Escapes! (7 page)

But one hope remained. She'd race to London herself, and beg the King for mercy.

Winifred set out at once to hire a stagecoach, but none dared to travel in the heavy snowstorm that blocked all the roads. If she would just wait for the storm to pass, the drivers offered. But Winifred knew that every day was crucial. Very well, she decided, her jaw set stubbornly. I'll ride on my own.

Winifred and her trusted maid, Evans, mounted their horses and set off at a gallop for London — hundreds of miles away. Through the day and past nightfall they rode south, stopping to rest only when they were too exhausted to go on. The weather grew worse, and the horses shied from the sharp winds and deep snow ahead. With grim determination, Winifred dismounted and called to Evans to do the same. Together they walked through the waist-high snow, pulling their frightened horses forward by the reigns.

At last they staggered into London and found lodgings for the night. There, sympathetic friends tried to reason with Winifred. It was hopeless. She must accept it: William and the others would have to die as an example to all traitors. But Winifred shook her head.

The next day she asked for an audience with the king, but was turned away. Unwilling to give up, she dressed in black mourning clothes and went to St. James's Palace, planting herself in a corridor where she knew the king would pass. There she waited. And waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, a bustle of activity made her look up. There he was — the king! — striding in her direction, surrounded by attendants. Winifred wasted no time. Blocking his way, she knelt before him, and began to plead her cause. But he just brushed her aside and kept walking.

Winifred struggled up and followed him — in a moment he would be gone, taking her hopes with him. Squeezing through the attendants, she tried to push her written petition into his pocket, but it fell to the floor. Tears began to blind her, but this was no time to worry about dignity. Just before he moved out of reach, she lunged forward and grabbed his coattails. The angry king strode on, dragging her behind.

Gasps could be heard all around as horrified royal attendants rushed toward her. No one could touch the king! Soon firm hands were pulling her away. She stood up and shook them off, but it was too late. The king was gone. And with him goes any hope of a pardon, thought Winifred.

Which left only one other way.

As Winifred passed under the Tower archway, walking toward the stone Lieutenant's Lodgings where her husband was locked up, her eyes took in everything — the sentries along the green and at the entrance, the two flights of stairs, and at the top the grand Council Chamber full of warders, the Tower guards. Across the guardroom was the heavy door to William's cell.

Before it stood a warder armed with a halberd. With a nod, he opened the door for Winifred. She smiled sweetly and slipped a generous tip into his hand.

Inside, William rose swiftly from his seat and stepped forward, grasping Winifred's hands in his. After their heartfelt reunion, Winifred listened patiently as William paced the floor and spoke his mind. He was resigned to his fate and was ready to face execution with dignity, without flinching, so his family could be proud of him. He had even written his final words.

Winifred, however, had other ideas. She began unfolding her plan. William's room was high in a stone tower, its door well guarded, its only window a mere slit in the stone 40 feet above the ground. What's more, the cell door opened onto a crowded guardroom. There was no hope of sneaking out or jumping.

“But there is another way...” Winifred paused. She'd have to lead up carefully to the crucial part. “You could walk out in plain view of the guards, disguised — only for a few moments mind you — as a visitor... a lady visitor —”

William raised a hand to silence her.

He was a proud man. To face the axe was one thing. Walk up the scaffold with a steady step, looking bravely ahead — yes, he believed he could do it. He would do it for honor's sake. But to be caught sneaking out of the Tower in a dress!

“Can you imagine the laughter, the sneers? No,” he said, folding his arms. “My family would never live down the shame. No.”

“But that is if we fail, and we won't!” Winifred cried. She spoke passionately, quickly explaining the rest of her scheme.

William listened in silence. She'd thought of everything, there was no doubt. It was clever, he admitted. And it was one last chance for life.

When Winifred had used up all her arguments, she sat back, waiting breathlessly for his answer. William stood for a while with a hand on the stone wall, looking down. When he looked at her again his eyes were gleaming. He would do it.

Winifred poured the afternoon tea into porcelain cups, her movements calm and delicate. She waited a moment before raising her eyes. When she did, her maid and their landlady, Mrs. Mills, were both looking at her expectantly. Winifred took a breath, silently running through the phrases she had rehearsed in her head all morning. She prayed they would be persuasive enough.

Then in a flood of words she told the ladies everything. Her husband was not going to be pardoned. Tomorrow he would be executed. There was only one chance left — to help him escape, tonight. Everything was ready. But she needed their help. Would they do it?

Evans readily agreed. Winifred smiled and squeezed her hand. Then she turned to Mrs. Mills. Winifred knew she was loyal to the Stuart cause. But would that be enough?

Their landlady was dumbstruck, clearly astonished. Winifred bit her tongue as she waited for her answer. Had she been right to spring the idea at the last minute like this? She had hoped that the surprise and urgency would keep the women from considering the danger. At last Mrs. Mills nodded mutely.

They would need one more helper. Who else could they trust? Evans quickly sent for her friend Miss Hilton, and Winifred's dramatic pleas won her over as well.

