Georgette Heyer (41 page)

  His voice was edged with exasperation, but the King thought the tale so comical that he burst out laughing.

  'Yes, yes, you may laugh, my dear sir, but all our hope of setting sail from Lyme is at an end!' said Wilmot. 'Moreover, if that woman was ready to betray her own husband we don't know but what she may even now have informed the rebels of our having been at Charmouth. Nor can I banish the remembrance of that prying knave of an ostler from my mind. I consider that you stand in no small danger, sir.'

  'So do I,' said the Colonel unexpectedly. 'Call me craven, if you like, sir, but I find myself wanting all the time to look behind me. If you will be guided by me, we will leave the highway, and thrust up through the country to Broad Windsor, where there is an inn which is owned by an honest fellow, always heartily well-disposed towards your cause. You may lie in his house tonight in safety, I think, for we shall not reach Trent, that's sure.'

  'My dear Frank, do with me as you will: I am entirely in your hands,' said the King.

  Juliana, who had been oddly silent for some time, looked at the Colonel with eyes that were darkened by fear. '
You
feel that?' she said in a hushed voice. 'Someone coming behind us? Oh, make haste, make haste, for I have
known
that we are pursued all the way from Bridport!'

  'Fie, a sick dream!' the King said.

  'Sick dream or sober truth, make haste off the highway we will!' said Wilmot, spurring forward to ride abreast of the King. 'Come, sir! Your person is a little too precious to be hazarded so wantonly. We are upon the road to Dorchester, and too many travellers have already seen you.'

  The King quickened his pace, but remarked placidly: 'But they have not known me, I think. How far must we go before we leave the highway, Frank?'

  'Less than a quarter of a mile now, sir.'

  They rode on at a trot, the King taking care to keep his hat pulled low over his brow. There were many travellers on the road, and one or two whom he recognized as old acquaintances, but no one paid much heed to his party, and within a short space of time the Colonel had led him off the highway into a narrow lane, which wandered northwards, twisting erratically between steep, hedge-crowned banks.

  Here they encountered no one but an occasional farm labourer, plodding along with his dog at his heels. For once, my Lord Wilmot forbore to complain of the roughness of the track, or of the stench arising from the deep miry pits, full of water, that lay in their paths, and made their progress necessarily slow. The more impassable the track became, the more content he grew, for he believed that if the pursuit was up, the King's enemies would be more likely to follow the highway to Dorchester than to scour every lane and cart-track that diverged from it.

  He was right. Half an hour after the King had ridden quietly out of Bridport, Captain Macey's troop galloped into the town at a breakneck pace that sent the townspeople scuttling for safety into the kennels at the side of the street. Macey drew rein at the George, and flung himself down from his foaming, trembling horse. He stamped into the yard, his spurs clanking on the cobbles, and set up a shout for the innkeeper. A little crowd began to gather about him, open mouthed and pop-eyed. 'A tall, black man with his hair cut short! Has any seen a big fellow pass this way? A big, black fellow about two yards high?'

  As might have been expected, so sudden a ques tion was unproductive of anything but blank looks. By the time it had been repeated twice, with gathering emphasis, the innkeeper and two ostlers had joined the group. 'A tall black fellow?' said the innkeeper. 'What would you be wanting with such a one, master?'

  The Captain shot out a hand and grabbed him by his doublet. 'You fool, have you set eyes on him? It is the traitor, Charles Stewart!'

  The innkeeper let his jaw sag, but recovered himself in a moment, replying: 'Well, I ain't seen him, that's certain. The only tall, black fellow I've seen was nowt but a serving-man as come here with his master and a lady, a while back.'

  Macey shook him to and fro. 'Dunderhead! That was none other than the traitor himself! Where is he? Speak, can't you?'

  'I'll speak fast enough if you'll give over shaking me!' responded the host, pardonably incensed. 'I dunno where he be, and what's more he didn't look like no King to me, no, nor talk like one, neither!'

