Tapestry (18 page)

Maxwell nodded. ‘Well, either way, Dr Evans, I’m taking my son back to America after New Year’s Day. You have him until 2nd January.’

Three days
, Ellen thought.
Come on, Will, wake up for us!

A
s the Maxwells were leaving the hospital, Big Ben was striking the hour of eleven. Jane’s mother dashed from the garden to grab the phone at the Granger family home in Welshpool, on the border between Wales and England. She’d been plucking some chervil, the only herb growing in the garden right now. Catelyn liked nothing better than fresh chervil sprinkled on her scrambled eggs. She’d missed breakfast, so brunch would have to do, and if she had not been sure that this was Jane calling from Australia, she would have let the phone ring out and not permitted her eggs to toughen.

As she grabbed the receiver, she glanced at her watch and estimated it had to be eight-thirty in the evening in Alice Springs. Jane was surely calling to confirm that she’d carried out her crazy yet admirable goal to write her fiancé’s name in the book at the top of that rock. Jane had found a picture of Ayers Rock and shown it to her parents. They’d tried hard not to criticise, not to laugh out loud, not to share a look of horrified suspicion that their daughter might be going mad with grief.

But Catelyn knew Jane too well. She was grieving, for sure, but she was showing that same gritty determination she’d had when she’d told them she was attending a university in London and not Cardiff or Manchester, or even Durham. And she’d had that same sense of composure when she’d told them she
was going off travelling around the world, taking a year off to fend for herself and learn a bit more about life. She’d been gone for two.

Jane had always set herself goals and been driven by an internal discipline that couldn’t be swayed once she’d switched it on. And travelling to central Australia had been one of those occasions when her mother, certainly, had known better than to try and dissuade her. It hadn’t made Catelyn any less frightened for her daughter, of course. Hopefully this call was to give them her return flight details. Catelyn cast out a wish as she spoke into the receiver.

‘Hello?’ There was the familiar sense of speaking into a cavernous space. She heard the echo and her heart did a flip of joy. ‘Hello, Jane?’ she said again. ‘Is that you, darling?’

‘Is this Mrs Granger?’ It was a man’s voice. He had a thick Australian accent and sounded as though he were speaking from the bottom of the sea. He pronounced their surname wrongly too, which vaguely irritated Catelyn.

She frowned. ‘Er, yes … this is Catelyn
Granger
. Who’s speaking, please?’ Her words were repeated in an annoying echo.

‘Mrs Granger, my name’s Barry —’

The doorbell interrupted what he was saying. ‘Oh, just a moment,’ she said. ‘There’s someone at the door. Sorry … Mr, er, sorry, could you hold the line, please?’ She didn’t wait for his response. Whoever it was who had rung the doorbell had hastily done so again. It sounded urgent. Through the glass side panel of the front door, she could see the outline of at least two people. One of them now rapped on the door.

‘I’m coming!’ she called, her irritation at the phone call now morphing into indignation. Her husband had needed to go into Cardiff, her other daughter was probably soaking in yet another bath, and the housekeeper was still on her Christmas break. Why was no one else ever around? Someone on the phone,
someone at the door, her eggs were surely like rubber by now, and she was still clutching the fragile heads of chervil.

She opened the front door and was astonished to see two police looking back at her. One was a woman with a pretty face and strawberry-blonde hair that was neatly ponytailed. It was the policewoman who spoke first.

‘Mrs Granger?’ she asked, mercifully pronouncing their name properly. She didn’t sound Welsh, though. Irish, perhaps?

‘I — I’m on the phone,’ Catelyn said, pointing weakly over her shoulder to the grey-green ‘trimphone’ sitting on the hall table. They really should get one installed in the kitchen, she thought bleakly, so she didn’t have to run from the garden, although suddenly she wished she hadn’t made it to the phone and definitely wished she hadn’t answered the doorbell. The policewoman had continued speaking, but Catelyn hadn’t paid attention.

‘Would you mind asking the caller to ring back?’ the policewoman suggested. Catelyn knew she’d been told her name, but she hadn’t been listening, lost in thoughts of scrambled eggs and trimphones.