Her accomplices in hand, Winifred moved fast. She ushered the three women outside and into a waiting coach, which she had arranged beforehand. Throughout the ride she kept chatting — that way no one would have a chance for second thoughts.

Her scheme sounded complicated, but it was based on a very simple idea: to confuse the guards with women coming and going from the prisoner's room.

“For days before an execution, all men visiting the Tower are stopped and challenged to identify themselves,” she explained. “But not the women! And what coldhearted guard would stop a grieving lady, crying as she said farewell to a prisoner for the last time?”

As the speeding coach lurched and bumped over the stone roads, Winifred reminded each lady of the part she would play. Mrs. Mills was a large, tall woman, and a few months pregnant. Lady Nithsdale had noticed that with her pregnant belly she was just about the same size and shape as her dear William! It was as “Mrs. Mills” that William would make his walk to freedom.

Miss Hilton, on the other hand, was tall and thin, and could easily wear two riding cloaks, one over the other, without looking suspiciously bulky. Winifred cast a critical eye over the lady and was satisfied that no one would guess she was smuggling in a disguise.

The sun was low in the sky as the coach pulled up alongside the Tower's arched entrance. Weaving through the stream of Tower workers still coming and going, the women headed for William's prison house.

“Prisoners are allowed only two visitors at a time,” Winifred told them. Leaving Evans and Mrs. Mills at the foot of the stairs, she guided Miss Hilton up to William's cell.

The warder before William's door straightened and stepped forward as the two women approached. Winifred knew that for their plan to work, she would have to break the Tower rules — on the night before an execution, the prisoner's wife could visit only if she stayed with him until morning. That would ruin everything! She linked arms with Miss Hilton and strode forward, praying that the tip she had given the guard the day before had done the trick.

On cue, Miss Hilton began to sniffle and sigh, but Winifred, in a loud voice, told her not to fear. “At this very moment the king is considering my petition for a pardon. All will be well, Mrs. Catharine!” she said, adding the lady's first name for everyone to hear.

Turning to the warder, she added, “I am afraid I must leave after seeing my husband tonight. I have an audience with His Majesty.”

The warder's face softened, and he nodded slightly as he opened the door. The other guards exchanged glances, then looked down. Her hopefulness was touching, but they knew there wasn't much chance of a pardon.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Miss Hilton slipped off her top riding cloak, and William tucked it out of sight. The two women waited anxiously for a few moments, and then walked out together.

In a worried voice, Winifred called for her maid. There was no answer. She called again, and the guards turned their heads toward Winifred. As they listened to her shouts they scarcely noticed the quiet Miss Hilton slipping past and down the stairs.

Winifred continued to cause a scene. “Pray send up my maid at once to help me dress — it is nearly time to present my last petition to the king!”

Below her, the stout Mrs. Mills was already huffing on her way up the stairs. Winifred took her by the arm and lead her past the guards toward the cell. As planned, Mrs. Mills pressed her handkerchief to her face and sobbed loudly the whole way. The guards looked away, embarrassed. Good, thought Winifred. The less closely they look, the better!

Lady Nithsdale smiled and patted her friend's arm, saying loudly, “I have high hopes, Mrs. Betty, that the king will pardon my husband this very night.”

Inside William's room, Mrs. Mills took off her cloak and put on the one Miss Hilton had left. She handed her own cloak and handkerchief to William. Then she straightened up and prepared to walk out with her head held high.

“No crying this time,” Winifred reminded her. “You must look like a different lady than the one who went in with her face in her handkerchief.”

Winifred led her by the hand into the guardroom. Glancing around, she noticed that the room was fuller now. The guards' wives and daughters were sitting in small groups, whispering. After all, it wasn't every day that three executions were to take place at once!

A hush fell as the two ladies passed, their footsteps echoing under the high, timbered ceiling. Winifred turned to the disguised Mrs. Mills and addressed her as if she were Miss Hilton.

“My dear Mrs. Catharine,” she said with growing alarm in her voice, “go in all haste and send me my waiting-maid, she certainly cannot reflect how late it is. I am to present my petition tonight, and if I let slip this opportunity I am undone, for tomorrow will be too late.”

From the corner of her eye Winifred could see the looks of pity on the ladies' faces. “Hasten her as much as possible,” she called after Mrs. Mills as she hurried down the stairs, “for I shall be on thorns till she comes.”

Winifred turned and walked back toward William's cell, noting with satisfaction that the guards on either side looked away as she passed. Inside his room, William had already put on Mrs. Mills's riding cloak. Now it was time to complete the transformation!

Winifred fished out the tools she had hidden under the folds of her clothes. First she must do something about his heavy, dark eyebrows — Mrs. Mills's were a light sandy color. She brought out the paint she had prepared and began to disguise them. Next she fitted a light-haired wig over his head. With quick, sure strokes she powdered his face and painted his cheeks with rouge, to help hide his stubbly beard — he'd had no time to shave! Over it all she pulled the hood of his cloak, close around his face.

Finally, she stepped out of all of her petticoats except one and slipped them under William's cloak.

Winifred glanced up at the small window and noticed it was growing dark. This was the time she had planned for their exit — in the twilight that would hide their faces, but before the candles were lit.