Mary of Carisbrooke (27 page)

“Listen! There is a coach and some other vehicle being brought along,” said Mary, leaning out of the window. The rain had ceased but dawn had not fully come, and only by the rumbling and creaking and the movement of feet as the troops made way could they be sure.

“They will not let either Harry or me go with him. They are afraid we should somehow get his Majesty out of their clutches,” said Jane, helping Druscilla make up a parcel of her possessions. “So as soon as the Earl is fit to be moved we are going over with them to Titchfield. Try to get in touch with us there, Druscilla.”

There was an impatient knocking on the door and Mary and her aunt had to pick up their bundles and go. Both of them stopped to embrace Jane who leant against the open doorway, all her brave hopes and splendid self-confidence broken at last. Her face looked aged and ravaged in the grey dawn light, and the extent of her caring was plain for all to see. “What will they do to him?” she moaned. “I implore you send me word how they treat him!”

Regardless of her grief, or of their reluctance to leave her, a couple of troopers hustled them down into the street. A coach stood before Master Hopkins’s door surrounded by fully armed soldiers. More soldiers kept back a muttering crowd. Early as it was, the Royalists at the “George” must have heard the arrival of the coach and hastily dressed townspeople had run out from their houses, some of the women barefooted and with cloaks thrown over their nightshifts. And as they stood shuffling and craning to see what was going to happen to their King, a continuous muttering arose from their throats, rising to a frightening, dangerous growl every time a soldier pushed them back with musket butt or pike.

Mary, told to wait by the baggage wagon with her aunt, could see Rolph giving directions and Rudy, already mounted, holding his horse. Presently he disappeared with an air of importance into the school house, and Firebrace came out carrying his master’s bible and a jewel case, which he placed carefully inside the coach. As he stepped back he turned his head as if looking for someone. Seeing Mary, he went to her, taking her hand in hurried, wordless farewell. His young face was white and drawn as she had never seen it. “His Majesty has had no breakfast,” he said. “I had it prepared for him but the swine would not let him stop to eat it. He is coming now.”

Both of them were quivering with nervous tension. Although they had no idea when they might meet again, their thoughts were not fully upon each other, and the gaze of each of them was on the open, closely guarded door.

After a moment or two Rolph reappeared in buff coat and crimson sash, with a fine plumed hat instead of a helmet on his closely cropped head. He was now Deputy Governor of the Wight, and wished all to know it, and seemed to consider it reason enough for swaggering out with his head covered before the King.

The crowd fell silent as Charles himself appeared, pale and proud, drawing his cloak about him against a sudden gust of wind. Though the guard hustled him he made them wait while Harry Firebrace knelt on the pavement to kiss his hand, then climbed without ceremony into the coach, leaning forward for a last sad look at his host and the little company of bare-headed gentlemen in the doorway, then with a gracious gesture invited Herbert, Harrington and Mildmay to join him. But Rogue, following closely at his heels, was scared by the concourse of people and the vehicles. He streaked between the wheels and ran to Mary. She picked him up and ran forward. They were all in the coach now and Rolph was already approaching as if to order the driver to move forward. The King would need all the comfort he could get at Hurst. Careless of all the eyes upon her, she outdistanced the Major to the coach and lifted up the little dog. Master Mildmay, sitting with his back to the horses, saw her coming and reached down and took Rogue from her. And at that moment she felt herself pushed roughly aside.

To her amazement the new Deputy Governor, with his hat still on his head, was about to swing himself up into the coach. Mary saw his well-polished boot on the iron step, his strong body braced to spring upwards—and apparently the King of England saw it, too. Just as Rolph was about to enter he shot out his own lightly shod foot and neatly dislodged him and, leaning across Herbert, slammed the door in the intruder’s face. “It is not come to
that
yet, sirrah!” he said in that clear, far-reaching voice of his, “Get you out.”

Rolph, taken by surprise, missed his footing and stumbled, his impudently retained headgear falling ludicrously over his eyes. And Mary, standing within arms length of him, almost hysterical with strain, suddenly laughed aloud with delight. Too late, with Rolph’s dark eyes blazing at her, she clapped a hand over her mouth. The rapidly augmented crowd of Newport citizens, though the tears still stood in their eyes, took up her laughter. The delectable little incident would be told over and over again about the hated upstart.

The coach started with a lurch, and before jumping on to his waiting horse the man who had barely failed to seduce her caught Mary’s arm in a cruel, twisting grip which made her cry out. “I shall be back, and I will have you yet, you haunting daughter of Jezebel,” he swore, his working face too close to hers for any but Rudy to hear. “And if that play-actor Osborne dares to show his face on this insubordinate island again I will let the castle hounds loose on him!”