‘I think it’s a call from Australia,’ she bleated. ‘My daughter … she’s …’ And it was in that horrid moment, trapped between her visitors and her phone caller, that Catelyn Granger understood they were all contacting her about Jane. Something must have gone wrong, or Jane would have called herself.

‘Mrs Granger …’ the policewoman began gently. ‘May we come in?’

‘Oh, no. No!’ Catelyn shrieked as chervil fell and scattered on the pale, beautiful flagstones of the hallway, to be crushed underfoot as the police officers moved swiftly to steady her.

Eggs hardened in the kitchen and a soft hint of aniseed wafted up as Jane’s mother collapsed.

Winifred and Cecilia spent an uneventful night at the Three Half Moons Inn at Rothbury. As far as the innkeeper was concerned, they were travelling governesses on their way to Newcastle to seek work.

The morning dawned brighter than yesterday’s, and it had not snowed overnight, but a white blanket remained thick over the market town and their horses’ hooves crunched on the crystalline carpet that led them south-east toward Newcastle. The mug of whey Jane had felt obliged to drink that morning was sloshing around her belly and making her feel nauseous. ‘Cold turkey pie for breakfast does not agree with me,’ she admitted.

The two women set a brisk pace and within four frigid hours they had entered Newcastle upon Tyne and had beheld two other criminals who had suffered the same treatment as the man outside Rothbury. By the third corpse, Jane had taught herself to hold her breath and cover her mouth with Anne’s handkerchief as they passed … and not look up.

Newcastle was showing its prosperity from coal haulage, but also its loyalty to the Crown. Reward banners for information leading to the arrest of ‘rebels’ were posted everywhere they looked as they moved slowly through the broad streets and past tall houses built from brick and stone. Snow had been swept to the sides of the roads in great drifts and the remaining slush was fast turning to small rivulets or crusty patches of ice. The unremarkable garments and hoods pulled low in the face of such wintry conditions conspired to detract attention from the pair, who paused only once to ask a trio of servant women the way to the coaching inn.

Heartbreak was to follow as they forlornly listened to the coachman explain that every seat had been booked.

‘But an urgent matter requires me to be in London without delay, sir!’ Jane said, increasingly drawing on Winifred’s sensibilities to handle such discussions. She was very glad now
that Winifred possessed no trace of Scottish brogue in her voice. She left Cecilia to look after the horses and organise for them to be stabled indefinitely. Winifred’s brave palfrey was not for sale.

‘And I feel sorely bad for you, Miss Granger, but everyone is in a fury to escape the north, it seems. This winter is cruel indeed.’

Jane felt rising panic. ‘I
have
to get to London!’ she cried. ‘It’s a matter of life or death!’ It slipped out in her wretchedness, and she hated herself for letting him know this much.

And not just him. She was aware of a gentleman waiting patiently not too far away, and he’d glanced at her when her voice had risen. She hadn’t paid attention to him, but now their eyes met and she felt embarrassed to see sympathy in his dark glance. She did not want to arouse anyone’s interest right now.

‘Oh, Miss Granger, now you make me feel entirely responsible.’

‘It is not my intention to burden you, sir,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, now … The next coach is not due to leave for three days.’ As Jane opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. ‘Do you ride, Miss Granger?’

‘Of course,’ she said, hoping she hadn’t sounded as indignant as she felt, given how sore Winifred’s right buttock was at present.

‘And you have access to horses?’

‘We rode in haste to Newcastle from Rothbury,’ she said in answer. ‘But, yes, our horses will be refreshed overnight.’

He nodded. ‘Then dare I say, ride on, Miss Granger. You and your companion must travel to York, where I think you have a far happier chance of finding seats to the south.’

‘York?’ she exclaimed. ‘That has to be several days’ ride from here, sir!’ Jane knew her voice had a note of high anxiety in it.

‘Indeed,’ he said, looking apologetic.

