The Loves of Charles II (3 page)

“Then we must hasten.”

The second soldier was smiling at the child. “Listen to me, little ’un,” he said. “’Tis better in these days to be the son of a hunchback than the daughter of a King.”

“Ah, Messieurs!” cried the hunchback. “You speak truly. I thank God these days that I am a poor hunchback, for I remember there are others in worse case.”

“God’s will be done,” said the soldier.

“God be with you,” said the hunchback.

“And with you, woman. And with you all. Farewell, Princess Peter.”

The child began to wail as they continued along the road. “Me Princess. Want my gown. Don’t like dirty Nan.”

Again that silence; again that tension.

Nell said: “Can it go on? Shall we be so lucky every time?”

“We must be,” replied the hunchback grimly.

It was dusk when they came to the inn. They were glad of that, for the daylight was disturbing; moreover the child slept.

Tom went across the inn yard and found the landlord. He was a long time gone. The rest of the party waited uneasily beneath the hanging sign.

“Mayhap we should not have come here,” said Nell. “Mayhap we should have made beds for ourselves under the hedges.”

“We shall be safe enough,” murmured the hunchback. “And we’ll leave at daybreak.”

At length Tom called to them to come forward. The landlord was with him.

“So this is the party,” said the landlord. “Two women and two men and a young boy. I don’t make a practice of taking foot passengers … nor those that come on the stage wagon. My inn is an inn for the quality.”

“We can pay,” said Tom quickly.

“There’s comings and goings these days,” said the landlord. “We had a troop of soldiers in here only this day.”

Tom took out his purse and showed it to the innkeeper. “We’ll pay in advance,” he said. “We’re tired and hungry. Let us make a bargain here and now.”

“Very well, very well,” said the landlord. “What’ll you eat? It’ll be at the common table, I reckon, and that’ll cost you sixpence a-piece.”

Tom looked at the hunchback, who said: “Could we have the meal served for us alone? Mayhap we could have a room to ourselves.”

The innkeeper scratched his head and looked at them.

“We’ll pay,” said Tom.

“Well then … it could be arranged. Please to wait in the inn parlor, and you’ll be called to table in good time.”

He led the way into the parlor, and Tom went out with him to settle where they would sleep, what they would eat, and to pay the innkeeper what he asked.

There were several people in the inn parlor. The hunchback noticed this with dismay and she hesitated, but only for a second; then she went boldly forward holding the sleeping child in her arms, with Nell and Gaston on either side of her.

Several people, who sat at the tables and in the window seat, and who were talking together, called a good day to them. The eyes of a plump lady bedecked with ribbons went to the child.

“Looks worn out,” she commented. “Poor little mite! She fast asleep?”

“It’s a little boy.”

“There now! So he is! Have you come far?”

“From London.”

The rest of the people went on talking about the war; they were sighing for the good old days of peace and blaming “The French Woman” for all their troubles. There was one large man with short hair who had taken upon himself the task of mentor to the rest. He was explaining to the company why it had been necessary to wage war against the Royalists. His knowledge of affairs was imperfect, but those present who might have corrected him dared not do so.

“The Queen would make us all Catholic if she could,” he was declaring. “You, Sir, and you, Madam, and you, my comely wench. Aye, and you who have just come in … the hunchback woman and the boy there … she’d make us all Catholic if she dared.”

“We’d die rather,” said another man.

“Why,” went on the first, “on St. James’ day this Queen of ours walked afoot to Tyburn to honor Catholics who had died there. And I tell you, friends, by the gleam in her eyes it was clear she’d like to see done to some of us good Christians what was done to idolators at Tyburn gallows. If I’d been at Exeter I’d not have let her give
me
the slip. I’d have found her. I’d have carried her to London … aye, that I would. I’d have made her walk to Tyburn gallows … and it wouldn’t have been to honor idolators!”

“She’s a very wicked woman,” volunteered one of the women. “They say the French are all wicked.”

“It won’t be long,” said the large talkative man, “before we’ve done with kings and queens in England. Kings and queens have no place in England today.”

“If the King was to be killed in battle … or after,” said a short fat man, “there’d still be his children to make trouble.”

“I saw the Prince of Wales once,” said the beribboned woman. “An ugly fellow!”

“Well, that’s as may be,” said the woman with a smile.

“And what would you mean by that?”

“Oh … he was dark … dark to swarthiness … He had a big nose and a big mouth … He was a boy and yet …”

“Sounds as if you’re a Royalist, madam,” said the large man accusingly.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t say that. He was naught but a boy … Prince Charles … and he was riding through our town with his brother, young James. It would have been just before Edgehill, I reckon.”

“We nearly got those boys at Edgehill,” grumbled the man. “If I’d have been there …”

The woman was wistful. “No, he wasn’t really ugly … not when he smiled. And he smiled at me … straight at me and doffed his hat as though I were a lady of the Court. There was a woman with me who declared the smile and the hat-doffing was for her …”

“You’re bedazzled by royalty!” sneered the man.

“Not me! It was only the Prince himself. There were others there. Gentlemen … dukes … lords … Handsome they might be called, but it was the Prince … that boy … that dark and ugly boy … Mayhap it was because he
was
just a boy …”

“Tush!” said the man. “His Royal Highness! He’ll not be Highness much longer. It won’t be long before he’ll want to forget he was Prince of Wales and once heir to a kingdom that will have none of him. People will be ashamed to talk of kings and queens, I tell you. We’ll choose our Lord Protector and if he doesn’t please us we’ll rid ourselves of him and choose another. Royalty! I’d have the heads off the lot of them!”

