Georgette Heyer (21 page)

  'Mr Whitgreave, if they search the house, you must give me up to them!' Huddleston called after him.

  Whitgreave returned no answer. He went down the stairs, and pausing only for a moment to assure himself that his dress was as neatly ordered as usual, walked out of the front door, and strolled down the path to the gate.

  A few minutes later, a small troop of horsemen came trotting up the road from the direction of the village, and halted. Mr Whitgreave, looking prim and sedate, was nipping off the withered heads of a few late roses. He paused in this occupation when he saw the soldiers dismounting outside his gate, and bent a mildly enquiring gaze upon them.

  The leader of the troop shouted to him: 'You, there! Is your name Whitgreave?'

  'Why, yes,' said Mr Whitgreave. 'Do you seek me, friend?' He opened the gate as he spoke, and stood holding it as though inviting the Captain to step inside.

  'Friend, do you say? Ha, that won't serve!' said the Captain. 'You're a damned Papist, and one that was at Worcester fight!'

  Mr Whitgreave found himself hemmed in by troopers, two of whom laid ungentle hands upon him, thrusting him forward to confront their Captain. He did not resist; he merely looked a little bewil dered, and said in his quiet way: 'Gently, gently, if you please, my good fellows! You are strangely mistaken, sir. I was not at Worcester fight. Indeed, I have not been away from home these several months, as my neighbours will testify.'

  'You lie!' barked the Captain. 'You're a notable Royalist, and so I know you to be!'

  'But I was not at Worcester fight,' said Whitgreave with unruffled placidity.

  'It will be best for you to confess the truth, Master Papist,' said the Captain menacingly. 'Now then! Out with it!'

  Mr Whitgreave glanced down at the barrel of the long pistol that was being pressed against his chest. He shook his head. 'I think you confuse me with some other man,' he said. 'If I had wished to do so, I could not have been present at Worcester fight, since I was not then risen from my sickbed.'

  A murmur arose from the knot of villagers who had followed the troop along the road. 'Ay, that's the truth,' said a man in a leather doublet. 'Powerful ill, you did be, master.'

  'Us thought you was like to die,' agreed an aged man in a smock.

  The Captain of the troop glanced round him with just enough indecision in his face to convince Whit greave that his accusations had been nothing more than shots at a venture. He said: 'If you doubt me, I will have you carry me before a proper tribunal, if you please, where I will answer faithfully whatever ques tions may be put to me.'

  The Captain scowled at him, but instead of pursuing the subject, said: 'If you weren't at Worcester, I'll be sworn you're concealing fugitives under your roof – maybe the traitor Charles Stewart himself.'

  Whitgreave, who, out of the tail of his eye, had seen the sergeant and two men go into the garden, replied patiently: 'No, but I have given such poor alms to a few wretched wounded men that begged of me, as lay in my power.'

  'Ha, assisting traitors to the Commonwealth!' exclaimed the Captain.

  'Were they so? I did not know it. I but did what I would do for any fellow Christian in distress.'

  'Ay, you've a mighty smooth tongue in your head,' growled the Captain. 'If I find not a Malignant hiding in the house, trust me never!'

  'Ho, ho, come forth, and flee from the land of the north, saith the Lord!' suddenly remarked one of the troopers. 'For I have spread you abroad as the four winds of heaven, saith the Lord.'

  'Peace, fool!' snapped the Captain, not unreasonably annoyed by this interruption.

  'The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor,' groaned the trooper. 'It is written: woe unto him that buildeth his house by unrighteousness!'

  'It is also written: I will purge out from among you the rebels, and them that transgress against me!' retorted the Captain, with some ferocity.

  Mr Whitgreave stood with a graven face; a quota tion was in the trooper's eye, but the return of the sergeant from the garden created a diversion. He whis pered in the officer's ear. The only words Whitgreave caught were 'all open: nothing secured', but these were enough to satisfy him. The rebel Captain glared at him, blustered for a few moments, but finally signed to the soldiers to let him go. The troop remounted, and rode off. Mr Whitgreave went back into his garden, where he continued to tend his roses until he was satisfied that none of the soldiers had returned to spy on him. After that he went into the house, and up to the parlour chamber.

