Mary of Carisbrooke (10 page)

“I saw him kiss you after dinner, and you did not seem to mind.”

The kiss had meant nothing. It had merely achieved its purpose of distracting his attention. Mary laughed, but remembered in time that she must not say so. From now on there would be other things one must remember not to say. She must learn to guard her tongue, to think more quickly.

Rolph frowned, taking her laughter for flirtatious acquiescence. “Osborne’s kisses are as lavish as his love tokens. If your father hopes to get you a good husband I wonder he does not draw the line at a man of his reputation.” His thigh pressed hers as he reached ostentatiously for the jug of water which was always set before him.

“Is it true that reinforcements have landed?” asked Mary coldly.

“Two sergeants from my own company rode in. Where were you that you did not hear the excitement?”

“With my friend in Newport.”

“You should have let me take you.”

“You were on duty.”

“Too true. Rounding up a lot of hysterical Royalists.”

“And humiliating one brave old man with handcuffs.”

“As a lesson to the other crazy rustics,” admitted Rolph sheepishly. “But how did you know?”

“The people of Newport are mostly our friends and neighbours.”

“How you islanders do hang together!”

Mary would have liked to escape his attentions by going to her aunt’s quiet room; but as soon as supper was over she knelt down by the hearth and began playing with the spaniel Patters and her fast-growing pups. And presently, as she had hoped, Harry Firebrace came through the room. She knelt upright, with a small spaniel cuddled in each arm and the firelight on her hair, deliberately attracting his attention. She might have been a wanton playing one man off against another. “See how they have grown! Are they not adorable, Master Firebrace?” she called, in the middle of whatever Edmund Rolph was saying.

The young Groom of the Bedchamber came over to her at once and set the other two fat, lumbering pups racing for walnuts which he had filched from a passing servant. He minded not at all that the Captain of the Guard scowled at him, resenting the interruption and thinking such amusements childish.

“I have something for you,” Mary managed to tell him softly, as they both made a lunge after a rolling walnut.

“A letter?” asked Firebrace, apparently absorbed in preventing the pick of Patters’ litter from choking himself.

Mary looked up with flushed cheeks. “I cannot give it to you now,” she whispered. Rolph was standing with his back to the fire, watching her.

The Captain’s lascivious glance was for the white budding of her breasts at the top of her gown, but all her apprehension was for the King’s letter. She felt that even beneath her best green worsted it must be apparent to his gaze. But it was useless to run away. She had undertaken to deliver it and she must act, as Firebrace and Osborne had acted earlier in the day. For the first time in her life she dissembled. Sinking down upon one of the hearthside benches, as though out of breath, she laughed up at Firebrace. “Oh, I am too exhausted to play with the Patters family any more, after being in Newport all the afternoon! And to-morrow morning Brett and I have to begin training another donkey because so much extra water will be needed for the new troops.”

Firebrace picked up his cue immediately. “I must come and watch,” he said. It would be quiet and dark in the well-house, and only gentle old Brett would be there. But to Mary’s momentary horror—because he always played for disarming all possible suspicion—Firebrace turned invitingly to Rolph. “Have you ever watched the clever little beasts turn the wheel? Of course, you must be extra busy just now, Captain. But you really should one day. It takes so much skill and patience to train them.”

But, as he had safely reckoned, the dark-jowled Captain of the Guard had no interest in donkeys.

“God knows it takes me all my time to train the human variety!” he laughed, his good humour restored.

Materially, Edward Trattle’s prophecy proved true. After the failure of Captain Burley’s ill-considered rising, the King was kept in much closer confinement. A special commission was set up at Derby House in London to deal with his captivity, and from their Speaker Hammond received his orders. Half the officers of the royal household who had come from Hampton were dismissed, and from the remainder he was bidden to choose four of the most trustworthy to act as wardens of the King’s person. Pompously, the gentlemen of Derby House called them conservators, insisting that one or other of them must always be on guard outside the two doors of the State Room. Every night their beds were pushed one against the main door and one against the backstairs entrance so that, once his Majesty had retired, he could not come forth without their knowledge and neither could any unauthorized person enter. For the first time Hammond not only had full backing for his orders, but the power to enforce them; for General Fairfax had sent two companies of foot, and the castle barracks were full to overflowing.

But in more subtle ways the arrest and imprisonment of Captain Burley had exactly the opposite effect. The harsh way in which he was treated swung public sympathy towards the Royalist cause which he so courageously represented. During his captaincy of Yarmouth he had been popular with the people, and even those who were normally indifferent to politics were moved to indignant pity. “If the Governor had dispersed the crowd and let the old sea-dog go, no one would have been any the worse off,” they said. “But he allowed that wild-eyed Mayor of Newport to persuade him.”

And Hammond himself saw, too late, that reporting the affair had been a bad error of judgment; for after doing so the Captain’s fate was out of his hands. There was nothing he could do to mitigate it, however much he might regret its cruelty. His own genuine desire to make pleasant contact with the islanders was doomed. Just as he himself had done in the first place, Parliament used the unfortunate Burley as a scapegoat and an example. And by sending him to an unjust trial at Winchester they presented the King he so fearlessly upheld with scores of secret sympathisers. No decent man on the island or in Hampshire would be a party to that travesty of a trial. And when at last by some legal chicanery the excitable Captain was condemned to death, an executioner had to be sent down from London because no one else would carry out the foul sentence.

