Authors: Jane Feather
Henrietta realized that she had not thought of this complication. She tugged her jerkin tighter over her breasts and showed her companions an anxious face. “If ye please, sirs, I'm in the most fearful haste. My father lies sick in London and I've to take me grandfer to 'im. 'E's fallen on terrible hard times, my father has, although 'e's powerful strong for Parliament. But if 'e passes on 'afore we reaches 'im, 'tis a pauper's grave will receive 'im.”
Babbling frantically, she managed to dodge the hands that would stroke and pat, scampering up the narrow flight of stone stairs to the round chamber that housed the guards.
It was warm and cozy in there, a fire sizzling in the grate, a flagon of wine upon the stained plank table. Two soldiers, tunics unbuttoned, sat at their ease be
side the fire. “Well, well, what 'ave we 'ere?” one of them said jovially. “What've ye found, Dick?”
“Why, 'tis a wench in lad's garb,” chuckled Dick. “Wants passes for 'erself and 'er grandpa.”
“And my brother and 'is friend to provide escort,” Henrietta put in, the words tumbling over themselves. “Me grandfer is all of nine and seventy and can barely move 'isself.”
“Then ye'd best leave 'im be'ind,” declared Dick. “Can ye not take what's needed without the old man?”
Henrietta swallowed and improvised wildly. “'Tis me father's last wish to see 'is father afore he passes on. They've been on terrible bad terms these last years. And Grandfer says 'e'll not rest easy 'imself without makin' peace.”
Jack nodded sagely, tipping the flagon to his lips. “Aye, family troubles is bad. Was the same, as I remember, with my Uncle Job and 'is youngest. Didn't speak two words for twenty year, though they lived but a spit apart.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the flagon to Henrietta. “Take a drink, lass. 'Tis a raw night.”
“Nay, I thank ye,” Henrietta said hastily. “Pray take me to the captain.”
“'Tis not the captain as issues passes, wench,” one of the men by the fireside told her with a salacious chuckle. “'Tis the sergeant, and ye'll 'ave to sweet talk 'im. Mebbe for a kiss, 'e'll be willin' to oblige.”
“I thought Cromwell's men were not the kind to take advantage of a maid,” Henrietta said with a doleful sniff. “'Tis unkind when I'm in such distress.” She knuckled her eyes, trying to make them water convincingly. “I've never kissed anyone, not even my Ned, 'n we're to be wed when I've got me bottom drawer together.”
Peeping at them through her fingers, she saw that she had struck the right note. These rough country men had their own rules, and a girl of their own kind, affianced and virtuous, would not meet with lewd treatment.
“Cease yer weepin', wench,” Dick said gruffly. “No one means ye any 'arm. 'Tis just a bit 'o fun. But ye should not be paradin' in them britches. 'Tain't decent.”
“Nay, I am aware,” she said with another sniff. “'N Ned would 'ave summat to say if 'e knew. But what's a maid to do with no man to protect 'er? 'Tis terrible times we live in.”
“Aye, that it is.” One of the fireside sitters stood up, fastening his tunic. “Come with me, lass. I'll take ye to the sergeant. I've a maid not much bigger 'n ye at 'ome.”
Thankfully, Henrietta followed the soldier out of the round chamber along a stone-walled corridor to a heavy, ironbound wooden door. The trooper knocked. A growl bade them enter and Henrietta's escort pushed her ahead of him into another fire-warmed chamber.
A bullet-headed man in an immaculate tunic sat at a big table. “Well,” he demanded. “What's this then, Trooper Bates?”
Trooper Bates, standing rigidly to attention, explained the situation.
The sergeant listened impassively, his eyes fixed on the girl, who had little difficulty in looking petrified, since that was exactly how she felt. Henrietta knew only too well what happened to those suspected of treason who might have information to impart. Torture was used indiscriminately, and her sex would not protect her from the hideous fate of those who were broken in the dungeons of Nottingham Castleâbroken only to meet the hangman. She shivered despite the sweat that misted her palms and gathered on her upper lip.
“Where does your father dwell, girl?” the sergeant asked when the trooper fell silent.
Henrietta had her answer prepared. “In Spittal Fields, sir, if you please.”
“His name?”
“Bolt, if you please, sir.”
“I'm not sure that I do,” the sergeant said irascibly.
“Stop shaking, girl, no one's going to harm ye. Cromwell's New Model army doesn't wage war on women and children.”
“No, sir,” Henrietta murmured, shaking now with relief. “But 'tis just that I'm desperate, sir. I don't want me father to rest in a pauper's grave. They say they don't even wrap 'em afore they throws 'em inâ” Great sobs burst from her lips, preventing further speech, and she buried her face in her hands.
