Now Face to Face (100 page)

J
ANE PRESSED HER HANDS TOGETHER, NOW THAT ALL WAS SAID.
The next few moments determined the course of her life, and Gussy’s.

“It will never work,” her father said.

“If we’re caught—” her mother said.

“We all end in the Tower,” her father finished.

Jane stood. She’d do it upon her own, then. She gathered up her cloak, thinking of all that would have to be done: women found, clothing packed, the children arranged for—so much, so much, between now and then.

“The Duchess must be safe,” said her father. “No harm must come to her because of this.”

Yes, the same with Barbara. “Quarrel with her, publicly.”

“Tell me the plan again,” said her father, “more slowly.”

Jane did it, the words tumbling out. They are going to help me, she thought. Light was spreading inside her. She felt faint with it.

“Why not?” Sir John said, when Jane was finished.

“And if we’re caught?” her mother said.

“Is that worse than this?”

“Janie—John, catch her!”

When Jane opened her eyes again, her mother was looking at her in a way mothers have when no secrets are safe, for they know you too well.

“Are you with child? If you are with child—”

“No.” Yes. The jest about Gussy having only to drop his breeches lived true. The one thing she knew was having babies, even now, in the midst of this. “I haven’t been eating.”

“Clear to anyone with eyes.”

It was her father, fierce, angry, scowling, a caged bear. “Well, you’d best begin. We can’t have you fainting in the Tower the day we rescue Gussy.”

When Jane was gone, Sir John said to his wife, “Our Jane—who would have thought she had it in her?”

“We die if we’re caught.”

“I’m already dead inside.”

J
ANE WAITED
in Devane Square Church for Barbara. Sir Christopher Wren was there; he brought a lap robe over and tucked it about her legs, his gesture kind, quick, before he walked back to the carvers at the altar. He’d heard of her disgrace yesterday. He’d tell about the scene in his church today, the quarrel between Jane Cromwell and Lady Devane; he wouldn’t be able not to.

Here now was Barbara, bold Barbara, brave Barbara. She must give me some of both qualities, thought Jane. They sat together, held hands under the lap robe the way they used to do years ago in Tamworth Church.

“I’m going to quarrel with you, Barbara,” Jane said. “In another few moments, after I tell you what I’m doing. I’m going to try and take Gussy from the Tower—”

“A rescue! You have a plan!”

“And I don’t want you hurt by it, whether I succeed or fail.”

“It’s madness. I can’t believe you do it. What do you need? What can I do to help?”

“I need a woman to help me. I need coins.”

“Bathsheba—”

“No. She is your servant, and I do not want this in any way connected to you. I’m with child, I think, Barbara.”

“Oh, Jane, you have one of your wishes. Where will you go afterward?”

“Virginia.”

“Yes, I’ll write a letter for your father to give to Blackstone. He’ll help you. Are there any ships in? It’s nearly December. I’ll find out about a ship and have word sent to you.”

“Hold my hand for a long moment, because I am going to begin to shout at you, to accuse you of not doing all you could for me, and I won’t see you again. We mustn’t see each other again after this. Don’t tell your grandmother. Father thinks it better that she have no idea, until afterward.”

“I love you, Jane.”

“I love you, Barbara. Give me something of yours. Anything.”

Barbara untied a silver ribbon from her sleeve. They held hands tightly a long moment, all their lives together in the moment, all their friendship. Harry and the apple trees. Tamworth and the lane to church, all their golden girlhood.

“I
T CANNOT
possibly succeed.”

“I’m with child.”

Gussy took Jane’s hands in his. There was nothing more to be said. She’d told him her plan; even now, as she said it yet again, she thought, How silly this is, too simple, it will never work. If Gussy says no….

“It is in God’s hands, then, Jane. We’ll pray.”

“You will do it?”

“Yes.”

Outside, later, as Jane walked away from the Tower, to the rented chamber where her father was, she thought, Ten more days, ten more days, and then my life changes forever.

Her mother was even now secretly selling everything—plate, pots, jewelry, clothing—so that they would have funds to pay the captain of the ship on which they sailed. She was on her way to see the Duke of Tamworth to borrow a hundred pounds from him. He’d give it without asking a question as to what she wished it for. Barbara had already sent fifty pounds, would send more. Jane needed two women to help her, for her mother was going to have the children on her hands.

Who could help her?

Who would be safe in risking it?

A
NNIE, IN
the kitchen at Saylor House, read once again the note Barbara had sent.

“What are you up to, Annie my love?” said Tim.

Annie looked away from Tim’s impudent face. She’d just done tea leaves. It was in the tea leaves, all of it. Even Tim.

“I
WILL
not have it,” Sir John Ashford said, silencing even guests at the other end of the chamber. “You are to keep your meddling hands out of my affairs once and for all.”

Lord Cowper moved quickly away from the guest he was talking to, toward John Ashford and the Duchess of Tamworth. Ashford was making a scene, accosting the Duchess as if she were a yard woman.

“I know all about it,” Sir John was saying as people around them murmured to one another and watched. “You’ve asked to buy Ladybeth from Andreas, don’t bother to deny it. You always wanted it, didn’t you? Greedy woman.”