“Hanged, drawn and quartered—that kindly, upright old man! The Trattles must be heart-broken,” lamented Druscilla Wheeler, staring out unseeingly at the bleak February day.

“And on a charge of high treason, of all absurdities! The one true man among a pack of traitors!” added her brother, thankful to be for an hour or two where he could speak his mind away from the king-hating, Psalm-singing type of men now in barracks. “The Governor dare not go out to Yarmouth Haven, where all the ships’ pennants are at half-mast. And down in Newport almost every inn and shop is closed. He pretends not to notice, but I wager he wishes the whole miserable business undone.”

Mary crouched in the window seat, sick with pity, cradling her favourite spaniel pup in protective arms. Death to her had always seemed too far away to think about, a vague frightening shadow which would one day threaten her in some unapprehended state of illness or old age. How could people face it, in full health, seeing its certain approach? How summon the courage to walk out to meet it, while the sun shone and the birds still sang? How keep their brave defiance unbroken, as ruddy-faced Captain Burley had done, knowing the horrible, unspeakable things that were to be done to him? “I shall always remember the day he took Frances and me on the downs,” she said, her hot tears splashing on to the small dog’s head. “It was such an ordinary,
happy
day. The last day before the King came and everything on the island changed.”

Everywhere in the castle the execution at Winchester was being discussed. Four of the younger courtiers, waiting about in the ante-room to accompany their royal master on his morning walk, were equally concerned. “If your Parliament can twist words to take the life of an unimportant retired officer, what may not the
canailles
attempt against the King himself?” propounded Abraham Dowcett, the French Clerk of the Kitchen, who had long ago conceived a great admiration for Charles Stuart.

Firebrace began gathering up his master’s stick and gloves. “Before Christmas I had the honour of meeting this Burley at the inn where he lodged, and the impertinence to think of him as a white-haired old eccentric whose day was done,” he said. “But he shames us all. Whether it succeeded or not, at least he
did
something. And when those butchers came to drag his entrails from him he still shouted to the crowd ‘Serve God and the King!’”

“A brave motto!” allowed Captain Titus, one of the new conservators.

“I know which party I would sooner serve!” declared Cresset, the Treasurer, emboldened by his words. “They say the heartless bastards will not allow Burley’s family a penny from his estate.”

“How does his Majesty take the news of his execution?” asked Titus.

“Master Herbert says that he has been at his prayers for hours, and has scarcely eaten or spoken to anyone,” answered Firebrace. “Here they come, and—being sick at heart—I warrant the King will walk round those walls more quickly than ever!” The State Room door opened and Charles came out, accompanied by Mildmay and Herbert. He was dressed all in black and took stick and gloves without a word. Briskly, the four young men followed him. Downstairs and across the courtyard they went in heavy silence; but as they mounted the stone steps to the southern side of the battlements Firebrace slipped a hand through Titus’s arm. “Did you truly mean what you said just now—about the brave motto?” he asked, in an eager undertone.

Titus, son of a God-fearing Hertfordshire squire, turned and looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you suppose I enjoy earning my living by snooping at a good man’s door?” he asked with unexpected bitterness. “I could not well refuse; but the more I see of the Stuart the more I respect him. He never complains about all the things he must miss nor vents his irritation on us. And even towards Hammond—”

Seeing the Governor ascending the steps close on their heels Firebrace nudged Titus to silence. “This evening I may find means to relieve you,” he whispered hastily.

At the top of the steps both young men stood aside for the Governor to pass, and then Cresset and Dowcett fell back a pace or two to rejoin them. “The perfect host cannot bear his guest to be out of his sight,” chuckled Dowcett, as they watched the tall, lean Governor pursuing the slight, swiftly moving figure of the King.

“And there is nothing his Majesty hates more,” grinned Francis Cresset.

But seeing that his Majesty had the courtesy to stop and talk with Hammond, the four of them took the opportunity to stop too. It was beautiful on the south battlements on a sunny morning. A soft, almost springlike breeze blew in from the Channel, and the sparsely inhabited country away to the back of the island was spread below them. Apart from a few scattered farms and villages, they could see only softly rounded hills, small oaks stunted by the wind, and a winding lane leading from the wild Channel coast at Chale towards the north coast on the smoother Solent. Harry Firebrace’s gaze rested thoughtfully upon the winding lane. He leant over the fortifications, looking down at the steep escarpment and the narrow moat below. To the Cromwellian sentry tramping past he appeared to be only another soft-living courtier poetically admiring the view. But Firebrace’s eyes were keen and calculating and when the sentry had passed he still leaned there, drawing his three companions closer with a beckoning motion of his head. “Given a stout rope and a strong confederate up here, the drop should not be impossible,” he said.

“And those trees on the other side of the counterscarp would hide a couple of horses,” murmured Cresset.

