Georgette Heyer (17 page)

  This reminder was enough to send William off at once to seek his wife; and, after discussing with the Major the time the King should be in readiness to set forth, the other two departed.

  The King spent the evening in the parlour with Carlis, before the fire. He spoke very little, but sat with his elbow on the arm of his chair, his head supported on his hand. The flickering fire-light showed Carlis that he was awake, but he sat very still, gazing with heavy eyes into the heart of the fire. Once he said: 'When must I set forward?'

  'Not before nine o'clock, sir, if you are to be at Moseley by midnight. I fear you will find the journey very rough and tedious. Humphrey's horse is indeed a sorry beast.'

  'No matter, if I find my Lord Wilmot in the end.'

  'Be sure you will, sir.'

  'I lose count of the days. It seems a long time since I parted from him, and the others who were with me. I would I knew that they were alive still.'

  'Why, sir, they had a better hope of life than your Majesty, and you are alive.'

  'True. But I greatly fear for them. Many of my friends must have died in Worcester, in that last fight. I wonder how many fell there? It is in my mind, Carlis, that I shall not see Hamilton again.'

  'You have at least one faithful friend left to you in my Lord Wilmot, sir. And you will be glad of his company. Do you think I do not understand what it must mean to you to be cast amongst strangers who have never been alone in all your life before?'

  'Carlis, Carlis, do you call yourself a stranger?'

  'Nay, sir, but a poor soldier; not one who has been used to wait upon a King.'

  'I was never so well-cared for, I promise you. But I am ashamed to be such a grievous burden upon your shoulders.'

  'My liege, if I should die tomorrow it would be happily, since so sweet a prince entrusted his life into my hands for two precious days,' Carlis said unsteadily.

  The King turned his head. 'Why, what is this? You go with me to Moseley, surely?'

  'No, sir. We must part here. I am too well-known in this country to go with you. For your sake, I dare not do it.'

  'Alas!' The King's voice sounded disconsolate. 'I had thought you would remain with me. How shall I fare without you, Carlis?'

  Carlis slipped from his chair to his knees, and, taking the King's hand in his, kissed it. 'You will fare very well, for the Penderels will take good care of you, sir, and bring you safely to my lord.'

  'Yes, but –' the King broke off. 'You are right, I suppose. Yet I am sorry that I must part from you. What shall you do?'

  'I shall make my way to France, sir, and there kiss your Majesty's hand again.'

  The King smiled faintly. 'Yea, God willing.'

  He relapsed into silence again, from which he was only roused by the arrival of Richard, who came into the parlour to warn him that it was time to start upon the journey to Moseley.

  When he had taken his leave of Dame Joan, which he did very charmingly, thanking her for all her care, and kissing her cheek with easy familiarity, he went out with Carlis to where all five Penderels and Francis Yates awaited him in the yard. He checked upon the threshold when he saw them, a laugh springing to his lips, for they presented a comical appearance, being armed each one with clubs and bills. 'Oho, you mean to sell my life dearly, I see!' he said. 'But indeed I have no need of such an escort, good friends. I will take two, and no more.'

  'So please your Majesty, we would like all to go with you,' replied John firmly. 'Will and I will trudge ahead for to see the road clear, and Francis and George here come along behind lest there be spies following, which we can't tell.'

  'Let it be so, sir,' said Carlis. 'We know not whom you may meet upon the road. Six men are better than two.'

  'What, do you foresee a pitched battle?' mocked the King. 'Well, do as you please. Indeed, I am much beholden to you.'

  Humphrey then led up his mill-horse, a slow-plod ding beast, fat from having been at grass, and accoutred with a ramshackle saddle that had long since outworn its irons, and a bridle that looked as though it might at any moment part company with the rusty bit.

  'Lend me your knee, Trusty Dick,' said the King, observing the absence of stirrups. 'I am in no vaulting humour.'

  'By your leave, sir!' Carlis said. 'Set your foot in my hands, and I will mount you.'