‘Madam …’ interrupted a new voice. She turned to regard the gentleman who had been standing aside. She watched
him now as he removed his tricorne hat and bowed slightly. He couldn’t be far off Winifred’s age, Jane could see now that he had stepped closer — perhaps around forty — but he was disarmingly attractive in an unconventional way. It stemmed from his eyes, liquorice-coloured in this dim light and broodily intense in the way they regarded her. Spare, symmetrical features were dominated by the deep colour of his brow and hair; the latter, to Jane’s great relief, was worn neatly scraped back and secured in a tight queue, completing a darkly handsome face. If he had confronted her in full periwig right now, she was sure her anxiety would have given way to laughter. She sensed, though, that this man was not prone to following the fashions of the day, if his greatcoat was any giveaway. He wore it in a careless manner and had none of the frills and fripperies that she’d noticed on other men. ‘Forgive me,’ he said in a softly spoken tone, ‘I could not but help overhear of your plight.’

She waited, taking in his slimly cut, unadorned riding coat more carefully now that she faced him. It was of a sand-coloured worsted and not the heavily brocaded long coat favoured by most … yet the air he gave off reeked of wealth.

‘You do not sound hale, if you’ll pardon my forwardness. I doubt you should be travelling anywhere.’

‘It is just the cold affecting me,’ she lied.

He blinked, betraying his confoundment. ‘Even so, perhaps waiting for the next coach —’

‘I appreciate your concern, sir. But I have no choice in the matter. I must be in London by the fastest means.’ She smiled, hoping to allay his frowning expression by making light of her situation, adding, ‘I could well wish for a pair of wings.’

He didn’t return her smile. If anything, he looked even more troubled by her determination. Why was he making this his problem? She wished he’d take his imposing frame and handsome face several steps back to where he’d been lurking previously.

‘Well then, I am travelling to York myself,’ he continued, ‘leaving immediately. I too wish to get myself to London by carriage.’

‘How does this help me, sir, I wonder?’ she asked, still keeping her tone light.

He cleared his throat. Perhaps he wasn’t used to women who were quite so direct, she thought.
Remember, Jane … 1715, not 1978
. She’d missed what he had begun to say.

‘… So I shall surely reach York before you gentle ladies can,’ he said, nodding toward the door and beyond to where Cecilia waited. ‘I have no intention of stopping, not even for sustenance, until I have my seat on that coach. Perhaps, if it helps your cause, I might save you two seats on the same coach?’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Coachman, when does it leave York for London, did you say?’

‘On Friday, sir.’

‘You have four days to get there from here. I shall make it in two if I’m fortunate, but likely three.’

She was taken aback. ‘Um …’ Now she felt flustered. ‘Well, that’s extremely generous of you, sir,’ she said, slightly lost for what else to say.

He shrugged. ‘It is no burden, madam.’ He gave his short bow again, finally finding a tight, brief smile that was gone as fast as it came. ‘Julius Sackville.’

‘Er … Miss Granger,’ she said, hesitating only slightly in her lie, and the pause she believed she covered well enough with a smile. It would not do any good to tell the truth to someone who might be in a position to hurt her cause. ‘I am deeply grateful for your offer of help. My companion and I will do our utmost to arrive for that coach.’

His undistracted gaze unnerved her. She wondered if that gaze had seen right through the lie, and not just about her name. It felt as though this man’s eyes looked right into Winifred’s soul and could see the real lie — the impostor who
lived beneath. Jane realised she’d been holding Winifred’s breath, deliberately preventing herself from saying anything more that might reveal the truth. ‘Good day, Miss Granger,’ he said at last. ‘I wish you both uneventful travelling, although I fear the weather will punish you. And I shall hope to see you safely in York by week’s end. I should warn you to leave early on the morrow, as I gather there is to be a public execution in the market square.’ He looked over at the coachman, finally releasing Jane from his hold. ‘Good day, sir.’

‘Lord Sackville, sir,’ the man called after him, and tugged his cap in farewell.

Lord Sackville
. Jane took a deep breath and turned to the man behind the counter. ‘I trust you can accommodate us this night?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Granger, of course, although you are fortunate. The execution Lord Sackville spoke of is that of a popular rebel. People will be travelling from far and wide to see the spectacle.’

