The King’s Mistress
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“Well,” he grinned. “I reckoned that blundering among the troops would anger them so that they’d not think to look beyond their rage, and so it did. But the ostler had keener eyes. As soon as I came into the stable, I took the bridles off the horses, and called him to me to help me give the horses some oats. And as he was helping me to feed the horses, ‘Sure, sir,’ says he, ‘I know your face.’”
Jane gasped and Henry looked at him in alarm, and Charles nodded wryly.
“Which was no very pleasant question to me, but I thought the best way was to ask him where he had lived. He told me that he was but newly come here, that he was born in Exeter and had been ostler in an inn there, hard by one Mr Potter’s, a merchant, in whose house I had lain at the time of war.”
“What ill luck!” Henry exclaimed.
“I thought it best to give the fellow no further occasion of thinking where he had seen me, for fear he should guess right at last. Therefore I told him, ‘Friend, certainly you have seen me there at Mr Potter’s, for I served him a good while, above a year.’ ‘Oh,’ says he, ‘Then I remember you a boy there.’”
Jane laughed at Charles’s impersonation of the ostler, nodding in sage satisfaction.
“And with that,” Charles continued, “he was put off from thinking any more on it but desired that we might drink a pot of beer together. Which I excused by saying that I must go wait upon my master and get his dinner ready for him, but told him that we were going for London and would return about three weeks hence, and then I would not fail to drink a pot with him.”
“Quick thinking, Your Majesty,” Henry grinned.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of dinner. Once the kitchen boy was gone, Jane made to serve Charles, but he waved off her attentions and begged her and Henry to sit and eat with him.
Riding pillion for so many miles was wearying, and Jane’s body ached in unaccustomed places. The men appeared exhausted as well, and hot food and warmed wine brightened their spirits and revived their energy.
“Do you know”—Charles smiled over a leg of chicken—“I begin to think that I may be safe after all. Only one more day of riding, and we shall be at Bristol.”
“And nothing will hinder us from getting you there, Sire,” Henry said, “though it costs my life.”
Charles looked from Jane to Henry. “I can only hope that I will see the day when I can honour you as I wish for the help you have given me. I have been much humbled by the love and care shown to me by so many of my people these last days. Most of them have been poor folk with little enough for themselves, but they’ve risked their lives to keep me safe, and offered all they have. Indeed, one of them gave me the shirt off his back, quite truly.”
He plucked at his shirt, now grimy from the ride but clearly new.
“The people love you, Your Majesty,” Jane said. “And pray for your return.”
But none of them love you so well as I do, she thought, watching the flickering firelight play on his face.
Charles looked around the room, cosy with the fire crackling, its light chasing the shadows away, and smiled.
“A bed to sleep in tonight! I will ne’er take such comfort for granted again.”
“Of course you shall have the great bed, Your Majesty,” Henry said, “and I will take the pallet.”
“Even a pallet would be welcome,” Charles laughed, “and a great improvement from doubling myself up in priest holes, and a day spent sleeping in a tree.”
“In a tree?” Jane asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” Charles said. “When I was at Boscobel, the Giffards feared I would be discovered if I stayed within, even in the priest hole, so I spent a long day in an oak some little way behind the house, my head resting upon the lap of one Colonel Carlis, who I think you know?”
“Yes, an old friend,” Jane said.
“Cromwell’s men were searching in the woods nearby, and it scarcely seemed possible that we should escape detection. And yet despite all that, I was so tired, having gone three nights without sleep, that I slumbered, my head resting on the good colonel’s lap.”
“Will you tell us of the fight at Worcester, Your Majesty?” Henry asked, pouring more wine for all of them. “We’ve only heard pieces of the story, and none from any who know what happened so well as you.”
Charles’s eyes darkened, and Jane thought of the stories of confusion, despair, and horror she had heard from the soldiers fleeing from the battle.
