Tapestry (37 page)

There we are then. I risked my life for Will
.

You risked your life for
you,
Jane. It is your life that matters to you, not his
.

Do not say that
. It took her breath away in a punch of pain to hear Winifred’s accusation.

I have said it. I believe it. I have come to know you in this odd relationship of ours. You are trying to save yourself, not Will Maxwell. If you do marry him, it will be to make your life have some meaning, not because you understand what it is to love this man
.

I disagree
.

That is your prerogative. But I have seen you with someone else and I have shared your thoughts about Will. They do not come close. Your fiancé is infinitely less exciting to you than Julius Sackville. You may believe you’ve pushed him to the back of our mind, dear one, but I share that mind and he is ever-present in your thoughts. You can still feel his touch, his kiss. You will never forget that you lay down with him
.

You are wrong, Winifred
.

Am I? Then why are my cheeks burning with shame … your shame?

They’d come to the point where she had to ask:
Winifred, I lack your experience of it, but were you suggesting earlier that you are pregnant?

There was only a small hesitation.
I have suffered many miscarriages during my marriage, Jane. But I have always known when I was with child, even from the earliest moment of quickening. My sickening is usually violent
.

You are sure it was nausea from pregnancy and not from … from the executions?

Even you are sure of that
.

Jane sighed. Winifred was not letting her off the hook, but she didn’t want to confront any more harsh truths right now. She could feel the nausea simmering like a bog in the pit of her stomach, looking for any excuse to bubble up. Enough had been said about her and Will. It was something she certainly didn’t want to confront; she was deeply unhappy
that Winifred had so deftly nailed her to her lies. Will was her life raft; she had to cling to him, or lose her mind. Julius and that sequence of events that she’d hoped, down the track, she might convince herself were almost a dream, an out-of-body experience, a symptom of being trapped by magic, just didn’t count. No one would ever know about them once she left here, least of all Will, and over time she could learn to pretend they had happened to Winifred, not her. Besides, it was Winifred’s face he’d loved, Winifred’s body he’d craved. He didn’t know Jane at all.

Well
, Jane said,
I am very happy for you, and I hope there are no problems with this pregnancy — although I suspect there will be fraught weeks ahead while you travel to Scotland and then sail to France
.

I shall not think on it, but simply do
.

Another curiosity surfaced. Jane was not going to ask about it, but it was released into her thoughts before she could temper it.
I thought morning sickness, as we call it, only occurred in the early months
.

In my experience, that is correct
.

But you have suffered from it throughout your pregnancy?

No
. Winifred sounded guarded but also vaguely sly, as though she were leading Jane down a particular path.

I do not understand
.

Do you not?

Jane mentally frowned as the sense of her own words thrummed around her, daring her to make the connections, to join the dots.
It was Winifred’s body he’d craved
, she repeated. Then added:
Winifred’s body he’d
… She didn’t need a bright light to suddenly switch on. Acid leaked along the sides of Winifred’s tongue, but it was from Jane’s guilt. The sour taste of realisation was the initial sensation, then a slight buzzing in her mind; she wasn’t sure exactly where, because it was hotly followed by the escalation of Winifred’s heart rate.

It is Julius’s child?
she asked, deep shock trembling from her to Winifred and back again.

It cannot be anyone else’s
, Winifred replied, calm but not without emotion.

Jane gave an involuntary gasp, but Winifred did not make a sound; she was tightly controlling how this conversation played itself out through her body.

You’re sure?
Jane pressed, hearing her redundant, pathetically grasping tone, when she already knew Winifred would not lie.

Winifred answered her anyway.
You gave your consent to Julius when I was not in a position to deny him or you
.

Winifred … I
… Shame, anger, disappointment collided.
I felt as though I had no control that day
.

Clearly
.

Are you angry?
Another doltish question.

Angry to be carrying a child? No. Angry that it is not my husband’s? Yes! Angry that I feel defiled? Yes!

She said all of this without heat, suppressing the unneeded emotion as she had been doing, presumably, since that night in the inn when Julius first kissed her. Or maybe — and as she thought it, Jane believed herself right — Winifred could not have made her feelings known then because she had ‘disappeared’.

What are you going to do?
Jane wondered aloud, her voice small, self-conscious.

What can I do, except have the baby and love it? It is mine, after all. I am taking the approach that this is a divine reward for my desire to be a mother again: to give life and to love that new life without reservation
.

Perhaps, as you have miscarried in the past, this child will not survive
.

I wish that sorrow on no woman
.

Of course
. She could have bitten her own tongue out if it didn’t belong to Winifred. What possessed her to say something as puerile as that? Especially given that one of the reasons she’d
agreed to marry Will, she was sure, was so that she could have a family of her own?
Will you forgive me?