Jane winced, turning back to say farewell, but Sackville was gone.

‘What time is the execution?’ she asked, amazed that it sounded as casual and conversational as if she’d just asked what the weather might bring tomorrow.

‘On the stroke of nine I heard, miss.’

‘You may have our room by seven. We will be dressed with the cockerel’s first cry, I suspect.’

J
ane had never experienced weather like this, not even during her childhood, when she’d spent winter holidays with her cousins deep in Snowdonia. Coming from Wales and used to a harsher climate than in southern England, she considered herself hardy at the very least. But this journey was throwing up challenges she had no wish to tackle, she realised, as she and Cecilia held on to one another and gingerly navigated their way through the snow from their accommodation to the stable. From behind the scarf that now covered most of her face and was tucked back into her hood, Jane wondered at the wisdom of travelling on horseback in blizzard conditions.

After listening to what the stableman had to say and despite Winifred’s suspicion that he was after making some extra coin at their expense, the Countess’s good sense prevailed. They made the decision to keep their own horses stabled, to be retrieved at a later date, and hired two sturdier mounts. Jane had seen reflected in the stableman’s expression — though he likely thought he’d disguised it — his conviction that he was dealing with a woman on the edge of madness, asking Jane repeatedly if she was sure that she shouldn’t just wait for the next coach out of Newcastle.

Although the deal was done and he had just buckled on the second saddle, Jane admired the way he gave it one last try. ‘By
the time you get to York, miss, the next coach will be leaving here.’

His reasoning was clearly sound, and if lives had not been depending on the speed of her journey to London, Jane — and she was sure Winifred too — would have taken his advice. Instead, she dropped the coin into his reluctant hand and thanked him for his concern.

‘I cannot count on that coach through here,’ she countered, hoping she could make Winifred appear more rational in the stableman’s eyes. ‘The roads could be so snowbound that the coach does not even reach here, and then precious days will be lost.’

‘No language lessons or music tutoring can be worth risking your life for, miss … if you don’t mind my saying,’ he had said in a final attempt.

‘I am grateful for your concern … truly.’ She felt sorry for his deep frown of worry and immediately took back her cynical notion that he was profiteering from their difficulties.

The stableman cleared his throat. ‘In that case, would you wait a moment, miss?’

She threw a worried glance at Cecilia as he limped into the shadows of the stable, returning a minute later with a folded parchment.

Large, clear handwriting that sloped to the right spelled out:
For Miss Granger
.

‘I was asked to give you this, miss, should you insist on riding to York.’ The stableman held out the paper, which had been neatly folded and sealed with wax.

‘By whom, sir?’

‘By Lord Sackville. He was here yesterday and said I should do everything in my power to discourage your journey, but should you insist on leaving for York I was to ensure you were given this.’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t disobey my Lord Sackville.’

She eased a finger under the wax and after exerting some pressure felt the paper spring away from its first fold. Jane gave both her companions a glance before she moved to the doorway of the stable, where it was lighter, though not as warm.

The same assured handwriting gave a brief introduction followed by an equally brief list of four inns.

Cecilia and the stableman tentatively approached her. She shrugged and gave leave for Cecilia to read the note out, including the list.

The stableman nodded. ‘That first is twenty-five miles from here. He likely did not think you would make it much further than that today.’

‘Oh, did he not?’ Jane snipped.

The man blinked, unsure.

‘And how far away is this next one?’ she asked. He looked where her finger pointed and the silence told her he likely couldn’t read. ‘The Crown and Sceptre,’ she said.

‘Oh, that is just north of Durham, miss.’

‘Well, I might surprise Lord Sackville and make it that far today.’ She folded the note. ‘You’ve been most attentive. Thank you.’

He touched his cap in a clearly habitual gesture. ‘I’ll fetch the horses.’

While they waited, stamping their feet to keep at bay the deep chill that was already clawing at them from the frozen earth, Cecilia cast her friend a look of anxiety.

‘Dear Win. Truly, search yourself and ask if this is a wise course.’

