Devil Water (21 page)

“Why, we haven’t seen his lordship since noon. Have we, Mr. Brown?” said Charles blandly. “I expect he’s riding somewhere on the moors; he’s very fond of exercise.”

“At night! In the rain!”
cried the London messenger who carried the warrant. “Besides, the gateward said ‘e’d come ‘ome.”

“The gateward,” said Charles, “is getting old and is mistaken.”

‘“Ere’s a diddling pack o’ lies!” shouted the London messenger. “Get on wi’ it, lads, and search the place!”

“You’re heartily welcome to,” said Charles, neatly checkmating Mr. Brown. “Aren’t they, my ladies?”

Ann and Lady Mary both inclined their heads and went on embroidering. The posse tramped throughout every nook and cranny of Dilston Hall. They hunted through the attics and the cellars, they peered under beds and tapped on paneled walls, they clambered up fireplaces looking for the priest’s hole tradition had always said existed at Dilston. By two in the morning they gave it up, believing that young Radcliffe must have told the truth when he said the Earl was out.

Charles had the posse provided with beer and they settled down to wait. But by daylight they lost confidence. It became clear to the dullest of the Newcastle bailiffs that the Earl had somehow been warned and escaped. By six o’clock they mounted their horses, and straggled back towards Newcastle, though they left a bailiff at Dilston as spy. Fortunately he was a thick-witted yokel, whose one idea was to sit by the front door and apprehend the Earl when he rode up. Charles found the man no hindrance at all to the carrying out of certain plans. The first of these concerned Nan Wilson, who was eating breakfast in the kitchen, under Alec’s sympathetic eye. “Nan,” said Charles, “you’re safe to leave now. The posse’s way ahead of you, and that chucklehead on the steps’ll never see you.”

She nodded and got up, wiping her mouth. “Aye, I mun haste back and feed poor Geordie.”

Charles drew her outside and behind the stables, where her Galloway pony was waiting. “We needn’t tell you again our heartfelt gratitude, and I insist that you take this basket of provisions for Geordie, since you won’t take money.”

She bit her lips, but she let him strap the hamper to her saddle.

“Tell me,” said Charles in a now voice, putting his hand on the pommel, “how is my little girl? My Jenny?”

“D’ye think of her?” asked Nan in astonishment.

“I do. And I’ve often written Meg asking about the child, but she doesn’t answer.”

Nan sighed. “Aye, Meg ha’ a strange darkling heart, an’ she wants ye to forget her an’ the bairn.”

“I’ve tried right enough,” said Charles grimly, “and succeeded most the time; but you’ll admit the circumstances are peculiar, though ‘tis never Meg I think of.”

“Jenny’s weel,” said Nan after a moment. “I’ve not seen her in a year, but Faither writes now an’ agyen. She’s a canny towheaded mite, bonny an’ blithe as a lark. A glint o’ sunshine i’ that dark old peel tower. They’re all fond o’ her.”

“I’m glad,” said Charles. “I’ve been planning to ride up there, force them to let me see her -- but now . . .” He came back with a jolt to the change in all their circumstances, and the thought that James was hidden in the tunnel. “Farewell, Nan, God’s blessing on you for what you’ve done -- you’re not too Protestant to mind a Catholic’s blessing?”

“I’m not,” she said, touched his hand quickly, and kicking the Galloway started down the far side of the hill, out of sight of the house.

Charles cautiously skirted the Hall, ascertained that the bailiff was still squatting on the steps, then went in search of old Busby. The steward alone of anyone at Dilston guessed where his master might be hiding and he whispered to Charles, “How did ye get that dungeon wall open, sir?”

“His lordship had already opened it in readiness,” Charles answered. Though it was not the wall which led to the underground tunnel. It was a pavingstone in the blackest corner of the dungeon floor. It lifted when a chisel was wedged under it a certain way.

“Would there be enough air for him?” asked Busby anxiously. “If the tunnel goes all the way to the Tyne?”

“There’ll be enough,” said Charles. The tunnel did not run to the Tyne, it debouched two hundred yards below in a hidden cave beside the Devil Water. “Busby, I need two farmers’ smocks and hats, and one of the farm carts filled with sacks of wheat. Put a stout nag to the cart, too.”

