скачать книгу бесплатно
“...searching the roads for her,” Jane whispered. “Hurry, we must leave.”
“Curse the luck,” a male voice growled. “What if we’re found before your husband gathers the horses?”
Anne stared, dumbfounded. What was Jane Herrick doing with a man in her chamber who was not her husband?
Anne pressed her ear closer to the door.
“...might prove too dangerous to warn him,” the man continued in a low whisper. “Maybe Wilkens and I should...”
Unable to hear every word, Anne shifted against the wood. The board beneath her foot creaked loudly. She froze.
In a flash, the door flew open. A bald, barrel-chested man in a green uniform frowned back at her, then he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the room.
Jane Herrick leapt from a corner chair and stared in astonishment, her face pale.
A young manservant, not much older than Anne, sat cross-legged upon the bed. “Who’s this pretty thing?” His hooded black eyes twinkled as his gaze raked her up and down.
“She’s Anne Lowell, the young woman I told you about.” Jane folded her arms across herself and scowled at Anne. “How long have you been eavesdropping outside my door?”
“I—I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“Sweeting, tell the truth and no one will harm you,” offered the impertinent manservant, his black eyes glinting.
Anne felt herself redden at his insolent manner. A servant speaking to her like he was...an equal! She shot him a haughty look and directed her attention to Jane Herrick. “I came to your chamber to slip a note under the door.”
The bald-headed man picked up the folded parchment from the floor and waved it in front of her. “This note?”
“Yes.”
Anne reached for it but he handed it to Jane, who began to read it. After a moment, she glanced up.
“I can explain, Mrs. Herrick. I had only wished that you inform my uncle that I have a megrim and—”
“We can’t take the chance that she might ‘ave ‘eard somethin’,” interrupted the bald man.
She gave Anne a long deliberate stare. “If we let her go, she might try to haggle a bargain from Twining to let her out of the betrothal in exchange for what she’s overheard,” Jane said finally, pursing her lips together. She crumpled the parchment into a ball and tossed it into the roaring fireplace.
The black-eyed servant folded his arms. “She offers us no choice. The lass will come with us.”
Anne’s small fists flew to her hips as she regarded Jane Herrick and the two men. “Will you please stop speaking as though I’m not in the room? Go where?”
Jane crossed to the bed and sat down. “Very well, Anne, but first, there’s something I must ask you.” She motioned for Anne to sit beside her.
Without a choice, Anne obeyed.
Jane put her hand to Anne’s shoulder. “Is it true that you’re devoted to your father’s cause?”
A charge of excitement coursed through her. “Have you heard something of my father?”
“Shh! Lower your voice.” Jane’s gray eyes narrowed. “Your father has risked his life for his beliefs, as many of us have.”
Anne swallowed and tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Could it be that a Puritan like Jane Herrick could hold sympathy for the Royalist cause? Her father had often told her of the secret followers of the king: farmers, weavers, hoopers, you never knew who might be among them. Hope welled inside her. “Mrs. Herrick, do you support our exiled king?”
Jane’s only answer was her smile. “For now, you’ll have to trust me. Can you do that, Anne?”
Anne nodded eagerly.
“And do you believe in your father’s crusade to restore a Stuart to the throne? Or do you merely flaunt his quest to rankle your uncle?”
“I’m devoted to my father’s cause.”
“Would you fight for those beliefs?”
“With all my heart,” Anne answered. “I’d give my life for the young king. My heart breaks when I think of how he’s forced to live in exile while that hateful Cromwell grips England by the throat.”
Jane smiled. “You’ll have your chance to prove it, my dear. You’re going to help us save our king.”
“The—the king?”
Jane swung her around to face the scraggly looking servant who sat in the middle of the bed, grinning at her. “Anne, it is my pleasure to present His Royal Highness, Charles Stuart.”
Anne’s mouth dropped as she stared at the servant. Her glance swept over the tattered leathern doublet, the coarsely woven shirt, the cloth breeches above the travel-stained stockings. “Charles Stuart?” she cried with disbelief when her gaze lifted to his swarthy face.
His black eyes twinkled with obvious amusement at her disbelief. “My fair and lovely subject.” He reached for her hand and kissed it.
Anne snapped back and wiped her hand on her skirt. “Anne!” Jane gasped, horrified. “By divine Providence, this is our king! The sovereign every true subject serves.”
Anne stared in shock while Jane pushed her into a curtsy.
“It’s quite understandable, Mrs. Herrick.” The king stood and touched Anne’s chin with his fingers. “It’s best she behaves as though I’m a servant. In fact, our very lives might depend on it.” The hooded eyes glinted. “But what is to become of her once we reach Bristol?” The gleam in his eye reminded Anne of a ferret.
“I’m more concerned that we reach Bristol,” Jane said.
The king’s black gaze lingered reflectively on Anne. “She might make a lovely addition to the French court,” he said. “What would you think of that, sweeting?”
Anne tried to comprehend that this unkempt servant was the one man she had always fancied would restore everything right in her world once he regained the throne.
