by Jan Constant
Tossing Anstey higher against his shoulder, he paused only long enough to be sure that his orders were understood, then strode quickly away as another volley of stones spent itself against the sturdy oak door behind him.
Anstey slowly became aware of cool evening air blowing against her, of an uneven motion under her and of being held by a strong arm. The previous events returned in all their terrifying vividness and she lifted her cheek from the red coat against which it rested with a cry of fear, straining against the arm that held her.
“Quietly - quietly,” soothed James Ward, as his grip tightened against her struggles and for a moment he checked his mount’s speed. “You’re safe. We’re clear away, with no one following.”
Taking in his words, the girl allowed herself to relax against him, her cheek returning to its former position against his bright red coat. For a moment she enjoyed the rush of cool air and the feeling of security after danger that the firm grip around her brought, before recalling whose arm it was that held her so comfortingly. She moved and sat up, withdrawing from the close proximity in which she found herself.
At once his grasp slackened and Anstey found herself forced to catch at the pommel of the saddle for support as the animal beneath her galloped on, heedless of the double burden he carried.
For a while she was allowed to bounce around uncomfortably before Captain Ward’s arm returned to her waist and she was drawn back against his chest. “Much better to forget who I am,” he said against her ear. “Pretend I’m a bonny Highlander, if you must, but don’t spurn my arm, I pray.”
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, having been silent for several minutes.
“To Wrexford Manor.”
Anstey digested this in silence. “I daresay you have a reason,” she observed at last, “but I would like to hear it.”
His arm tightened about her waist. “It happens to be my home,” he told her, feeling her stiffen as she took in his words, “and seems as good a place as any in which to spend the night.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dusk had begun to fall when they reached the gates of Wrexford Manor, but even in the grey light and tired as she was, Anstey lifted her head to stare at the house as they approached it; to her Highland eyes it appeared totally unlike any she had known. In her homeland houses were built of mud and turf like the rude crofts of the poor folk, or of stone and fortified; nowhere would a house of red brick be found. With its rosy walls and white cornices and window-frames, Wrexford Manor seemed to her strange and oddly unsubstantial.
The door was opened at their approach and an old man bowed as Captain Ward slid from the horse and lifted Anstey down. Apparently feeling her incapable of negotiating the shallow steps and doorway, he carried her into the hall, swinging round as two women appeared.
“James!” the elder cried joyfully at sight of him, her gladness only diminishing slightly at the girl in his arms. “And ... a friend. How delightful.”
Anstey was deposited on her feet, but the soldier retained a tight grip on her wrist as he smiled at the ladies.
“Mama,” he said, kissing her hand. “How good it is to see you.” He turned to the other, whom Anstey could now see was very young, scarce out of the schoolroom, she judged by her fresh countenance. “And Caro - no kiss for your big brother?”
“The lady, James,” reminded his mother gently. “Introduce us, pray.”
“This is Miss Anstey Frazer of Glentyre in Scotland.” As curtseys were exchanged he went on, “I am afraid that she is no ordinary guest, but a rebel whom I am escorting to London for trial. I would not have brought her here, but we were met at Grantham by a mob intent upon mischief and for her safety, I had to ride ahead leaving my troop to follow.” He smiled suddenly, looking fondly at his mother. “I hope your store cupboard is well stocked - I left word at the gate to let them in. They should be here before night.”
“James!” ejaculated his mother faintly. “A whole troop! Where will they sleep?”
“The stables will do for a night - which reminds me. Miss Frazer can have the green bedroom. Will you give orders to have it made ready?”
“The Green Room?” put in his sister, who had been eyeing Anstey with curiosity. “Why, James, it’s at the side and the windows stick.”
“Precisely,” agreed James Ward. “I chose it for that very reason. Miss Frazer has a propensity for escape, and unless I am to tie her hand and foot or set a guard to watch her, the Green Room is the very thing.”
