Georgette Heyer (40 page)

  'And we will follow the same course as we did then, and press on bodily,' said the King.

  'There can be no turning back,' the Colonel muttered. His knee jostled the King's as the horses pressed close in the narrow street. 'Ride on, sir, straight through the town!'

  'Nay, what would become of my lord?' said the King. 'I have appointed him to meet me here.'

  'You will not stop here!' the Colonel's voice sharp ened with horror.

  'Yea, and at the best inn,' returned the King. 'I shall not be looked for in this host of rebels.'

  A frightened giggle broke from Juliana. The Colonel said: 'It is true, but you have set my knees shaking. What will you do?'

  'I shall play the serving-man. When we reach a decent inn, go you in with Juliana, and bespeak dinner in a private parlour. I will join you there when I have seen the horses safely bestowed.'

  'O God, my mouth feels as though a sow had farrowed in it!' said the Colonel, with the humour of despair.

  'Craven!'

  'I am indeed. Do you see that building ahead? It is the Town Hall, and the George Inn lies directly oppo site it. Stop there, if only the best will do for you, sir.'

  The street was so crowded that they made slow progress. There were soldiers everywhere, and when they presently reached the George Inn, they found its courtyard full of troopers, and their horses.

  The Colonel dismounted, and lifted Juliana down from the pillion. He dared not linger by the King, though every instinct urged him not to leave him alone amongst his enemies. He said: 'See to the nags, and don't stand gossiping, Will, do you hear me?'

  'Yes, master,' said the King, taking his horse's bridle from him. 'I'll be with you straight.'

  The Colonel led Juliana into the inn; her hand trem bled a little in his, and might have trembled more had she waited to watch the King's behaviour.

  Beyond a cursory glance or two, and a few nudges of the elbow to call a friend's attention to Juliana's ripe charms, no one paid much heed to the arrival of the King's party. A serving-man – even an uncommonly tall serving-man – excited no interest, nor did any honest red-coat perceive a need to make room for such a one to pass. The King led his horses forward, thrusting a rude passage through a group of soldiers, who stood with their tunics unbuttoned, and tankards in their hands.

  He was cursed, but good-naturedly. 'Pox on you, where be you going?'

  'You son of a bitch, who gave you leave to elbow your betters?'

  'The toe of my boot to your arse if you jostle me, my lad!'

  'None of your holiday-terms to me!' retorted the King, entering wholeheartedly into the spirit of this. 'Odd rot me, what times we live in when a pack of herring-gutted militia-men think they may lord it over a gentleman's groom!'

  'Militia-men!' A red-headed trooper made a grab at his arm. 'Ditch-begotten knave! We'm of the New Model!'

  'God save the mark!' The King made Wyndham's horse rear, and the red-headed man was forced back a pace. 'Come from Worcester fight, I warrant! Ay, ay, and swollen with sinful pride because ye beat a parcel of dirty Scots there. Let be: there's no Scots to beat here, and soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.'

  'Marry, there's a saucy rogue for you!' remarked one of the troopers admiringly. 'Take care your tongue cuts not your throat, friend!'

  The King winked broadly, and thrust forward with his horses. The troopers let him pass, and he reached the stable-door without incurring any worse harm than a parting insult hurled after him by the red-headed man.

  He led the horses into the cool of the stable, and called to an ostler who was sweeping out one of the stalls. The man came forward as the King began to loosen the saddle-girths. 'Good-day to you: do ye stay long?' he enquired.

  'Nay, to bait only.'

  The King lifted the saddle off his horse's back as he spoke. Over it his eyes encountered the ostler's, which had narrowed suddenly in an effort of memory. 'Sure, sir, I know your face?' the ostler said.

  'Ay, do you?' replied the King coolly. 'Where do you live?'

  'Well, I'm only come here of late. I was born in Exeter, and was used to work at an inn there, hard by Mr Potter's, which is a merchant of the town. Seems to me it was in Exeter I saw you, but I misremember when that would have been.' He frowned, knuckling his chin, and evidently searching his memory more strictly.