  The King emerged from the secret place, remarking as he did so: 'Oddsfish, I am glad I am not a priest! You should provide that dungeon with cushions, Mr Whitgreave. Am I safe?'

  'By God's grace, and Mr Whitgreave's exceeding great courage, you are, sire!' said Huddleston.

  The King noticed his host's dishevelled appearance. 'They handled you roughly, did they?'

  'They did me no hurt, sir. Nor do I think they had any notion of your Majesty's being in these parts. They would not so easily have been satisfied had they suspected me of more than of being at Worcester fight.'

  The troop did not return, but at dusk John Penderel arrived from Bentley Hall, and was conducted at once to the King's presence. He was looking more than usually serious, but the news he brought was good. He told the King that, all being arranged for his journey to Bristol, Colonel Lane would bring a horse for him that evening, to convey him to Bentley. The Pit Leasow was named as the meeting-place, and the hour appointed was midnight.

  'You have done very well, John,' Huddleston said approvingly.

  The King's slumbrous eyes were still fixed on John's face. 'What else?' he asked.

  John shook his head with a wry smile. 'Ay, your honour's mighty sprag to see through the chinks in a man. I did come by some tidings which was discom fortable, but maybe there's naught to worry us, and the whole's a parcel of lies.'

  'Come, man, come! Be brief with me!' the King said, authority creeping into his voice.

  'I happened on a neighbour, which was going towards Wolverhampton,' said John. 'Seemingly, the rebels caught a Cornet which was with your honour when you come to White-Ladies, and so constrained him that he told of your Majesty's going there.'

The King's mouth took on an ugly twist. 'Well?'

  'They do say that he was put to some torture,' said John. 'Anyways, if the tale's true, there was a party of rebels rode up to White-Ladies this afternoon, and called for Mr George Giffard, which is a gentleman known to your honour. And he being come out to them, they put a pistol to his breast, and bid him confess where your honour was hid, or he should die. But Mr Giffard very steadfastly denied knowing any more than that a company of Cavaliers came to the house on Wednesday night, and ate up all the provisions, but he knew not who they were. Whereat they told him he should surely die. And when he begged leave to say a few prayers, they told him if he would not confess where your honour was hid he should say no prayers. Then, Mrs Andrews coming out to them, they used her in a like fashion, but could not affright her, she being a very redoutable woman, as your honour knows, and berated them in such sort that they were put in a fury, and set about ransacking the house, pulling down the wainscot, and I know not what beside. But not finding your honour, and Mr Giffard and Mrs Andrews standing to it they knew naught of you, they presently fell into a rage with the Cornet that betrayed your honour, and beat him with their belts, thinking he had but told them lies.'

  'He came by less than his deserts!' said Whitgreave. He glanced at the King. 'If they are persuaded the unhappy man lied, sir, you must still be safe. Yet I own the pursuit draws too near the scent for my liking. I never thought to say that I would you were out of my house, but I think it now too perilous a hiding-place for you, and must thank God Colonel Lane comes to-night to fetch you away.'

  'Poor man!' said the King. 'He should be warned that it is an ill business to have aught to do with me. I am sorry, John, to have been the cause of such trouble at White-Ladies. You will tell Mr Giffard and Dame Andrews that I thank them for their loyalty. Indeed, I shall never forget it.'

  'Master,' said John, reddening, but looking him squarely in the face, 'when I tell them how your honour took thought of them, and you so beset as you are, and they but poor folk, they will think themselves right well rewarded, and so I promise you!'

The King supped in his chamber, waited on as usual by his hosts. He did not seem to be much disquieted by the tidings John had brought, but to them the hours dragged past, and every sound heard in the road caused them to break off whatever they were saying to listen with straining ears for the whistle of warning it had been preconcerted that John should give.