For what? For your insensitivity, or for my pregnancy?

Both
.

Without you, Jane, there would be no husband to love and raise this new child of ours
.

But Julius?

Things said aloud, and actions taken, can never be undone. Each moment of the past is just that. He was your past, not mine
.

I am not a promiscuous woman. I do not know what came over me. It was as though I were someone else
.

At this they both chuckled a little sadly.

Perhaps you should think on it more. None of us acts without reason. As for me, my reason is a child. I have always wanted more than two and we have had our share of loss in this regard. William has suffered enough through this period, so I hope he doesn’t bother to calculate. I have no control over that, but I will face the hurdles as they present themselves. If I can bear it, you can stop pouting over it too
.

Even though it was a rebuke, it was still generous; was there no end to Winifred’s magnanimity?

And if it is a daughter, I shall call her Jane
.

I do not know what to say, other than that I will get you safely to Scotland
.

Thank you, Jane, dear. I fear it is your strength that I shall have to rely on once more
.

We shall not discuss Julius Sackville again
, Jane finished, hoping that really was an end to it.

Except that the time you spent with Julius will remain in your memory for the rest of your life — whichever century, whichever body you walk in
.

J
ane hadn’t slept for the remainder of the night, and through those hours she had felt Winifred’s spirit weakening again and her body succumbing to the ever-prevalent fragility that stalked it. Once again, it would be up to Jane to remain strong for Winifred. There was no time for argument, even though Jane could see that William still wanted one.

It was Mr Mills who slipped into their room in the pre-dawn hours to explain the plan for William’s escape.

‘You are to be hidden in one of the servants’ rooms at the Venetian Embassy.’

‘For how long?’ William frowned.

Mills shrugged, but it was Jane who answered. ‘For however long it takes, William. We have not taken these risks to falter at the last. We want you safe in Europe.’

She could tell he loathed being pushed around and sensed his pride asserting itself. Perhaps his relief at being alive was already giving way to his dismay at being a man on the run. She could feel that guilt had become his shadow … he still felt shame in having cheated the headsman.

‘William, please, for the sake of the Jacobites who still believe in the cause, for the sake of our son who will revere your courage and for the sake of the women — and gentleman,’ she
nodded at Mr Mills, ‘who have risked their lives and continue to do so, stay alive whatever it takes.’

He looked pained and Mills retreated.

Jane had not wanted to tell William her news, but she knew a shock tactic was needed to snap him out of his unhelpful mood.

She pulled him to the window. ‘I may be with child.’ Jane could feel Winifred’s horror, and did her best to reassure her. ‘Do not ask me how I know. Women just know and I have been through it enough times to feel —’

‘But it was only last night!’ he murmured, searching her face for explanation.

She nodded. ‘I said I
may
be. You know how easily I fall. And for that potentially wonderful event, I want you safe. I love you, William. What can you possibly gain by risking death when you can gain so much, and do so much for the cause, by defying King George and escaping his reach? Trust me now as you did before.’

He nodded, all the fire gone out of him. She let him hold her close. ‘Forgive me my ingratitude,’ he said more loudly, glancing at Mills over Winifred’s head. ‘It is not easy to keep allowing others to take the risks.’

‘I understand, old man,’ Mills said.

Jane pulled away. ‘Now, let us listen to what has been planned.’

Mills cleared his throat. ‘There will be a coach dispatched to Dover to meet the Venetian Ambassador’s brother in a few days. The plan is for you, My Lord, to pretend to be one of the footmen travelling on the coach, wearing the Venetian livery.’

‘And from Dover?’ Jane asked.

‘Our friend at the Embassy, a fellow called Vezzosi, will negotiate with the captain of a small vessel to take you across the Channel.’

William nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Mills. I shall probably go to Scots College in Paris, where my nephews can accommodate me quietly; I cannot wait to reunite with our son.’

‘What about the Scottish royal family?’ Jane asked.

‘I shall see them, of course, if Queen Mary Beatrice will give me an audience at Saint-Germain-en-Laye. King James may even invite me to Avignon.’

Mills nodded. ‘The sedans will be here by now. Come, my Lord Earl, Countess. The adventure begins …’

Jane kissed William, Earl of Nithsdale, for what she hoped was the last time and, ignoring Winifred’s sorrow, urged him to go first down the stairs. ‘I shall follow in a minute or so. Be safe, my beloved,’ she whispered to his back.

It seemed a reward of two thousand pounds — an extraordinary sum of money — had been put on the head of Lord Nithsdale. But even more chilling was the news from Mrs Mills that the rumour around the court was that ‘the Countess’s head will answer for his’.