“Odd's bones,” muttered the sergeant, reaching for paper and quill. “Can't abide weeping women. It'll cost ye a crown, girl.”
“'Tis a great sum for me, sir.” Henrietta sniveled, reaching into the pocket of her jerkin for one of the coins. “But 'tis worth it to see me father buried decent.”
“A Malignant would give me five pound for such a pass,” the sergeant informed her irritably, pocketing the crown. “What are the names to go on here?”
“Bolt, sir,” Henrietta said. “I'm Meg Bolt, 'n me grandfer's Daniel Bolt, 'n me brother's Will Bolt, 'n 'is friend who's comin' fer protection is Tomâ¦Tom Grant, sir.”
“And y'are going to Spittal Fields?”
“Aye, sir, if you please, sir.”
There was silence, disturbed only by the scratching of quill on parchment and Henrietta's noisy sniffs. At last the sergeant shook the sandcaster over the parchment, dropped wax from the candle upon it, and pressed Parliament's seal into the wax. “There.” He handed the parchment to her. “Ye may travel freely from here to Spittal Fields in the city of London, but nowhere else. If ye stray from the route and are challenged, this pass will not guarantee ye safe passage. 'Tis understood?”
“Aye, sir, yer honor, sir. I can't thank ye enough, sir.” Backing to the door, clutching the precious parchment, Henrietta gabbled inanely, interspersed with frequent sniffs.
The sergeant impatiently waved the trooper after her.
“See the wench beyond the gate, Bates. And I'll thank ye to bring me no more of that kind this night.”
“Come along a'me, lass.” Trooper Bates smiled kindly. “'E's not a bad sort, the sergeant, but 'e don't like 'is evenings disturbed.”
In five minutes, Henrietta was outside the castle, safe conduct to London for three men and a woman in her jerkin pocket, and a three-mile walk through the dark night ahead of her. But exhilaration winged her feetâexhilaration and triumph. Sir Daniel and Tom had scorned her plan and even Will had been less than encouraging. Now, without a scrap of help from any of them, she had secured the passes that would enable them to travel swiftly and in some comfort. So jubilant was she that not even the thought of what journey's end in London might bring could dampen her self-congratulation.
It was close to midnight when she reached the ruined farm. Only then did it occur to her to wonder what the others had made of her disappearance. She stood for a moment in the yard, her heart hammering, her eyes peering into the darkness, now lightened by the fleeting glimmer of a shy moon. Perhaps they believed her lost or taken by soldiers. If so, they would surely have left. They were intending to continue the journey by night as usual. Could they have done so? Abandoned her? No, Will would have known what she intended. He would have known that she could not have endured such a snub as Sir Daniel had administered without proving him wrong. Will would have made them stay for her return. He would have, wouldn't he?
With a surge of panic, she ran to the barn and stood panting in the doorway, gazing into the deserted, pitchy shed. She did not need light to tell her it was empty of all but rats. There were no horsey stirrings and whifflings and no sense at all of a human presence.
“By God, Henrietta, how dare you do such a thing! How dare you disappear in such reckless, thoughtless fashion.”
She spun around with a cry, half of relief and half of alarm, at the enraged whisper behind her. “Oh, Sir Daniel, I thought you had left me.”
“'Twould be the least you deserve,” he said savagely. “I have spent the last four hours in the crotch of an oak tree, and heaven alone knows how Will and Tom are faring.”
“But I have a pass for all of us,” she said, the words tumbling over themselves as she felt for the parchment in her jerkin. “See.” She held it out to him. “I said I would do it, and I did.”
Daniel stared at the document. It was too dark to make out the script, but there was no mistaking the seal. “How the devil did you achieve this?”
“I said I would.” She could not conceal the smug note or the unspoken challenge, despite the feeling that Sir Daniel Drummond was not in a mood to respond to either with equanimity. “You did not believe it possible.”
“I do not entirely believe that
you
are possible,” he declared, pushing her into the barn. “Do not move one inch. I must fetch flint and tinder.”
Henrietta remained where she had been put until Daniel reappeared. Flint scraped against tinder and a golden glow of candlelight illuminated the space where they stood. He held the candle high and examined her carefully before turning his attention to the parchment. A low whistle escaped him.
“'Twould seem I underestimated you, Mistress Ashby. I will not do so again. And youâ” He caught her chin, tilting her face. “You will never again disappear in such fashion. It is understood?”
“If you do not oblige me to do so, I will not,” she said simply. “I do not think you should be vexed, Sir Daniel. I am not taken prisoner. We have lost nothing and gained much.” Her big brown eyes regarded him earnestly, and her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she offered a questioning, hesitant smile.