  'The King?' Horton repeated stupidly. 'The King?' he clapped a hand to his brow. 'It were the King! And him standing there as bold as Beauchamp! Lordy, Lordy!'

  His words passed unheeded, the other ostler, smelling a reward in the business, having pressed forward to tell Captain Macey that he had heard the gentleman that was with the King say that they were off to meet someone at another inn in the town. He had seen the party ride towards the Dorchester road, a bare half-hour before.

  Macey waited for no more, but strode back to his troop, shouting orders to them to separate at once, and scour every inn and ale-house in the town.

  The search, which occupied some time, yielded nothing but the information that a tall, dark man had been seen riding before a lady on the Dorchester road.

  'Making for Portsmouth!' Macey exclaimed. 'Sound the recall, sergeant! We shall overtake him yet!'

  The troop swept out of the town as stormily as it had entered it, and settled down to ride in close formation along the highway to Dorchester.

  The King's party, meanwhile in happy ignorance of his hairbreadth escape, rode gently on to Broad Windsor.

  It was some hours before they reached the village, for it lay about six miles to the north-west of Bridport and they had ridden eastward out of the town and had to work their way back by circuitous lanes, and over ground too rough to allow of their horses going at a faster pace than a walk. Several times one or other of them would put a foot wrong, and come near to foun dering in some unsuspectedly deep pool of standing water, but no accident befell, and the party rode into Broad Windsor towards the end of the afternoon, tired, hungry, and plentifully splashed with mud.

  The George was the only inn so small a village could boast. It was a pleasant half-timbered building with a thatched roof, standing upon the village street, with a cluster of outhouses in its rear. As soon as the travellers drew rein, the host came out to welcome them. He was a big, muscular man, with a merry twinkle in his eye. He recognized Colonel Wyndham at once, and strode up to his knee, a beaming smile irradiating his coun tenance. 'Good-day to you, sir, and to you, my lady! And a right good day it is that brings your honour to my house! 'Deed, and it's a weary while since you rode this way, sir! Will it be a stoup of ale for your honour, or a jug of sack, or maybe some good canary that I have in the cellar?'

  The Colonel set his hand on the man's shoulder, looking down into his frank upturned face. 'More than that, Rhys Jones, if I can trust you!'

  The landlord's smile widened. 'Your honour knows full well you can trust me.'

  'I count upon it. For I have strayed farther afield than our new masters permit, look you, and I want none to spy upon me here and tell the magistrates I was beyond the limits of my parole upon such-and-such a night.'

  Rhys Jones nodded. 'Trust me, none shall come nigh you, sir. Do you mean to lie in my house this night?'

  'Ay, and my brother-in-law with me, who is in a like case. You know him, I think.'

  The host turned his head, looking at Wilmot with a slightly puckered brow. His frown cleared, he exclaimed: 'Why, surely! If it is not Colonel Bullen Reymes of Waddon! You be most heartily welcome, sir. And my lady too!'

  'My cousin, Mrs Coningsby,' explained the Colonel. 'Have you two chambers where we may lie hid from prying eyes? My groom must come in with us, for he is as well known in these parts as myself.'

  'Ay, surely! I have two chambers at the top of the house, if your honour must be private. But they are attics, and not fit! Will ye not condescend to my best chambers? It will be a hardy rogue that comes spying in my house!'

  'Nay, we will lie in your attics and be well content,' replied the Colonel, dismounting and going to lift Juliana down from her pillion. 'But see you provide us with a good supper, my friend, for we are all of us hungry!'

  'Have no fear, your honour! My wife's a redoubtable cook, I warrant you! Come you in, you know well my whole house is at your orders!'

  'Have you other guests putting up in the house, fellow?' demanded Wilmot.

  'Nay, sir, there'll be none but yourselves that I know of, save them as comes to the taproom.'

  'Nevertheless, we will still sleep in your attics,' said the Colonel. 'I'll run no risk of being clapped up in prison again.'