Caroline’s eyes grew large at the implication behind his words and for the first time the two English women took in the other’s dishevelled appearance.
“The child’s fit to drop,” exclaimed Mrs. Ward suddenly, “and is hurt into the bargain.”
Anstey found herself the object of the Redcoat’s cool survey. His expression softened a little as he observed how pale she was and how shadowed her eyes. Tilting her chin, he touched the bruise and tiny cut on her cheekbone with one finger, probing gently. “Your beauty will survive,” he told her ironically.
“Let me take her to my chamber to see to her comfort while the Green Room is seen to,” suggested his mother.
“An you try to escape, you’ll spend the night in the cellars,” the soldier warned quietly, and pinched Anstey’s chin warningly before releasing her.
Anstey allowed Mrs. Ward and her maid to minister to her, grateful for their kindness, but too weary to appreciate the bath and food, longing only for a bed and the bliss of falling asleep. She awoke to find brilliant sunshine streaming into her room, and now could enjoy the luxury of a clean body and fresh linen as she stretched sensually in the soft bed.
She was out of bed exploring the room, and had just discovered with some amusement that Captain Ward had been right about the windows, when footsteps sounded in the passage and after a brief tap, a key turned in the lock and the door opened to reveal Mrs. Ward’s maid with a breakfast tray.
“Ring the bell when you’re ready,” she said, having settled Anstey with the tray across her lap, “and I’ll come and dress you. Miss Caroline has put out a gown and linen. I took the liberty of washing your clothes, miss.”
When she was alone, Anstey pulled a little face at the servant's disparaging tone, but later had to allow that Caroline Ward’s clothes were more becoming than the ones Molly Barton had acquired for her all those days ago in Scotland. Admiring the cream-and-pink striped dress in the mirror, she slipped her hand into the pocket tied about her waist under the full skirt, and to her surprise her fingers closed upon something. Withdrawing her hand she found herself clutching a knot of white ribbon, and catching her breath, stared at it in amazement as she wondered who, among this Hanoverian household, could have sent her the Prince’s favour, that Jacobite ladies wore in their hair to declare their loyalty. There seemed only one possible person, and when some time later Caroline slipped furtively into the room she was not surprised.
Finger to her lips, the girl cautioned her to silence with all the air of a great conspirator. “How I admire you,” she whispered. “Did you find my signal that you were not totally alone? Even in England there are some still loyal to the Stuart’s cause. I will do all in my power to aid you.”
“Leave the door unlocked,” Anstey suggested, practically.
“Well, that would serve very little; not only are we a long way from anywhere, so that you’d be caught before you could reach safety, but one of the footmen is sitting at the head of the stairs ... but I have an idea. I won’t tell you what it is, in case it doesn’t work out, but be ready at a moment’s notice, and when you least expect it.”
Anstey smiled at the other’s mysterious manner, reminded that Caroline had only recently left the schoolroom and still retained much of her childish brashness.
“I daresay James would lock me in my room if he found me here, but I am willing to face danger for my cause.” She paused and looked at Anstey curiously. “Did he ill treat you?” she asked. “Mama asked him the same question, and
he grew quite red and uneasy.”
“He - was not always kind,” Anstey replied reluctantly.
“He has been quite brutal with me - once he boxed my ears for riding a new horse he’d bought, so you see I can sympathise with you.” Caroline leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Tell me about the Prince. Have you met him?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t come to my part of the world, but my father joined his forces and was at Culloden. He said he was a fine, handsome chevalier with the air of a king.”
Caroline sighed with satisfaction. “Oh, how I wish I had been there,” she cried. “I vow I would willingly die for him.”
“Many did,” Anstey told her soberly, shaking her head at the other’s questioning glance. “No, my father got away and is now in France.”
“Tell me why you are a prisoner. James sent me to bed while he told Mama.”
“Then I feel he does not wish you to know.”
