Mary of Carisbrooke (25 page)

Jane Whorwood had the same infectious kind of enthusiasm as Harry Firebrace, so that somehow her scheme did not sound so hare-brained now.

“We had not heard that. How wonderful it would be if the Prince were to come sailing across the North Sea and rescue his father!” exclaimed Mary. “I will try to get you into the King’s room to-night.”

“In those clothes!” objected the royal laundress.

“It could only be
done
in those clothes,” decided Mary. “That is what gave me the thought. You remember, Aunt Druscilla, the Governor gave orders for that piece of the old wall to be patched up. The piece where the plaster fell when the new bookshelf was fitted. And the plasterer is coming out from Newport to do it while his Majesty is at supper.”

“Well?”

“Mistress Whorwood can
be
the plasterer. I will take her in and hide her in the garde-robe. I am afraid, Mistress Whorwood, you will have to wait there while the real plasterer does his work.”

It seemed that nothing ever deterred Jane Whorwood from her objectives. “What a surprise it will be for Charles!” she exclaimed delightedly. “He was furious because Hammond would not let me in yesterday. But how shall I get out?”

“I will wait for you at the foot of the stairs. Major Rolph usually sits there in the doorway of his room, but now he is away the guards are getting lax.”

It was always with difficulty that she could bring herself to mention the man’s name.

After the King had supped and locked himself into his bedroom as usual, Mary waited a long time. Much longer even than it should take for so concise a woman as Jane Whorwood to convince the King of his danger and to give him a clear idea of the proposed plot. So long that the shortening summer evening had grown dark and Mary was beginning to worry lest the friendly sentries at the gatehouse would be changed before she came. But at last there were cautious footsteps on the stairs and the King’s visitor joined her with just that nice margin of safety which suggested that the whole business would indeed have been better left in her hands, She had the air of one whose visit has been successful, and seemed as humorous and unruffled as before. “They will think you are letting out a lover!” she said, with her deep gurgling laugh as Mary flung a cloak about her. “Do you not mind?”

“I have been called upon to do so many unlikely things since the King came here that I think I have come past minding,” said Mary, half-rueful and half-laughing too.

Before leaving the shadow of the building Jane bent and kissed her. “You are very sweet, as Richard Osborne and Harry both said you were,” she whispered. “Sweet enough for all the happiness which I am sure is coming to you.”

Mary drew back abashed. “Oh, so they have been talking about me!”

“People do tell me things, you know. Besides, I was to give you this.”

Mary felt a small packet pushed into her hands. “From Harry?” she asked involuntarily.

“No, from Richard. All Harry asked me to tell you was that his wife is almost cured of her distressing malady. It may well have been out of generosity to his friend that he sent you the message.”

“Do you suppose that he will go back to her?”

“Being Harry, he will probably do what is right. But at the moment he is concerned only with the King’s cause.”

As they crossed the starlit courtyard Jane thanked Mary cordially for helping her to spend those hours with the King, but before they reached the gatehouse she added with a gentleness which sat oddly on her capable buoyancy, “Life must have grown very complex for you, you poor child. But there are two things you will do well to consider. That when a man who has acquired some reputation for philandering does not so much as look at any other woman for weeks, beckon she never so sweetly, he is probably very deeply in love. And that even though it may not bring the same ecstasy, it is always less painful to be deeply loved than to be extravagantly loving.”

Mary was still remembering the words next morning, rather resentfully. What right had an exuberant, middle-aged woman who went to such lengths to spend three hours in a married man’s bedroom to offer her good advice?

“Aunt Druscilla,” she said, as they were making the King’s bed.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you suppose that the King and Jane Whorwood—”

“No, I do not,” answered her aunt crisply. “Not on her side, anyway. Though I admit that many people might, seeing all she has done for him.”

“She must feel very flattered that his Majesty is so anxious for her company.”

“Probably he is starved for the society of women from his own world. He may even, in his loneliness, have conceived a romantic attachment for her. She is a very attractive woman.” Mistress Wheeler jerked the bed-hangings to just the right day-time position, which she considered that neither her niece nor that scatter-brained Libby ever achieved. “Besides, I understand she has a lover in Oxford.”