“My cousin, King Louis, and his court would certainly be enlivened by your sparkle...and so would I,” the king added.
“Your grace,” interrupted Jane. “May I remind you that each moment we dally endangers your safety.”
“Right you are, my dear. But please, remember to call me Will Jackson.” His swarthy face became serious. “It might save our lives if another curious ear be pressed to the door.”
Jane’s face flushed. “Of course...Mr. Jackson.”
“But you don’t understand. I—I can’t go to Bristol,” Anne said. “I’m running away to find my father.”
Jane turned slowly and drew a deep breath before she spoke. “Either way, you must leave Wycliffe Manor. The woods will be teeming with soldiers once they discover you’re gone. With us, you’ll have a greater chance to succeed than by yourself.”
“How will you explain your disappearance, Mrs. Herrick?” Anne asked. “Won’t my uncle wonder why you’re not at dinner, too?”
Jane smiled. “We’ve already thought of that, my dear. My husband will deliver an urgent message to your uncle very soon, calling me to my mother’s sickbed.” Her smile broadened. “Don’t look so puzzled, Anne. My mother, who’s in very fine health, wrote the note long before we left for Wycliffe Manor.”
The bald servant named Wilkens glared at her. “Besides, you ‘ave no choice. You’re leavin’ with us, tied and gagged like a goose, if need be.”
Anne bit back any further argument. She had no choice but to obey, and as sure as the sun rises, she’d be better off with them than to remain.
Wilkens gave her a sharp look before he hoisted the saddlebags and carried them to the door.
“If I’m a servant, then that’s my chore, Wilkens,” said the king. He swung the bag over his shoulder.
Jane lit two tapers from the burning candle on the table. “Take the back stairs and go behind the barn where my husband waits with the horses. Remember the story we’ve agreed upon if you’re stopped. Anne and I will follow in a few minutes.”
Both men nodded. Jane pressed her ear to the door before opening it, then peeked quickly into the passageway. “Godspeed,” she said, giving each man a candle as he slipped out the door.
After the men left, Jane reached under the bed and pulled out a small bundle of clothing. Within minutes, she had selected a pile of assorted garments and tossed them to Anne. “Slip these on, and hurry,” she instructed.
“But I’ve already packed a valise of my things. It’s in my room. I’ll get it,” Anne offered.
Jane shook her head. “There’s no time. Besides, it’s safer if you’re dressed as a man.” She helped Anne pull an enormous muslin shirt over her gown.
Anne’s fingers shook with excitement as she removed her unyielding underskirts before stepping into a pair of men’s linen breeches that hung to above her ankles. The breeches were so baggy she could only hope the sash tied about her waist would hold them up. Next came the stiff leather jerkin. Finally, the disguise was completed with a red cap pulled down over her ears.
Jane frowned. “I’m afraid it will have to do.”
After Jane tossed a black woolen traveling coat around her shoulders, she glanced about the chamber. “Put this on,” she said, tossing the woolen blanket from the bed to Anne.
Anne wrapped the scratchy blanket about herself and followed Jane to the door. The latch creaked open, and she felt a rush of air as Jane nudged her into the hall. Her heart was in her throat while Jane led her toward the back stairs, their heels clacking along the creaking wooden planks.
In what seemed like the longest ten minutes of Anne’s life, she and Jane arrived without incident at the outside entrance of the manor. The evening air hung heavy with the familiar animal odors drifting from the milking barn nearby.
A few minutes later, after they had crept around the back of the barn, Jane paused, her eyes searching the fields beyond the pasture. “There!” she whispered, pointing to a grove of willows beside the hedgerow path. Jane took Anne’s elbow and hurried her along. Only when they reached the hedges did Anne see the three riders hidden in the shadows—the king, Wilkens and another man whom Anne assumed was Jane’s husband, Dr. Herrick.
Clasping the blanket with her right hand, Anne yanked up the baggy pants with the other and ran the final few yards toward the waiting horsemen, her heart thumping wildly.
* * *
The full moon cast silvered light about the countryside as Anne and the riders charged along the high road that led from Wycliffe Manor toward the town of Bristol. Anne sensed that Jane had chosen the longer route rather than the shorter middle road because of the soldiers’ camps fortified along the more widely used route. The horses’ hooves splashed through mud puddles from yesterday’s rain, tossing up mud clods along the way.
Dr. Herrick rode as scout and had a five minutes lead of the group. Anne rode double, behind the bald-headed servant, Wilkens. For what she thought might be an hour, she jolted back and forth, bouncing against the pillion that fastened behind the saddle. Wilkens lashed the reins in a futile attempt to keep up with the powerful bay stallion racing ahead, carrying Jane Herrick and the king.
As Wilkens spurred the horse faster, Anne held on with a ferocity that matched his and fought back the thought she might catapult off her seat and be left in the road. Good riddance, Wilkens would think and not even glance back.
