Women of Courage (179 page)

“Is this true, Mr Malachi? Edmund Prideaux of Ford Abbey was with the Duke? You signed your name to this?”

“Yes, my lord.” A short, pale man answered, almost apologetically, looking intently at the judge and away from his fellow prisoners.

“Then what I have to say does not concern you. Bailiff, take him away. I will see him later.”

As the man was led away, the chains clashing between his legs, the judge grimaced again and took a hasty swig from his bottle. Then he slammed it down on the desk and bellowed at the men in front of him.

“And none of you other rogues has a thing to say? No excuses, eh? No plea for mercy? No
in - for - ma - tion
?” He dragged the last word out long, and temptingly, but there was no reply. The judge grimaced again, and turned to lift something from his desk.

Ann would not have known what it was but for the indrawn gasp of fascinated horror all around her. A handkerchief - a black handkerchief - that he lifted lingeringly, as though enjoying the reaction, and put carefully on his head. He grimaced again, and sucked his lips angrily as he faced the men before him. His strong, high voice echoed hollowly from the panelled walls of the court.

“Prisoners at the bar! You have without exception pleaded guilty to the dreadful crime of armed rebellion against His Majesty the King. For such a crime no sentence can be too harsh. I therefore, in the name of His Majesty King James the Second, order that you be carried back again to the place whence you came, and from there be drawn upon an hurdle to the place of execution, where you shall be hanged by the neck ... “ He winced again, and paused, as though he had something in his throat he was trying to swallow. Ann could hear someone crying in the court, and her own heart beating so loud she thought everyone would hear it. The judge belched, took a sip from his bottle, and then resumed. “But then be cut down alive, your entrails and privy members cut off your bodies and burnt in your sight ... “

“No! No!” A louder voice than the judge’s suddenly filled the court. “You can’t do that! You said you’d give mercy!” Ann saw the clerk of the court banging his gavel, and the judge, her father - everyone was staring at her. A hand grabbed her shoulder roughly.

“Be quiet, girl! He hasn’t finished!”

“... your heads to be severed from your bodies, and your bodies to be divided each into four parts, and disposed at the King’s pleasure.” Judge Jeffreys looked away from the prisonert for a moment, directly at Ann. “No doubt His Majesty would be pleased to send you a part, young lady, if you would indicate to him which would give you most pleasure.” He turned back to the prisoners, smiling at his own wit. “And may the Lord have mercy on your souls.”

“But not on yours!” But Ann’s cry was lost in the uproar as the men were led away. As the crowd moved around her so the whole courtroom seemed to swirl too, and even as she reached out to come nearer her father and the judge she could not prevent the crowds of people pushing her back, or the floor suddenly rising up to hit her.

47

S
HE WONDERED if it would matter that it was the afternoon. There was so much clatter and bustle all around her in the little cobbled inn courtyard; ostlers leading horses in and out for their important guests, tradesmen hurrying through to the side door, cleaners and potboys scurrying past on mysterious, important errands of their own. It seemed unlikely, somehow, to be here on an errand such as hers; and yet it was a simple matter of trade, after all.

Every now and then a group of guests, often officers, would swagger in noisily from the hubbub of the street outside, and Ann would look up anxiously from her seat in the corner, and then shrink back to her book as she saw Robert was not among them. She was not reading the book, but she had to have something to seem to occupy her. Once or twice she heard men talking curiously about her, and trembled lest they should come over and disturb her; but so far they had not, and surely Robert must come soon.

It had been hard enough to come at all. It was Sunday, and after they had been to see her father in prison that morning, Tom had insisted they go to church, for all it was only an Anglican service. Then he had heard there was to be a dissenters’ meeting that afternoon to pray for the souls of the condemned men, in a private house right under the nose of the army, and only her protestations of a sick headache had persuaded him to let her stay behind. Then she had had half an hour to improve her looks as best she could before slipping quietly down the stairs and out of the back door of the little lodging-house where they were staying.

