his voice inside my head.

  ‘You’re going home,’ he said.

  *

  The rain grew heavier and blinded my eyes, and when I looked up there was nothing but rain and the crumbling walls. Home. I grasped handfuls of wet skirts and went to fetch the horse. He waited whilst I stood on a boulder to heave myself awkwardly into the saddle. ‘Markyate Manor,’ I whispered, as if he could hear me, and set him to a canter. Perhaps Thomas had taken them there.