Anne of the Fens (9 page)

“Father, Anne is the bad girl, not me.” Sarah spoke quickly. “She takes food from the table and says it is for you, and she is lying. She hides it under her bed. I followed her and I saw. This paper was hidden under her bed too. Mother will not listen to me about how bad she is. Anne gets up in the middle of the night and wanders about. She is up to something sinful. Nobody would listen to me. I thought if I put this up in the market, you and everyone would have to see how bad she is. It says Anne is wicked.”

Sarah could read a little, but not well.

“Pull over!” Father yelled to the coachman.

Then he said to Sarah, “I am too angry to deal with you. I could hurt you.”

I was surprised. I had never seen Father so angry, but he knew himself well enough to hold himself in check. He clambered over me and for the rest of the ride, almost three hours, he sat with the driver. Every few minutes we heard curses shouted to the sky.

It began to rain lightly and it felt cold, since we had dressed for fine weather. I shivered in the carriage, partly from cold and partly from fear. I found myself biting my fingers. I was worried what could happen to Simon for having written the piece, to Father, to John, to me in having to deal with Father's rage, and even to Sarah. From the things he was shouting, I thought if we had not feared we were being chased, Father might have stopped the carriage to beat Sarah and me. I wished Simon were with us so I could ask him what was going to happen.

We jostled along, faster than usual. Father kept urging haste on the coachman. None of us slept on this trip, and I noted every landmark: the little town of Kirkton, the bridge over the dikes. The gallows looked even more of an omen than it had on the way north.

We looked back at every bend in the road. Mother's face was pale and drawn, and Sarah had slunk into a corner of the carriage, too sullen to join in our fearful backward glances.

When we reached the tree-lined road that followed the river and led to Tattershall Castle, I breathed a sigh of relief. But, as we rounded the next bend, we saw a cloud of dust far behind us. We all gasped at the same moment.

Father, on top of the carriage, yelled, “The pimpled Church of England swine. Get some speed out of the damned horses, Jack!”

I knew Father hoped to cross the moat and raise the drawbridge before the Sheriff's men caught up. It was no use. The carriage was no match for men on horses. The cloud of dust grew nearer and larger.

By the time we crossed the drawbridge, they were galloping alongside us. The Sheriff pulled ahead of us and signaled us to stop. I liked his fat, red face less than ever. We stopped in front of the castle.

“Stand down,” the Sheriff said to Father. The rest of us stepped out of the carriage as well. Mother and the other girls stood watching to see what would happen, but as more and more men on horses arrived, I slipped behind the others and began walking toward the castle. For once I was glad to be young and small for my age.

I could hear the beginning of the conversation behind me.

“An unfortunate document showed up today at the market in Boston. It was treasonous, and it was addressed to your daughter.” Father replied, “Do you have it?”

I was so glad I had taken it away. Perhaps Father could talk his way out of it.

“In addition, it was written on the back of a statement of John Holland's treason. There is a rumor that he is here.”

My hands were suddenly damp. The family might be saved from Sarah's folly, but Father would not be able to do anything to help John. It was up to me. The Sheriff's men had searched the castle before, but this time they would do it more thoroughly, and they would almost certainly find the secret room.

Think, think, I told myself frantically.

I headed toward the kitchen and could hear no more. Cook was reluctant to obey me. I had to command, in a voice I did not know I had. I sped back toward the castle with a bundle. I passed well away from my father and the group, but when the Sheriff shouted “Halt,” I halted.

“Who goes?” he called.

I turned to face the Sheriff and the others and made a curtsey, as well as I could with my bundle.

“It is merely my eleven year old daughter,” Father said. “I doubt she poses a threat.”

“Was it you who removed the paper from the posting board?”

Oh Sarah, Sarah, show me how to lie
.
I smoothed my face and slowed my breath and said, “What paper, Sir?”

Father interrupted. “She is only a child, and a little simple besides.”

The Sheriff shrugged and made a motion with his hand toward the door.