It took a minute, but at last he laughed. It was a tiny sound to begin with, then, as relief and admiration at
her outrageous audacity burgeoned to chase away the anger born of fear, gusts of mirth rose to the rafters. “You had best tell me the whole,” he gasped eventually. “We must stay here until dawn, when we can go in search of Will and Tom.”
“I am very hungry,” Henrietta said as reality reasserted itself, quashing exhilaration under an anticlimactic wash of fatigue. “But I suppose we do not have any supper. The guards offered me wine, but I was too afeard to take any.”
“With cause,” he observed. “We shared the bread and cheese and ale before Tom and Will went off. There is a little left in my saddlebag. I will fetch it for you, although going supperless to bed seems an apt penalty.” The amusement still lurked in his voice, however, and Henrietta heard no sting in the statement.
She ate hungrily, drank thirstily, and told her tale to an attentive audience. By story's end, she could barely keep her eyes open and her words were lost in a series of yawns. “I beg your pardon, but I seem to be falling asleep.” She blinked like a dopey kitten, and he smiled, thinking not for the first time that Henrietta Ashby did have the most appealing countenance.
“Lie down then,” he suggested, picking up the horse blanket. She curled onto the straw and was asleep almost before he had tucked the blanket around her.
He lingered on his knees beside the slight figure, his hand resting on her shoulder where he had been adjusting the blanket. A puzzled frown drew his dark brows together over the aquiline nose and one finger moved almost without volition to trace the curve of her cheek, flushed delicately in sleep. What was it about this indomitable young hoyden that so disturbed him? It was long before Daniel Drummond joined her in sleep.
I
t was the end of September when they arrived in London. The safe conduct had served them well and Henrietta's dress was once more appropriate to her sex. Over her gown she wore a safeguard, the overskirt that would protect her clothes from the hazards of riding through the rain and mud. Her hair was confined beneath a round black cap suited to a member of the bourgeoisie, and a serviceable cloak of russet frieze kept out the wind. It was hardly attire of the first style of elegance, but Sir Daniel had pointed out that the less conspicuous they appeared the better, so Henrietta, with no more than minor grumbles about wearing a porringer upon her head, resigned herself to mediocrity. Will and Daniel had abandoned the lace and sash of the Cavalier and were dressed as merchants, the epitome of peace-loving men whose only interest in these troubled times was the making of money. Tom was himself, a solid yeoman riding as escort.
Henrietta had been to London but once before, at the very beginning of this adventure when she had left home in the carrier's wagon and joined Will at his lodgings close by Gray's Inn. She had found the city frenzy exciting then, and not even the foul stench of horse dung, rotting offal and vegetables, and all the rest of the filth steaming in the kennels, could detract from her pleasure. She gazed around at the jostling crowds, her ears deafened by the shouts, the ringing bells of street vendors as they cried their wares,
screams and yells emanating from dark alleys. It was evening, and the night flashed with torches and lanterns carried through the press. The horses were obliged to keep to a slow walk because of the crowds; small children dodged between hoofs and under bellies, scrabbling in the cobbles in search of scraps and the abandoned treasures of the gutter.
Sir Daniel seemed to know where he was going, a fact that impressed Henrietta mightily since she could not imagine ever being familiar with this bewildering maze and hubbub. They rode through one of London's seven gates with its two square towers on either side, entering the borough of Aldersgate. Daniel turned his horse down a narrow cobbled alley and reigned in outside a pretty thatched inn with whitewashed walls.
The sign of the Red Lion creaked in the evening breeze. An ostler ran out to take their horses. “Come, Meg Bolt,” Daniel said with a smile, helping her to dismount, “if y'are as sharp set as I am, ye'll be glad of your supper.”
“How long are we to stay here?” Henrietta asked, looking up at the inn. There was a tremor in her voice as she asked the question that implicitly carried another. What was to happen to her now?
If Daniel heard the tremor, he gave no sign. “Until we have decided what to do next,” he responded matter-of-factly. “There's none who'll question us while we stay here. 'Tis only on the road that danger lies, so we may reassume our accustomed identities, I think.”
“But must you not go home to see how your children are faring?” Henrietta asked, unaware that her hands were curled into tight fists and only her gloves prevented her nails from digging into her palms.
There was a strange look in the eyes he bent upon her, as if he found it necessary to weigh his response. “Aye,” he said slowly. “I must, as I must discover what penalties Parliament will decide to impose upon me as a Malignant.”
“If 'tis not known ye fought at Preston, then per
chance they will not sequester your lands,” Will broke in.