She wondered about her dress. She did not want to appear conspicuous and indeed could not afford to, but her only asset in this was her looks. Before she had come to Dorchester she had known it might come to this, and had spent an afternoon mending tears and rubbing at the bloodstains in the brown riding dress she had had from Marianne, in the hope that it would look a little more presentable in his eyes than the plain frocks and aprons she wore at home. Her hair was carefully combed, the curls teased into ringlets that hung daintily around her face, in a way that filled her with delight and apprehension, and would have scandalised Tom had he seen it. But then what he would have said would have been right; she
did
want to dress like a whore.

Robert was there, quite suddenly, and alone - better than she could have hoped! But he was striding quickly across the courtyard, deep in thought; in a moment he would be inside and have missed her.

She stood up. “Robert! Robert, stop!” His coat-tails and wig swirled as he turned briskly about, looking to see who had called; and then he saw her. The serious, freckled face opened in a smile of wonder.

“Ann!” He came forward and took her hands, and ... it was an effort of will to give them to him. “Annie! What a glorious surprise! What brings you here?”

“I ... I have come to see you, Robert.” It was strange how false she felt her smile, how hard it was to say the lines she had practised. His eyes searched her face eagerly to understand her.

“To see me? After you fled from Marianne at Bath? Why, what has happened?”

“I have a lot to say, and ... something to give you, Robert. But I can’t do it here; is there somewhere private we could go?”

“I don’t know. There is my room, if you trust me, but ... “

He looked at her questioningly, and again she felt how false was the alluring smile she had practised.

“That will do. If you are not busy now?”

“I? No. I was going to wash and change before dinner, but there is something over an hour before that.” He ushered her before him into the inn, and Ann saw a couple of potboys who had seen her in the courtyard look up at her curiously. Robert beckoned one of them over.

“Here, fellow - Richards, isn’t it? You’ll be serving here for the next hour?”

“Yes, sir. You’m not to be disturbed?” A broad, knowing grin lurked in the corners of the man’s mouth, and as soon as Robert turned away the man’s amusement burst out of hiding, as he stared with lewd, open appraisal at Ann’s figure through her dress. Ann looked down modestly as Robert showed her the way to the stairs, and she mounted them quietly, listening to the click of her heels on the polished wooden boards, and the sudden silence that had fallen over the few drinkers in the room downstairs. But that was what she must expect.

Robert’s room was a large one on the first floor overlooking the courtyard, with a great curtained four-poster bed on the right, and two straight-backed wooden armchairs and a small table near the fireplace on the left. The walls were panelled in wood, and over the mantlepiece was a large picture of a dying hart in a wood, pierced by an arrow and surrounded by dogs and huntsmen.

“They have given me the best room, I’m afraid, though I don’t much care for the ‘art,” he said, with a wave of his arm at the picture. “The wretched beast seems to follow me with its eyes all round the room, as though it was I who shot the arrow.”

He showed her to one of the chairs and then sat down opposite, and Ann thought how formal it was, as though they were husband and wife waiting for the servants to bring them a drink. She would have laughed if she had been more relaxed, and she had not feared to lose her poise.

“So. You escaped from Marianne - and from the chaos of Sedgemoor too, it seems.” How calm and suave he looked, she thought, as though he were pleased to see her, but no more – as though her presence did not touch him deeply at all. Would he pretend, later, that he loved her - or was this the pretence, now? “I looked to find you in Bridgewater afterwards, but had no luck. Perhaps you saw sense, and persuaded your friends to take the King’s pardon before then?”

“No. I never saw no King’s pardon, nor my father neither. Till now.”

“Now?” He raised an eyebrow quizzically, and a chord sang in her heart as she remembered the strange quirk, so comical in such a solemn face, which she had laughed at once on Colyton Hill.

“It’s a little late to be seeking a King’s pardon now, Ann. But you’re not charged, are you? No-one has informed against you?”

“No. I’m safe enough, I think - as safe as any woman can be, in a country swarming with royal soldiers.”

His face darkened. “They have not harmed you again?”

“No. I come to you ... much as you found me.” She would have said more, but her courage failed her, and he did not seem to want the talk to get close to her, just yet. He was still taking in the surprise of her being there at all.