I walked into the castle in the manner of a young, embarrassed girl. I did not think of it till later, but Father himself knew how to lie; it had been four years since I was eleven. I ran up the stairs to the second floor.

When I got to the fireplace, there were two servants standing in front of it, so deep in conversation they did not hear me. I heard the word “Sheriff.” They looked up at me with guilty expressions.

“If you go to the window there, you can hear them,” I said.

They looked surprised that I had not reprimanded them for gossip. They hastened across the room toward the window and were quickly absorbed in the scene outside.

I pulled the rabbit ears and hurried under the tapestry. In a moment, I was inside the secret room.

John had his knife poised to attack as I entered. He dropped his arm when he saw it was I. His window faced away from the courtyard, but he must have heard the servants talking, to be so prepared.

“Hurry,” I said, handing him my bundle. Again I was surprised by the level of command in my voice.

He swore and grumbled but he obeyed me, and in a few moments we slipped from the room.

The servants had their heads out the window and one of them gasped, “They're coming towards the castle.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

W
E RAN DOWN
the stairs, John pulling me so that I slid around the corner. We reached the open front door just as the Sheriff's men approached. They were perhaps ten feet away.

“Slow down,” I said. I took a deep breath, went out the door, and made a curtsey to the men. Then we walked sharply to the right, down toward the moat.

“Hold,” one of the men said loudly. “Who goes there?”

“I am the Steward's daughter, helping the cook. We are going to pick dandelion greens for the evening meal.”

I hoped that they would see a young girl and a tall cook wearing the bonnet and apron that I had forced Cook to give me. John's long hair peeked out from under the bonnet.

The Sheriff's man waved us away, and John and I tried not to hurry toward the water.

“We must pick for a while,” I said. One of the men stayed at the door, looking out over the castle grounds. Bent over, we began to pluck leaves and stretched out our aprons to put them in.

“Is this a dandelion?” he asked.

“No, that's a mullion. Dandelions have broader leaves.”

“I do know dandelions, just not the plant without the flower.” He seemed cross, perhaps because he was as afraid as I was. My mouth was dry.

John kept glancing over to the moat, and finally he spied what I had told him about while he put on Cook's great white skirt in the castle. Sam's little boat lay half hidden in the reeds. It could not be seen from the castle. John could get into it and escape.

We kept glancing back at the castle, and finally saw another of the Sheriff's men come out of the castle and engage the sentry in conversation.

We moved slowly, picking all the way to the very edge of the moat.

I muttered to John, “You must take the first, left fork. You could miss it, it is small and heads off at an angle. There is a big egret's nest in a tree to the north as a landmark.”

“An egret's nest?” He snorted. “I do not know an egret's nest from a wren's. You must come, and once I find the turn, I can put you off.”

“I have only been there once,” I said. It had been three years ago, when Sam had taken me eeling with him. I dropped into the boat after John.

It was small, about seven feet long and a foot and a half wide, with a flat bottom. There were no oars, just a pole that Sam used to propel himself, and a smaller pole that I could perhaps use. John and I barely fit, but there was no time for niceties. I wished I were not wearing my Sunday dress with the wide skirt and was glad I had shed some petticoats. Church in Boston this morning seemed long ago.

“We should take this inlet into the fens. Then we need not go around the bend where we will be visible at the drawbridge,” I said, and John nodded. There was a red-coated sentry stationed at the drawbridge, who would surely not let us leave the castle if he saw us.

We cut into the passage, barely wide enough for the tiny boat to get through. Reeds brushed our faces.

“What will happen when they realize we are gone? Perhaps we should simply have hidden you in an outbuilding until they left.”

“No, it is not safe for me here any longer. They will find the secret room and they will station someone at the castle. The servants would talk if there was a strange person in the outbuildings.”