Daniel seemed to shake himself free of a reverie at this interruption. Slowly, his gaze left Henrietta's upturned face. “I live in hope, Will. Let us go in. Tom will see that the horses are cared for.”
Mine host, with much bowing and scraping, was pleased to provide two bedchambers for his guests, the men sharing one as they had been accustomed to do throughout their journey. Sir Daniel's niece, Mistress Ashby, was shown a small chamber across the hall with the assurance that, unless the inn filled unexpectedly with guests, she would have no bedfellow.
“If ye'd wish for a privy parlor, sir, I've a nice, airy room along the passage,” the landlord said, beaming. “My good woman will be pleased to provide a tasty supper for ye, and I've a fine burgundy.”
“Aye, that will do nicely,” Daniel said. “We will sup in half an hour.”
“Shall I send a wench to help the young lady with 'er tiring, sir?”
Daniel glanced at Henrietta, who was unusually silent, her face set. “Yes, do so by all means,” he said. “I would have a privy word with Mistress Ashby first.” Taking her elbow, he eased her into the chamber allotted her. The door clicked shut behind them.
“Harry,” he said quietly, “I would have your promise that you will not leave this place without telling me first.”
She studied a knot of wood in the broad oak boards at her feet. “But I believe we have come to the parting of our ways, Sir Daniel.”
“Aye, I rather thought your mind was running upon those lines,” he said a little grimly. “Well, it will not do, my child. Ye cannot coerce poor Will into taking responsibility for you. He is barely able to take responsibility for himself. You have no monies of your ownâ”
“But I am strong. I can work,” she declared, raising her eyes to meet his directly. “If Will refuses to wed
me and I cannot find employment as a governess, then I will be a servant.”
“Sleeping on straw in some kitchen, I suppose. Do not be foolish.”
“I will not go home,” she said fiercely. “There is nothing ye can say or do to make me.”
Daniel tapped his chin thoughtfully with a long forefinger, wondering whether now was the time to tell her that when they passed through Reading the previous day he had dispatched a letter to Sir Gerald Ashby of Thame, telling him that he would find his daughter, safe and unmolested, at the sign of the Red Lion in the borough of Aldersgate. He had agonized long and hard over the decision, eventually deciding that an honorable man, the father of daughters himself, had no choice. He still intended to keep his promise that he would permit no hurt to come to her, but her future must be decided in proper fashion in consultation with her father. He had a suggestion for her future, but how he presented it would depend upon his assessment of Sir Gerald. He had no reason to believe that the man was more than a very severe parent, but he could not know until he met him. Perhaps now was not the moment to enter such a discussion with Henrietta.
“Trust me,” he said instead. “Give me your word that there will be no further flights.”
Henrietta walked to the small mullioned window, which looked out onto a garden of hollyhocks and delphiniums, a mulberry tree in the middle. What choice did she have but to trust him for the moment? What reason did she have to mistrust him? If the truth were told, finding herself without resources was quite terrifying. She felt as if she had an empty space inside her, a hollow void, where before she had been filled with energy and plans, never at a loss, smoothly adapting to circumstances. But matters had taken a turn that she had not envisaged when she set off so blithely in the back of the carrier's wagon all those weeks ago. She had been so certain that Will would require only a little forceful persuasion to elope, but he was proving most
amazingly intransigent. Mayhap, now that they were back in London and the war was over, she could work upon him a little more.
“I cannot remain a charge upon your purse for much longer, Sir Daniel,” she said gruffly. “You have been kindness itself, butâ”
“Oh, Harry, such nonsense!” he exclaimed. “If it had not been for you, I would probably have been languishing in a Roundhead prison by now. On that score we are even.”
Color crept into her cheeks and she smiled at him. “'Tis kind in ye to say so, sir.”
“'Tis but the truth.” He took a step toward her, touching her cheek with his finger. “Come now, give me your word.”
His caressing finger, the warmth in his black eyes, the gentle amusement in the depths of his voice, had the strangest effect. She felt as if she had nothing in the world to fear. “I promise,” she said.
“That's my elf.” He brushed her forehead with his lipsâthe lightest touch, yet it seemed to sear her skin like the flame of a candle. “Wash the dust of the road from your face and hands and come for your supper.”
The door closed on his departure and Henrietta remained standing at the window. He had spoken to her in the manner of guardian to ward, but he had touched her in another manner altogether, and his eyes said something quite unfathomable. It was a great puzzle, almost as great as the curious stirrings, the restless confusion that assailed her when she tried to work out the puzzle.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a red-cheeked wench with a copper jug of water and cheerful chatter that sent mysteries and fancies scuttling. It was a washed, brushed, and composed Mistress Ashby who presented herself in the parlor, where awaited a dish of salmon with fresh boiled peas in butter, a salad of artichoke hearts, and a plate of cheese tartlets.
