Royalist on the Run

by Helen Dickson

  Verity listened to her every word. When she fell silent, at length she said, ‘You have been courageous in bringing Dickon to Paris, Arabella. As his aunt I shall be eternally grateful to you. He will be safe here with us. The journey must have been arduous for you.’

  ‘I did not expect it to be easy. There were privations, but we survived them.’

  ‘When I remember how badly my brother treated you in the past, I am surprised you were willing to help him.’

  ‘I was glad to. After Worcester everything had become quite desperate. Dickon’s welfare had become of great concern.’

  ‘He seems to be very attached to you, Arabella. Poor motherless little mite. I haven’t seen him since he was a babe. How I wish I had brought him with us to France, but everything happened so quickly when my husband decided to leave England. How is he really?’

  ‘He’s a quiet, serious little boy. It will be good for him to be here with you—and I am sure your children will help bring him out of himself. He is not yet three and there has been so much tragedy in his young life.’

  ‘You are right. To be with other children will be good for him. You must meet our two later. But what of you, Arabella? I heard you had married.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied quietly, reluctant to speak of John. She had been so preoccupied with everything that happened after Edward had been arrested that she had given no thought to John. But remembering Robert’s letter and Malcolm Lister’s disclosure, she wondered if she would learn more now she had arrived in Paris. Could there be some truth in it? Until she knew more she would keep her fears to herself. ‘When my husband was killed in battle I went to Bircot Hall to live with Alice.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Verity sighed. ‘The war has made many widows. I feel that I must tell you that life is difficult for exiles in Paris. We do not have all our servants here and we occupy this small house whilst we remain unsettled. In the beginning we were optimistic, believing we were doing the right thing to leave England. Already the optimism is beginning to wane. Money remains the key to absolutely everything and the courtiers have an obsessional interest in their own poverty. We are all penniless and forced to live on the charity of the French and relatives in England who can afford to send money. But enough of that. Tell me how you came to meet Edward again—and I would like to hear about Alice.’

  * * *

  When Arabella had finished giving Verity an account of everything that had transpired, bravely hiding her fears and anxiety she felt for Edward, Verity set about making Arabella and Dickon comfortable. Her husband, Sir Gregory Rainsford, who had been visiting fellow exiles, arrived home. Of medium height with brown hair threaded with grey and soft brown eyes, his welcome was as warm and welcoming as Verity’s had been.

  Idealistic and filled with hope, he had fought bravely for the King when the war began. He had soon come to realise that war was no glorious adventure and his idealism had not lasted after the King’s execution. Unable to live under Commonwealth rule and hoping for better times, as many other Royalists had done, he had brought his young family to France with the hope that they would be safe from the tyranny of Oliver Cromwell.

  Gregory was deeply distressed to learn that Edward had been taken prisoner.

  ‘What can be done to help him?’ Verity asked, looking to her husband for the answer. ‘I cannot bear to think of him at the mercy of Malcolm Lister. We cannot abandon him.’ Her lips trembled and tears filled her eyes. ‘For all we know he might already have been executed.’ She swallowed down a hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘I pray that is not so.’

  ‘Take heart, my dear,’ her husband said, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘I will do what I can to find out what has become of him. There are agents who come and go across the Channel all the time. After Worcester, London’s prisons are overflowing. It will be no easy matter finding him, but I will do my utmost.’ He turned to look at Arabella. ‘In the meantime, Arabella, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish.’

  Their kindness brought tears of gratitude to her eyes. ‘Thank you, you are very kind, but I will not add to your burden. Now Dickon is safe I intend to go back to England as soon as it can be arranged. I cannot stay here, safe in Paris, while—while...’ She faltered, biting her lips, afraid she was about to disclose too much about the way she felt for Edward. But she need not have worried. Verity smiled her understanding, having already made up her mind about that.

  ‘While Edward is in dreadful danger.’

  Arabella nodded. ‘Yes. I—I think I should go mad not knowing,’ she uttered quietly, her words an admission of what was in her heart.

  Verity cocked her head to one side, considering her thoughtfully. ‘I think you have feelings for my brother, Arabella.’

  She flushed and lowered her eyes. She would have liked to dispel Verity’s speculation that she had an interest in Edward—or that he had any in her—but she could not hide her true feelings from Verity’s sharp eyes. ‘I—I feel that if I can be close to him, I shall find some way to help him.’

  ‘He is a lucky man—although hardly deserving of so much consideration when he has treated you so badly in the past,’ Verity said with a faint, rather wistful smile.

  ‘I have put all that behind me. I understand why he did what he did—I have not forgiven him fully, but with his life in the balance this is not the time for petty recriminations.’

  ‘I understand your haste to return to England,’ Gregory said, ‘but my advice to you is to wait until I have information regarding his whereabouts.’

  ‘But is it not difficult to come and go, considering the tensions in England just now?’ Arabella asked.

  ‘The people I have in mind do not let obstacles get in their way. You cannot go wandering about London asking questions. A woman alone would be prey to all manner of dangers. When we know more, an opportunity may arise to help him, and if it should, we will take advantage of it. I will then arrange for you to travel with someone I deem trustworthy who will see you to London.’