John was having a hard time poling, as reeds caught the boat on either side and the depth of the water was only a couple of feet. The sweat began to bead on his forehead as he pushed us along. The reeds were above our heads now. We could only see the upper stories of the castle. If someone was posted at the top they could see us, but not well. Soon we would disappear from sight altogether.

I faced forward, straining to see where the channel might open up. Flies and mosquitoes swarmed around us and began to feast. Our skirts covered our legs, and my shift protected my chest and upper arms. I had a kerchief tied round my shoulders. I took off my bonnet, draped the kerchief around my face so only my eyes showed, and retied the bonnet. My flaxen blue skirt, cleaned after I had gotten it so dirty at the fair, was now filthy on the bottom, and I wondered how I would look when I returned to the castle. I almost laughed, realizing that I had no idea at all of what would happen to us. Worrying about my clothes seemed to belong to another lifetime.

I remembered the beggar's message for John and handed it to him.

He read it and laughed. “Good,” he said. He says that there is a boat heading towards Holland tomorrow, and that he will wait for me along the river today and tomorrow. Also that the Sheriff's men are looking for me. I would have had to leave today anyway, even if the Sheriff had not arrived when he did.”

“Who is this beggar?”

“Who knows. He is a rebel against the King, he is a Puritan, he is a scoundrel.”

“That is no answer.”

John sighed. “I will tell you all I know. First, do we have anything to eat?”

I realized that John had not eaten all day, while I had taken a good midday meal in Boston. I was hungry myself, now that I was a bit more relaxed. It was probably past nine o'clock, and the mid-summer sun was finally beginning to set.

I pointed to the dandelions he had dumped from his apron into the bottom of the boat. He made a face.

“Speaking of beggars, they cannot...” I said, and he nodded, knowing the end of the expression.

I added the dandelions from my own apron, dipped a few into the water to wash the dirt from them, then handed them to John. I ate a few myself. Dandelions are so bitter before they've been cooked. We ate them slowly and we ate them all.

While we were munching, John told me about the beggar man.

“He comes from Scotland originally, but has lived in these parts many years. He goes back and forth, from here to Holland, taking Puritans who seek to escape, and bringing goods back and forth for those who have made the trip. I think he takes a good cut for his labors.”

“He seemed so ragged.”

“That filthy cloak is a disguise. He does not want to attract attention.”

I digested that. I seemed to be learning a lot about lying, today. People were not always what they seemed.

I wanted to tell John to go faster, to leave some of the insects behind, as well as to escape, but I realized he was going as fast as he could. I picked up the small pole in the bottom of the boat and began to help.

We had poled for perhaps ten minutes, the channel growing narrower, then wider, and then narrower again, nothing but reeds and insects. Flies, big green ones and little, blue damselflies, buzzed about catching an occasional mosquito. Even in our dangerous situation I watched the damselflies, so bright they seemed to have swallowed a piece of the sun.

We came to a channel that crossed our path. There were only a few trees, and none with an egret's nest. I thought we should take the path anyway. It seemed to me to be the right distance from the castle.

John said, “No, this is so narrow we would not be able to pass. It cannot be the right channel. We must press on.”

My arms grew tired, and I rested for longer and longer periods. John was cursing under his breath more frequently. He had placed Cook's apron around his face to keep off the bugs. He looked alarming, and then I thought I must look quite strange myself.

I picked up the little pole again, and pushed it into the water. I almost fell out of the boat and I almost lost the pole. There was no bottom here that I could reach. We were in a deeper channel.

Then the passage widened. There was another cross channel, wider still than the one we were on.

We turned in what we decided was the direction of Boston. There was a small current in that direction, so John did not need to pole. Indeed, for a short period, his pole did not touch the bottom.

My heart lifted. The bugs were left behind, since we were further away from the grasses, and it felt like we were making headway. We were actually going to get away.

I remembered that John was supposed to put me ashore, once we reached the channel. We were so much further away from the castle than I had thought we would be, however, and I had no idea of how to get back. Also, there were only reeds and more reeds, no firm ground on which to let me off.