  This being done, and the King settled in the saddle, which he complained was the strangest he had ever encountered, William and John went out into the lane to be sure that no one was within sight, and Humphrey and Richard took up their stations, one on either side of the horse, Humphrey holding the bridle, and Richard shouldering a stout handbill.

  The King leaned down to give his hand to Carlis to kiss. 'Fare you well, my good friend. I pray you, have a care to yourself !'

  'Never fear for me, sir: I shall be in France as soon as your Majesty. God have you in His keeping, sir!'

  A low whistle from William told of a clear road ahead, and Humphrey began to lead the horse away from the house. The King turned in the saddle as he reached the gate, and waved his hand. Carlis lifted his own hand in answer, and for several moments after the King had disappeared from sight remained standing quite still, his face rather grim, and in his mind the vision, not of a shabby figure drooping a little on the back of a mill-horse, but of a straight young man with plumes mingling with his black lovelocks, a blue riband swept across his buff coat, and a diamond George sparkling on his breast, who sat a plunging charger as though he were a part of it.

  Dame Joan's voice recalled him; he turned, saying with an effort: 'Ay, what is it?'

  ''Tis like it was all a dream, master,' she said. 'Only that William has his precious hair put by safe I wouldn't believe 'twas real!'

  The Penderel brothers, meanwhile, led the King away from the Brewood highroad, a little way down the lane that led from Boscobel to White-Ladies. His steed's gait was awkward, and he soon discovered that to add to the discomforts of a bad saddle and a shambling horse, the Penderels were determined to proceed down by-lanes which were pitted with holes in which the horse every now and then plunged a clumsy forefoot. He was thus very much jolted, but after protesting once, and being told that his escort dared not take the risk of leading him down the better but more frequented roads, he sighed and relapsed into silence, bearing the many stumbles with great patience, and resolutely shutting his lips on the exclamations of exasperation which rose to them at the repeated halts which were made to enable William and John to scout well ahead of him.

  The way seemed interminable, and was indeed very circuitous; and to make matters worse the storm clouds, which had been gathering all the evening in the sky, soon obscured the moon. After about an hour's tedious going, it began to rain, a circumstance which made the King repeat his request to be conducted along easier roads, since the rain might be supposed to have chased Royalists and Roundheads alike within doors. But the Penderels, themselves impervious to rain and rough walking, were so much obsessed by the sense of the responsibility that rested on their shoulders that they could not be brought to agree to this.

  'You shouldn't ought to ask it of us, master,' Richard said.

  'God's truth, it's my life that is at stake, after all!' said the King.

  'Nay, 'tis all our lives, my liege. Look you, if you be taken through any fault of ours we mun go hang ourselves.'

  'Ay, that's so,' agreed Humphrey. 'No help for it.'

  'I see not the least necessity,' said the King. 'But lead on, lead on!'

  The night had by this time become so dark that it was very difficult to make out the way. More than one false turning was taken, and the mill-horse presently stumbled so badly that the King was almost thrown over its head. His annoyance momentarily getting the better of him, he said angrily: 'God's body, can you not lead the brute so that he does not bring me down with him in the mire?'

  'I do be mortal sorry, master,' replied Humphrey apolo getically. ''Tis tricky, you see, me not being able to spy the holes very well. But the horse'll not let your honour down, I promise you.'

  'It's the heaviest dull jade I ever rode upon!' said the King.

  Humphrey looked up slyly into his face, and said with grin: 'My liege, can you blame the horse to go heavily when he has the weight of three kingdoms on his back?'

  The King gave a reluctant laugh. 'A wit, i' faith! I think he will soon sink under me.'

  'Nay, not he, master. Why, he's carried six strike of corn in his time, and none the worse for it.'

  'A strike? How much is that?' enquired the King, idly curious. 'I never heard the word before.'

  'No?' said Humphrey, surprised. ''Tis common in these parts. How much would a strike be, Dick?'

  Richard, after due consideration, measured a space in the air with his hands. 'It would be like that, maybe.'

