Georgette Heyer (19 page)

  The King's eyes gleamed under his drooping lids. 'My dear Harry, you offer me a beautiful young woman to be my escort, and ask me if I will go! Where are your wits, man? Be sure I will go!'

  'I see that your troubles have not in the least chastened you,' said Wilmot, smiling at him with deep affection. 'Will you attend to me now, and leave jesting? Lane awaits your answer to this proposal, and I must carry it back to him at once. It will be more convenient, besides, for me to lie at Bentley, since our good host here cannot stable my horse with any safety. There are some matters that must be arranged before we fetch your Majesty to Bentley, notably the procuring of a suit of clothes for you to wear. I think the hiding-place in this house so secure that I could not wish to see you in a better refuge. Therefore, if you agree to it, I shall ride back to Bentley as soon as it is light, and we will keep John Penderel to go between the two houses at need. I have found him a very good sort of a fellow, and one that grudges no pains upon your service. Yet if you prefer me to remain with you –' He broke off, his handsome irresolute countenance flushing suddenly with a little rush of emotion. He knelt down beside the King's chair, and said in a shaken voice: 'Yes, yes, I must remain! I dare not leave you again! Ah, sir, if you knew the agony I suffered on your behalf ! And to see you thus, so spent and buffeted –'

  'Oh, peace, peace!' the King said, yawning. 'I don't doubt I look like a scarecrow, but it is not very courtier like of you to put me in mind of it. Go to Bentley: I think myself in good hands in this house. As for John Penderel, I hope he may not be wishing us both at the devil by this time.'

  'Sire, you forget what I am very sure he does not: you are the King!'

  'You comfort me, Harry. I feel like a vagrant.'

  'If you dislike to keep John, I could employ my man, Swan, upon the business,' said Wilmot. 'Yet I think John would occasion less remark, Swan being –'

  'Wilmot, do you tell me that you have kept your servant with you?' demanded Charles.

  Wilmot blinked at him. 'But, my dear sir, what else could I do? There are my horses to be cared for, bethink you. Besides, how should I contrive without him? Really, I could not stir a step!'

  'Oh!' gasped the King in paroxysms of laughter. 'Oh, why is not George here to share this jest with me?
I
trudge my feet raw with none but a poor woodman to be my guide, while
you
ride with your servant at your heels! Odd rot me, I have not laughed so much since I left Holland!'

  Wilmot said in rather an injured voice: 'It was your choice, not mine. You
would
go, and how should my wandering about in a like case help you? You know I could never walk far, sir. Now, be still, I implore you! You will rouse the house if you laugh so loud!'

  The King's full-throated laughter had already brought Whitgreave into the room. A smile lurked in Whit greave's eyes, but he said gravely: 'I am glad your Majesty is merry, but I do most humbly beg of you, sir, to be more careful!'

  'I will, I will,' the King promised, mopping his eyes with Father Huddleston's handkerchief. 'You must blame my lord for this commotion; indeed, it was not my fault!' He pulled himself up out of his chair, and said, still with a quiver in his voice: 'Put me to bed, Harry. Oh, do not look so much affronted, or you will set me off laughing again.'

  Wilmot caught his hands and held them tightly. 'Yes, I will put to you bed, sir. How could you think yourself servantless who have me to wait on you? Come, a truce to this! You are falling asleep where you stand.'

  The King suffered himself to be led to the bed and lay down upon it. Wilmot covered him with the quilt, while Whitgreave began to extinguish the candles.

  'Are you comfortable, dear sir?' Wilmot asked, bending over the bed.

  'So comfortable!' sighed the King.

  Wilmot laid a hand on his head, smoothing back his tangled curls. 'Sleep well,' he said softly. 'Sleep well, my dear. You are quite safe.'

  The King returned no answer; the candles were all put out, but a leaping flame in the hearth showed Wilmot that he had already closed his eyes, turning his head a little on the pillow. Wilmot tucked the quilt in more securely, and followed Whitgreave out of the room and into the adjoining chamber.

