better avoid.”
“Agreed,” Henry said. “I’ll chance it. If we’re stopped and the king is recognised, the lack of a pass will be the least of our worries.” He grinned at Jane, eyes shining. “Didn’t think when you woke up a few days ago that we’d be saving the king’s neck, did you?”
“No,” Jane smiled.
“Are you sure, Jane?” John asked. “If you’re having second thoughts, better to voice them now.”
“I’m having no second thoughts. And if I were, I’d go through with it anyway. For what other way is as sure to get the king out of danger?”
“Spoken like a true soldier.” Henry tweaked a curl that strayed from Jane’s cap, the same as he had done since she was a little girl and he a dashing older boy. “But it’s as well I’ll be with you, to protect you from the king as much as for anything else.”
“Why, what a thing to say!” Jane cried in astonishment. “What may you mean by that?”
“Only that he’s a man like any other, and used to having his way.”
“Careful, Henry,” John warned.
“John, if she’s to travel with him, she should know to be on her guard.” John shrugged in acquiescence, and Henry continued. “He’s already got a bastard son by a wench on Jersey, and there are whispers that he got at least one child on the daughter of the governor there, too.”
Jane felt a little shock at such licentiousness, but she was more annoyed at the sight of Henry, clearly expecting her to be outraged.
“Brisk work for a lad of twenty-one,” she said coolly. “But I’m sure His Majesty will have more on his mind than attempting to debauch me.”
She smiled inwardly to see that Henry looked disappointed at her lack of reaction.
“It’s too cold to tarry here,” she said. “We’ll talk more tonight. I’m going in.”
HENRY WAITED WITH JANE IN THE DARKENED KITCHEN THAT NIGHT. John had a book of maps that had been prepared for Royalist officers, and Henry studied it by the lantern light.
“An exceeding useful thing to have,” he said. “The maps will save us asking our way. The less attention we bring to ourselves the better.”
Jane paced, going to the window to peer out into the blackness. The pale curved crescent of the moon had risen into view before they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. A rush of cold air gusted through the kitchen as John came through the heavy wooden door, followed by a stocky figure wrapped in a bulky cloak, and Jane shivered as the reality of what she was planning to undertake hit her.
“My lord, may I present my sister Jane? You know my cousin Henry Lascelles, I believe.”
“Your servant, Mistress. A pleasure to see you, Lascelles.”
As Wilmot pulled off his hat and bowed to her, Jane saw that he was a big man with a spreading paunch, near on forty years old, and nothing like the dashing hero of her imagination. But still he looked the part of a soldier, and Jane knew from John’s service under him that he was a capable and shrewd commander. She brought warm drink to the table and sat down with the men. Wilmot’s buff coat was splattered with mud, the collar of his shirt was grimy, and his unshaven face was stubbled with grey, and Jane remembered that like the king, he had been on the run from Cromwell’s men for five long days.
“Henry will ride with my sister and—your master,” John said, his voice low.
Wilmot nodded his understanding.
“An extra man will not go amiss in case of danger,” John added. “And you and I may be of help, too, my lord. We can give out that we go to visit Clement Fisher at Packington. The way lies in the same direction the others will travel, and we can keep in sight at least through the morning.”
“Well bethought,” Wilmot nodded. “The greatest danger probably lies closest to here, so the more men to hand the better. And I shall be glad to see Fisher again.”
“The situation has fallen out well for our purpose,” John said. “I had planned to send the son of one of our tenant farmers to accompany Jane, and it is such a man your master must feign to be. We’ll provide suitable clothes and instruct him in what he needs to know.”
“I’ve already made arrangements to stop with family at Long Marston on the way,” Jane said, looking at the men’s shadowed faces. “And they’ll not question my having a serving man with me.”
“Long Marston’s a long day’s ride,” Henry said, “but if all goes well we should be able to make it, and to reach Abbots Leigh in another two days’ travel.”
“Good,” Wilmot said. “I’ll ride from Packington, and meet you all at Abbots Leigh.”
“Then we’re agreed,” John said. “We’ll be ready to leave when you think fit, my lord.”
A thrill went through Jane’s stomach. It was really happening. A greater adventure than she could have imagined.
“Let us make it as soon as it may be,” Wilmot said. “The danger grows with every hour. I’ll bring him here tomorrow at midnight, and we’ll leave at daybreak.” He stood and threw his cloak over his shoulders. “Until tomorrow.” He bowed to Jane. “I honour your courage, Mistress. And I know I can speak for our master in giving all of you his profound thanks.”
LATE THOUGH IT WAS, JANE LAY STARING INTO THE DARK, UNABLE TO stop her mind from whirling. She could scarcely believe that before the next day was out, the king would be at Bentley, and that the following morning they would be on their way towards Bristol, riding to save his life and any hope for the future of England’s monarchy. She had never travelled farther than Stafford, less than thirty miles away, and now she was setting out on a journey of a hundred miles, every step fraught with peril to her own life as well as that of the king. Her cat, Jack, lay purring at her side, and she reached down to stroke his head.
“How has it come,” she asked him, “that an undertaking of such moment should rest on my shoulders? Will I be able to surmount the difficulties and terrors that are sure to lie along the way?”
Jack shifted against her, his purring rumbling deep within his chest.
I shall have to, Jane murmured to herself. God give me strength.
THE NEXT MORNING JANE LOOKED OUT HER BEDROOM WINDOW TO see a man hastening to the kitchen door. She recognised him as one of the five surviving Penderel brothers, who lived in and around Whiteladies and served the Giffard family at Boscobel, a few miles away in the woods of Shropshire. The family had fought for the king, and a sixth brother had been killed at the Battle of Edgehill. Jane saw John slip out to the stables with the man, and a few minutes later she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He put a finger to his lips imploring her silence as she opened her door to him.
“John Penderel’s just come from Whiteladies. Colonel Ashenhurst was there last night with a party of soldiers. They’d been told that the king was at the house, and they tore the place apart and used Charles Giffard very roughly.”
“Dear God,” Jane whispered, closing the door and leaning against it in alarm. “The king wasn’t there, was he?”
“No,” John said, sinking onto a chair. “But it maddened them not to find him. A soldier captured after Worcester had led them there, and they beat him badly. They have the scent of the king now, and will hunt until they find him. And look at this.” He dug a folded paper out of his pocket. “It’s being distributed to every parish in England.”
Jane stared at the broadsheet, headed “A Reward of a Thousand Pounds for the Capture of the Traitor Charles Stuart”. A cloud covered the sun outside, and she felt a cold shadow of fear pass over her heart.
“Then we had best get him out while we can,” she said.
“Jane,