“It was a desperate venture, in which people were laughing at the ridiculousness of our condition well before the battle. We had been three weeks marching from Scotland, with the rebels pursuing us, when we limped into Worcester. We knew Oliver was on his way with thirty thousand men, and I had but half that number, hungry, sick at heart, already worn out, many lacking even shoes to their feet.”
Jane thought of the ragged survivors on the road past Bentley the day after the battle. It was a wonder any had survived at all, she thought, if they had begun in such desperate condition.
“We needed every advantage we could get. We blew up the bridges leading to the town, dug earthworks, built up the fort, and waited. When at length Cromwell came, he fired upon the city, but made no further move for three days.”
Charles was on his feet now, pacing. Jane could imagine only too well the tension of the young king and his soldiers, knowing the battle would come but not when, having to stay vigilant and ready despite their exhaustion and apprehension.
“He was waiting, you see, for the third of September.” Charles turned to them, a bitter smile creasing his face. “A year to the day since he beat us at Dunbar. And when that day dawned, he moved.”
“John Lane and I were on our way to Worcester on that day, even as the fight was under way,” Henry said. “I would we had reached you in time to be of use.”
“I would you had, too. Had we had but a few thousand more so stouthearted, perhaps the fight would have ended differently.”
He leaned a hand on the mantelpiece and stood staring down into the fire. Jane tried to imagine how a battle started.
“How did it begin? How did you know what to do, how to place your men?” she asked.
“I began the day atop the cathedral with my officers,” Charles said. “Where we could see for miles in every direction. My heart was in my throat, I can tell you, to see the enemy off to the south, so numerous.”
Jane’s throat tightened to think what he must have felt, seeing the possibility of death and destruction marching inexorably towards him.
“I cannot say whether our hopes or fears were greatest that morning, but we had one stout argument—despair. For we knew that everything rested on the outcome of that day, and for me it would be a crown or a coffin. I took a last look at that great sweeping view, the wind on the river, my men massed and waiting, and went down to fight.”
Jane pictured him, mounted and armed, raising his sword aloft, rallying his men to battle.
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge
Cry “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”
“If bravery and determination alone were enough, you would have won,” she said.
“You held the fort and the city walls for most of the day, did you not, Your Majesty?” Henry asked.
“So we did. The tide turned, alas, when they overran the fort, and turned our guns against us. The Duke of Hamilton, who led the Scots so valiantly, was grievous wounded by a cannonball.”
Jane winced. A cannonball could easily take off a man’s head or cut him in two.
“His men held off the charge at Sidbury Gate as long as they could, but once the enemy was within the city walls, the day was lost.”
“My lord Wilmot says he never saw a fiercer fight,” Henry said.
“My men made a last stand near the town hall, and I hope I may never see such a sight again as the red of the setting sun on the blood in the streets. But it just gave me time to get to my headquarters, cast off my armour, and bid Wilmot to meet me outside the gate with fresh horses if it could be done. As it was, I heard them breaking down the front door even as I slipped out the back, and though it was only steps to St Martin’s Gate, it was a near thing that I got out.”
His look of bleak despair chilled Jane’s heart, and she wished she could take him into her arms and comfort him.
“There was no other way, surely,” she said, “but for you to fly?”
“No,” Charles agreed. “My life and any hope for the future of the kingdom would have been lost had I tarried but five minutes longer. Outside the walls, Wilmot and I encountered some of our troops. I tried to rally them to go back and try once more, but it was no use, and it would probably have done little but let me die fighting instead of fleeing.”
The fire was burning low, and Jane was exhausted with the day’s riding. She longed for a minute alone with Charles, but there seemed no graceful way to manage it, so she rose to leave. Charles’s eyes met hers, and she felt their heat.
“Let me light you to your room, Mistress Jane,” he said, picking up the candle from the table.
“I’ll do it, Your Majesty,” Henry said, rising.
“Sit, Lascelles,” Charles said, and it was not a request. “I said I’ll light the lady’s way.”