Mary would always remember that strange journey, taken with furtive haste in the chill half-light of early morning. She and her aunt were put into a covered waggon with the baggage and a hastily packed chest of the King’s clothes. With soldiers riding before and behind it, they lumbered and jolted over rough country roads. They knew that they were making for the wilder, less inhabited western part of the island, instead of for Cowes. Every now and then, when the canvas flapped back in the wind, Mary caught glimpses of familiar country—the lovely village of Calbourne, snug under its hills, the thatched inn at Wellow famous for its smuggled wine, and Thorley Manor to which she had once ridden with her father with a message for the Leighs. But Rolph had more sense than to push on over the drawbridge into Yarmouth. Popular Captain Burley, in his heyday, had held Yarmouth Castle for the King, and most of the inhabitants were King’s men still. There might be sympathy, opposition—all the things which Major Rolph and the officers from the mainland were trying to avoid. Already, now it was light, farm-hands were stopping work in the fields to stare. So after a hurried consultation Rolph sent a sergeant into the town to charter a ship, while coach and waggon and the handful of horsemen turned southwards along a narrow lane, crossed the river Yar by the causeway which alone connected the western peninsula of Freshwater Isle with the rest of the Wight, and then hurried back again along the far side of the river to Sconce Point. And there, stretching out before them from the mainland, less than two miles away, lay Hurst Castle, grey and formidable on its spit of sand.

The King rested in his coach until a little brig was seen tacking out from Yarmouth haven, and then made his way with the rest of them down the narrow, rough chine to the deserted beach where, a little farther westward, a copse of stunted, windswept oaks grew down to the edge of the low cliffs. And while he was standing there a man came out from the shelter of the trees to kiss his hand. “God go with your Majesty!” he said simply, bowing his young, bared head.

“Why, look, it is Master Edward Worsley—in one of the Gatcombe groom’s clothes,” Mary whispered to her aunt, as they waited by the baggage. “Surely Major Rolph will arrest him!”

But Rolph was giving last-minute instructions to his men, and either did not notice or did not care; for what could one more misguided island Royalist matter when the King would soon be securely in his hands on the other side of the Solent?

“It may well be that Rolph has never seen him and does not even know it is one of the men he was trying all those weeks to catch,” whispered back Druscilla.

“And even then his mind was set only on catching Richard Osborne,” agreed Mary, realizing with relief that only they two were likely to recognize Worsley.

They saw the King speak to him and give him something which he held reverently in his hand. Then Rolph came striding towards the King, Worsley disappeared, and all eyes were on the small boat which had put off from the brig to fetch them aboard. Already eager hands were hauling her bows on to the beach. The King’s embarkation was secret and hurried, and this time he had to put up with Rolph’s company. His Majesty’s gentlemen climbed in after him, and Mary noticed that he never once looked back. “There cannot be very much that he wants to remember,” she thought, regretfully jealous for her beloved island.

She and her aunt sat apart upon some baggage. Badly jolted by such sudden uprooting, Druscilla’s methodical mind was on all the things left undone or left behind. Mary thought of the sad grave in Carisbrooke churchyard and remembered that Richard Osborne was somewhere on the mainland. She wondered if she would ever get to London and see all those wonderful places which of late she had heard so much about. It seemed strange to think that it was exactly a year ago since old Captain Burley had taken her to Brighstone Down and she had amazed Frances by saying that she did not want to visit the mainland. Now, with her father no longer here and so many people she knew on the other side, Mary began to think that it might be exciting after all. But what a strange, sad way to go there!

Chin in palm, she huddled herself against the wind, gazing across the water at the inhospitable walls and towers of Hurst. Presumably, the poor King must be as hungry as she was. Would they give him a meal directly he got there? Would they have enough food in that isolated place? Her domestic speculations were interrupted by someone calling her impatiently. The boat had returned for them and Rudy had been sent back. “The King is asking for that white dog he sets such store by,” he was shouting through cupped hands. “They seem to think the little beast may have run back to the coach. Major Rolph says it will come to you if you call.”

Mary had supposed that Rogue had gone with the King, and blamed herself for mooning there looking out to Hurst instead of making sure. While Rudy helped her aunt into the boat she ran back up the chine, whistling and calling. Breathlessly she made enquiries of the soldiers who had been left up there with the vehicles, but they were just on the point of leaving and had seen no sign of any dog. Probably he had chased off among the trees after a rabbit. She pictured the foul temper Rolph would be in if kept waiting at such a time, but she must call to Rudy to wait while she searched the little copse.

But when she emerged from the narrow chine onto the beach again the little boat had pushed off and was already halfway to the ship. Urged by a hail from her deck, the two boatmen were rowing hard and the tide was with them. Mary could see her aunt waving frantically and being held in her place lest in her agitation she should upset the boat. And then she saw Rudy standing in the stern looking back at her plight. Across the dividing water she heard him laugh suddenly and loudly as she herself had laughed in Newport at the Major’s discomfiture. And seeing him wave derisively she knew that she had been tricked.

To have told Frances that she did not want to leave the Wight was one thing, but to be left behind without home or relatives or money in a place where Edmund Rolph would soon be back as Deputy Governor was altogether another. There was not another boat on that deserted strip of beach, or in panic she would have rowed after them. As it was she stood forlornly watching the distance widen until all the rest of the party were aboard and the Yarmouth brig setting sail for the mainland.