  'Pretty times we live in, when a gentleman like your honour's prisoned for serving his rightful King!' said Jones, with a snort. 'But there! Talking pays no toll, as they say, the rebels may be up to-day, but wait till the King comes to his own again, and we'll see whether the first laugh's better than the last smile!'

  The King had swung himself out of the saddle; he

said abruptly: 'Do you look to see him come to his own, friend?'

  Jones glanced towards him curiously. 'Every honest man does. He'll do it, mark me! He's a likely lad, by what I hear. See if he don't spit in his hand, and take better hold!'

  The King's teeth gleamed white in the brown of his face. 'Oddsfish, I hope he may!'

  Wilmot trod heavily on his foot. The King remem bered that he was a groom, and rolled an apologetic eye towards his lordship.

  'Will,' said the Colonel, 'when you have helped Peters to stable the nags, you may come up to my chamber. Lead us in, Jones, lead us in!'

  The attics at the top of the house were sparsely furnished and rather stuffy, but as they were approached by way of a secluded backstair, even Wilmot agreed that they would serve their purpose better than the guest chambers on the lower floor. The landlord bustled about, bringing up chairs, a finer coverlet for Juliana's bed, a cloth to spread over the scarred table, and some good wax candles in place of the common lamps that were ordinarily kindled there. On one of his journeys in search of more suitable furnishings, he encountered the King, who had come in from feeding the horses, and at once thrust a chair into his hands, bidding him make himself useful, and carry it up for his master to sit upon.

  The King obeyed him meekly enough, but when he appeared in the doorway of one of the attics with his burden, Wilmot started towards him with a shocked exclamation: 'My dear master! Good God, what next will you be obliged to do! There, let me take it!'

  'Who trod on my foot?' demanded the King, setting the chair down by the table. 'It is my turn to tread on yours now, methinks.'

  'When we are alone there is no need for you to demean yourself, sir, nor for us to forget your state!'

  'Harry, only you could remember my state in such surroundings as these!' said the King.

  'Alas, they are very mean, but I dare not let you have better!'

  'I care less for my surroundings than for the capon I am to have for my supper. Frank, this fellow, Jones, is a man after my own heart. Spit in my hand, and take better hold! Why, so I will, God willing! I swear there is not one amongst my Councillors has given me better advice.'

  Wyndham smiled, but lifted a finger to his lips. Footsteps, and the rustle of a dress, were to be heard on the narrow stairs; some one scratched softly on the door; and, a moment later, lifted the latch, and peeped into the attic. My Lord Wilmot found himself looking into a plump, comely face that was wreathed in smiles. Mistress Jones came in, her eyes beaming with tender welcome, her cheeks blushing a little. 'Eh, love, they told me 'twas yourself come to trouble my poor heart!' she said. 'Ay, ay, I see 'tis indeed you! But alack the day, you've grown stout, Bullen my dear!'

  My lord cast one anguished glance towards Colonel Wyndham, standing by the dormer-window with the King, but finding that there was no help to be got from that quarter, swallowed and stood his ground. He saw the hostess advancing towards him with her hands held out, and mechanically stretched his own to meet her. Mistress Jones walked straight into his arms, and embraced him. The brown hand resting on Wynd ham's arm suddenly closed on it, gripping it quite pain fully. The King began to shake.

  'Beshrew your heart, what make you here, my dove?' demanded Mistress Jones, scolding fondly. 'Have you come to undo me, you naughty rogue? Nay, nay, I'm a sober woman these days, and have got me a good husband besides. Eh, but I'd scarce have known you, for all the sweet traffic we had together!'

  My lord, clasping this warm armful to his bosom, said manfully, 'I may have grown older, but I swear you have not altered a whit!'

  'Ay, you had ever a false, cozening tongue!' she said. 'Go to, I know you for a very knave! And so they clapped you into prison, them dirty Puritans? I would I had the hanging of them!' She began to stroke his cheek, crooning over him, and murmuring so many reminders and endearments that the Colonel thought it prudent to stand between her and the King, for fear of her catching sight of his face.