All of which left Mary feeling that life was more complex than ever. Her hand went to her throat to finger the locket which Richard Osborne had sent her. The feel of it, warm against her flesh, was strangely comforting. It was solid gold and heart-shaped and plainly uncomplicated as to its meaning.

As Mistress Wheeler had said at the time, it was difficult for an overner to know the precise difficulties or to assess the chances of a scheme prepared for the island. But although nothing came of Jane Whorwood’s bold plan for attacking the castle, conditions within it seemed to improve from the time of her visit.

Druscilla herself began to think of something besides her bereavement. Missing Agnes Trattle as she sometimes did, she had found comfort in talking to another congenial woman, and hearing news of mutual friends had revived her interest in people and places she had known on the mainland. “If the Governor can spare me, I might accept Mistress Whorwood’s invitation to stay awhile in Oxfordshire,” she remarked one day. And Mary, thinking how good it would be for her, had promised to do her best to perform her aunt’s duties during the time she would be away. Not for worlds would she herself have risked leaving the Wight lest Richard Osborne might not know where to find her.

Jane’s unexpected visit had done wonders for the King too. Apart from the pleasure he took in seeing her and talking over old times, she had left him with fresh hopes and interests. He began one of his lengthy correspondences with the Master of the Grammar School about the details for his escape; but the clear picture of the mounting differences between Parliament and Army which Jane had drawn for him had started in his mind the idea of playing one off against the other to his own advantage. This had been his policy before when Scots and English had fallen out among themselves, but it had ended disastrously. The Scots had handed him over to the English and so, by way of Holtham House and Hampton Court, he had come to this captivity in Carisbrooke.

Now, learning that the Parliamentarians were finding it difficult to hold their own against the dictates of an all-powerful Army, he wrote to Westminster, suggesting the possibility of further negotiations for agreement with himself. With Hammond’s willing concurrence he sent the letter openly, and felt that once again he had something to hope for. September had brought a belated summer and in the golden weather he went out daily to play bowls. He resumed his walks round the battlements with Rogue at his heels, and quoted still more frequently those Latin words
Dum spiro
,
spero
which had puzzled Mary until Master Herbert told her they meant “While there is life there is hope.”

Then came the glad day when three Commissioners arrived to discuss plans for drawing up a treaty. It was a glad day for all men of moderate thought because it brought the first gleam of hope that Charles might be allowed a controlled monarchy and that internal peace might be restored to their long-tortured country.

“And who do you suppose has come with them?” cried Mary, rushing into her aunt’s room. “Master Titus! And they have allowed him to bring Babington, the King’s barber. They say they will come up here to see us as soon as they can find a free half-hour.”

“It will be good to talk to someone from the outside world again,” declared Mistress Wheeler. “Never did I think I should be penned up in a country castle for the best part of a year!”

“Titus says that if a reasonable basis for a Treaty can be arranged it will take place over here. There will be a kind of armistice and all the King’s friends will come flocking back. Even Harry Firebrace, perhaps, and Richard Osborne.”

“Firebrace, very likely; but surely not Osborne, child. Not now with that fiend Rolph back here and having more say in things than ever!”

It was a happy if brief reunion with Titus. Babington was allowed to stay and—most important of all—the preliminary talks went well. Charles Stuart began to look a different man. With hair and beard neatly trimmed, and his old lightness of step, he set about his preparations. Now that new clothes were being made for him Mistress Wheeler was officially reinstated as Laundress and Mistress of his wardrobe, and one of the first things he did was to ask her to have a new pair of boots made for him because he might soon be riding again. It had been definitely decided that the Treaty would be made in Newport and the Mayor and Corporation were putting their Town Hall at the disposal of both parties, which meant that Charles would be free to leave the castle and stay in the town. William Hopkins immediately offered him the use of the school house, an arrangement which his Majesty accepted with alacrity. Although it would be very small to accommodate him and his immediate suite, the King found interesting employment in discussing the necessary alterations.

