The Winthrop Woman

by Anya Seton

  On this May evening he walked back to his little cottage, and found Elizabeth lying on the pallet in the kitchen, languidly directing Hannah's efforts to concoct a makeshift mithridate, for which many ingredients were unobtainable. But Elizabeth knew that something must be tried to strengthen her, and Jack's "Rubila" had not helped.

  Her eyes brightened as Will came in, and she tried to get up, then sank back on the massed pillows. "You've been long with Jack, love," she said. "Whatever were you talking about?"

  He inspected her quickly, dismayed at her continuing pallor, and the dark patches beneath her heavy eyes. He sat down beside her on a stool and told her a part of the discussion.

  "There's high news, Bess! From England. I still can't credit it, but 'tis confirmed. Myself—I don't know whether to weep or rejoice!"

  "Oh, Will!" As he had hoped, she looked more eager, and with something of her old impatience, she cried, "Tell! Don't tease me!"

  "Here it is then," he said. "King Charles has been beheaded, and we have no more a monarchy."

  "Beheaded—" she repeated. "Why, that couldn't be! Who would do such a thing! Kings aren't beheaded."

  Will laughed curtly. "This one has been, on the thirtieth day of last January in the courtyard outside Whitehall. And now, hinnie, my dear, we have a Puritan Commonwealth under the leadership of Oliver Cromwell—that doughty general. Kings have been abolished, the House of Lords has been abolished. I too find it amazing—and—" he added frowning, "I wonder what's happened to the Digbys, since many Royalist Lords were executed. I believe however that Lord George at least will ever be able to run with the hares or the hounds."

  "I saw the King once..." said Elizabeth slowly. "He seemed so small, and yet royal. What's happened to the little Queen?"

  She found the news of interest, but it did not move her deeply.

  "The Queen's fled to France, I believe," said Will. "The Royalists have proclaimed Prince Charles the new king at Edinburgh but I doubt he ever reigns. The Commons and Old Noll are firm entrenched—'tis what most the people wanted."

  "'Tis what most want here, of course," she said. "Jack must be pleased?"

  Will laughed. "Aye, since we'll have no more interference. Besides your cousin Betty's stepfather—Hugh Peter—preached a terrible denunciation sermon to the King before the execution. The colonies'll have strong friends in England now."

  "Puritan friends," she whispered. The sudden weariness returned and her lids drooped. "Will—" she said, with pauses for breath between the phrases. "How marvelous are the—tangles of destiny. Had the King not ousted my Uncle John from his position—at the Court of Wards and Liveries—twenty yean ago—I wouldn't be here now, nor any of us." Her own words astounded her and she looked up at Will with sudden fright. "And had I not talked too rash to the Countess of Carlisle one Christmas morning, would Uncle John have kept his office? Ah, I have been truly wicked all my life, and he was right to detest me!"

  "Nonsense!" said Will sharply. "Your cousin Jack told you how soft his father spoke of you at the end. Nor are those murky del-vings of the slightest use. What's done is done."

  "I said I didn't hate him, but I did," she said faintly. "And yet now he's gone—I'm empty and forlorn, ft was as though I drowned, when he died."

  Will pressed his lips and walked over to Hannah who stopped stirring the mithridate and looked at him sadly with an understanding far beyond her twelve years. Will started to speak of what was in both their minds, then he checked himself for Elizabeth might hear, and said, "Well, poppet, what do you think of the news about the King?"

  "It seems odd," answered the child politely. "I suppose he was a very bad man?"

  Will started and laughed. "Upon my word, Hannah, I don't know! These happenings so far away now seem as pithless and fantastical to me as they do to you. And—" he added bitterly to himself, "they don't serve to displace more personal concerns."

  For some days the execution of King Charles and establishment of the Puritan's Commonwealth was a matter for wonder and rejoicing throughout New England, and then, as for William Hallet, the great news was forgotten in the press of immediate affairs. And yet, though they little dreamed of it, this regicide had a direct bearing on the lives of Elizabeth and Will.

  It was also in May that Governor Stuyvesant received at Fort Amsterdam the official communication from the States General at The Hague. It told him that their High Mightinesses and the Prince of Orange had consented to King Charles's execution, that they had recognized the Puritan Commonwealth. The West India Company therefore wrote instructing Stuyvesant "To live with his neighboring colonies on the best terms possible."