“No,” said the Duchess. “You know that is not true.”

Lord Cowper was just able to keep Tony from putting his hands on Sir John. As it was, Tony followed Cowper and Sir John down the stairs, Cowper whispering to this man, an old friend, but a friend who had gone too far, “You forget yourself, John. You must leave my house at once.”

Tony pushed past Cowper and took Sir John by the arm. “You are never to speak to my grandmother in such a manner again.”

Sir John pulled away. “Will you duel with me? Or call me thief? Young Whig rogue. I spit on you and every Saylor I know.”

Lord Cowper stepped in front of Tony. “I beg you, simply allow him to depart. Remember all that has befallen him—”

Upstairs, Barbara stood by her grandmother. Annie had gone for their cloaks. Her grandmother was silent, but her face was too pale and her hands were clenching and unclenching her cane.

“He didn’t mean it,” Barbara said softly. “It is the strain of everything. Did you offer to buy the farm from Andreas?”

“Yes, but to give it back to John, not right away, but in time. When you’re grieving you need the familiar, that which you know, to comfort you. He won’t survive all this without his farm.”

A tear seeped down the Duchess’s cheek. Death, she thought, I am ready.

“I
T BROKE
my mother’s heart,” said Diana to Walpole, who visited her. “She has given Sir John nothing but faithful friendship in this time. I never liked him.”

“Shall I put him in the Tower for you?”

“No, let it be. You’re going to lower the fine, yes?”

“Yes. It will be our last piece of business in Parliament before we all leave for Christmas. If anything, Diana, Barbara may be more in favor with the King than ever. ‘She is a true friend,’ he says, ‘That is rare.’ I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said Diana.

“D
ON’T GRIEVE,”
said Barbara, patting the Duchess’s hand. “Please don’t grieve. Sir John will send an apology. I know it. Let time pass.”

Whig and Tory matter no more to me, thought the Duchess. George or James—it matters not. Oil of violets: If she were at Tamworth, Annie would be making oil of violets, violets’ leaves boiled, steeped, strained, put into a glass with fresh leaves and left alone for a time, good against melancholy, dullness, and heaviness of spirit.

John, you have broken my heart.

C
OLONEL
P
ERRY
found Barbara walking around the centermost portion of Devane Square, where her Virginia garden was to be. He got down from his horse.

“I’ve found out about a ship to Virginia, as you asked.”

“Thank you.”

He cocked his head and watched her as she moved along the long lines of string Wren had stretched from wooden stakes to show the shape of the garden. He was dreaming of her. The angel was there again, telling him to watch over her, carefully.

“How can I help you?” he said. He knew nothing else to say.

“Be my friend,” said Barbara. “Walk with me as I see this garden in my mind. Assure me that Walpole really will reduce my fine. And pray for Jane.”

“I do nothing else. I pray that that which is best for all, that which is good and loving, happens.”

“Yes.”

F
IVE DAYS.
Annie walked down the street where Mrs. Cromwell rented a chamber in a building. She knocked upon a door at the top of the stairs. Jane opened it.

“I want to help you,” Annie heard herself say.

Jane’s face became closed, guarded. “Help me?”

“Take him from the Tower.”

“How can you know that! How?” And when Annie didn’t answer: “I need two women. Can you find women who will go to the Tower with me? All they have to do is to bring in clothing for him to wear out. I’ll give them each twenty pounds.”

“Your mother?”

“She will have to be with the children. The children would behave for no one else, except Barbara.”

“I’ve brought green tea and two eggs. We’ll let the tea steep, then beat in the yolks with white sugar. For strength. Tell me your plan.”

F
OUR DAYS.
Annie folded gowns. Where to find another woman? She herself would be the first. She saw the Duchess watching her and coughed.

The Duchess pursed her lips. “I don’t like that cough. Are you becoming ill?”

“I am never ill.” Annie coughed again, put the gown down, and left the chamber. Tim caught her in the servants’ hall and backed her into a corner.

“Tell me.”

She looked him up and down, her face expressionless. “Mrs. Cromwell is going to take Mr. Cromwell from the Tower in four days.”

Tim stepped back, as if a snake had bitten him. “An—”

“Escape.” Annie moved around him, toward the cavernous kitchen, where the kitchen servants were kneading dough, cutting up potatoes, unaware of the drama unfolding yards away from them. Tim caught her by the arm, pulled her back into the corner.

“Does the Duchess know?”

“It isn’t meant for her to know.”

“Are you—”

“Leave me be. I’ve told you more than I should.”

T
HREE DAYS.
Annie sat by a window, watching a bird peck among the gravel on the garden paths. Another woman? Jane had asked, desperately. Trust, said Annie. Are you well? Drink the tea.

Down the gravel path came Tim, no grin on that impudent face of his. What is wrong with Tim? one of the maidservants had asked just this morning. I have never known him to scowl so. Annie closed her eyes, waited, patiently. After a time, someone’s hand touched her shoulder. Tim knelt down close to her, his face, for once, serious.

How many women love you? thought Annie. A dozen, at least.

“I want to help. I can’t think of anything else but little Mrs. Cromwell. Wood violet, the Duchess calls her, Tamworth’s wood violet. Let me help, Annie. Please.”