Authors: Jane Feather
“No, they will not, never fear, goodwife.” It was Henrietta who spoke with sudden energy. She was pulling back the cover on the cot. “Will, get under the bed.” She picked up her nightcap, cramming it on her head, tucking up her hair beneath it. “Quickly, Willâ¦Oh, do not argue with meâ¦Sir Daniel, you
must hide in the linen chest. 'Twill be a bit cramped.” She lifted the lid, and the strong aroma of camphor filled the little chamber.
“I'll not hide to be smoked out like a rat in a hole,” Sir Daniel protested. “Do not be absurd, child.”
“They'll not come into a plague chamber,” she told him. “No farther than the top of the stairs, if that. The goodwife must tell them there is plague in the house. I will do the rest. Have you some amber pastilles, goodwife, to burn so that it seems as if you try to ward off infection?”
“Aye, that I have.” The woman seemed to have steadied herself now. “And vinegar. There was plague in the next village only last month; 'twill not seem strange that we are afflicted.”
It just might work; might at least give them sufficient breathing space to make their escape. Swallowing his pride and the honor of the Drummonds, Daniel clambered into the linen chest to be near suffocated by camphor as the heavy lid closed under Henrietta's impatient hand.
Henrietta struggled to remove the oversize gown before leaping into bed and pulling the covers up to her chin. The air filled with the acrid scent of vinegar as the goodwife sprinkled it over the floor and the covers. Then she lit the wick embedded in a cone of aromatic paste.
The sound of jingling spurs and the clatter of hoofs sounded from below, and Henrietta opened her mouth on a blood-curdling scream of agony.
The goodwife, who had no need to pretend to a distraught mien, hastened down the stairs as another scream rent the air. “Oh, mercy, sir, what d'ye do here at such a time?” she gasped, stumbling outside to where a troop of horsemen stood, pike and halberd gleaming in the sun sparking off the close round helmets that denoted their allegiance to Parliament.
“What the devil is it?” The captain gazed up at the window where the screams were continuing.
“'Tis my daughter, sir. She 'as the swellings. I've tried to cut 'em, but they'll not burst.”
The captain paled, instinctively bringing his hand up to cover his mouth and nose as if he could thus prevent taking in the pestilential vapors. “Ye have the plague in the house, woman?”
“Aye, sir, God have mercy upon us,” she wailed, burying her head in her apron. “Out of 'er mind with the agony she is, sir.”
As the captain continued to stare up at the open window from whence emanated those dreadful sounds, a figure clad only in a white shift appeared. She climbed onto the sill to sway perilously, tearing at her body with distracted hands, her eyes wild and unseeing.
“Oh, Lord have mercy, sir, she's for killing 'erself,” gasped the goodwife. “The pain 'tis that bad. Will ye help me tie 'er to the bed, sir? I cannot manage 'er myself, so strong as she is when the madness takes 'er.”
“Goddammit, woman! Ye'd have me infected!” The captain backed his horse away rapidly, a look of horror on his face. “Get inside, ye should all be shut up.” With that, he wheeled his horse and galloped away from the pest house, his troop following, pursued by the frenzied screams that lifted the scalp and sent graveyard shivers down the spine.
“They have gone,” Henrietta said matter-of-factly, stepping off the broad sill. “I have quite hurt my throat.” She rubbed her throat as Daniel, choking, emerged from the chest and Will rolled out from beneath the bed. They both looked at her in some awe.
“Never have I heard such an appalling racket,” declared Sir Daniel. “'Tis no wonder you have a sore throat.”
“But the ruse was successful.” She beamed on them. “The goodwife was most convincing.”
“For pity's sake, sir, ye'd best be away from here without delay.” The goodwife appeared at the head of the stairs. “The young lady sounded just like my Mar
tha did when the plague took her. 'Tis a sound to strike to the marrow.”
“Aye,” Daniel agreed. It was a somber play Henrietta had enacted, but it could not detract from his relief at her success, or from the urgency to make good that success. “Henrietta, you'd best don your britches again and travel in that guise. Ye may ride pillion with me. D'ye have a horse, Will?”
