houses and people in my life.”
“Well, look you,” the fellow said, and Jane, Henry, and Charles paid close heed to the directions he gave.
“Thankee, friend,” Charles called with a farewell wave. “And I hope to do you a good turn someday.”
“Not likely, boobee!” the stranger laughed. “But I thank you for the thought.”
Jane was relieved when once again the city walls came within view and a high stone gate loomed before them.
“That’s it,” Charles said. “We’ll cross the river at Rownham Passage. It’s not far now, and we can’t miss it.”
This time he was right. The road sloped down to the muddy banks of the Avon, and a ferry was crossing back from the opposite side. The ferryman nodded at them as they rode aboard and Henry counted out their fares, but he didn’t give Charles a second glance. Jane looked in awe at the magnificent deep gorge between two rocky cliffs, through which the river passed on its long journey from Stratford towards the sea.
“It’s only two or three miles now.” Henry sounded relieved as they reached the far bank of the river. “We could take the main road, but according to the map there’s an old Roman road that goes up through the orchard.”
“Then let us use that,” Charles said. “For in this instance, the only way to go is up, and the more private we can be, the better.”
The main road lay before them, climbing a steep hill, the late-afternoon sun slanting down through the canopy of tall trees that lined the road, but Henry led them off to the right, and they easily found the track that wound up through the apple trees, heavy with their red and gold fruit. Jane inhaled the scent, thinking of the orchard at Bentley.
“Boobee?” Charles mused, turning his head over his shoulder to speak to her. “What did the fellow mean by calling me that?”
“It’s a song,” Jane laughed. “All about a country clodhopper that goes to London.”
“Ah.” Charles grinned. “Then I can congratulate myself that I’ve pulled the wool over the eyes of at least one proud man of Bristol. Still, I don’t relish another evening in the kitchens as I spent at Long Marston. It might be more prudent to contrive some way to keep me apart from the household at Abbots Leigh.”
“True,” Jane said. “We could say that you’re ill and not fit to mix with the other servants.”
“That would serve,” Charles agreed. “And I’ve no doubt I look pale and haggard, what with the miles of riding and walking, and the lack of meat and sleep over the past week.”
They were near the summit of the hill now, and Jane was pleased to think that they were so close to having accomplished what they set out to do—get the king in safety to where he could wait while Lord Wilmot found him safe passage from England—but she felt a pang at the realisation that their arrival meant her time with Charles was growing short. How long would it take Lord Wilmot to arrive and then to find a boat? Would she have another evening with Charles? Two? What heartache it would be to turn for home and ride back to Bentley behind Henry. She tightened her arms around Charles’s waist, and he patted her hand.
“Tired?” he asked. “We must be nearly there now.”
“I am weary of riding, but not of your company.”
His hand brushed hers, and his lips tickled her ear as he spoke, his voice a husky whisper. “I shall not let you part from me just yet, sweetheart.”
The horses seemed to sense that they were near the end of their journey, and they pressed on despite the steepness of the hill. Soon a high stone gateway with a two-storeyed gatehouse rose ahead.
“That must be it,” Henry said, turning. He slowed so that Charles and Jane pulled even with him. “It’s a big household and there will be grooms enough to deal with horses,” he said, his voice low. “It would be safer for you to wait near the stables while Jane makes arrangements with her cousin to lodge you somewhere quiet.”
As they passed through the arched gateway, the road curved, and the great house stood before them, perched on the summit of the hill. Jane let out a little cry.
“What a grand house!”
It was a fine house, its imposing front three storeys high, with a row of a dozen gables along the roof, its vast lawns rolling away downhill in all directions. On the green before the house, eight or ten people were playing at bowls, and two or three more lounged on the wide front steps to watch the game’s progress. Jane was just as glad that she did not see Ellen among those gathered; she could ride to the back of the house with Charles and Henry and make a more quiet entrance than if she had had to stop to greet Ellen before all those people.
Henry had been right, and as soon as the horses approached the stables, two boys came running out to take the horses by their bridles while the riders dismounted.
“Wait here, Jackson,” Jane said, “while I find Mrs Norton.”
She didn’t have far to look, however, for a voice from above called out happily.
“Jane! You’re here!” Ellen leaned out a window, beaming. Jane laughed with pleasure to see the familiar tousled blonde curls and rosy cheeks.
“Ellen! How radiant you look!”
“Stay just where you are,” Ellen called. “I’ll be down directly!”
She appeared a moment later at the back door, and Jane rushed to embrace her, careful of her bulging belly.
“Come in, come in,” Ellen urged. “You must be worn out with the ride, and I’m so big I can scarce get about.”
“Ellen, you remember my cousin Henry Lascelles?” Jane asked. Henry and Ellen bowed to each other as Charles hovered in the background. “And I wonder if I might beg a favour. My man Jackson here has been ill of an ague. I would take it most kind if you would let him have a good chamber with a fire so that he might go early to bed, or I fear the boy will never recover.”
“Of course, of course, the poor lad,” Ellen agreed, giving a vague smile in Charles’s direction. “I’ll have Pope see to him directly. But come with me, dear Jane, I want all the news from home.”
Jane had just time to settle herself in her room, visit briefly with Ellen, and wash her hands and face and change her clothes before it was time for supper. She insisted on carrying a dish of broth to her ailing man herself, and the butler Pope showed her the way to the garret room where Charles was lodged.
“Mrs Norton has asked Dr Gorge to look at your man after supper, madam,” Pope said as they climbed the stairs.
“Oh,” Jane faltered, “that’s most kind.”
She tried without success to think how she could plausibly refuse the offer and decided she would just have to warn Charles. Fortunately, Pope left her at the door of Charles’s room, and she slipped in to find him stretched on a bed before a blazing fire. He sat up as she came in, grinning at the sight of the steaming bowl.
“Your friend is very kind to accommodate me so well,” Charles said. “Please give her the humble thanks of William Jackson, and let us hope that I can make more suitable thanks later.”
He tilted the bowl and drank hungrily, reminding Jane of a ravenous dog.
“Ah, that’s good.” He sighed in satisfaction.
“Don’t worry,” Jane smiled. “I’ll tell the butler you’re up to proper food, and I’m sure he’ll see to it that you’re well fed. But there’s a doctor visiting the house, and Ellen has asked him to look at you.”
Charles shrugged. “It’s not much of a part I have to play, being wan and weary.”
“Good,” Jane said. She knew she must hasten to the dinner table, but she was loath to leave him. “Shall I look in on you later,