Henry bowed his head in assent, though Jane could practically hear the questions and protests in his mind.
“Good night, Henry,” she said demurely, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”
Candle in hand, Charles led the way down the passage. He loomed before her in the darkness, the candlelight silhouetting him in its golden glow. In a moment they would be alone. Her heart beat faster at the thought of his arms around her, his mouth on hers. But to Jane’s disappointment, when they got to her room he opened the door for her but did not follow her inside. She looked up at him, not quite daring to reach out a hand to touch him, to tilt her head back and draw him into a kiss. He took her hand, turned it over, and the feel of his lips on her palm made her belly contract with desire.
“I’ll go back to your cousin now, sweet Jane.”
No, Jane thought, don’t go.
Charles smiled and stroked her cheek, as if reading her thoughts. “Henry has hazarded his life for my safety, and I would not cause him unease or make him think I regard you with less than honourable respect, which indeed I do not.”
“Then good night, sir,” Jane said, turning.
“But, Jane,” Charles said, stopping the door with his foot, “I’ll see you in my dreams, make no mistake.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WAY TO ABBOTS LEIGH LAY THROUGH BRISTOL. THIS WAS THE most dangerous part of the journey yet, as Charles had spent some months there during the war and might be recognised, though he had aged from the sixteen-year-old boy who had left to the man he was today. Still, it was risky. Henry rode ahead, and Jane could see his shoulders tighten with tension as the increased traffic on the road told them they must be close to the city. His hand strayed to feel for the pistol at his belt, and he eyed passing strangers warily, as though a bent old woman with a flock of geese might be hiding a Parliamentary trooper beneath her skirts.
At length the towering city walls with their arched gates rose ahead.
“Lawford’s Gate,” Charles said over his shoulder to Jane. “The last time I was here the mayor met me with a crowd of dignitaries to welcome me.”
“Better we find our own way today,” Jane said.
Charles pulled his hat lower over his brow as they followed Henry through the massive portal and into the open marketplace, with a castle beyond. The streets were bustling with people on foot and on horseback, with wagons and carts, and with sheep and cattle. Wolverhampton was the biggest town Jane had ever been in, and this was far bigger, she realised with excitement.
“Is London like this?” she asked in Charles’s ear.
“London?” he laughed. “No, this is nothing to London. It’s a good city, though; I liked it here and was sorry to leave. Do you know, I have a month’s mind to see what progress was made on the fortifications since then.” He spurred the horse forward to ride up next to Henry.
“We’ve plenty of daylight left to reach Abbots Leigh,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s ride to St Michael’s Hill to see what became of our works after Oliver took the city.”
Henry glanced around them. People everywhere, including many soldiers. Jane could see him forming his words carefully.
“Is it wise? The sooner you are safely out of the city the better.”
“But half an hour,” Charles said cheerfully. “Humour me. Come, I cannot tell when I may chance to be in Bristol again.”
Before Henry could answer, Charles rode ahead and set off on a street branching away from the marketplace. He seemed infused with a new vigour and excitement, his head held higher, his back straighter. Despite his plain clothes, he looked like a king, Jane thought with both pride and alarm as she wrapped her arms tighter around him.
“The Royal Fort.” Charles pointed as the walls to the northwest of the city came into view. “We rebuilt that when we took the city in ’44, and did much else to strengthen the line of the defences.”
Henry rode beside them, his professional interest as a soldier overcoming his caution, and Charles carried on his commentary in a low voice. It was a beautiful day, a fresh breeze blowing off the water, feathery clouds scudding above, the river full of shipping, the quays swarming with sailors and with dockworkers loading and unloading the ships that rode at anchor.
“My lodgings were just there,” Charles said, pointing out a tall house that rose on a hillside. “And look, there’s the fish peddler my cook used to buy from.”
“Then perhaps we had better ride further from him,” Jane murmured.
“You’re right. And probably time that we made for Abbots Leigh anyway.”