  Arabella was overwhelmed with gratitude at a degree of assistance she had scarcely dared to hope for. If she were to be honest with herself, she had been dreading returning to Bircot Hall and trying to live her life as if Edward had never existed. ‘I am indeed grateful, sir. I am only sorry to impose upon you in this way.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Verity said, taking her hand and raising her up from the chair. ‘I shall enjoy your stay. You have no idea how I crave to talk to someone about home. Now let us go and see what Dickon is up to—and we must see to finding you something suitable to wear. I would also like you to tell me more about how you and Edward met again. While you are in Paris we will introduce you to other exiles—one in particular. Robert Stanhope, Alice’s husband, is at St Germain. He frets daily about his wife and children.’

  Arabella felt her spirits lift. It would be good to meet with Robert and allay any fears he might have about Alice and their children—although if it were discovered that Alice was harbouring a fugitive she might not fare so well. She prayed Stephen was recovering well and that he could soon find his own way to Paris.

  That night as she slept in a bed she had not seen the like of since leaving Bircot Hall, lulled into sleep by its softness, she dreamed that she was in London and that she was going to fling open the barred gates to Edward’s prison and set him free.

  * * *

  The hour was two hours before midnight. There was a half-moon in the sky, frequently obscured by long ragged clouds. A light breeze stirred the tall grass that fringed the narrow stream running beside the place where the soldiers had made their second night camp. They were on the edge of a village, a busy hostelry just yards away. Edward’s wrists were rubbed raw by the rope which so cruelly bound him. His captors gave him no respite and Malcolm Lister took sadistic delight in his discomfort.

  Edwa
rd was unable to stop thinking about Arabella and that most exquisite, beautiful night they had spent together. Their coming together had been no ordinary experience. It had not been merely a joining of their bodies, it had been more than that. Much more. It had been a searching and finding, a mounting pleasure, a removal from reality, and then there had not been the intense explosion of release, but a pure joy, perfect and peaceful, he had never known with any other woman.

  What he saw in his mind’s eye was the wrenching look on her lovely face when he had been arrested. The memory of that haunted him. It tortured him, along with other worries about her. He did not know whether she had managed to board the ship to take her and Dickon across the Channel.

  Most of his escort had gone to slake the dust from their throats after the long ride. One of them returned with some food for the prisoner and the three soldiers guarding him.

  Weary and eager to partake of what food the inn had to offer, Colonel Lister nodded towards the guards. ‘Untie his hands and let him eat.’

  ‘But, sir,’ one of the soldier said in alarm, ‘he might try to escape.’

  The colonel handed him a pistol. ‘He will not escape. If he tries, shoot him,’ he said, throwing Edward a cold look. ‘Put the rope back on when he’s eaten.’

  He went to join the soldiers at the inn, where some kind of disagreement had broken out among a group of locals full of ale in the street outside. Fists were raised, curses yelled and a brawl ensued. The soldiers who had paused to watch shouted encouragement.

  Temporarily released from his bonds, his body aching from the long ride, Edward flexed his cramped muscles, forcing blood to flow into them to strengthen them for his impending escape. With the soldiers momentarily distracted, now was the perfect opportunity, perhaps the only one he would have. He couldn’t believe his luck when two of the soldiers guarding him, hearing the yells and guffaws coming from the brawl, covered half the distance to see what it was all about.

  When the remaining soldier, who was little more than a youth, was handing out the food, Edward seized the moment, grasping it and throwing it in the soldier’s face. In the blink of an eye he caught the soldier’s arm and twisted it up his back. The youth tried to get his finger on the pistol to fire an alarm, but Edward was already raising his powerful fist. He caught the youth hard on the jaw. His head snapped back and the gun flew from his grasp as he collapsed on the ground unconscious.

  His fist throbbing wildly, Edward scooped up the pistol and headed for the horses, taking the grey belonging to Malcolm Lister, the only one that remained saddled. Leading it into the trees, he went unnoticed, keeping to the shadows, away from the boisterous activity around the tavern as his captors were otherwise distracted.

  Coming out of the trees, beginning to breathe more easily, he mounted the horse and rode away, heading south, hoping to negotiate for a boat somewhere along the coast to take him across the Channel.

  * * *

  When Malcolm Lister discovered his prisoner had escaped, a white hot rage erupted inside him. Ordering his men to begin a search, he immediately set off after him. Two days into the search and no sign of the fugitive, his exhausted horse threw him. Unfortunately the ground was hard. Malcolm Lister hit his head and was rendered unconscious.

  * * *

  Verity was always busy and interested in most things going on around her. In Paris she made sure that Arabella met many Royalist exiles who spent time about the court. The conversation was always very much about their return to England and continuing the fight to restore the King to his throne. It would seem they could talk of nothing else, but they did find time for pleasure.

  France was in the throes of a civil war of her own, which had broken out in September. As a result the French royal family was in a state of alarm and tension, which spread to all its dependents, including the English exiles and Queen Henrietta Maria, a princess of the French royal blood and the widow of Charles I of England. Many exiles applied for active posts in the French army.