“La! I’d have thought that a very good reason for you to tell me.” Caroline giggled suddenly. “I listened at the door and heard most of the story. You killed a soldier who was attempting your honour.”
Anstey looked down suddenly, realising that to the younger girl the whole episode, which was so painful to her, appeared a romantic fairytale.
“A soldier called Leo Smythe died, Caroline,” she said. “He had a wife and a baby and now only the child is left. It was a sordid happening, and I would give much for it not to have happened.”
The other girl grew sober and viewed her anxiously. “How foolish you must think me,” she said slowly, “but truly I had not thought. It seemed like a play to me.”
Anstey reached across to pat her hand. “Like you, until this happened I had little contact with the harsher side of life.”
“What can I do for you?”
The serious note in Caroline’s voice told the other that the dreams and fancies had faded and that now she was offering practical help.
“Ask leave for me to walk in the garden.”
“If you truly wish to, I shall use my best wiles to your advantage.” Eager to begin, Caroline jumped to her feet and hurried to the door pausing to add with a roguish smile, “James, you know, is not the ogre I painted him. He is really quite amiable. I shall have to be very clever and suggest your wish to him, for he must not know I have been here. Pray do not mention my visit to him - he has no idea that I am loyal to the Prince.”
With a rustle of silk she was gone, leaving the Scots girl to smile a little at her youthful exuberance. She was doubtful of her prevailing upon Captain Ward’s kindness, but about midday the door was opened and the maid bade her to follow. Pausing only to smile charmingly at the footman on the landing, Anstey followed her down the stairs and found the Redcoat officer waiting in the hall. He turned at the sound of her step and for a moment she met his gaze steadily before he came forward and offered her his hand down the last few stairs.
“My sister suggests that you might care for a walk in the garden.”
“Indeed, I would,” she returned warmly and he led her towards the open front door, retaining her hand and tucking it into the corner of his elbow.
For a while they walked in silence, the man deep in thought and the girl with eyes only for the garden; the luxuriant leaves and grass and the abundant blossoms filling her with wonder and envy.
At last she sighed. “If only we could grow such flowers in Scotland,” she said softly.
James Ward looked down at her. “My father set them out,” he told her. “It was his greatest joy. He could make anything grow and always said he inherited green fingers from his grandmother, who was Dutch and whose family left Holland and settled here in Lincolnshire, which is much like their country. They brought bulbs with them and grew rich on tulips.”
“Tulips,” she repeated. “I’ve heard of them and even stitched their shape on embroidery, but I’ve never seen the real flower.”
“They stand like so many soldiers with red hats instead of black. In spring the garden is ablaze with them. You should come and see—”
Realizing the impossibility of what he had said, James Ward broke off abruptly, staring down at Anstey with a frown between his black brows.
“The spring is a long time away - and who knows where I shall be then?” the girl forced herself to say coolly, well aware of the thought that was in both their minds.
“This madness has gone far enough,” said the Redcoat impatiently. “We both know full well that you did not shoot Leo Smythe. It’s time you ceased protecting your sister and thought of yourself.”
Anstey looked at him. “Isabel did not kill Lieutenant Smythe,” she told him truthfully.
“No one would search Scotland for her - take my word for it.”
“You Redcoats came for me - besides, she did not do it.”
“Then say she did,” he told her between his teeth. “What does the fate of one idiot girl matter?”
“She is my sister!”
“Sister or not, she does not weigh against you—”
“How can you say that? Oh, how can you? She is a dear, good person, kind and loving, too innocent to have the vices of us cleverer folk. Isabel is one who should be loved and cared for, and you would have me submit her to - this,” she made a gesture, indicating her own captive state, “to what has happened to me. She would have no conception or understanding of what or why. Take her away from the Highlands and the life she knows, Captain Ward, and you’d have no need to employ a headsman. She’d pine away before she reached Edinburgh.”
“And you, Miss Frazer? You did not pine away.”