“High time,” Jane heard Henry mutter.
Charles wheeled his horse away from the fort. The hilly streets wound up and down, and just as it seemed to Jane as if they must be heading back the way they had come, Charles reined in and came to a halt. Henry rode up next to him with an inquiring glance.
“Hmm,” Charles said. “I was sure this was the right road.” He glanced behind them and then ahead. “But it doesn’t look at all familiar now. Of course the city has changed …”
Passersby were noting them and Jane felt very conspicuous. She glanced anxiously at Henry and saw that his jaw was tight and his face reddening.
“Let me see now,” Charles muttered. “There’s the sun, so that’s west. We want to go west and north, more or less, once we cross the river, but surely we must go further south first. No, I must have missed a turning.”
He rode confidently back the way they had come and turned into another street about halfway down the hill, and then into another. But they seemed no nearer the river, and Jane could feel Henry’s increasing agitation. A few minutes longer and she was truly worried. The map had shown the general route to Abbots Leigh, but she had no idea how long it would take them to reach it, and the sun was dropping low over the horizon.
“Perhaps we should ask someone,” she ventured, but she wasn’t sure it was the wisest course. As urgent as it was to find their way, any interaction with strangers could bring calamity upon them. Suppose they had the ill luck to speak to someone who recognised the king’s face? The thousand-pound reward was a mighty inducement to betray him, and if they were lost they would have no hope of escaping if they were pursued. She glanced around to see what passersby looked least threatening, and was alarmed to see a small party of soldiers emerging from a tavern a little way ahead, their voices ringing out with boisterous laughter.
“No, I’m sure this must be right now,” Charles said, spurring the horse into a trot down the hill. The road did bring them to an area more heavily peopled, and Jane thought they must be near the quays now, but once more Charles stopped. An inn stood at one side of the road, and a sturdily built ostler was just unhitching a horse from a cart.
“Good even, brother,” Charles called out, and the man glanced up. No light of recognition showed in his eyes, Jane was relieved to see, as they rode closer.
“Like a fool, I’ve lost my way,” Charles said, his words thick with the accent of Staffordshire. “Would you be good enough to tell me how to find the Redcliffe Gate afore my mistress boxes my ears?”
It didn’t take much acting for Jane to look thoroughly annoyed, and the ostler’s red face creased in a grin.
“Not much used to cities, art thou, then, hayseed?”
“No, truly,” Charles laughed with an embarrassed shrug. “I’ve ne’er seen so many houses and people in my life.”
“Well, look you,” the fellow said, and Jane, Henry, and Charles paid close heed to the directions he gave.
“Thankee, friend,” Charles called with a farewell wave. “And I hope to do you a good turn someday.”
“Not likely, boobee!” the stranger laughed. “But I thank you for the thought.”
Jane was relieved when once again the city walls came within view and a high stone gate loomed before them.
“That’s it,” Charles said. “We’ll cross the river at Rownham Passage. It’s not far now, and we can’t miss it.”
This time he was right. The road sloped down to the muddy banks of the Avon, and a ferry was crossing back from the opposite side. The ferryman nodded at them as they rode aboard and Henry counted out their fares, but he didn’t give Charles a second glance. Jane looked in awe at the magnificent deep gorge between two rocky cliffs, through which the river passed on its long journey from Stratford towards the sea.
“It’s only two or three miles now.” Henry sounded relieved as they reached the far bank of the river. “We could take the main road, but according to the map there’s an old Roman road that goes up through the orchard.”
“Then let us use that,” Charles said. “For in this instance, the only way to go is up, and the more private we can be, the better.”
The main road lay before them, climbing a steep hill, the late-afternoon sun slanting down through the canopy of tall trees that lined the road, but Henry led them off to the right, and they easily found the track that wound up through the apple trees, heavy with their red and gold fruit. Jane inhaled the scent, thinking of the orchard at Bentley.
“Boobee?” Charles mused, turning his head over his shoulder to speak to her. “What did the fellow mean by calling me that?”