  The name of Potter had made the King's eyelids flicker, as though a lightning-flash had suddenly startled him. He remembered that he had lain at Potter's house once, during his father's life-time. He said quickly, hoping to put an end to the ostler's mind-searchings: 'Oh, certainly you have seen me, then, at Mr Potter's, for I served him a good while, above a year.'

  Apparently the ostler's memory was still recalcitrant,

for he replied in a satisfied tone: 'Oh, then I remember you as a boy there. That'll be it.'

  'That'll be it,' agreed the King, beginning to rub his horse down with a wisp of hay, and so contriving to keep his head bent.

  'You'll not recall me,' said the ostler. 'My name's Horton: what's yours?'

  'Will Jackson.'

  The ostler shook his head. 'Nay, I can't seem to remember that name. However, it don't signify. We must drink a pot of beer together, friend.'

  'I would, with all my heart, but I must go wait on my master.'

  'No haste: you can bide long enough to drink a toast.'

  'Nay, I dare not for my life. My master's an ill man to cross. We're on our way to London, but I'll tell you what: upon our return we'll have that pot together, and so I promise you.'

  With this the ostler seemed to be content, and the King managed to escape from him, and to make his way across the yard to the inn-door. The soldiers were still lounging in the yard. One of them called out: 'Here's our dunghill cockerel come back to crow again! You'd best take heed lest the sergeant clap his eyes on that bay horse you was leading. We're in need of likely nags, look'ee!'

  'Sing small, sing small, friend!' said the King, with a disarming grin. 'There's peace since Worcester fight, and they say though war makes thieves peace hangs 'em.'

  A shout of laughter greeted this sally. The King leaned his shoulders against the door-post and enquired of a stout fellow with button-black eyes what his regi ment might be.

  'Colonel Haynes's, bound for Jersey for to subdue the Malignants there,' replied the stout man.

  'Jersey,' repeated the King in a queer voice.

  'Ay, if so be we don't get drowned at sea. They do say as the place fair stinks with Malignants. The Scots King lived there, not so long since.'

  'Not he, he lived in furrin parts,' interrupted a long-nosed man, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  'So 'tis furrin. He were there! 'Tis an island.'

  'Go teach your father to get children! He were not there. He were in France.'

  The noise of contentious voices, more and more of them joining in the foolish argument, sounded to the King's dreaming ears like the roar of the sea. His eyes stared straight before him, seeing not red faces, and red-coats, but an island that was dear to him, and a yacht that skimmed the waters of a great bay, with the sun on her sails, and an eager boy who knew nothing of bitterness or of defeat at her helm. The vision faded; he caught his underlip between his teeth, and turned and went into the inn, while the soldiers still argued amongst themselves.

  He found Colonel Wyndham and Juliana in an upper parlour overlooking the street. At sight of him, the Colonel heaved a sigh of relief, and exclaimed. 'Thank God!'

  A smile flickered in the King's eyes. 'My poor Frank! I am still at large. What's for dinner?'

  'Mutton, sir!' said Juliana, uncovering the dish. 'Trust me to remember your Majesty's favourite meat!'

  'If you love me, no Majesties, good sweetheart! There are upwards of a thousand rebels quartered in this town.'

  'It's the most damnable mischance of this whole ill starred journey!' said the Colonel, setting a chair for him at the table. 'What do they here, sir?'

  'They are upon their way to Jersey,' replied the King curtly.

  His tone seemed to indicate that he did not wish to discuss the matter; he began to eat his meat, washing it down with sack.

  Before he had finished his dinner, the Colonel, who all the time stood in the window, keeping a watch on the street, saw Lord Wilmot ride past with Henry Peters behind him. My lord cast a searching glance up at the windows of the George Inn; his eyes encoun tered Wyndham's for a moment, but he rode on, making no sign.

  The Colonel turned away from the window to tell the King that my lord had entered the town. The King nodded, and went on eating. It was not long before Henry Peters presented himself at the George, bringing an urgent message from Wilmot that the King should join him without loss of time at a smaller inn, at the eastern end of the town.