‘Cecilia, I would not think badly of you, not for a heartbeat, if you remained here until the next coach came and took you back to Terregles. But don’t ask me again, my darling friend, because you see, unlike you, I have no free will in this.’ She said it again, slowly, pausing slightly between her words. ‘I have no choice.’

Cecilia gave her a pained look. ‘You could die on this journey.’

‘Then I will die, but Will could never say I didn’t love him,’ Jane said, hearing the real fear that lay in the heart of a desperate woman, searching for the truth of herself.

Cecilia hugged her. ‘We will face this trial together. I would never leave you.’

The stablemaster returned leading two large, sturdy horses. ‘I’ve blinkered them, miss. Helps against any skittishness in this weather.’

Within a few hours Jane was so bitterly cold she couldn’t feel the sensation of Winifred’s fingers on the reins, was sure she was no longer in control of her horse and felt distant gratitude for the beast’s gentle temperament. To breathe hurt her lungs and even to lift her head to see the way ahead stung her eyes. Cecilia was surely faring no better, but her loyal companion never complained.

Despite her early bravado and Jane’s best will, the Crown and Sceptre evaded them and the women collapsed into a shared bed five miles north of Durham at the very inn that Sackville had recommended. She hated him in that moment for being right, but worshipped the innkeeper for having a fire burning and hot tea to warm her frozen insides and the smell of roasted poultry scenting the air for an evening meal.

Sleep came hard and fast; they hadn’t even needed to burn the candle in their room for more than it took to step out of
their top layers and collapse onto their thin mattress using each other for extra warmth.

After another exhausting but less stressful day in the saddle, the formerly elusive Crown and Sceptre in the next market town was a grateful sight. And by day three out of Newcastle Jane had high hopes of making it as far as Ripon, because the day had dawned frosty, but with clearer skies. They were travelling at a good clip and both in fair spirits. Even the horses had a friskiness in their steps that boded well. Cecilia was recounting a time in their childhood when Winifred had decided she was going to run away from home. They were laughing as Winifred’s memories dredged up the scene for Jane, and it was amusing to recall Winifred’s packing essentials that included her father’s small fruit knife, which she’d appropriated and believed would be required for chopping down branches.

‘… to build your evening’s shelter, you said!’ Cecilia chuckled.

Jane was grinning at Winifred’s memory of this halcyon time when she and Cecilia became aware of two men on a cart approaching. The pair of women had got used to being alone for long periods on the roads these last few days and Jane didn’t know why, on this occasion, she wouldn’t welcome the chance to nod at a fellow rider passing by, but something about the way the men watched them unnerved her. Maybe it was her modern mind, conditioned to be suspicious of just about everyone when travelling alone. It wasn’t her imagination, though. Cecilia had noticed their interest too, and all humour had fled from her friend’s expression.

‘Do not slow down or break stride,’ Jane muttered.

But as Cecilia glanced her way in agreement, Jane noted a third man, previously hidden by his companions, jump down from the cart, thus blocking Jane’s and Cecilia’s passage.

‘Well met, ladies,’ he said.

Jane forced herself to nod, allowing Winifred’s instincts to guide her. Now she had no choice but to slow her horse in case, startled by his sudden movement, it might skitter and rear. She had no intention of engaging in any conversation with these men; their general raggedness aside, they possessed a hungry look that Jane’s worldliness recognised and suspected had little to do with food. Trills of fresh alarm electrified her; robbery was no doubt on the horizon here, but only now did it occur to Jane how vulnerable they surely were. The warnings of everyone who had tried to advise her gathered like ravens on a winter tree, as though lining up to bear witness to her lunacy, muttering that
We told you so
.

A fresh fear crept up her spine that rape might also be on the minds of these men. They were highwaymen, her instincts told her, opportunists who preyed on unsuspecting travellers. If she could have made herself and Cecilia easier targets, she couldn’t imagine how.
Stupid!
she growled angrily to herself.

Jane could almost hear the thoughts of the men.
Why pay for it if you can just take it on a lonely road in the middle of winter from two silly women travelling alone?

She jumped when the man on foot spoke again. ‘Where are you headed, miss?’ he said, making Jane’s horse shy back as he raised his hands.