Anne peered above his shoulder at the dark uncertainty of the road ahead and she felt torn between fear and exhilaration. She’d always known that someday she would leave Wycliffe Manor. It was one of her favorite daydreams to imagine her father’s magnificent high-lacquered coach clattering up the driveway. Six white horses would prance impatiently while the footman helped her into the coach where her father waited. Together, they would bound away toward their new life, far from the strictures of Wycliffe Manor.
Instead, she was holding on for dear life, plunging headlong into the unknown. What if soldiers stopped them and forced her to return to her uncle? Colonel Twining would make certain she was punished and she knew she’d lose her father.
But if Jane Herrick was to be believed, each pounding hoofbeat brought her one step closer to her heartfelt dream. How she wanted to believe it, but her thoughts twisted in misgivings. Mrs. Jane Herrick, the fine Puritan woman Uncle George idolized, was nothing like he had imagined. Although the fact pleased her, it also provided a very dubious structure on which to build her hopes, Anne mused.
Suddenly a golden halo of light appeared up the road. Wilkens reined back on his horse and trotted alongside Jane and the king. Uneasily they waited for the lone rider to arrive.
“It’s Dr. Herrick,” cried Wilkens. Anne drew a sigh of relief as she peered out into the soft glow of the lantern the doctor held above his face.
“Roundheads,” he warned, drawing rein. “A full squad riding off the middle road and they’re coming straight on us!”
“We can’t hide the horses,” Jane said, twisting around in the saddle. “The trees aren’t thick enough along this stretch.”
“Aye,” the king agreed. “It’s too late for that.” He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his face. “We’ll talk our way out of this.” Anne thought she heard him chuckle. “If our tongues fail us, we’ll give them a taste of our metal.”
Anne spied a small group of bushes a few rods from the road. “No, wait!” Anne cried. Four surprised faces turned her way. “If soldiers are riding from the middle road, they’ve been sent by my uncle. They’re searching for me.”
“She’s right.” Wilkens interrupted, shifting uneasily in the saddle. “The middle road cuts north through Wycliffe Manor.”
“I’ll hide in that copse over there.” She started to slide down from the pillion.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Wilkens reached out and caught her wrist. “We’re on to yer tricks. You’ll run out when the soldiers git ‘ere and tell ‘em ‘bout the king.”
“Release her, Wilkens,” Jane ordered. “I’m sure Anne realizes if the soldiers take her back to her uncle, she’ll never see her father again.”
Wilkens grumbled but withdrew his hold.
Jane rode her horse beside Anne. “My dear, I give you my word, if you remain hidden and do nothing to give yourself away, I’ll help you find your father. I have powerful friends who know the whereabouts of wounded and captured Royalists.” Beneath Jane’s black hood, Anne saw her wide eyes glitter with trust and assurance.
Anne desperately wanted to believe. “You can trust me, Mrs. Herrick.”
Jane smiled. “I know I can, my dear. Remember, whatever happens, stay hidden in the bushes.” She paused and her expression grew serious. “Don’t be frightened, just think of your father.”
Anne forced a brave smile, then hiked up the loose trousers and scooted across the deep rutted road. She tripped, but righted herself before splashing into a muddy puddle. When she finally reached the tall bramble of wild plums, she crawled inside the cover of low branches. A limb poked her head, pushing her woolen knit cap off. She grabbed the hat and stuffed her thick, unbound curls beneath the coarse band.
The sound of cantering hooves grew louder and six Roundhead soldiers, riding single file, came into view. Their armor clanked noisily as they approached.
A cool breeze lifted the loose tendrils of Anne’s hair, and she shivered. Parting the branches, she held her breath and peered through the quivering leaves.
The first soldier trotted his horse beside Dr. Herrick’s mount and raised the lantern. Before he had a chance to speak, Jane’s dulcet voice carried on the night air.
“My prayers have been answered.” She fluttered her hands and smiled becomingly at the soldier. “When we heard horses, we feared you were that highwayman my godfather, Master Lowell, warned us about.”
Anne watched the soldier as he sat a little straighter on his mount. “I’m Sergeant Stone, at yer service, milady.” He touched his helmet in the customary salute. “‘Ave no fear of the Black Fox and ‘is kind. ‘E won’t dare come near these shires, milady.” He chuckled to his men. “Not with Colonel Twining’s troopers garrisoned nearby at Wycliffe Manor. Aye, men?”
The soldiers cheered in unison. They were as pompous as their leader, Anne thought.
“George Lowell’s niece is missin’. My orders are to bring all riders in the area back to the manor for questionin’.” The stocky soldier held the lantern higher. “May I see yer travelin’ passes?”
Anne’s heart raced as she watched in trepidation while Dr. Herrick rode forward and handed the soldier the folded parchments. The trooper eyed him a moment, then examined the passes before returning them. “What brings ye to travel these roads so late, Doctor?”
“My wife’s mother has been taken ill. We’re on our way to be with her at her estate, Rosemoor.”
Jane’s face brightened in the sputtering light. “We’ve just come from Wycliffe Manor. I was visiting with my godfather.” She pulled out several folded documents from her saddlebag and handed them to the sergeant. “These passes are for our servants.”