After ten months of captivity these brighter prospects seemed to him like an answer to his constant prayers. He would soon be free to ride or walk about the island—free as he had been at Hampton Court—save that now he must give his parole not to try to escape. “This time next week, by the Grace of God, you will no longer be my gaoler,” he told Hammond, unaware perhaps of how fully the sorely tried Governor’s relief matched his own.

Being by nature no idler, Charles was glad to be busy again. Apart from his devotions and his exercises, much of each day was now taken up in preparing speeches which he would make during the Treaty discussions, and much in quiet thought. Instead of dwelling upon plans for escape his mind was determining just how far he would allow his enemies to push him, and what terms he could bring himself to accept. But the pleasantest task of all was making a list of the people who had served him so well in the past and who were to be allowed, during the negotiations, to serve him again. Colonel Legge and Dowcett were still under restraint, and with Major Rolph now in charge of all troops stationed on the Wight it would be madness to include Osborne’s name. But although his Majesty was under the galling necessity of submitting his list for the approval of Parliament, he forgot no one. Among the first names which he wrote were those of his old friend Ashburnham, of Firebrace and Cresset, of Titus and Murray—and, of course, of Mistress Wheeler “with whatever maids she chooses to bring.”

The extra work of packing up the King’s clothes and their own was a blessing to both Druscilla and Mary as it took their minds off the loneliness of those off-duty hours which Silas Floyd used to spend with them. At the Governor’s request they went on ahead into Newport to arrange the King’s possessions; regretting only that by so doing they missed the moving moment when the best horse in the stables was brought round and his Majesty rode out from the castle again for the first time since his visit to Sir John Oglander.

The excitement in Newport and the coming and going between there and Cowes was reminiscent of those November days when he had first arrived, but this time all was on a far larger scale. Every day shiploads of friends and officials came over until it seemed that half the population of London must be crowded on to an island only twenty-four miles long. Titled families, accustomed to living in large mansions, hired ordinary small houses in Newport streets. Solemn-looking, soberly-garbed Commissioners booked all the bedrooms at the “Bull.” Cavaliers in their worn finery made the “George,” opposite the Town Hall, their headquarters. Trattle at the “Rose and Crown” could have let even his attics twice over, while a whole army of clerks and servants found themselves lodgings wherever they could. Shopkeepers and householders made more money in a week than they usually saw in a year, the grammar-school boys enjoyed an enforced holiday, and market days were like Bedlam let loose with Puritans in steeple hats, fine ladies in ruffs, soldiers, drovers, and beasts all blocking the narrow streets. The great farm manors in outlying villages sent in cartloads of produce to feed them all, the small river harbour was packed with barges, and even merchants like Newland and brewers like Trattle found their resources so strained that they had to be augmented from the mainland.

The Earl and Countess of Southampton, who had given sanctuary to the King on his flight from Hampton Court, hired a house in Lugley Street, hard by the school, and Mistress Whorwood joined them there, so that the King was able to enjoy their company. And because Master Hopkins’s house was so over-crowded they offered to take in the King’s Laundress and her assistant, an offer which pleased and flattered Mistress Wheeler immensely.

Once the Treaty negotiations had begun, the King would saunter forth each morning along St. James’s Street, turning left past church and Square along the High Street to the Town Hall, and the loyal visitors at the “George” opposite would wave their hats and handkerchiefs and break into rousing cheers. He looked just as dignified and immaculate as they remembered him, though a little aged perhaps. He looked, in fact, just as everybody expected their King to look. But to Mary, who had knelt listening to him by the fire during some of his darkest hours, the transformation seemed little short of miraculous. Even with awed recollections of his first coming, it was difficult to believe that this composed figure, dressed with such quiet distinction and followed respectfully by a posse of courtiers could be the same unkempt and ageing man whom she had tried to comfort. All who had been in close attendance upon him must have felt the same, she supposed.

“That the likes o’ I should ’a had the uppishness to yoppul away to a real King like ’ee!” exclaimed old Brett, finding himself standing beside her in the street as the impressive little procession went by.

“I am glad it was given to both of us to help him a little,” said Mary, with tears suddenly stinging her eyes. “His Majesty is gone out of our reach in a manner of speaking, but please God he may stay that way! May he never be so cast down again!”