‘I am not sure that is any of your business,’ she said, risking Winifred’s loftiest tone, hoping it would scare off these opportunists. Her instincts were klaxoning at her that wickedness was surely on their minds. Why else would this man be deliberately blocking their passage?

‘Ah, don’t be like that,’ he said, waving his arms again so Jane was forced to haul on the reins. She was aware of Cecilia doing the same.

She could see the stablemaster’s concern in her mind’s eye. How many times had he tried to dissuade her? And now she was convinced that Julius Sackville was behind it; had probably
paid the man extra coin to try and put her off the madness of her journey.

‘Would you step out of the way, fellow?’ she said, adding terseness.

‘Why don’t you step down instead, miss?’

The cart had stopped, the other men leering and grinning, catching on quickly to what their friend had in mind.

‘Shall I be forced to gallop over you?’ Jane said, raising her whip.

‘And leave your friend to us?’ he said, feigning astonishment. Jane felt Winifred’s mouth turn instantly dry. He was no longer hiding his intention. ‘She looks worried, miss. To be sure, you would not leave without her. I could jump out of the way by the time you got that beast going, then me and the boys here could encourage your friend to stay behind.’

It wasn’t often that Jane had experienced true panic in her life. She could recall occasions of anger or high anxiety — losing a passport, missing a flight, taking the wrong train, having a wallet stolen were situations that sent any traveller into what they might describe as panic, but there were always people or services around to assist. There were formal processes and there were credit cards to get one out of most jams, and in her case a wealthy family to fall back on.

But the times when she’d felt utterly out of control in a dangerous situation she could count on two fingers.

The first was seeing Will loaded unconscious into an ambulance and hearing the siren scream above them as they were raced to the emergency department of the closest hospital. She had been flung back into a corner of the ambulance while two men worked anxiously on her fiancé and the lack of control had sent her into a feeling of blind panic.

And the second occasion was now. She had no experience to draw on that was going to tell her how to handle this … and neither did Winifred. These were not men who were going
to see reason, she presumed. They clearly lived in a lawless world, where no mobile squads of uniformed police were patrolling the roads with back-up close by. Winifred’s fear was telling her that she and Cecilia had neither the strength nor weapons to keep these men back and that this man was right: one of them might get away, but the other would face all three hungry men.

‘I would caution you to think very carefully about what you do next, sir!’ Winifred’s haughtiness came to the fore before she could censor it, for her host was used to being obeyed. But Jane was keenly aware that men who lived above common laws did not follow any pattern of obedience, no matter how noble or wealthy their victim.

‘Sir?’ He laughed. ‘I am so far away from a sir, miss, that I doubt you should think of me in that way.’

‘I think of you not at all. And I would ask you to give me the same courtesy.’

‘Ah, now, I am afraid I cannot do that, miss.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I am lonely and it is nice to meet people to talk to on this long and wintry road.’

Jane sat as high as she could in the saddle as Winifred retreated; it seemed her host’s rush of anger had been short-lived, for Winifred was weak. Jane could feel her host slipping away, and wondered again quickly whether Winifred would already be dead by now if not for Jane’s strange and timely arrival in her body.

‘
I
am not lonely. And I have no time to pass the day, for I have urgent business in York. Now, let us go by.’ She wished her voice hadn’t revealed that note of fear; she hoped she was the only one who had heard it. ‘What is your name, man?’

He looked away, clearly bored now by the banter. ‘Let us proceed with you kind ladies giving us your purses.’

‘I will do no such thing, you wretch!’

The man approached, scratching his crotch. ‘Ah, there we go. From “sir” to “wretch” in a breath.’ He chuckled. ‘I think I preferred “fellow”.’

‘You would do well to leave us alone,’ Cecilia finally spoke up. ‘My companion is not who she may seem.’

‘Seem? Who does she seem to you, lads?’

‘A servant, methinks. On her way to seek work in York in a fine household, Tom,’ the youngest said.

‘Aye, my guess be she is a maid to a noblewoman,’ the other man in the cart added, clearly enjoying the confrontation as much as watching the women shrink back toward each other.