  This was a pleasant apartment, which was used by Huddleston and his pupils for their work. Leading out of it, and built over the front porch, was Whitgreave's own study, a tiny square room overlooking the Wolver hampton road. This had a triangular trap-door let into the floor, through which it was possible to drop down into the porch immediately beneath it.

  Whitgreave, who had spread some cushions on to a daybed, suggested that Wilmot should lie down upon it, and try to get some sleep.

  Wilmot, however, shook his head impatiently. His spirits were evidently much agitated. He began to walk about the room as though he could not bear to be still, and ejaculated in answer to his host: 'Sleep! Do you think I could sleep while his Majesty lies there, in peril of his life?'

  Whitgreave considered this quite seriously, replying in a moment: 'Nay, he is in no danger at this present, my lord.'

  Wilmot scarcely attended to him. He said, wringing his hands: 'It breaks my heart to see him reduced to such straits! Shall I ever bring him safe to France? The whole countryside up and searching for him – himself so spent and ill – and all, all upon my shoulders!' He turned his face towards Whitgreave, his dreamy eyes haunted by fear, his sensitive mouth quivering. 'And you bid me sleep! Sleep – my God! Shall I ever sleep until this fearful charge is removed from me?'

  'I feel for you, my lord, but you should consider that while the King lies under my roof I am as responsible for his safety as yourself. I beg of you, do not torture your self with hideous imaginings! No one may approach the house without my being forewarned. If danger were to threaten, the King will have ample time to conceal himself in the secret place. I do most earnestly counsel your lordship to rest while you may.'

  Wilmot sat down upon the daybed, saying with a forced laugh: 'Do not heed me! I think myself partici pating in some nightmare from which I must soon awake. His changed looks, his feet – what he must have undergone! Oh, no, no, it is the dreadful truth, and there he lies, trusting in me to save him from his enemies! Whitgreave, Thomas Whitgreave, he is a boy, unused to such hardships, accustomed all his life to be waited upon, cherished, surrounded by friends who love him! It is a miracle that he is here this night. Could any man mistake that face, that great height? How dare I let him adventure his person with Jane Lane as we planned? He must be recognized. Yet carry him to the coast I must!'

  He began to bite his nails in an agony of indecision. Whitgreave, who from the moment of the King's arrival had been forcibly struck by the contrast of his coolness with Wilmot's quite understandable dismay, said sooth ingly: 'No one will look for his Majesty in the guise of a serving-man. I am not acquainted with him as your lordship is, but I do think that his courage will carry him farther than all our endeavours. Tired he was, when we brought him in, but I never saw a man so unconcerned with the thought of his own peril.'

  This drew a smile from Wilmot, but he sighed too, and said: 'Alas, I know him so well that his very courage fills me with misgiving! He will turn all to a jest, and care nothing that he is an anointed King, no ordinary man! You have seen how he can put aside the King. Judge how it will be when he hazards his precious life, as though –'

  'I did not see it,' said Whitgreave. 'As he sat there in his dirt and his rags, the thought came to me that no disguise you might put upon him would serve to hide his kingship. I do not think, my lord, that he forgets it, but I will not conceal from you that I fear that air of majesty that clings about him more than I fear his height, or the cast of his countenance.'

  Wilmot said wretchedly: 'Is it so plain? My God, my God, what hope has he, then? Yet he is easy, he does not love pomp: indeed, how else could he have borne to disguise himself thus? His father would never had done so!'

  'No,' said Whitgreave, the very thought of the late King in his son's plight startling him by its fantastic improbability. 'No, indeed!'

  Wilmot sank his head in his hands, but raised it pres ently to say in a calmer tone: 'Whitgreave, in case of an alarm, his Majesty must go into the secret chamber, and I into the cupboard that leads to it. If soldiers would come to search the house you will discover me first to them. Haply they will be satisfied and search no farther. You understand me?'

  'I understand you perfectly, my lord, and will do as you bid me,' replied Whitgreave, looking at him with a certain sympathetic respect. 'Yet I trust that no such need will arise. And now, since your lordship is to ride at dawn, may I once more beg of you to repose yourself for a little while?'

