The King’s Daughter. Christie Dickason

forest was a spirit, perhaps I had imagined the man as well. Perhaps I was mad.

      After supper, I looked into my glass. Pale, yes. A little red around the eyes from lack of sleep. But otherwise as usual.

      ‘Do you think that mad people know that they are mad?’ I asked Anne.

      ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Well, perhaps…There’s an old mad woman in the village. You could go ask her whether she knows if she’s mad…or else my aunt would surely know. She knows everything.’

      When the late, falling sun had shrunk to a small hot red coin just above the horizon, and I was pacing the muddy gardens with Anne trotting after me, I heard hoof beats on the avenue.

      If they had come to arrest me, I would be ready. I was waiting in dry petticoat and clean shoes, still a little breathless, when Lord Harington sent for me a short time later, to come to his study.

      I was not mad, after all.

       6

      ‘My neighbours had horses stolen from his stables last night.’ My guardian’s agitation was as great as my own. A moderate man of middling size, with a permanent air of mild anxiety, Lord Harington seemed swollen that evening with barely contained emotion. I watched his surprisingly luxuriant moustaches heaving as they framed his words. The peak of curling, greying hair that rose from his square forehead quivered like a torch flame. ‘It’s possible that one of our horses was taken also…one of yours, in fact. We fear some great rebellion.’

      His brows collided ferociously above the fear in his eyes. ‘A groom is also missing,’ he said. ‘Perhaps dead, perhaps run off to join the rebels. No one can be trusted!’

      Missing, I thought. Not yet caught. I felt guilt shouting from every muscle of my face.

      I tried to listen to what my guardian was saying, but his words scrambled themselves into a confusion of devils and explosions, gunpowder, intended murder. Papists…

      He paced as if running from his words, spilling them behind him in the air like a shower of live sparks.

      Rebellion all around us. Murder and devastation in London. Thirty barrels of gunpowder…Opening of Parliament…another Papist plot to kill the king. Deaths beyond number…

      My own agitation seized onto ‘Papist’. I was right. It was happening again.

      He couldn’t know what had happened to me in the forest, I tried to tell myself.

      ‘…fires of hell to Westminster, and the death of all Members of Parliament,’ he was saying. The hem of his heavy long gown swung as he turned. ‘The king’s infinite wisdom…midnight arrests…questioning in the Tower. There was still a great fear of popular uprisings…’

      ‘Has my brother been harmed?’

      Lord Harington looked startled by my interruption. ‘The prince is well, your grace,’ he assured me. ‘Though Prince Henry was to have accompanied His Majesty to the opening of Parliament yesterday, he is as safe as your father. Both of them have been spared.’ He looked relieved to have good news to give. ‘A warning letter was brought to Cecil,’ he went on. ‘Praise be to God!’

      A warning letter?

      ‘Praise God,’ I echoed weakly.

      My letter had been intercepted, I thought. Henry had never received it. Or…dear God…he had received it and betrayed me to Cecil. And Harington knew. Or Abel had been caught and had surrendered it.

      ‘Now, my dear…’ Harington stopped in front of me and looked down. ‘You must be brave, for the next news concerns you closely.’

      Though my body seemed on fire, my fingertips made icy spots on the backs of my tightly folded hands. ‘Would you please tell me once more, just what happened? I don’t think I quite grasped…’

      ‘Forgive me, your grace. It is momentous news for anyone to take in, let alone someone so young and so close to the subject.’ He sat down opposite me and began again, more calmly.

      ‘There has been a Papist plot to set off an explosion of gunpowder under the hall where Parliament was to meet.’ His long square-edged face looked to see if I followed him.

      I nodded, uncertain what to think. Surely, he would not be explaining with such mild patience if he believed me to be guilty of treasonable knowledge.

      ‘His majesty and the prince were to have been present. If the plot had succeeded, they would both have been killed along with most of the Members of Parliament. Happily, one of these devils was arrested on the spot, with his slow match ready in his pouch. He is being questioned even now at the Tower, along with several of his confederates who were also taken.’

      ‘But their plot has failed? No one was killed?’ I made myself unclasp my clenched hands. Why would he tell me all this if he thought I already knew? ‘But this is good news after all!’

      ‘Not entirely, your grace. I come now to the part that concerns you.’

      I went very still.

      ‘These Papists traitors meant to kidnap you.’

      I risked a small cry and widened my eyes in horrified surprise.

      ‘Don’t fear, your grace. Not to harm you, but, by means of civil uprisings, to make you queen of England.’ He paused. When I said nothing, he added, ‘After the deaths of your father and brother.’ He watched keenly, waiting for me to respond.

      He has been asked to report how I took the news, I suddenly thought. I was suspected after all.

      ‘What sort of queen would I have been in those circumstances?’ I burst into absolutely genuine tears.

      ‘There, there. The devils haven’t succeeded there yet, either.’ My guardian stood up to lay an awkward hand on my shoulder. I imagined relief in his voice and absolution in that rare touch. But the mention of a warning letter still made a cold lump in my gullet. I could trust no one. Not even my kindly guardian and his seeming relief at my protested innocence.

      He removed his hand. ‘At least eight rebels have been arrested with their servants and families. Four more were killed resisting arrest at Holbeche. But we don’t know how much wider the Papist rebellion has spread. Nor how many rebels remain at large. I hear that the arrests continue. England is in arms between London and Wales, and as far north as Leicester. There are fears about the loyalty of the Catholic lords, both in London and on their northern estates. I’m told that Northumberland is already in the Tower.’ He began to pace again. I had never seen him so filled with vigour.

      He looked out of the window. ‘I sent this morning to the Chief Secretary for instructions on your safety and have been waiting for his reply. But I can’t wait any longer. There was further trouble just now, this afternoon, not far away. I won’t risk keeping you here at Combe.’

      ‘Surely I’m safe enough here.’ My voice rang false as I spoke. Fortunately, Harington was wiping his face with his handkerchief and seemed not to notice. I decided not to speak again.

      ‘Alas, Combe is not a fortified house,’ he said. ‘And we seem to be at the centre of the troubles here. Still more horses were stolen at Warwick and Holbeche is too close for comfort. Other rebels were followed fleeing this way. Some may even now be hiding among our neighbours. You must move to more secure lodgings in Coventry.’

      I nodded.

      Before the dusk had fully turned to night, I was mounted on Wainscot, my right leg hooked tightly around the saddle head. I had been allowed to take only a single maid.

      ‘All will be well, your grace.’ Harington leaned closer from his own horse. ‘I’m certain of that.’ He sounded unsure. ‘The Lord will protect you.’

      He’d be even less certain if he knew