  Having by this time finished his dinner, Charles made no objection, but got up, remarking that since an ostler knew his face, and some fifteen or twenty red-coats had stared him out of countenance, it might be as well for him discreetly to leave the town.

  Horton was not in the stables when he arrived there. Another ostler, untroubled by memories, helped him to saddle the horses; and in a few minutes the little party had left the George, and was proceeding sedately along the street in the wake of Henry Peters.

  Wilmot, who was awaiting them at a mean little ale-house on the fringe of the town, no sooner caught sight of them approaching than he hurriedly paid his shot, and went out to mount his horse, which he had kept ready saddled in the hen-ridden yard. The King had scarcely had time to draw rein before my lord joined him. Wasting no time on ceremony, he said: 'Go on, sir, go on! For God's sake, will you make haste out of this town?'

  'No,' said the King. 'I will not. I shall ride at a decent sober pace, and so, by God, shall you, Harry!'

  'Well, I did not mean you to go at a gallop!' said Wilmot crossly. 'Though how you can be so crazed as to linger in a town swarming with rebels is a matter passing my poor compre hension! When I saw Wynd ham's face at that window I thought I must have taken leave of my senses!'

  'Why, then, you should be thankful to discover that you are still in possession of them,' said the King in a rallying tone.

  'You should have stopped him!' Wilmot flung at the Colonel.

  'I think I would have done so had I known the trick of it,' Wyndham agreed. 'But he was right, my lord: no one would look for him in the midst of a whole regi ment of rebels.'

  'I would we had never ventured into this infernal country!' Wilmot said. 'It's the most damnably disaf fected part I ever was in! Also, I greatly fear that I have been recognized, for a man doffed his hat to me as I rode into the town. And who the devil is Reymes? Someone called "Good-day, Reymes" to me in Lyme.'

  The Colonel turned in the saddle to look at him. 'Oddsblood, did they so? Why, yes, I suppose you might be mistaken for him, for you have a great look of him. He is a native of Dorsetshire, and married my wife's sister. It will serve very well! We will pass you off as Colonel Bullen Reymes.'

  'I see not the least need for me to change my name yet again,' snapped his lordship. 'It does nothing but confuse me.'

  The King, who was riding a few paces ahead, looked over his shoulder. 'I wish you had stayed to dine at that ale-house, Harry, so it might have put you in a better humour. Leave disputing with Frank, and tell me what news you learnt in Lyme.'

  'The worst!' said Wilmot. 'There are bills posted up in the town, offering a thousand pounds for your capture, and describing you so exactly that it is plain some trai torous dog has been talking. The rebels even know your hair has been cut short!'

  'That would be the Cornet who told them I was at White-Ladies,' remarked the King. 'But what of Ellesdon? Did you have speech with him?'

  'Yes, I had speech with him, but he knew no more than I did myself. It was not his doing that the boat came not to take you off: I never saw a man more shocked! He went immediately to seek out the master of the vessel, and came back presently to me with a tale so fantastic you would scarcely credit it! It seems Limbry had no thought but of keeping faith with us, and so haled out his vessel to the mouth of the Cob, as we heard. But going back to his house to put up his necessaries, his wife took a suspicion into her head that he was engaged upon some dangerous, secret business, and importuned him so unceasingly to tell her why he was going to sea before his time, and with no goods aboard, that at last the fool confessed that Ellesdon had provided him with a freight which would be worth more to him than a shipful of goods. Whereupon the woman, having been at Lyme Fair, and heard the proclamation read there, at once suspected him of having engaged himself to assist – not, indeed, youself, sir, but some of your party, to escape out of England. Limbry had not the wit to deny it, and the end of it was that the woman and her daughters bolted him into his chamber for fear he should risk his life upon the business. He durst raise no outcry, for if he did so the woman swore she would go instantly to the Captain of a rebel troop quartered in Lyme, and inform against him and Ellesdon both, and so make sure of a reward for herself and her daughters. There, sir, is the history of last night's misadventure in a nutshell!'