“Indeed, sir, and I have Harry's nag also,” Will said. “She left it at the inn. I tied 'em up beyond the mill.”
“That is all to the good, but she is not strong enough to ride alone yet. Ye may lead the nag for the time being. Make haste and get dressed now, child. Goodwife, we must come to a reckoning.” The two went down to the kitchen in deep discussion, leaving Henrietta and Will.
“I do not care for this,” Henrietta declared. “We are in no wise obliged to travel with Sir Daniel. While I am most sensible of his kindness to me, he holds no authority over us, Will. We will make our own way to London, and if you will not wed me, then I will find employment in some householdâ”
“In what capacity?” demanded Will. “Had you not better get dressed?”
“Why, as governess,” she replied stoutly. “I am book-learned.” A note of derision entered her voice. “There'll be many a Parliamentarian family anxious to educate their daughters in the ways of the gentry, I dare swear.”
Will regarded her doubtfully. “'Tis possible, mayhap. But y'are such a ramshackle creature, Harry, and any respectable family will want to know whose name you bear.”
“I can lie.” She shook out her britches, examining them critically. “These will still serve, but my shirt was torn with the pike and the jerkin is sadly stainedâ¦and I must procure suitable garments if I am to go as governessâ”
“Governess!” The exclamation came from Sir Daniel, appearing at the head of the stairs. “I cannot imag
ine any man who has not escaped from Bedlam entrusting the care of his daughters to such a one as you!”
“You do not know me.”
It was a simple statement, curiously dignified, and for some reason gave him pause. He smiled. “No, perhaps I do not.” He turned to Will. “Why do you not fetch your mounts? Tom is packing knapsacks and could do with some assistance.” Will accepted his dismissal without demur and with some relief.
“I have brought you a shirt,” Daniel said. “The goodwife said it belonged to Jake when he was rather smaller than he is now, and it should do you.”
“My thanks.” She took the garment, unsmiling, and launched into her prepared speech. “While I am most sensible of your kindness, Sir Daniel, I must decline the offer of your escort. Will and I would not burden you with our company. We will make our own way to London.”
“But if our ways lie together, it seems only practical to combine forces,” he remarked casually. “We may each be of service to the other. Without safe conduct, 'tis a long and dangerous journey we undertake.”
Henrietta busied herself putting on the shirt. Her shoulder was still stiff, although the gash had healed well, and the operation was a little awkward, but it gave her time to contemplate her response.
“Let me do the buttons for you.” The hint of humor was in the deep voice again. She looked up and saw both amusement and understanding in the shrewd black eyes bent upon her.
“I can manage, thank you.”
“I do not doubt it, Mistress Ashby, but it will be quicker if I do it. We are in somewhat of a hurry.” He gently put aside her hands and fastened the buttons. “There now.” A long finger beneath her chin tilted her face to meet his amused regard. “Trust me,” he said softly. “I will not allow any harm to come to you.” Now whatever had made him say such a thingâ¦undertake such a charge? Henrietta Ashby was not his
responsibility. But the words had said themselves and he could not have withheld the promise had he tried.
Surprise glowed in the big brown eyes and that fierce, prickly resolution faded from the set features. “You will not make me go home?”
“I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he repeated.
A puzzled frown drew the arched eyebrows together. “I do not see how you can prevent it if I must go home. I am my father's daughter when all's said and done. He may do as he pleases with me.”
“Do not be too sure of that,” he said with a confidence that alarmed him. The girl had spoken only the truth after all. Who was he to interfere in a man's jurisdiction over his family? But he'd made the promise. Hopefully the means for fulfilling it would come to him when necessary. Her eyes were still fixed upon him, expressing mingled trust, hope, and doubt. Smiling, he kissed the corner of her mouth, telling himself that it was a salute of the kind he would have given Lizzie or baby Nan when they were in need of reassurance. It did not seem quite the same, though.
“Put on your britches,” he said, suddenly brisk, drawing away from her. “I'm not minded to sit here waiting for Parliament's troop to return.”
Henrietta turned away from him, stepping into the garment, tucking her shift into the waistband, fumbling with the hooks. Her face was unaccountably hot and for once she found herself at a loss for words. Will had kissed her often, but it hadn't made her feel like thisâhot and quivery. Perhaps the fever was returning.