“Ah, there y'are,” Will said thankfully. “We have been waiting this age for ye. We're all like to starve.”
Daniel gestured to a stool at the oak table. “Take your place, child. Will does not exaggerate.” He poured burgundy into a pewter cup for her before sitting at the head of the table.
“Where's Tom?” She sipped the wine gratefully, then helped herself to salmon.
“He said he would feel easier in the taproom,” Daniel told her. “Private parlors are for gentle folk.”
“If Harry is to become a servant to earn her bread, she'll have need to accustom herself to the taproom. Why d'ye not ask mine host if he has need of a serving wench, Harry?” Will chuckled as if he had made some witticism.
Henrietta flushed angrily. Will was behaving as if her situation was in some sort a jest. “Y'are no gentleman, Will Osbert,” she accused. “To promise marriage and then renege is the act of a scoundrel!”
“I never made such a promise!” A scarlet tide mounted to the roots of his bright red hair. “'Tis you who decided these matters andâ”
“Peace!” Daniel thundered. “I am not prepared to have my supper curdle in my belly with the acid wranglings of a pair of hot-tempered children. I have endured enough of it these last weeks.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Daniel,” Will said, stiff with wounded pride. “I will be leaving you in the morning. I realize I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, but I will apply to my father for the funds to repay you.”
Henrietta giggled with lamentable lack of tact. “You do sound ridiculous, Will. All starchy and stiff-necked like a turkey cock.”
Will began to gobble like the bird in question and Daniel fixed Henrietta with a stern eye, inquiring gently, “Do you prefer to eat your supper in your chamber?”
Henrietta shook her head vigorously, although her eyes were still dancing. She returned her attention to her platter, but after a few minutes her gaze skimmed
across the table toward Will. He looked up and his lip quivered responsively.
“Y'are not in the least like a turkey cock,” Henrietta said. “But y'are not really leaving in the morning, are you?”
Will shuffled uncomfortably on his stool. “I must go home, Harry. My family will not know whether I lived through the battle. You know how my mother is. She will be beside herself.”
“Aye.” The laughter had left her now. “'Tis not right that she should be allowed to worry. Could ye not send a message, though?”
There was an awkward silence. Daniel continued with his supper, withdrawing from a conversation that he suspected was about to make explicit a fact that Henrietta and her reluctant swain had tried to avoid.
“But there's nothing to keep me here.” Will managed to get the words of truth out eventually. “If ye will return with me, Harry, I will enlist my parents to speak for you. My mother does not hold with the way Lady Mary has treated you, and she is not in favor of your marriage to Sir Reginald. She will be your advocate.”
Henrietta said nothing. Tears blinded her for a minute and she kept her eyes on her platter until she was sure she had overcome them. “Your mother has always been kind to me, Will, but I fear I have need of a more powerful advocate in this instance.” She raised her eyes and smiled. It was a brave effort that deceived neither of her companions. “I did not mean to plague ye, Will. If ye truly do not wish to wed with me, then there's no more to be said. I had thought 'twas just our parents that stood in the way. But I will shift for myself now.”
Instinctively, Will looked at Sir Daniel, who moved one finger in a near-imperceptible movement that nevertheless made clear to the young man that he need take no more upon his shoulders.
“More wine, Henrietta?” Daniel refilled her glass.
“If you care to, we will visit the lions at the Exchange tomorrow.”
“I think I should like that.” She sipped her wine. “But I should like of all things to lie abed in the morning. 'Twill be such slothful luxury. No journeying to make, no duties to perform.”
“I had not thought ye a slugabed,” said Daniel, laughing. “But if you wish it, then it shall be so. I've some commissions to execute in the city in the forenoon. I will return for dinner, and then we shall go out upon the town.”
“A pleasing plan, sir. When will you leave, Will?” Her voice was quite steady, her expression composed. They could guess, but only Henrietta could know the wasteland as she faced the loss of the last tenuous strand of hope. Will was to have been her salvation. It was not to be, so she must rely upon herself. With the knowledge came a renewal of strength. False hopes drained one of strength, she decided, helping herself to a cheese tartlet. They diverted the attention. From now on, she would deal with reality.
“Mayhap I will visit the Exchange with ye,” Will said, boyishly eager once more. “I've not seen the lions and 'tis said they're a marvel to behold. Brought all the way from the Africas. I could leave for Oxfordshire the following day.”