  The Governor withdrew into his private study, rested his peg-leg on a stool, and meditated long on the various aspects of this startling development. Then he summoned George Baxter. At the end of their interview, Stuyvesant shoved aside a pile of communications—most of them aggrieved—from the various English colonies, and his fierce eagle-eyes lighted on a letter which had been buried. "And this too—" he cried in Dutch to Baxter. "Again that verdomde Winthrop woman! She's a nuisance. Can they write of nothing else?"

  Baxter hid a smile while he bowed in agreement with the Governor's annoyance. "Yet now, Your Excellency, in view of this communication from The Hague—" And he went on to suggest certain politic considerations.

  Stuyvesant listened intently, scowling beneath his bushy gray brows, nor did he say anything when Baxter had finished. He stood up and stumped rapidly out of the room, as was his custom when displeased. But George Baxter sat down and wrote a note to John Winthrop, Jr., at Pequot. And he dispatched the note by Toby Feake who had been a week in port at New Amsterdam, and was about to leave for Providence with a cargo of tobacco and potash. Toby had no reason for putting in to Pequot, and was unmoved by Baxter's query as to whether he didn't wish to see his aunt and cousins.

  "What for?" said Toby shrugging. "I suppose they're safe enough where they are, and I've no mind to get in that broil again."

  "No doubt you'd be well paid for making the stop," said Baxter, "and it may be of great importance."

  "Not to me," said Toby. "My aunt and Hallet have no money, that's one certainty in all the pother."

  "Mr. Winthrop'll surely pay you, and you might pick up some beaver," said Baxter patiently.

  "Naw," said Toby. "I'd not chance it."

  Baxter swallowed his exasperation, and finally advanced Toby some guilders from his own pocket, at the same time chiding himself for a soft fool, but Elizabeth's tragedies had always disturbed him, and the various influential letters received at Fort Amsterdam had made it impossible to forget her.

  Toby accepted the guilders and sailed off up the coast in his own good time.

  On May 23 Captain Mason rode into Pequot from Hartford bearing with him a letter from the newly elected Governor Haynes which fulfilled all the worst expectations that Will and Jack had been enduring since the Connecticut elections.

  Jack summoned Will, and awaited him in the study at the mansion. As Will came in, the two men exchanged a long silent look, and Jack nodded grimly.

  "So it's come," stated Will, his gray eyes hardening. He had passed Captain Mason in the Hall, and noted that the little Captain hastily turned his back as Will walked through. "Mason brought it, no doubt," continued Will. "Is it bad?"

  "Aye," said Jack scowling down at the letter. "As bad as can be— arrest and trial." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I've been appointed magistrate. Mason's to administer the oath at once, and for the express purpose of Bess's arrest. Neatly arranged."

  The muscles knotted in Will's long jaw. "I should like to see the warrant."

  "Certainly," said Jack. "'Tis here in Governor Haynes's letter." He held the paper out to Will who read in stony silence.

  There is cognizance taken by our Court, of some parties resident with you, that are of ill fame, as one that was the wife sometime of Mr. Feake, and who it seems did confess herself an Adulteress (which is upon record at the Dutch) and now
pretends marriage with another man...

  I am therefore to acquaint you that she ... is sent for by warrant to appear at the Court here ... we could do no other but seek to do Justice in such horrid facts...

  Will threw the letter down. "So Bess now bears the whole brunt," he cried.

  "Yes, since you have no wife, and therefore yours is a lesser crime, but they'll find counts against you too."

  "The scurvy stinking ferrets," Will said. "Would to God that I could kill them with my bare hands. What do they mean to do? Drag her off to trial at Hartford like a common whore? Flog her unto death? Or hang her!"

  "Surely they couldn't," said Jack, but his voice trembled. The Mosaic law and the Body of Liberties both ordered capital punishment for adultery, rare as its fulfilment was in the observance. And Haynes knew no mercy. It might be that he would consider it his duty to make a terrible example of a gentlewoman.