  'I suppose it is a bushel,' remarked the King. 'But I am not learned in such matters.'

  'Ay, that'll be it,' Richard agreed.

  They plodded on, the brothers only speaking when it was necessary to confer together about the route to be followed, and the King becoming lost once more in his own unquiet thoughts. The rain, which kept falling in fitful showers, dripped off the brim of his steeple crowned hat, and soaked the green jump-coat he wore over Richard's leather doublet. He made no further complaint, however, but suffered the Penderels to lead him where they chose.

  It was past midnight when a halt was called in a valley where a mill-stream burbled over the pebbles on its bed. William and John were waiting beside a stile for the King to come up with them, and as soon as George Penderel and Francis Yates had caught up with the rest, the brothers held a low-voiced conference amongst themselves. At the end of it, Richard came to the King's knee and said in his solid way: 'Master, Will and John they do think it be unsafe to go farther along the road with the horse, we being come to Pendeford Mill, which is hard by Moseley, and Mr Whitgreave being a Catholic like ourselves, and mightily suspected. We be wishful to lead your honour by the Moor, so as none will see you.'

  'Richard, Richard, do you mean to lead me through bogs and hedges yet again?' said the King.

  'Nay, 'tis easy walking, master, and three of us to help your honour.'

  The King smiled wryly in the darkness. 'I know you, fellow: you would cozen me on with false promises as you did before. Tell me the truth, how far must I walk?'

  'Master, as I am a Christian, 'tis no more than two miles.'

  'Country miles, I'll be sworn. Well, do with me as you will.'

  William and John, being informed of the King's docility, heaved audible sighs of relief. To facilitate his descent from the saddle, they led the mill-horse into the ditch beside the stile, on to which the King dismounted. Richard helped him over it into a stubble-field, and he remarked as cheerfully as he could that it was a relief to alight from such an incommodious saddle.

  'Your feet do not pain you too much for the trudge, master?' Richard asked anxiously.

  'No, no, let us go on! It must be long past midnight, and my lord, I daresay, thinking me dead, or a pris oner.'

  He took a few steps forward as he spoke, but stopped when he perceived that only three of this escort were with him, and realized that the others were going no farther on the journey. He turned and went back to where William and Humphrey and George were still standing beside the stile, and held out his hand, saying simply: 'My troubles make me forget myself: I thank you all!'

  They fell on their knees on the sodden ground to kiss his hand.

  'If ever I come into England by fair or foul means, I will remember you,' he said. 'Let me see you, when ever it shall so please God!'

  The rest of his journey lay over open country and was rather painfully accomplished. His impatience to find Wilmot carried the King forward, even when the sharp stones working through his slit shoes hurt him most. John told him that Father Huddleston had directed him to meet him at the Pit Leasow, which was a dry limestone pit by a little grove of trees in a close behind Moseley Hall. This was approached from the Moor by the narrow avenue in which John had found the Father and Mr Whitgreave walking together earlier in the day. Owing partly to the dark ness, and partly to the King's halting progress, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning when at last John sighted the grove. A few more steps brought them up to it, and not one but two figures emerged from the shelter of the trees to meet them. The stockier of these stood hesitating, while the other unshrouded the lantern he carried, and held it up so that its light fell on the faces of the King and his escort.

  It was the priest who held the lantern, as John informed the King in a brief whisper. His companion, Mr Whitgreave, looking from one shabby figure to another, could not tell which was the King, but John at once greeted Huddleston, saying with an expressive jerk of his thumb towards the King: 'We've fetched his Majesty safe, Father, and he be mighty wishful for to see my lord.'

  'He is within doors, most eagerly awaiting your Majesty,' Huddleston said. He had a quick, vibrant voice, and seemed as far as Charles could discern in the feeble light, to be grey-haired and elderly. He bent the knee to the King, but said almost at once. 'Your Majesty will forgive this unseemly reception. We thought it not safe to bring you in by the front way. Indeed, I beg your Majesty will not linger even here, but come in straight to my lord.'