kind of young man for whom Frances would use her lures to the utmost? But her fears had been groundless. Their visit had proved a vast success. She had been so proud to bring him, and Firebrace himself had known just how to please his hostess, kissing her hand and paying her intelligent compliments. Because John Newland was present he had shown Frances only the respectful admiration due to any pretty girl, and although he had a way of making all women feel precious, he had spent most of the afternoon deep in congenial conversation with the lucky merchant and his host.
Coming home through the early darkness had been even best of all, decided Mary, living it all over again. Just at first Firebrace had seemed preoccupied, and she had walked beside him in contented silence, thinking of the care with which he had wrapped her cloak about her, and of how he had smiled into her eyes as he pulled the hood up over her curls. And as they climbed the hill to the castle the church bells had begun to ring, and he had taken her arm to help her over the frozen patches again, and they had laughed together at the everyday absurdities of their strangely altered lives. And although she had been alone with him in the darkness and tingling with a new excitement, she had felt safe; so that the ugly memory of Edmund Rolph’s exploring hands and the fear of his hungry staring were quite wiped out.
In spite of there being neither masque nor decorations, it had been the happiest Christmas Mary had ever known. The exquisite thrill of it remained so vividly that, though stitching the hem of some other girl’s wedding-gown, her cheeks glowed softly pink as though it were her own. But it was then that her happy dreams were rudely shattered by the sudden clamour of the Governor’s return down in the courtyard. She heard shouting, a sharp clatter of hooves, and her father’s voice giving a string of sharply rapped-out orders. Then the sound of a horse being led past to the stables.
“The Governor has come back,” she thought. Though why with such an unusual commotion she could not imagine.
She laid aside her work and hurried to the window. But the weather had changed. Rain dashed across the panes, running in rivulets down the glass so that, peer as she would, she could make out nothing save the bobbing lights of lanterns going to and fro. She heard the Governor’s quick footsteps cross the courtyard towards the officers’ quarters. And although it was barely four by her aunt’s cherished clock, the great doors beneath the barbican banged shut, the iron bolts slammed home. And then she was aware of a strange rumble from the gatehouse, and the groan of heavy chains.
“Listen, Aunt Druscilla!” she called out, as Mistress Wheeler came into the room. “Surely that is the portcullis going down?”
Her aunt came swiftly to stand beside her, listening. “What times we live in!” she exclaimed. “Never once since milady Portland defied Mayor Moses and his mob has that portcullis been lowered.”
“It is like being in prison,” whispered Mary, apprehensively.
And in the room immediately below the King of England heard it too. Sitting at his writing table, alone, he heard it with far more apprehension than did his little laundry maid. He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and, laboriously consulting his code, began to pen an answer to his wife.
“Dear Heart” he wrote, “By the mischance which always dogs me the wind changed even as I drew on my boots to come to you. Though it should veer again the ship your devotion provided may well have to sail without me. To delay over long at Southampton may provoke suspicion. I know not at the moment by what means this poor letter can reach you, but by reason that my circumstances here have veered also I fear that it must reach you in my stead.”
Chapter Eight
A guard must be set at each door of the State Room and Presence Chamber,” decided the Governor, sitting down to a hasty meal which had
Coming home through the early darkness had been even best of all, decided Mary, living it all over again. Just at first Firebrace had seemed preoccupied, and she had walked beside him in contented silence, thinking of the care with which he had wrapped her cloak about her, and of how he had smiled into her eyes as he pulled the hood up over her curls. And as they climbed the hill to the castle the church bells had begun to ring, and he had taken her arm to help her over the frozen patches again, and they had laughed together at the everyday absurdities of their strangely altered lives. And although she had been alone with him in the darkness and tingling with a new excitement, she had felt safe; so that the ugly memory of Edmund Rolph’s exploring hands and the fear of his hungry staring were quite wiped out.
In spite of there being neither masque nor decorations, it had been the happiest Christmas Mary had ever known. The exquisite thrill of it remained so vividly that, though stitching the hem of some other girl’s wedding-gown, her cheeks glowed softly pink as though it were her own. But it was then that her happy dreams were rudely shattered by the sudden clamour of the Governor’s return down in the courtyard. She heard shouting, a sharp clatter of hooves, and her father’s voice giving a string of sharply rapped-out orders. Then the sound of a horse being led past to the stables.
“The Governor has come back,” she thought. Though why with such an unusual commotion she could not imagine.
She laid aside her work and hurried to the window. But the weather had changed. Rain dashed across the panes, running in rivulets down the glass so that, peer as she would, she could make out nothing save the bobbing lights of lanterns going to and fro. She heard the Governor’s quick footsteps cross the courtyard towards the officers’ quarters. And although it was barely four by her aunt’s cherished clock, the great doors beneath the barbican banged shut, the iron bolts slammed home. And then she was aware of a strange rumble from the gatehouse, and the groan of heavy chains.
“Listen, Aunt Druscilla!” she called out, as Mistress Wheeler came into the room. “Surely that is the portcullis going down?”
Her aunt came swiftly to stand beside her, listening. “What times we live in!” she exclaimed. “Never once since milady Portland defied Mayor Moses and his mob has that portcullis been lowered.”
“It is like being in prison,” whispered Mary, apprehensively.
And in the room immediately below the King of England heard it too. Sitting at his writing table, alone, he heard it with far more apprehension than did his little laundry maid. He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and, laboriously consulting his code, began to pen an answer to his wife.
“Dear Heart” he wrote, “By the mischance which always dogs me the wind changed even as I drew on my boots to come to you. Though it should veer again the ship your devotion provided may well have to sail without me. To delay over long at Southampton may provoke suspicion. I know not at the moment by what means this poor letter can reach you, but by reason that my circumstances here have veered also I fear that it must reach you in my stead.”
Chapter Eight
A guard must be set at each door of the State Room and Presence Chamber,” decided the Governor, sitting down to a hasty meal which had
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