  "There's naught for it but to flee," said Jack, "as we suspected. Though this danger is far worse than I feared. Try Rhode Island next, though I doubt even Roger Williams'll give you asylum if he knows the circumstances—and no use for you to leave Bess— the warrant is for her arrest and Mason would march her off whether you were here or not."

  "I'll not leave her," said Will. "The time for that's past. Now she's weak and helpless, and if she can't stay near you, she must have me to fend for her."

  Jack's unhappy eyes softened, he looked up at the big yeoman with a sad smile. "Aye ... Hallet," he said. "You love that troublesome wench, and so do I. I think you'll risk your neck to prove it."

  "And you—" said Will quietly. "Your lifework and your reputation."

  The brown and gray eyes met in a brief wry glance.

  Then Jack sat down. "We must plan quickly. The General Court'll not meet till next week at Hartford. I can hold Mason off a day or two while you ready Bess. Does she know aught about this new fear that we had?"

  Will shook his head. "She's not been well enough. Though lately she's stronger since you gave her that powder."

  Jack nodded. "The leaves of fox-glove. Digitalis. It often cures weakness and want of breath if Rubila won't—Hallet, can you manage a shallop?"

  "I can row. I can't sail. 'Twere better that we go by land into the Narragansett country, if that's where we must go."

  "I can think of no other place," said Jack grimly. "Except Virginia, but there's no boat to take you. And anywhere you go now you must assume an alias, and live in hiding—poor souls."

  For some time, while Mason fumed outside. Jack and Will tried to make plans, each concealing from the other how impractical these plans were. The Hallets must leave the Feake children in Jack's care until it was possible to send for them. Jack would provide two horses, and a guide, and the escape might be easy, since they could go by night and Mason would be at the mansion, surely never doubting Jack's obcdience to the Governor's warrant. But both men knew the dangers of the wilderness between Pequot and Providence, where the Indians were increasingly restive. And both knew that there was scant hope of permanent safety anywhere.

  They agreed despondently to wait a day or two for Elizabeth's strength to increase. Then Will strode off, and returned to the cottage.

  And the next day Toby sailed the Ben Palmer to the Pequot River landing. He disembarked and made his way directly to the Winthrop home, having no sentimental desire to see his aunt, nor knowledge as to where she lived in town. Jack was closeted with Mason in the study when Toby shambled up to the door and asked to see him.

  Betty Winthrop was sewing in her parlor with her sister and she heard their slave, Kaboonder, questioning some caller. She went out into the passage, and asked, "What is it, sir? You have some message for Mr. Winthrop?"

  "Aye, ma'am," said Toby, holding out a letter. "From New Amsterdam."

  Betty nodded, seeing that he was a sea captain, and many such came through with letters. "Thank you. I'll give it to Mr. Winthrop," she said. "He can't be disturbed at present."

  Toby hesitated, torn between the wish to wait and see if Winthrop would pay him for his service, and the need to sail off before the wind changed. He decided for the latter, touched his hat and departed for his ship.

  It was thus an hour later before Jack received Baxter's letter, and when he had read it he rushed to the stable, and demanded that his horse be saddled fast. He went back into the house, and pulled Betty to one side. "Bring me a tablecloth," he said. "Quickly! And, my dear—I've no time to explain, but you must keep Captain Mason inside with you, I don't wish him to go near the harbor."

  "Why, John—" said Betty, her blue eyes startled and affronted. "What do you want of a tablecloth, and how can I keep the Captain here? What is this about?"

  "Talk to him, read to him, sing to him—I care not. But in this you will obey me! Hasten, Betty!"

  She swallowed and stiffened. Then she bowed her fair head. "Very well, husband." She took a white cloth from the linen press and gave it to him. She watched with dismay as Jack lifted his musket from the wall pegs, and poured powder into the flash pan, but she asked no more questions. When Jack had gone she walked to the study where stood the annoyed and baffled Captain who had been unceremoniously deserted by Jack. She smiled and said, "Oh, Captain Mason, will you come to the parlor, my sister Lake and I find it so dull sitting alone, and we want to ask you about Hartford."

  Neither Mason's murmured protests, nor endeavors to find out where Mr. Winthrop had rushed to, were of any avail against her calm, well-bred assurance.