‘Lie low, my dear,’ she warned. ‘In fact, because one too many people knows we are friendly, I’m moving you to an address in Drury Lane where you will be far more comfortable than you were at Tower Hamlets.’ At Winifred’s frowning expression, her friend added, ‘I could not, of course, give a fig about my reputation. However, if the authorities began watching this house I would not wish to give anyone the opportunity of snatching you when you are so close to being safe. Stay at Drury Lane for a few days and then head for Scotland. You know I will help you.’

Reunited with Cecilia and in a new chamber, she whiled away two days in hiding until Mrs Mills got news to Winifred that William had safely left the country by ship and was already on French soil. They hugged and wept joyful tears.

‘We did it!’ Jane said to her friend.

‘You did it, Winifred. Your plan was seamless, cunning and simple. Your lord husband should be very proud of you.’

She shrugged. ‘Oh, I am not so sure about that. But at least now we are free to travel. Hopefully my letter to the Duchess of Buccleuch has paved the way for our safe arrival in Scotland.’

‘I am still not sure that it was a wise idea to announce that you will be arriving.’

‘Cecilia, I think despite the King’s public anger, privately he is happily rid of me, William and all of us connected with the rebellion of last year. There is too much sympathy for the rebels’ wives, so he is not about to attract any more negative attention by pursuing me. I suspect there is no proof of my implication in my lord husband’s rescue. I have not paraded myself, asked for sympathy, or gloated at his escape. The Duchess knows I will studiously remain out of the public eye, and perhaps if she can convey that to the Solicitor General in Scotland, I might be allowed to return to Terregles without being taken into custody.’

Cecilia sighed. ‘Do not hear me wrong, dearest. I think the precaution of writing ahead is clever, but it could go either way. If they see you, they will have no choice but to arrest you.’

‘Which is why I shall travel in disguise, wearing a dark wig.’

‘By coach?’ Cecilia asked hopefully.

Jane pulled Winifred’s neat mouth into a cunning grin. ‘On horseback. We survived our rigorous journey through the depths of winter. Spring will be easy,’ she said, hoping the milder weather would help Winifred’s condition.

She let the thought remain idle, knowing Winifred would soon be in southern Europe where the sun shone for most of the year and she could look forward to brighter health.

Jane’s predictions proved correct, and their return journey to Scotland passed much more smoothly than their slow passage to London weeks earlier. As Winifred and Cecilia arrived at Terregles, Jane noted that William’s sister had already begun packing up the house.

As they tearfully hugged, it was Jane’s former accomplice, the old gardener, who gave them the chilling news.

He stood by, his head hung, waiting for the right opportunity.

After pulling away from Mary, Jane turned to regard the man wringing an old cap in his hands. ‘Hello, Bran.’

He tugged at his hair, bowing. ‘You be a wonderful wee sight for sore eyes, My Lady. We are all most brightened by the news of My Lord’s escape.’

Jane felt Winifred’s warm smile broaden. ‘Dear Bran. What news here?’

‘There is often a foul wind a-stirring from the south, My Lady. And today is nae different. I have heard that soldiers have crossed the border.’

Jane blinked, trying to calculate. Winifred gave her the answer. Hours. ‘Well, they will find this place bare of what they search for. Thank you, Bran. You know what to fetch.’

‘Right away, My Lady,’ he said, bowing again. ‘I shall go and get my tools.’

‘Mary, is Anne here?’

Her sister-in-law shook her head. ‘I did not dare risk her precious life here with soldiers possibly crawling over the house. Anne is safe at Traquair House, where she awaits her mother.’

They watched Winifred put a hand to her chest in relief. ‘I shall be but a few minutes with Bran. Cecilia, pack afresh. You know we can carry little with us. We will leave for Peebles immediately.’ Jane was struggling to bear the thought of virtually repeating the journey of the past winter, first into Perthshire and then to London, this time to a port with Europe beckoning. But the words coming from Winifred’s mouth were Winifred’s own, it seemed, and Jane deferred to her host as she felt her own confidence slipping for the first time since she’d woken in Scotland.

The women nodded. Mary held out a letter. ‘This came for you too. It was sent here. There is no indication of who it is from.’

Jane took the letter and pushed it into a pocket as she shooed off both women again. ‘Hurry now, we leave as soon as I return
from the garden. I think I want to leave some coin behind. Just a little silver.’ She grinned. ‘To be cautious. Cecilia, be a love and fetch my perfume of violets, will you? I seem to have mislaid my other bottle.’

