Runaway Lady. Claire Thornton
are we going to do?’ Anne whispered desperately.
‘If we could only get Benjamin out of the house…’ But Saskia dismissed the idea before she’d finished the sentence. Her brother’s broken leg was in splints and his bedroom was on the first floor. They’d never be able to get him out without attracting attention. And if Tancock and Lady Abergrave discovered them, Saskia knew her fate—and Benjamin’s—would be sealed.
‘I have to get help.’ Saskia gazed intently at Anne, trying to gauge the girl’s mood. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘I…what will be best? I don’t want to leave Benjamin.’
‘Nor do I. But unless I go now, he’ll be in deadly danger. Do you understand?’ Saskia had realised what was implicit in Lady Abergrave’s conversation with Tancock. ‘As long as I’m alive, there is no benefit to my aunt if Benjamin dies before his twenty-first birthday, because in that case our father’s will leaves everything to me—and my own will is already written and it does not leave anything to her. It is only if I die first and then Benjamin that Aunt Isabel will gain this estate under our father’s will.’
‘I hate her.’ Anne sounded steadier. ‘From the first moment she married my father I have not liked her. Tell me what to do.’
‘Wait a while and then go back into the house without drawing attention to yourself. Follow your normal routine, but retire to bed as soon as possible. Don’t mention me or draw attention to yourself in any way.’ Saskia spoke swiftly as she tried to imagine all eventualities. ‘If anyone asks you about me, act as ignorant and confused as the rest of the household will be when my absence is discovered. But if someone does remember we came for a walk together, say we separated because I had a headache and wanted to sit quietly. If you have a chance, tell Benjamin I will be back with help, but only when you are sure no one will overhear.’
Anne nodded jerkily. ‘Be careful.’
Saskia pulled the girl into a brief hug. She didn’t want to leave Anne behind, but Lady Abergrave had nothing to gain from harming her stepdaughter. Most of the time she barely noticed her. It was Benjamin who was in deadly danger while he was in Lady Abergrave’s power.
Saskia moved cautiously through the woodland sloping down to the river, all her senses attuned to her surroundings. Every tiny snap of a twig beneath her feet sounded like an explosion to her oversensitive ears, but she heard nothing except the normal rustles of small animals in the undergrowth. To her relief, the small quay below the house was deserted. Almost as important, water was still rising on the incoming tide. She untied one of the small boats, climbed in and began to row upstream. She knew she needed to make good progress before the tide turned against her.
London—Friday, 14 June 1667
Saskia was lost in London. She rode around a corner and straight into the middle of a riot. A burst of sharp, violent sounds and images exploded into her awareness. A flying brick…a man’s contorted face as he bellowed in rage…the bite of axe into a tree. Angry, shouting men were hurling stones at the windows of a grand mansion and chopping down trees in front of it. Her horse shied in alarm, nearly unseating her. Then she regained her wits sufficiently to control the frightened horse and get to safety.
Once she reached the sanctuary of a quiet street she pulled the gelding to a halt. Her heart was thundering, her body trembling with shock. She patted the horse’s neck, trying to calm both of them with the gesture. She’d sensed a growing agitation among the people as she’d approached London, but she’d never expected to find herself in the midst of a violent scene. Anxiety knotted her stomach. She didn’t have time for this. Benjamin didn’t have time. She was acutely conscious of the days relentlessly passing as she sought help. Remembering how the Cornish magistrate had fawned over her aunt, she’d been no more willing to ask him for help than the household servants. When her only other hope of finding help in Cornwall had been thwarted, she’d come to London in search of the one influential man in England she was sure would trust her word—her godfather, Sir Francis Middleton. But first she had to find his house.
As soon as she was calm enough to be confident not to pitch her voice too revealingly high, she asked a porter what was happening.
‘Breaking Clarendon’s windows? It’s his fault we’re trapped in this war with the Dutch!’ he exclaimed, spitting into the street. Clarendon? After a moment’s confusion, Saskia remembered he was the Lord Chancellor.
‘How can you not know?’ The porter stared at her in disbelief.
‘I’ve been out of the town, visiting friends,’ she replied, grateful for the shadows thrown by the tall houses on either side of the street. She was wearing male clothing, and in the poor light she hoped she looked like a dishevelled lad, rather than a frightened woman. ‘What have the Dutch done?’
‘Broke through the chain at Chatham, burned most of our ships and towed away the flag ship,’ the porter said in disgust.
‘My God!’ Chatham was only thirty miles from the heart of London. The Dutch had pulled off a daring raid on the English. Saskia wondered if Jan had been part of it—then her blood chilled as she realised that revealing her brother-in-law was an officer in the Dutch navy would not be prudent.
‘Did they attack the people of Chatham? Have they threatened to attack London?’ she demanded.
‘Who knows what they’ve done? Or will do. I’ve heard they are blockading the Thames. Our ships can’t get in or out. This government is a disgrace to us. Oliver would not have let us suffer such a defeat.’
‘Thank you for the news.’ Saskia extricated herself as smoothly as she could. She had no interest in debating whether Oliver Cromwell’s foreign policy had been superior to King Charles II’s.
The forced diversion meant it took a painfully long time before she was finally in sight of her godfather’s house. From the back of her horse she had a good view over the heads of the people crowding the street and she was sure she’d recognised it correctly. A wash of relief swept over her. Soon she would be with friends—
The front door opened and a man emerged. As he glanced around she had a clear view of his face.
Tancock!
She stared at him in disbelief, shock and weariness making her slow to react. Of course, Aunt Isabel knew Sir Francis was her godfather. She must have guessed Saskia’s destination from the first. Tancock would have been able to reach London quicker than a woman travelling alone.
Saskia suddenly realised it would be as easy for Tancock to see her as it was for her to see him. She started to kick her feet clear of the stirrups, but his gaze—which had passed uninterestedly over her once—returned and locked on to her face. His eyes widened in recognition. The semi-disguise of her men’s clothes had not deceived him. It was too late to drop out of the saddle and hide among the pedestrians. She dragged on the reins, intent only on escape. As she did so, from the corner of her eye she saw Tancock lift his arm and point at her.
‘Dutch spy!’ he shouted. ‘Seize her! Dutch spy! Plotting more atrocities on honest, hardworking Londoners!’
As the throng of nearby people murmured first in confusion and then in growing anger, Saskia kicked the gelding as hard as she could, urging him into a gallop. Her most important goal now was to avoid capture by an outraged mob of Londoners.
Covent Garden—London, Saturday, 15 June 1667
The back room of the coffee-house was small and poorly lit. Every time the door opened Saskia felt a shiver of anxiety until she’d seen the face of the man who entered—and even then a residual fear remained that one of those she interviewed might be in Tancock’s pay.
But there was no reason for Tancock to suspect she was here. Even Saskia herself had not remembered Johanna for nearly two, panic-stricken hours. Johanna was the cousin of Saskia’s late husband, Pieter van Buren. Johanna had married an English tradesman who’d gone into partnership with