  After he had supped, the King, who seemed restless, suddenly asked Huddleston to show him the chapel, adding with a slight smile: 'You know you may trust me.'

  Whitgreave was a little taken aback, but Huddleston was delighted, and, as soon as he had assured himself that his pupils were all in bed and asleep, conducted the King upstairs to a set of rooms on the top floor of the house. One of these, approached through delicately carved oak double-doors, was furnished as a chapel. Huddleston showed the King the secret place into which candlesticks, altar-cloth, and crucifix could all be swept away in case of a surprise visit from Puritan priest-catchers. Charles inspected everything, remarking seriously at length: 'It is a very decent place. Yet I hope that if it shall please God ever to restore me to my Kingdom you will not need such privacies. I had an altar, and crucifix, and candlesticks of mine own – till my Lord Holland brake them.' He added with one of his sardonic smiles: 'Which, however, he has now paid for.'

  At midnight, Whitgreave went with John to meet Colonel Lane at the Pit Leasow. The Colonel came punctually, leading a spare horse, and upon Whit greave's stepping out from the shadow of the trees, he dismounted, saying: 'Mr Whitgreave? I trust his Majesty is safe, and in train to set forth immediately?'

  He had rather a loud voice; it held a note of disap proval, and was more the voice of one accustomed to shouting orders to a regiment of soldiers than of a conspirator. He was fond of describing himself as a plain man, which meant that he disliked new ideas. He suffered from a profound mistrust of Papists, as Whitgreave was perfectly well aware; and had indeed been quite disgusted with Wilmot for having stayed a moment longer in a Papist household than had been strictly necessary.

  He spoke curtly to John, bidding him mind the horses, and followed Whitgreave across the fields to the stile that led into the orchard behind the house. He was a fleshy man, and trod heavily, his spurs jingling as he went. He wore a sword at his side, and, when Whitgreave begged him to go more softly, said that he should know how to account for any prying rebel knave. He declined accompanying Whitgreave into the house, on the score of its being dangerous to risk being seen there; but Whitgreave, smiling to himself in the darkness, thought that his real reason was a disinclination to enter a Papist's dwelling.

  Whitgreave left him tapping his riding-whip impa tiently on the top-bar of the stile, and himself went on to apprise the King of his arrival.

  Charles had pushed his feet into his slashed shoes again, and had put on the old green jump-coat. Father Huddleston was with him, and looked round anxiously as Whitgreave entered the room.

  'All is well, sire,' Whitgreave said. 'Colonel Lane is here, and awaits your Majesty at the orchard-stile.'

  'Does he?' said Charles, standing still while Huddleston buttoned up his coat. 'What ails him that he does not come in to me?'

  'The Colonel thought it might be wiser not to risk being seen, sir,' replied Whitgreave tactfully.

  'A careful man!'

  Huddleston said with a smile: 'I fear the good Colonel suspects me of being a priest, sir. He is mightily prejudiced against our religion.'

  The King laughed, and moved towards the table. He picked up from it a paper, on which the ink was barely dry, and held it out to Whitgreave. 'Mr Whitgreave, it is in my mind that if your part in this adventure were to become known, you and Mr Huddleston here would fare very badly at the hands of my enemies. I have drawn a bill of exchange on a certain merchant of London, whom you may trust. If you should be forced to go into hiding, make your way to London, and present this paper. The good man will advance you moneys, and arrange your passages to France, or to Holland.'

  Whitgreave took the paper, bowing very deeply. 'Your Majesty's concern for our safety so much over whelms me that I know not how to thank you,' he said, in a moved voice. 'I did not look for such kindness.'

  'Mr Whitgreave, you know very well how much I am beholden to you. What kind of scurvy ingrate do you think me, that you are surprised I should do the little that lies in my power to ensure your safety? Let us have no more words, but put that bill up securely.' His sombre eyes smiled suddenly. 'If you be found with it upon you, it will certainly serve to hang you. You will then think yourself very damnably repaid for your loyalty!'