“Except the prince of Wales …” murmured the woman.

Tom looked in at the door and beckoned to his party; gladly they followed him out of the parlor.

He whispered as the door shut on them: “We’re to have an attic to ourselves to sleep in. The landlord is having straw put up there now. Food is being prepared for us, and that we can have by ourselves in one of the small rooms. I have paid him well. I think he is a little suspicious of how we can pay for what we want; but his eyes glistened at the sight of the money.”

“Then let us eat quickly and retire to our attic,” said the hunchback.

As they walked across the hall they heard a man’s voice, shouting to a groom. It was a loud and arrogant voice. They were all straining their ears to listen.

“Come, boy! Where’s mine host? I’m famished. And I want a room … the best room you have …”

The innkeeper was bustling into the yard; they could hear the rise and fall of his voice as he obsequiously placated the newcomer.

“Come along,” said the hunchback; and they went into a small room where a meal of duck and boar was laid out for them, with ale to drink. The child awakened and sleepily partook of the meal. They spoke little while they ate, and before the others had finished—as the child had fallen asleep again—the hunchback said she would go up to the attic room with him and there she would stay till morning; for the two of them must not be separated.

“I’ll show you the way,” said Tom. “’Tis right at the top under the eaves.”

As they came out into the hall the arrogant newcomer was leaning against the wall shouting instructions and looking with distaste at his surroundings. His eyes flickered over the hunchback and the child; he paused for a second and then gave them a look of distaste. The hunchback hastily followed Tom up the stairs and, as she did so, she heard the drawling voice: “God’s Body! This is no inn! ’Tis an ale house. This is no place for the quality. Hunchback beggars and their brats stay here. Plague take you! Why did you not tell me, man?”

The hunchback did not look round as she followed Tom up the narrow staircase. Tom indicated a door and they went in. It was a long, low-ceilinged room; a dark room, and the thatch showed through a small unglazed window. On the floor were two piles of straw which would serve as beds. It was rough but it would do for a night.

“Go back to your food,” said the hunchback. “I will stay here with the child. All of you join me when you have finished, but first eat your fill.”

Tom bowed and when he had left her she laid the child on one of the heaps of straw and gently put her lips to the small forehead. Then she threw herself down beside the child. She was worn out with the day’s exertion. She laid her hand over her fast-beating heart. It should beat more peacefully now; here they would be safe until morning, and there were only a few more miles to Dover. Here they could sleep and refresh themselves, and at daybreak they would be on their journey again.

Suddenly the door opened and a groom came in. He hesitated. “Ah … I did not know there was anyone here. I have brought more straw.”

“I thank you.”

“There are four of you and the little girl?”

“Little boy,” she corrected him.

As she spoke she had laid her hand on the child; it was as though when anyone spoke of it she had to touch it, fearing that someone might try to
snatch it from her. The man came over and looked down at the sleeping child. He stared, and she remembered how the woman on the bank had noticed her finely shaped hands.

“A little boy,” said the groom, “with the looks of a girl.”

“He is young yet, and I am told that he resembles his mother rather than his father.”

“He has an air,” said the groom. “He might be the child of someone of high degree.”

He was watching the hunchback in a manner which brought the flush to her cheeks, and in that instant, as the rich blood showed beneath the dirt, she was young and comely.

He lowered his voice. “Lady,” he said, “there are some hereabouts who would be loyal to His Majesty.”

She did not answer; her grip tightened on the child.

“Your hands are too fine, madam,” he said. “They betray you. You should keep them hidden.”

“My hands? I am a lady’s maid.”

“That would account for it, mayhap.”

“Mayhap! It does account for it!”

“Your hump has slipped a little, lady. If you’ll forgive my saying so, it is a bit too high. And you should bend over more.”

The hunchback tried to speak, but she could not; her mouth was dry and she was trembling.

“I was with the King’s army at Edgehill,” went on the groom. “I was with the little Prince Charles and his brother James. There was that about him—Charles, I mean—which made me want to serve him. Boy as he was, I’ll never forget him. Tall for his age and dark for an Englishman, and so ready to give a smile to a man that he didn’t seem like a king’s son. Just one of ourselves … and yet with a difference … He came near to capture at Edgehill … God bless him! God bless the Prince of Wales!”

“You’re a bold man to speak thus before a stranger.”

“These are days for bold deeds, madam. But you may trust me. I wish you Godspeed and a safe trip across the water.”

“Across the water?”

“You go to Dover, madam. You will cross the water with the child and join the Queen.”

“I have said nothing that should make you think this.”

“They say the Queen is the cause of the King’s troubles, madam. That may be so, but the Queen is devoted to the King’s cause. Poor lady! It must be two years since she fled from England. It was a few weeks after the birth of her youngest, the little Princess Henrietta.”

“This makes uneasy talk,” said the hunchback.

“You may trust me, madam. And if there is anything I can do to serve you …”

“Thank you, but I am only a poor woman who, with her husband and fellow-servants, goes to join her master’s household.”

He bowed and went from the room; and when he had gone she was still unable to move, for a numbness had seized her limbs. On the road, passing the soldiers of the King’s enemies, she had been less frightened than now. The walls of the attic became to her like prison walls.

When the others joined her, they found her sitting on the straw holding the child in her arms.

She said: “I am afraid. One of the grooms came to bring straw, and I am sure he knows who we are. And I … I cannot be sure whether or not we can trust him.”