During those dreary days when he had been in and out carrying fuel Brett had come to know his sovereign better than many in more exalted stations. “Zo a wull if Treaty be proper trigged up. But that calls for givin’ ground on both zides, I reckon. An’ that be a game King b’aint more’n middlin’ at,” he muttered wisely.

King and courtiers and waiting Commissioners passed into a Town Hall which looked far too small to hold them all. And, as the watching crowds dispersed and the daily business of the place went on again, Mary shivered. It might have been because a cloud had passed across the October sun, or because a humble old servant’s remarks had reminded her of words she had recently overheard on the lips of more important people in the King’s over-crowded ante-room, where privacy was at a premium. “Being sick of this state of affairs and secretly afraid of the Army, members are in the mood to meet his Majesty
now
. But more concessions will have to be made by both parties,” Titus had said anxiously.

“His Majesty will never make concessions where his religious principles are involved,” the Earl of Southampton had answered.

Apart from the grander manner of the phrasing the words had meant much what Brett was meaning now, but although they had filled her with a sense of foreboding she had not stopped to listen to any more at the time because she had heard Harry Firebrace’s voice, crisp and cheerful, on the stairs. Filled with sudden panic, she had caught up her cloak and run out with the others who were going to watch the daily spectacle.

But what wisdom decreed, her heart denied, and it was impossible to avoid meeting him for long. He was the born aide-de-camp, and had been one of the first people the King had sent for. And next day they came upon each other without warning in one of Mistress Hopkins’s rooms.

His delight at seeing her again was boundless, sincere, and unembarrassed. He would always like being with her, and yet she felt sure his heart had not been rent as hers had been. Otherwise how could he have come straight to her and taken her hands as though she were the most precious being on earth—and then so rightly let them go? “He never loved me as I loved him,” she thought. “He only found that he
could
have loved me had he been free. There will always be a small scar on his heart, perhaps, made by the pity of it. When he is alone sometimes of a summer’s evening he will know the sadness of regretting. But his is the spontaneous kind of nature which can love and give happiness to so many.”

He spoke of Richard Osborne’s courage in pressing his case, of Dowcett’s joy at reunion with his wife, of the anxious time he and Titus had had while waiting on the mainland for the King, of everything but their last meeting when she had unwittingly revealed her love. And all the time he kept thinking, “Dear God, how sweet she is, and how desirable! If I took her to live with me in sin I could make her wildly happy for a week and then—who knows?”

But even in the first half-hour of their reunion he was still caught up in pressing duties for his royal master. And in spite of everything he could still set her laughing about it with something of the old, crazy gaiety.

“What in Heaven’s name, Harry, are you doing with that business-like account book and that basket of tired-looking mushrooms?” she asked, noticing for the first time that he had been carrying them.

“His Majesty has asked me to take over Dowcett’s work as Clerk of the Kitchen.”

“As well as being Groom of the Bedchamber?”

“Only until Sir William Boreham arrives, who understands the ordering of food for the King’s table.”

“Which obviously you do not!” laughed Mary.

“I told his Majesty so and begged to be excused. I even found a man who had just arrived here who had been Comptroller in one of the palaces, and who was yearning for the appointment. Not knowing one end of a sheep’s carcass from the other myself, I tried to push him forward, but the King would not hear of it.”

“Yet why? For seriously, Harry, it must be most difficult for you. From hearing my aunt ordering for the Governor’s table, and from being with my father when he was in charge of the garrison stores, I know how much experience it needs. One has to know, for instance, how long fruit and vegetables will keep and what is in season—”

“And not order asparagus in October, as I have just startled one of your Newport tradesmen by doing!” Suddenly Firebrace’s light-hearted gaiety deserted him, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening. “The King, as you know, is an abstemious eater, and it has occurred to me that at the moment he may care less about my incompetence than the fact that he can trust me. Osborne and Dowcett both told me that they believe Rolph would have shot him; and I have wondered, Mary, whether his Majesty may be afraid that such enemies might now resort to poison.”