The steward nodded and hurried off. In an hour Charles drove the farm cart down the road to the Devil Water Bridge, as though he were going to the mill. He wore big boots, a faded blue smock, and a broad hat. He had greased his hair and pulled it forward around his face where it hung lankly and almost hid the scar. He looked about carefully, before he stopped the horse by the bridge. There was nobody in sight. He jumped down and clambered through nettles and brambles until he found the approximate spot by the burn James had told him of. Then he called cautiously, “James! All clear.”

The long ferns parted in a place Charles had not expected them to, and James stuck his head out. “ ‘Tis snug in here,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve made good use of my time. Done much thinking. Naught went wrong?”

“No. And they’ve gone. Here’s your farmer’s gear.”

James was soon dressed like Charles except that, since the Earl always wore a periwig, his head was shaven and had to be covered with a kerchief under the hat. “I think you’ll do,” said Charles eying his brother critically. “Slump down in the sacks behind. I’ll drive.”

So the two farmers started off for Corbridge, as though they were carrying wheat from Dilston mill. They passed through the little town without the slightest difficulty. Charles answered one or two friendly hails from other farmers with a muffled “Good day to ye.” James apparently snored on the sacks in a drunken stupor. They turned left out of Corbridge, and lumbered along to Beaufront, the Errington castle. Charles drew up in the farmyard. “Stay where you are,” he whispered to James, while to a curious stable boy who came up to greet them he said in a passable Northumbrian accent, “M’brother’s a bit the wor-rse for a stop we made at the Angel. Leave him be, like a good lad, to sleep it off, and fetch the Chief fur me. Here’s a load he or-rdered.”

The boy nodded and disappeared into the castle kitchen. In a while the old Chief stalked out of his house, shaggy brows beetling. “What’s the meaning o’ this, man!” he shouted at Charles. “We didna order-r corn! There’s some mistake.”

“Will ye look at the sacks, master?” said Charles. “Ye’ll see they’re meant fur ye, reet enough.”

The old man frowned but he went close to the cart, whereupon James pushed up his hat and showed his face for an instant.

The Chief jerked back. “Sainted Peter!” he muttered. He looked from the huddled figure in the cart to Charles. His gnarled hands trembled. “So ‘tis come to this at last, has it,” he said beneath his breath. He glanced over his shoulder at the hovering stable boy, then shouted at James, “Get up, ye drunken rogue! Get up and come i’ the house wi’ your mate. I’ll not stand here i’ the hot sun arguing wi’ ye.”

James arose and staggered off the cart. The two brothers followed the Chief into his stark old Hall, where Tom Errington was casting accounts at a desk by the window. He gaped at the farmers, and said with disapproval, “Since when do you bring the likes of them into your Hall, sir, send them to the kitchen.”

The old man ignored his nephew, and turned to James. “My lord,” he said in a sad dragging voice, “are they after ye? Does this mean what I fear it does?”

James threw off his hat and kerchief, and young Errington jumped to his feet. “It means,” said the Earl, “that I am going out for King James.”

The old man’s face crumpled, he drew a difficult breath. “I didn’t think ye would, my boy,” he said. “And I didn’t think ye should. Look!” He pointed to the window. “D’ye see Dilston over there across the Tyne? D’ye see your fair bonny home? D’ye know what ye risk by going out with the Rising?”

“I know,” said James. They all stared at him, at the small figure in the farmer’s dirty smock and the shaven pate above it. A figure of fun it might have been, but it was not. James’s strength and dignity filled the hall, and the old man bowed his head. “So be it. If ye go we must be with ye. What’s to be done?”

“I will tell you,” said James. “I have made careful plans, and the first ones must be carried out from here since Dilston is under surveillance.”

SIX

During the next frantic days Charles marveled often at the speed and decision with which James went into action. While they were sheltered by the old Chief at Beaufront, James set up an organization of secret messengers who rallied all the Jacobite families in Northumberland. For these messengers James selected the most trustworthy among his own servants and tenants. He consigned the list to Charles an hour after the brothers reached Beaufront, since James had made all his plans during that night of hiding at the mouth of the tunnel.

“Is this
all?”
asked Charles dismayed, when James gave him the list. “Why, you could call out hundreds more.”

“But I will not,” said James quietly. “These men I’ve chosen because I know them to be Catholics or personally dedicated to King James. And they are young, without families who might suffer. I’ll have none of my people jeopardized because of personal loyalty to me alone.”