For as long as they dared they stood there looking down, sharing the same fascinating thought. But King and Governor were moving on, followed decorously by Herbert and Mildmay, and the four younger men had perforce to hasten after them. “In all this rabbit warren of a castle is there no safe place where we can talk?” demanded Dowcett, in whose impatient Latin blood the desire to be doing something was already fermenting.

That evening Harry Firebrace found such a place, safe and convenient beyond their hopes. And he was offered it almost by accident.

He was always so good-natured and accommodating that it seemed quite natural he should offer to relieve one of the conservators for an hour or so. Their hours were long and tedious, and after the King and the Governor had supped and retired to their rooms Firebrace took over Titus’s guard, giving him the rare opportunity of enjoying a meal in company with the other members of the household. Happily for his purpose. Firebrace found himself posted at the backstairs door which opened from the King’s bedroom into the privacy of a poorly lighted passage. As soon as the second supper was in progress and the whole house quiet he tapped gently on the door, and presently the King opened it. Seeing his devoted Groom of the Bedchamber standing there alone instead of a conservator made an unexpectedly bright ending to a dismal way. Dear as Herbert and Mildmay were to Charles, they were the incorruptible servants of Parliament and there were matters with which he would not burden their consciences. Firebrace, with his adventurous and undivided loyalty, brought hope of contact with the outside world and of eventual escape. Firebrace would tell him who was, and who was not, to be trusted in the enterprise. And—for his immediate comfort—Firebrace would no doubt find means to deliver the letters he had been writing and to bring answers from those whom he loved. Holding the door ajar, King and ingenious Groom of the Bedchamber spoke in hurried whispers, lest the conservator on the outside of the other door should hear. Since the one privilege which Charles had insisted upon was the right to lock both his doors when he had retired for the night, they were safe from interruption from that quarter. But, quiet as the Governor’s house was at that hour, anyone mounting the backstairs could see them from the end of the passage. Warily, as he spoke or listened, Firebrace kept an eye upon the stair-head. He knew that he was taking an enormous risk. And even as he turned to take a packet of letters from the King and thrust them hurriedly inside his coat he heard a light step and the swish of a skirt and Mary Floyd was almost upon him. He closed the door quickly and heard the King lock it from within. Mary was as confused as he. “You!” she exclaimed softly. “I had expected to see Captain Titus.”

“Do you want him?”

“No. But once before when I was late with the King’s laundry and his Majesty had retired early I was allowed to leave it here.”

“Was it obvious that the door was open?”

“Yes.”

Mary put down the King’s shirt and nightcap on a side table and Firebrace, buttoning his coat above the letters, walked back with her to the top of the stairs. Letting out a low whistle of relief, he drew forth one of his gaudy handkerchiefs and began mopping his brow with dramatic fervour. “Thank Heaven, Mary, it was only you!”

“It might have been one of the servants or Captain Rolph.”

“God forbid! Though he would scarcely be prowling about the backstairs, would he?”

“He would prowl about anywhere if it suited him. He once followed me upstairs to the housekeeper’s room on the next floor. Were you giving his Majesty the letter I passed you in the well-house?”

Firebrace nodded, his mind still upon their hurriedly terminated conversation.

“You could go back while I stay here to warn you.”

“And incriminate you? Besides, Titus may be back at any moment. By the way he talks I believe he would not betray me, but a man may pretend to certain sentiments in order to trap one.”

Leaning against the wall, Mary faced him provocatively. “Why are you so sure that I will not betray you?”

Serious, yet smiling, he cupped her face between his hands, tilting it upwards, as though searching for the reason. “Because of the candour of your eyes, I suppose, and the lovely kindness of your mouth,” he said. “I would trust you with my life, Mary. You are one of us.”

To Mary it was as if Michael and all the angels had commended her. She glowed with happiness. “Then there are others—besides Mr. Osborne?” she asked. But she did not greatly care and he did not seem to hear her.

He was looking back along the passage. “Another time I could blow out the nearest lantern and complain afterwards that the servants had let it go out.”

“You could not do it twice,” pointed out Mary.

Together they sat down on the top stair, considering the problem. In spite of the thrill of his nearness, Mary tried to be practical. “This wall of the State Room is really only a wooden partition, put up to make room for the serving passage,” she told him.

“Of course, you are right. We were standing just now underneath the music gallery, which must once have been part of the room.”

“When I was mending the old threadbare tapestry beside the bed I noticed how thin the partition wall was. There are small chinks in it here and there. Of course, the splendid red-and-blue tapestry from Hampton hangs over it now.”

Modesty overtook her even in her desire to help, but Firebrace urged her to go on. She looked down at her workaday gown and pushed back a straying curl, unaware how well both became her. Had she known that she would be sitting beside him on the stairs she would have stopped grieving for poor Burley and found time somehow to put on her dull red velvet. “I was only thinking,” she said, “that with a sharp knife you could easily make one of those chinks bigger. Big enough to speak through or pass a letter. And if one day when I am helping to make the bed I could snip a kind of flap in the pattern of the tapestry—then you would not need to open the door at all.”

Harry Firebrace caught her to him in an ecstatic embrace. “Mary Floyd, you are a genius!” he cried. “What should I do on this island without you?”