“So you were at Bridgewater with the rebel army? But how did you escape?”

“I can hardly tell you that, now, can I?” Nonetheless she told him a little, to gain time, of the story she had told her father, without mentioning names or places, lest he or his soldiers should use them. Robert did not press her for details, but merely watched and listened as she spoke. And when she had finished the story, he said nothing, and she saw that he had been watching her as much as listening to what she said. His thin, freckled face had lost its pose of sophistication, and had instead that yearning, boyish gaze that she remembered so well.

She smiled at him, more relaxed now, yet wishing to postpone things a little longer.

“And you? I’d thought perhaps to find you killed, in your duel with Colonel Weston?”

He smiled faintly. “Colonel Weston is no more. It seems someone at Sedgemoor spared me the trouble.”

“I’m glad.” There was not a lot more to say. She smiled carefully, aware that the moment had come.

He coughed to clear his throat. “And you say you have something to give me. Is that why you are here?”

“Yes.” Her voice came in a whisper. But she could not say it sitting so formally like this, opposite him in a chair. She got carefully to her feet and walked slowly to the bed, drawing aside the curtains at its foot.

“Is this where you sleep?”

“Yes.” He sat quite still and straight in his chair, watching her as though in a trance.

“It looks ... very comfortable. I’ve never slept in a bed as big as this.” She sat down on it and looked at him, pressing her arms down behind her so as to emphasize her bust. “Come and sit here, Rob. I can’t shout my secret across the room.”

He got up and walked towards her, very solemn and steady, and sat down awkwardly beside her. Then she realised how stiff he seemed, and ventured a shy smile.

“So. Am I near enough now? What is this secret?”

“Can’t you guess?” She knew it would work better if she laughed, but she couldn’t. Instead she slipped her arms around him and put up her dry mouth to be kissed. He did not respond; so she kissed him herself. His lips were still, neither responding nor withdrawing. She paused, and his hand grasped her shoulder gently, holding her away.

“Ann? What do you mean?” His face was puzzled, almost hurt.

“I mean I love you. I have come to give you myself, as you wanted me before.” She tried her most lascivious smile, and moved forwards to kiss him again, but he held her back, and she felt her heart pumping with fear.

“But why now? I haven’t asked you now. Why have you changed?” The puzzled frown on his face was nearer anger than concern.

“Because it’s what you always wanted from me. I’ve come to give it to you. Rob ... “

“No!” Her hand moved to touch his thigh and he stood up, horrified, glaring down at her. “What is this? You’re like a whore!”

“I ... only for you, Rob!” But she had failed; and she must not fail! She stared up at him, trying to think what to do. “I love you, Robert!”

“You don’t!” He strode furiously to the window, to put a safe distance between them. “If you loved me you wouldn’t come and offer yourself to me like that, as brazenly as that. Especially not you! By God, Ann! Is this your idea of revenge? Have you become so much of a whore that you must flaunt yourself in my face, or has someone paid you to do it? Come on, which is it? Speak, you little strumpet!”

But she could not speak. Neither could she weep; the shock was too great. She could only stare at him, feeling her eyes widen and the blood rush to her face. She wanted to run but could not move either.

“At least you can still blush. Come on, speak! Why are you doing this?” He came over and stood between her and the door, as though he had read her mind about escaping.

“My father,” she said at last, and the words released a little of her courage. At least her motive was honourable; he could not deny that.

“Your father? You mean your father sent you to be a whore?”

“No!” He had no right to shout at her like this. “I came by myself, to help him. He knows nothing about it!”

Robert put a hand over his brow, pushing back the curls of his wig. “But ... how could you help your father, by behaving like this to me?”

“You could get him a pardon!”
And so it was said; but not in the way she had imagined, softly whispered in his ear as he lay relaxed, exhausted and grateful in the bed beside her, gently stroking her breast. Instead it fell like a challenge between them, dividing them for ever.

“Get him a pardon? He is captured, then - in prison?”

“Yes, here in Dorchester. He was tried yesterday, and sentenced to death.” She felt the blush fading slowly from her face, and the tears swelling beneath.