“It’s a song,” Jane laughed. “All about a country clodhopper that goes to London.”
“Ah.” Charles grinned. “Then I can congratulate myself that I’ve pulled the wool over the eyes of at least one proud man of Bristol. Still, I don’t relish another evening in the kitchens as I spent at Long Marston. It might be more prudent to contrive some way to keep me apart from the household at Abbots Leigh.”
“True,” Jane said. “We could say that you’re ill and not fit to mix with the other servants.”
“That would serve,” Charles agreed. “And I’ve no doubt I look pale and haggard, what with the miles of riding and walking, and the lack of meat and sleep over the past week.”
They were near the summit of the hill now, and Jane was pleased to think that they were so close to having accomplished what they set out to do—get the king in safety to where he could wait while Lord Wilmot found him safe passage from England—but she felt a pang at the realisation that their arrival meant her time with Charles was growing short. How long would it take Lord Wilmot to arrive and then to find a boat? Would she have another evening with Charles? Two? What heartache it would be to turn for home and ride back to Bentley behind Henry. She tightened her arms around Charles’s waist, and he patted her hand.
“Tired?” he asked. “We must be nearly there now.”
“I am weary of riding, but not of your company.”
His hand brushed hers, and his lips tickled her ear as he spoke, his voice a husky whisper. “I shall not let you part from me just yet, sweetheart.”
The horses seemed to sense that they were near the end of their journey, and they pressed on despite the steepness of the hill. Soon a high stone gateway with a two-storeyed gatehouse rose ahead.
“That must be it,” Henry said, turning. He slowed so that Charles and Jane pulled even with him. “It’s a big household and there will be grooms enough to deal with horses,” he said, his voice low. “It would be safer for you to wait near the stables while Jane makes arrangements with her cousin to lodge you somewhere quiet.”
As they passed through the arched gateway, the road curved, and the great house stood before them, perched on the summit of the hill. Jane let out a little cry.
“What a grand house!”
It was a fine house, its imposing front three storeys high, with a row of a dozen gables along the roof, its vast lawns rolling away downhill in all directions. On the green before the house, eight or ten people were playing at bowls, and two or three more lounged on the wide front steps to watch the game’s progress. Jane was just as glad that she did not see Ellen among those gathered; she could ride to the back of the house with Charles and Henry and make a more quiet entrance than if she had had to stop to greet Ellen before all those people.
Henry had been right, and as soon as the horses approached the stables, two boys came running out to take the horses by their bridles while the riders dismounted.
“Wait here, Jackson,” Jane said, “while I find Mrs Norton.”
She didn’t have far to look, however, for a voice from above called out happily.
“Jane! You’re here!” Ellen leaned out a window, beaming. Jane laughed with pleasure to see the familiar tousled blonde curls and rosy cheeks.
“Ellen! How radiant you look!”
“Stay just where you are,” Ellen called. “I’ll be down directly!”
She appeared a moment later at the back door, and Jane rushed to embrace her, careful of her bulging belly.
“Come in, come in,” Ellen urged. “You must be worn out with the ride, and I’m so big I can scarce get about.”
“Ellen, you remember my cousin Henry Lascelles?” Jane asked. Henry and Ellen bowed to each other as Charles hovered in the background. “And I wonder if I might beg a favour. My man Jackson here has been ill of an ague. I would take it most kind if you would let him have a good chamber with a fire so that he might go early to bed, or I fear the boy will never recover.”
“Of course, of course, the poor lad,” Ellen agreed, giving a vague smile in Charles’s direction. “I’ll have Pope see to him directly. But come with me, dear Jane, I want all the news from home.”
Jane had just time to settle herself in her room, visit briefly with Ellen, and wash her hands and face and change her clothes before it was time for supper. She insisted on carrying a dish of broth to her ailing man herself, and the butler Pope showed her the way to the garret room where Charles was lodged.
“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.”