Footsteps crunched across the shingle and she turned to find Edward Worsley beside her. “That was a scurvy trick,” he said. “Why did that Roundhead bastard do it?”

“Major Rolph’s orders,” she told him bitterly. “I laughed at him when he tried to get into the King’s coach, and he swore he would get me. He wants to make sure I shall still be here, I suppose.”

“Then you are Mary Floyd? Whom Osborne half-killed him for.”

Mary nodded assent.

“And that lady in the boat would be Mistress Wheeler?”

“She will be cruelly upset.”

“All of it is cruel,” he said, glancing down at the treasured object in his hand as though he still could not believe it was his. “Imagine, even faced with the horrors of Hurst and—and the unknown—he gave me his watch. For what little I had done, so very unsuccessfully. Would you like to see it?”

Mary smiled, glancing down at the familiar timepiece. “I have seen it so often,” she reminded him. “It was always on the table beside his bed.”

“Why, of course. It must be worth a great deal, but for me and my family its value will always lie in more than workmanship and gems.” He put the beautiful thing carefully in his pocket and, in spite of his unashamed emotion on the King’s behalf, courteously turned his attention to her problems. “I could perhaps persuade John Newland to have one of his men row you across.”

“And be jeered at and refused permission? Or—worse still—admitted unprotected by men like the Captain of Hurst and Major Rolph?”

“No, I see that would not do.”

“And Colonel Hammond has gone and the castle, where I live, is full of Cromwell’s soldiers.”

“Have you no friends you could go to?”

“There are the Trattles at the ‘Rose and Crown’.”

“You must go there, Mary. They are good people. If you will ride before me on my horse I can take you part of the way. Although being but a fugitive on my own land it can only be through the backways, as far as Gatcombe.”

“Oh, Master Worsley, would you be so kind? But why should you bother at all?”

“Richard Osborne is a friend of mine. Had he been here just now and seen how they treated you there would have been murder.”

He led her to the tree where he had hitched his horse, and they were soon riding quietly inland. “I heard about your father. All my family were grieved. It was a great loss to the island.” Although gentle and cultured his voice had something of the broad native lilt. Mary and her friends had always been accustomed to think of him as one of the gentry to whom one merely curtsied, but now she felt completely at ease with him. “How did you know so much about me?” she asked, as they re-crossed the river causeway.

“Osborne once described you to me.”

“What did he say of me?”

“He said you had a gallant bearing, golden-brown curls and the kindest mouth in Christendom. It must have been one of those nights when we were hiding in the woods and there was a romantic moon!” Dodging an overhanging bough he looked down to see if the description tallied and was evidently satisfied. “He said, too, that you had the look of a stained-glass saint waiting to be wakened.”

Mary gave a little burst of laughter. “I—a saint? And wakened to what?”

“Now that I have seen you I know what he meant.”

They rode on until the great Manor of Gatcombe was in sight. “
He
ought to have had the watch. He took far more risks than I,” said Worsley, suddenly grave.

“The King has already remembered him,” said Mary, and told him about the letter.

“He will be glad of it. If I know him he will want to go and fight for young Charles again.”

A tremor of fear went through Mary. “Where is he now?” she asked.

“In London, as far as I know.”

“Do you think he will come back?”

“Yes, I feel sure he will,” said Worsley, who knew what it was to be in love. For was he not creeping about in borrowed clothes like this because he hoped, when the present trouble had blown over, to marry an island girl and settle down on the Wight.

His words made Mary feel more reconciled to having been left behind. She thanked him with her most charming smile and he set her down at the edge of his father’s land, a mile or so from Carisbrooke, and she walked on towards Newport. She had had little sleep and no food, and as she went wearily past Trattle’s Butt, where the townsmen had always practised their archery, she was thankful to see Trattle himself coming out of the gate.

“Why, Mary, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed in surprise. “We heard you and Mistress Wheeler had gone with the King.”

“Aunt Druscilla went.”

“Is it true that they have taken him to Hurst?”

“Quite true. I saw them set sail.”

“And he is to be imprisoned in that hole?”

“I suppose so. Father told me the windows are so small that the candles have to be lit at noon. But I could not bear to tell Mistress Whorwood that.”

She told him all that had happened and he was furious. “That jumped-up bootmaker thinks he is God Almighty! Is there no redress?” he cried, banging a mighty fist on the top bar of his gate.

“I had no definite permission,” admitted Mary. “We only took it for granted that if Aunt Druscilla was ordered to go I should be allowed to accompany her.” As full realization of her situation flooded over her she caught at his arm. “Oh, Master Trattle, do you think I could come back with you? I would work—I would help Aunt Agnes. You see, I dare not go back to the castle now. And I—I am so
hungry
…”

He did not wait to hear more. He took her by the arm and hurried her towards the Square. “Who wants you to work?” he said brusquely. “As long as I own a house with a roof to it, it is your home.”