  Wilmot, who was indeed quite worn out by the fret of his own nerves, consented to lie down upon the daybed and, in spite of his own certainty of being unable to sleep, was soon gently snoring.

  Nothing occurred to disturb his slumber until Whit greave roused him soon after five o'clock, telling him that it was now daylight, and the King awake, and waiting to bid him farewell.

  Wilmot found the King sitting up in his bed with Richard Penderel and Francis Yates kneeling beside it to take their humble leave of him. He gave them both his hand to kiss, and reminded them that they were to present themselves at Whitehall, if it should please God ever to restore him to his Kingdom.

  'And let me not forget that I owe you ten shillings!' he told Yates, with a twinkle. 'All I can give you now is my thanks. As for you, Trusty Dick, I charge you, keep the memory of the miller at Evelith in mind, for I promise you I shall, and we will enjoy a laugh together over that craven flight of ours when we meet again!'

  They were too much overcome to do more than stammer a few disjointed words in answer to him, but they kissed his hand very fervently, and went slowly out of his presence, turning at the door to take a last look at him.

  When they had gone, the King nodded at Wilmot, saying cheerfully: 'Harry, I now think I have a reason able hope of escaping out of this country. And, mean while, I have a bed at my disposal, which, in truth, is all I care for. God speed you, my friend, and don't wear that glum face for my sake, for I am very well content to be here, I assure you.'

  'Promise me that you will be guided in all things by Thomas Whitgreave, sir!' begged Wilmot. 'Remember how precious to your people is your life!'

  'It is a deal more precious to me than to my people, from what I can discover,' retorted the King. 'You have not the least need to fear for me: I do not mean to fall into my arch-enemy's hand, I promise you.'

  'Before that happens I shall be dead!' said Wilmot.

  The King lay down again, snuggling his cheek into the pillow. 'Harry, don't be tragical!' he said with sleepy amusement. 'You are too fat for it, and I have an empty stomach.'

  There was no more to be got out of him, and as Whitgreave came into the room just then to hasten my lord's departure, Wilmot tore himself away.

  When he had ridden away on the short journey to Bentley Hall, Whitgreave and Huddleston consulted together on the measures proper to be taken for the King's safety. It was finally agreed that all the servants but the Catholic cook-maid should be sent to work out of the house, and that she should be told that the guest in the parlour-chamber was a friend of Huddleston, escaping from Worcester fight. There remained the three boys, still peacefully sleeping in their chambers at the top of the house. Whitgreave was not inclined to repose much confidence in these striplings, but Huddleston thought he could depend upon their loyalty to himself, and proposed to make use of them by giving them a holiday from their books, and posting them in the look-out chamber above Whitgreave's study, to keep a watch on the road.

  'Do not breathe a word to them of his Majesty's pres ence!' Whitgreave said, not quite liking the plan.

  'No, no, they shall think it is my life they guard!' promised Huddleston. 'I will tell them that I have had word brought me that the priest-catchers have got word of my true estate. That will serve very well, for in case of soldiers coming to search the house, the lads, if forced to betray me, may very likely thus preserve his blessed Majesty's life.'

  His pupils, when informed a few hours later how they were to spend the day, consented to his plans with joyful alacrity. To some, a prolonged sojourn in an extremely tiny attic might have seemed a dull pros pect, but to three striplings, conscious of an ill-prepared lesson, it seemed nothing short of a reprieve. The notion that the house might be invaded by the enemy did not in any way abate their pleasure, for although they would be sorry if any ill befell Mr Huddleston, such an unlooked-for excitement (carrying with it, as it did, a delicious pang of fear), could not come amiss to three young gentlemen all in the best of health and high spirits. They clattered upstairs as soon as they had eaten their breakfasts, Sir John Preston having constituted himself (though not without argument) the Captain of the Guard; and it seemed probable, to judge from their remarks, that the day's duty would be rapidly converted into a sport that would keep them pleasurably occupied till dinner-time.