As she walked with Bran to the back garden, Jane realised Winifred was weighing up her options, sorting through thoughts, reaching toward a decision as to her best next step. Until now, Jane had made the decisions, but over the course of the journey north, she’d experienced a curious sensation that she was being squeezed out by Winifred.

It was an odd feeling to experience, hard even to explain to herself. She hadn’t wanted to say anything. Ever since the revelation of the pregnancy, Jane had carried the burden of guilt. But whatever was happening within Winifred, Jane knew her host was reasserting herself in a more physical way. She was nurturing a child, she was fleeing to reunite with her husband and she wanted no extra baggage.

Jane understood that. But she had no idea how to make the final escape that would free Winifred and empower each of them to return to their proper existence.

Bran was talking; she’d barely heard a word. ‘“… my kingdom in Germany,” the King is supposed to have said.’

She shook her head free of distractions and gathered her scattered thoughts. ‘Um … yes, well, I suppose he has never truly considered England to be his home.’

‘Then he should stay in Germany, My Lady.’

She laughed. ‘I agree. And then what happened?’ She gathered he’d been talking about the King’s departure from the country.

‘They say he passed a group of Jacobite prisoners, My Lady. And they were hopeful that the old saying that the royal face always carries mercy might hold good.’

She shook her head. ‘They would have appealed in vain.’

‘That’s the truth,’ Bran replied sadly. ‘But we heard from a traveller who was there that an Anglican clergyman was hanged,
drawn and quartered for his part in the rebellion. And he so moved the crowd with his speech on the gibbet that he attracted more converts than were scared off by his fearful punishment.’ He stopped. ‘Here we are, My Lady. I think it best if ye count our steps, for I cannot rely on my numbers.’

She squeezed his shoulder. ‘Of course.’ Together they deliberately walked, counting aloud but softly, until they reached the secret spot. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful this place is in spring. My last memory is of that terrible, frigid night.’

‘When I was frightened ye might slip on the ice and fall, My Lady,’ he said affectionately. ‘But the earth is no longer frozen. I shall have your goods in your hands very soon,’ he assured her, and bent his back to the digging.

Jane inhaled the cold air, gloriously scented by fresh grass that was growing madly. Bulb heads were just beginning to push through the earth and bright green leaf buds were fattening on the branches around her. It would be a month or more before blossom scented the air, but this hint of spring lifted her spirits and made her think about new beginnings. She was sure Winifred was thinking about the new life growing within her.

Jane was so distracted in those few heartbeats that she almost missed the figure that appeared briefly from the small copse beyond the garden. She saw whoever it was walk into the outer grounds of the property, which were given over to woodland and wildflowers.

She blinked, confused momentarily. Then she focused.
Robyn!

Her stomach felt as though it fell away, like the unpleasant sensation during turbulence when flying in an aircraft. But how could she explain that to Winifred, who was experiencing it differently — as something more like nausea?

‘My Lady?’ Bran’s concerned voice asked.

‘I am fine. It has been a tiring adventure, Bran. And it is not yet finished for me. I was thinking about the journey ahead.’

‘Would you like me to fetch you anything, My Lady?’ he said, holding out the small sack she had buried with him during winter.

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I wish to take one last tour around the property, Bran.’

He bowed. ‘Would you like me to walk with ye, My Lady, lest you trip?’

She smiled. ‘I will only be a few moments, Bran. Away with you. Please take that sack and ask Miss Cecilia to put it with my belongings. Tell her I am not far behind you. This is my farewell, dear Bran. I want to fix in my mind that copse, where I enjoyed many a happy picnic with my husband and children.’

He understood, nodded silently and departed, unaware of Winifred’s pounding heart against the anvil of her chest. She barely felt the ground beneath her boots or the damp against her cloak as she moved deeper into the stand of dark evergreens.

Out of sight from the main house, she called out. ‘Robyn?’

‘Here,’ came the familiar voice, and her mysterious guide appeared again from behind the trunk of a thick, gnarled yew.

‘I knew it …’ Her voice broke on the words. She hadn’t realised that she’d been holding her breath, or that so much emotion had gathered in the space of the couple of hundred paces she had taken to get here. There was so much to say, yet all that came was something akin to a sigh, accompanied by silent tears.

‘I speak only to you, Jane. It is time.’

‘Time?’ she asked, through her tears.

‘Time to return from where you came.’

She wept harder, but still silently. She wasn’t sure if Robyn saw her mumble a
thank you
to her. And she wasn’t sure why, in this moment of such relief, her thoughts reached toward Julius Sackville.

You are not finished with that man, it seems
, Winifred said, sounding more present, stronger than ever.