“I am of tougher stuff,” Anstey told him simply.
“Your stupid stubbornness will be your own death warrant.”
She faced him, her eyes wide as she met his. “Anyone would suppose you cared, Captain.”
Giving an exasperated snort, he swung away a few paces, his boots crunching on the gravel path. “I care for a miscarriage of justice,” he said harshly over his shoulder. “In this case, I am persuaded that you are innocent of Smythe’s murder.”
She gave a brittle, shaking laugh. “I find your concern touching, if misplaced. Whether I shot your friend or not, I am still a Jacobite, Captain Ward, and as such am an enemy of your country. As a true, loyal Englishman you should be thankful that I am captive and can do little to serve my Prince save involve a whole troop, who might be searching for him, in the business of escorting me to London. I am glad that I have kept you and your men away from the Highlands. Take my advice, Redcoat, and don’t rest on your laurels until you have me safe in jail.”
James Ward showed his teeth in a smile. “Vixen,” he said and an unexpected note in his voice made Anstey catch her breath and take an involuntary step backwards. “Your fierceness doesn’t deceive me—”
“I am loyal to Prince Charles. I am proud of my Jacobite politics. While I deplore the fact of Lieutenant Smythe’s death, I have confessed to it and will not change my words.”
Defeated for the moment, the Redcoat fell silent, shrugging indifferently as he turned away, but his thoughtful air caused Mrs. Ward to send him many questioning glances during the midday meal.
“James,” she said at last, “what are you planning? Don’t deny me, for I have known that withdrawn look of yours since you were in the nursery.”
Looking up, he gave his mother a preoccupied smile and assured her that he was merely giving his thoughts to some trifling matter that plagued him.
“I wish you could have stayed longer,” said Mrs. Ward, following her own train of thought, “but I must own to no little gladness that I did not, after all, have to play hostess to your troops. Such dreadful times we live in - who would have thought that they would have been detained by a mob in Grantham of all places?”
“I am afraid that feeling against the Jacobites runs high,” he told her soberly. “If the Pretender had not reached Derby I daresay the local folk would have felt little involved in the Rebellion, but having h
im so near aroused their fears - they are unable to forgive their fright.”
“She seems quite a nice girl,” offered his mother tentatively, watching her son.
“Yes,” he returned baldly and changed the conversation, reminding her that he intended to leave to rejoin his troop as soon as luncheon was over.
Becomingly attired in a riding habit bestowed on her by Caroline, Anstey took her leave of the two ladies, rather amused to find a slip of paper pressed into her hand by the younger one as she thanked them for their care. Seated in the saddle she glanced at the note under cover of pulling on her gloves and saw the enigmatic message ‘Be ready’ in sharp black writing embellished in one corner by a somewhat uncertain drawing of a rose. Looking up, she caught Caroline’s eyes upon her and smiled, receiving a conspiratorial nod in return.
“I understand that the soldiers were delayed,” Anstey said, breaking the silence as they rode out of the grounds of Wrexford Manor and headed towards the main road.
“We’ll meet them at the crossroads,” Captain Ward told her. “You have nothing to fear, this part of the countryside is peaceful and one of my men rode from Grantham last night and back again with my orders. The troop will be awaiting us at the crossroads and until then nothing can happen.”
Anstey was not reassured, her spine prickling with presentment and the memory of Caroline’s note, but she did her best to hide her unease, riding demurely at the Redcoat’s side.
They were a few miles on their journey and had just ridden into a sunken part of the road over which tall trees entwined their branches and cut off the light, when several dark figures left their hiding places and rode down the slope.
Eyes narrowed, the soldier placed himself in front of the girl, his hand on the stock of the pistol in its holster by his knee as he waited the strangers’ approach. As they rode nearer and her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Anstey caught her breath as she saw the black masks covering their faces. Apparently the Redcoat noticed them at the same time, for he suddenly drew the long horse pistol and cocked it threateningly.