“Horses are saddled, Sir Daniel,” Will called from the bottom of the stairs.
“I am coming,” Daniel called back. “Sit on the bed, Henrietta, and I'll help ye with your stockings. You do not wish to wrench your shoulder.”
She obeyed, somewhat reassured by the crisp tone that restored matters between them to their former footing. “You had better become accustomed to calling
me Harry again,” she said matter-of-factly, holding out her foot. “Henrietta in britches is a contradiction in terms.”
He chuckled. “Aye, y'are right.” He smoothed the stockings over her calves and helped her into her boots. “We must ride as far from here as possible before dark. 'Tis to be hoped your strength will hold.”
Three hours later, Henrietta knew that she had reached her limit. She sat astride the big black charger, trying not to lean against the broad back of Daniel Drummond in front of her. The charger's gait had seemed easy enough at first, but now, as fatigue softened muscle and sinew, it began to feel like balancing on a rolling wave and her shoulder started to ache unbearably.
They were traveling cross-country, keeping to the woods and the shelter of hedgerows wherever possible. There had been one heart-stopping moment when a troop of Roundheads passed on the road on the other side of the hedge while they cowered, scarcely daring to breathe, praying that one of the horses would not betray them with a whinny or a jingle of bridle.
Daniel's expression grew grimmer after this incident. The only way they would have a chance of reaching London unchallenged would be to ride by night and hide by day. Night riding was inevitably slower, and a three-week journey was going to be stretched to four weeks or more. At least Tom, in his anonymous garb, would be able to enter towns and villages to buy provisions or take a horse to the farrier if one of them threw a shoe. Not for the first time, Daniel sent a swift prayer heavenward for the loyalty and devotion that had kept Tom at his side.
So lost in thoughts and calculations was he that he only slowly became aware of the weight against his back. Henrietta had yielded the struggle to keep herself upright and now flopped against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Harry?”
Instantly, she drew herself upright again. “I do beg
your pardon, Sir Daniel. I felt a little sleepy, but I am quite awake now.”
“Ye do not appear to be,” Will said, looking anxiously across at her. “Y'are as white as whey, Harry.”
Daniel reined in sharply, twisting in the saddle to look over his shoulder. “Foolish child! Why did ye not say something?” Anxiety informed the exasperation, but Harry was too exhausted for analysis. Tears filled her eyes and fell without restraint.
“There is no need for tears.” Daniel swung down and lifted her to the ground. “Is your shoulder paining you?”
“Aye.” She sniffed desperately in an attempt to regain control of herself, then sat abruptly on the stubbly earth of the newly harvested field.
“We'd best rest a while, sir, 'till the maid feels stronger.” Tom looked around a landscape illuminated by the mid-afternoon sunlight. “Not much shelter hereabouts.”
“There's a ditch,” Will suggested, gesturing with his whip toward the far side of the field. “'Tis away from the lane and the hedge will offer some concealment.”
Hiding in ditches was not a Drummond habit; then, neither was fleeing pursuit like the hare before the hound. But locked up in some Roundhead prison he'd be of little use to his children, Daniel reckoned with grim resignation. “It will have to suffice. Come.” He scooped up the collapsed figure at his feet and put her back on the horse, this time mounting behind her, holding her tightly against him with an encircling arm. “Lie back, Harry. I'll not let ye fall.”
“I expect you are most kind to your children,” Henrietta observed, settling thankfully against the strong support of his broad chest. “'Twould be pleasant to have such a parent.”
He glanced sharply down at her, ungratified by the observation. Did she really see him as a father figure? “I am far from old enough to have sired you,” he declared.
“Nay, of course not,” she agreed tranquilly. “But I
still think it must be agreeable for Elizabeth and Ann to have you for a father. I do not expect you would try to compel them into a distasteful marriage, or believe everything their stepmother might say to their discredit.”
“Your stepmother does not care for you, I take it?” They had reached the far side of the field and Daniel drew in his mount.
“She hates me with a passion,” Henrietta said. “She has done so from the first moment she walked into the house when I was but five years old.”