  Jack mounted his horse and set off at a gallop. As he had hoped—knowing that the tide was coming in, and seeing that the wind was veering to the south—Toby's sloop had not progressed far down the river. Jack galloped to a little point of land ahead of the boat, stood on a rock by the water and waved the tablecloth frantically, then he fired his musket into the air. He waved and fired again, until they finally saw him, and lowered the longboat. One of Toby's crew rowed over, until he was near enough to hear Jack's shout. "Turn back! Go back to the landing! I'm Mr. Winthrop."

  The lad waved in reply. Jack waited until he saw the vessel lose steerageway, the sails slat, and the boom swing over as she came about, then he galloped back to the Hallet cottage.

  Will was on the lane side of his lot staring at the ripening pea pods and wondering who would gather them. But they belonged to Winthrop now. In anticipation of trouble, Jack had for ten pounds bought back the land from Will. A maneuver Will considered only slightly better than charity, though Jack truly affirmed the land had been improved to that extent, and more, during Will's tenure.

  Jack reined the horse in, and called, "Hist! Come here, Hallet!"

  Will vaulted the fence and strode to Jack in surprise.

  "Where's Bess?" said Jack.

  "Inside, cooking supper. What's happened?"

  "Toby Feake has come from New Amsterdam—with a letter from Baxter. Here it is, Hallet, there's some hope I think. But don't tell her yet, lest she be cruelly disappointed again. Tell her only you must flee for a time, until an awkwardness blows over. Don't mention me at present. I can't see her. Mason has made me magistrate, I took the oath, and conniving though I've been to this extent, I can't see her whom I'm bound to arrest. I'll speak to Captain Feake and explain that you must sail with him at once. Then I must get back to Mason—keep him in the house until you sail. Send the children up to me as we arranged. God bless you and her. I'll pray for you!"

  He slapped his horse's rump and galloped off towards the landing where the sloop was once more anchored, and a sulky Toby awaited explanation of the summons to return.

  Will broke the news to Elizabeth as gently as he could, but she was confused and frightened. He told her nothing but that it was necessary for them to leave Connecticut for a while, and they would go on Toby's boat which had fortunately appeared.

  "But where to?" she asked. "Where can we go?"

  And he, mindful of Winthrop's warning, said "Virginia" at random. And he hurried her sternly, seeing that sh
e wished to refuse. "You must believe me, hinnie—gather your things."

  "But the children?" she cried. "Will, I don't understand—there must be far worse happened than you've told me. And where's Jack?"

  "He'll take the children," Will said. "We can't drag them off on Toby's boat. 'Tis all arranged."

  "Jack wishes to be rid of me like this without a word."

  "No, Bess," said Will. "He meant to say farewell I'm sure. No doubt he thought you'd leave on Toby's voyage back from Providence, but I think it better to go now. Come, hurry! There's not time for all these doubts.

  Will gathered up the Feake children and put them in Lisbet's care to be conveyed later to the Winthrops. Lisbet was delighted at the thought of staying at the mansion. So were the boys. Only Hannah wept a little, but she kissed Elizabeth cheerfully when Will explained that this trip was for her mother's health.

  Elizabeth was dazed, but her heart was very sore, and she could not help feeling that Jack's affection for her had at last been sundered.

  Toby did nothing to dispel her confusion, having received instructions from Jack and money as well.

  The minute Elizabeth set foot on deck, one certainty pierced her bewilderment. She cried, "But I can't leave like this. What'll Jack think of me, after all he's done for us. Toby, you've got pen and ink in the cabin. I must write a note! I want to thank him—even if he doesn't wish to see me anymore."

  Toby growled. Will tried to stop her, while he cast nervous glances at the creek that led to the Winthrop house. But she would not be stopped, and she wrote stiffly, and with pride, wishing Jack not to think that she was bitterly hurt by his mysterious arrangements for shunting her off to Providence and then Virginia.

  "Sir," she began, having stopped herself from writing the usual "Dear Brother":

  My cousin being put back by weather desireth us to go with him now; for if the wind be fair as he cometh back he shall be loath to put in; also I am willing to see that place, being moved thereto by something which I heard from a woman in this town. I entreat you to pardon me that I—"