  Leaving the children to be cared for by Pauline, Gregory took Verity and Arabella on a visit to St Germain, several miles to the west of Paris, which housed a great many English Royalists. This was where he had arranged for Arabella to meet Robert Stanhope. As they sauntered through the trees in the park that surrounded the beautiful palace, Arabella recognised Robert among a party of riders just returning from hawking.

  When he saw her he left the group and walked his horse slowly towards her. Dismounting, he swept his plumed hat from his fair head and, smiling broadly, he greeted her warmly, genuinely pleased to see her. A tall man with long fair hair and clear grey eyes, Arabella had forgot how she always felt dwarfed when she stood beside him.

  ‘I confess that I am surprised to see you here in France, Arabella. You are well, I hope.’

  ‘Quite well, thank you, Robert.’

  ‘And you are staying with Gregory and Verity, I understand.’

  ‘For the time being.’

  ‘Come,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Let us walk and you can tell me everything I wish to know.’

  Respecting their need for privacy, Verity and Gregory strolled arm in arm some distance behind them.

  ‘And Alice and the children?’ Robert asked, eager to know all about how his wife was faring and news of Bircot Hall. ‘We do write, but the post is unreliable. I have had no letters for weeks. When I do, I feel that she doesn’t tell me everything for fear of upsetting me.’

  ‘Alice is well—as are the children—although she misses you dreadfully. Thankfully she has managed to stave off sequestration and pays the fines imposed on her, but not without hardship.’

  ‘I have every confidence in Alice’s ability to run and defend Bircot Hall efficiently, but I feel so wretched being so far away—leaving her to cope with everything while I stand idle in Paris. It has been a comfort knowing you were there to help—a Godsend, she told me—although I was indeed sorry to learn John was killed at St Fagans, followed so soon by your daughter.’ When he looked at her his expression was grave. ‘You’ve had a terrible time, Arabella.’

  ‘It has been hard, but Alice helped me come to terms with what happened—and Margaret, of course.’ They walked on in silence for a while, then, unable to contain the curiosity implanted in her mind by his letter to Alice, she said, ‘About your letter to Alice, Robert. You—mentioned someone called Fairburn who is a soldier in the French army.’

  ‘Yes, I did. I considered it a coincidence and merely wondered if he was related to your husband.’

  ‘Have you learned anything else about him?’

  He shook his head. ‘No—although I must be honest with you, Arabella, it hasn’t crossed my mind. If I do, I promise I will let you know.’

  ‘Thank you, Robert. I would appreciate that.’

  ‘Gregory has told me what brought you to France and that Edward Grey was arrested.’

  ‘Yes. He has been taken to London. Gregory is going to try to find out what has become of him.’

  ‘You were betrothed to him once, Arabella,’ he said, giving her a quizzical look. ‘I find it strange that the two of you were together at all.’

  Arabella gave him a brief account of the events that had brought Edward to Bircot Hall and their journey to Bristol. He listened carefully, concerned.

  ‘You say your brother was still under Alice’s care when you left Bircot Hall?’

  ‘Yes. Stephen was badly wounded at Worcester.’

  ‘Let us hope he isn’t discovered. It would not go well for Alice or Margaret to be found harbouring a fugitive.’

  ‘They know that, but Stephen is our brother and Alice will do what she can to keep him safe.’ Suddenly she smiled. ‘Although I think Margaret will see he comes to no harm. She tends him night and day.’

  Robert’s expression brightened to hear this. ‘Margaret? My little si
ster?’

  Arabella laughed. ‘Not so little now, Robert. I have to say her face lights up every time Stephen’s name is mentioned.’

  ‘Then I hope Stephen remains under her tender care for them both to realise they cannot live without each other. Margaret is not cut out for a life of piety.’

  ‘I agree. Stephen has certainly proved to be a distraction. What are your plans now the fighting is over, Robert? Will you stay in France?’

  ‘I have no choice for the present. If I return to England, I will be arrested.’

  ‘Is it not possible that Parliament will grant a pardon to the exiles and they can return to England?’

  ‘We shall have to wait and see.’

  ‘What would you do? Would you go back?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes—yes, I would. I’m done with war. I cannot bear being apart from Alice. If she came to me and Bircot Hall was left empty, it would be subject to sequestration. The estate has been in my family for five generations. It would break my heart to lose it. I would have to return and make the best of life under the Commonwealth.’

  Arabella would welcome that. She, too, was tired of the strife that had existed in England for too long and all because of the old King’s implacable belief in the divine right of kings.

  * * *

  Gregory and Verity were popular figures among the exiles. Happy to see a new and pretty face arrive among them, their friends claimed Arabella’s time in Paris and she soon became sought after at any event. They were frequently invited to one salon or another where she was introduced to many handsome gentlemen and beautiful women, who, since there was little else for them to do, passed their time in idle entertainment.

  The days turned into weeks and passed in a blur. Still nothing was heard of Edward. But it was encouraging that that there was nothing to suggest he had been executed.