“Ah, ye’re a good lad, m’lord!” cried the Chief tremulously. “I wish I could go out wi’ ye, but I canna ride hard any more. Tom, you’re going!” It was a command, not a question, but his nephew had already decided.

“Aye,” he said in his precise way. “If Derwentwater goes, I will.” He sat down at the desk and picked up the pen. “At Capheaton,” he said thoughtfully, “I doubt Sir William’ll come out, but his brothers should. And we can count on Shaftoes, Claverings, Stockoes, my Lord Widdrington, of course ...”

“Not ‘of course,’ “ said James with a grim smile. “But I shall write him a letter which’ll bring him, if he’s not decided yet.” James glanced at the paper, where Errington was neatly putting down names as they occurred to him. “You’ve not forgotten Tom Forster, who’s to be our general, I believe?”

“No,” said Errington. “But he’s on the run. There was a warrant for him, too. Fenwick of Bywell knows where he is.”

“Find Forster,” said James, “and bring him to me!”

“At Dilston?”

“Not at Dilston Hall, that’s too risky. I know a place where we can all meet and our enemies’ll never think to look.

At dawn on Thursday morning the sixth of October, Charles and thirty-three of the Earl’s men waited impatiently on the lawn in front of Dilston Hall while James made his final farewell to Ann, who was sobbing on the doorstep. “Pray for us, darling, and be brave,” James said, kissing his wife, then snatching up little John for another hug.

“I’ll pray,” she whispered, “and each night a lamp’ll burn in the tower to guide you home again. Oh, my dear love, the Rising can’t fail, can it? Not when our cause is just!”

“We must trust in God, Ann.”

“Aye, trust in God,” said Mr. Brown from the doorway, where he had given James his benediction.

“Where’s your ring?” cried Ann, her distraught eyes suddenly noticing an empty space on her husband’s middle finger. He always wore the Stuart diamond ring which King Charles had given to little Moll Davis, his grandmother. James perfectly hid his discomfiture. The ring had unaccountably fallen from his finger while he dressed an hour ago. James had searched as long as he dared yet he could not find it. “I thought it might encumber me,” he answered. “Ann, you know what to do with the Radcliffe papers in case there should be ill news.”

“Yes, yes,” she said crossing herself. “Take them to Capheaton where the Swinburnes’ll hide them. But there won’t be ill news, why even if -- if the Rising should fail they’d dare not touch
you.”

“My lord!” Charles called out urgently, reining in his prancing horse. “ ‘Tis almost sunup.”

James nodded, kissed Ann again, and rapidly mounted his gray stallion, Monarch. James dug in his spurs, but the great horse refused to budge, he stiffened his forelegs and lay back his ears. James felt the gasp of superstitious fear Ann gave, because its counterpart was in his own throat.

“Damme,” cried Charles giving the stallion a whack on the rump. “This beast’s grown lazy at pasture. Move along, you scamp!”

Monarch snorted, then bounded forward resentfully. James had so much ado controlling him that he did not see Ann, the child, and the priest waving from the doorstep, nor Lady Mary’s handkerchief fluttering in a window. By the time the stallion was trotting quietly at the head of the cavalcade, Dilston was only a fair white blur among the trees.

James did not look back again. While they followed a track south along the burn he constrained himself to think only of the matter at hand. Though some of his men were riding coach horses, on the whole the company was well mounted. There had been a slight difficulty in arranging for the return of the best horses, but the neighbor in whose keeping they were, had overcome his Whiggish scruples when Busby offered him a hundred pounds “as a gift.” The men were well armed too, each with a pistol, or musket, and they wore stout leather doublets to protect their vitals. Charles had done well, James thought gratefully, glancing at his brother, who rode a fleet raw-boned gelding. James had issued directions from his hiding places, either in the Queen’s Cave up Dipton Burn, or in a ruinous shepherd’s cot on the edge of the moor. Here Charles brought for inspection the men James had picked, then went back to Dilston and made necessary arrangements there. One of these was to get rid of the Newcastle bailiff, and of another bailiff who presently arrived.

The two bailiffs were now snugly ensconced in the lightest and airiest of Dilston’s dungeons, with Busby as warder. And a mercy it is, James thought, that I didn’t destroy the old tower when I rebuilt. A further mercy had been the loyalty of all his people. Word had got around, of course, that the Earl was hiding somewhere on his estates, and there had been many who knew the exact spots yet not a whisper had reached the authorities at Hexham or Newcastle.