A Crowning Mercy. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ I thank you for that.’ Sir George was sincere. ‘It’s put you in an awkward position, John.’

      The boat was turning south round the great bend. To their left was the empty untidiness of Lambeth Marsh, to their right the rich houses of the Strand. The Earl lowered his voice. ‘I must act soon, Sir George, I must.’

      ‘Of course you must.’ Sir George knew that his son-in-law, an honest man, would be forced to go to the proper authorities within a few days. ‘How long, John?’

      The Earl did not reply at once. The boat had gone to the Surrey bank where the current was weaker, but now the watermen were beginning the wide turn that would bring them smoothly downstream to the Privy Stairs at Whitehall. The Earl frowned at his damp coat. ‘I must report this by next Lord’s Day.’

      Six days till Sunday. ‘Thank you, John.’ Six days to remove Toby from London, to send him to safety at Lazen Castle. The thought made Sir George smile. His wife, the formidable Lady Margaret Lazender, would welcome her husband’s change of allegiance. She would doubtless wholeheartedly approve of her son’s secret actions for the King.

      Sir George paid the stroke oar, then climbed on to the stairs. He walked beside his taller son-in-law along the right of way that led through the royal Palace, under the archway, and into King Street. ‘I’m for home, John.’

      ‘And I for Westminster.’

      ‘You’ll come and dine before you leave London?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Good, good.’ Sir George looked at the blue sky above the new Banqueting Hall. ‘I hope the weather lasts.’

      ‘A good harvest, yes.’

      They parted, and Sir George walked slowly home. Whitehall had never looked better. He would miss it, though he acknowledged pleasure at the thought of rejoining Lady Margaret in Lazen. His wife, whom Sir George loved, refused to travel to London, saying it was a viperous den of lawyers, thieves and politicians. Sir George hated being away from the city. Perhaps, he admitted to himself with a smile, that was why their marriage had been so good. Lady Margaret loved him from Dorset, while he loved her from London.

      He crossed the road to avoid a virulent Puritan member of the Commons who was bound to detain him twenty minutes to tell him the latest gossip about the King’s flirtation with the Roman Catholics. Sir George touched his hat once, in reply to a similar greeting from Sir Grenville Cony who passed in his coach. A powerful man, Sir Grenville, deep in the inner councils of Parliament and paymaster to half the rebel army. Sir George had the uncanny impression that Sir Grenville, in a single smiling glance from his coach, had divined Sir George’s wavering loyalty.

      Sir George stopped at Charing Cross, looking over at the Royal Mews, because a stage wagon, come from the west, blocked his path. The wagon had huge, broad wheels to negotiate the muddy, rutted roads, though this summer the going had been dry and easy. The coach roof was piled with luggage and passengers, but Sir George’s eye was caught by a girl who stared with awe and wonder through the leather-curtained window. His breath almost caught in his throat. She was more beautiful than any girl he had seen in years. He caught her eye unintentionally and raised his hand in a polite salute so she would not take offence.

      If I were thirty years younger, he thought, and the desire amused him as he crossed towards his house. He envied the girl. Her expression seemed to convey that this was her first sight of London, and he was jealous of all the experiences that lay before her. He must leave the great city.

      Mrs Pierce opened the door to him. ‘Master.’ She took his hat and cane. ‘Master Toby’s upstairs.’

      ‘He is? Good!’ Sir George glanced at the staircase. He must pack his son off to safety in the next six days, send him far away from the vengeance of the Saints. Toby must return to Lazen, and his father would follow. Sir George slowly climbed the stairs.

      Campion saw the elderly man salute her with his cane, she almost smiled in return, but then her fear of the unknown, her dread of the great city, overtook her and the moment passed.

      She had reached London, and the enormity of her achievement had astonished her even as it scared her.

      If a child is punished often and punished cruelly, and if a parent has such an all-embracing concept of sin that even the most innocent acts can lead to punishment, then the child will learn early to be cunning. Campion had learned early and learned well, and it had been cunning that had brought her this far.

      Cunning and more than a little luck. She had waited one more day, then left the house well before dawn. She was dressed in her sober best and carrying a bundle of food, coins and one spare dress. The seal was about her neck, hidden beneath her bodice, while the pearled gloves and the letter were in her bundle.

      She had walked east, towards the dawn, and for a time she had been exhilarated. Two hours later, as the sun flooded the fields and woods, the exhilaration had ended. She was walking into a sheltered valley where the road crossed a stream when a filthy beggar erupted from a ditch. He had possibly meant her no harm, but the bearded face, the grunting sounds, and the single, reaching, clawing hand had terrified her and she had run, easily outstripping him, and thereafter she had walked cautiously and warily, fearing the dangers that this strange world contained.

      An hour later, when she was already tired and dispirited, a farmer’s wife who drove a wagon offered her a ride. The wagon was heavy with flax, the stalks rustling as the horses dragged it, and even though the flax was going south-east Campion accepted the ride because the woman’s company was a protection against danger. Campion told the woman that she was being sent to London to work for her uncle, and when the woman asked scornfully why she was travelling alone, Campion invented a story: her mother had suddenly been evicted from her cottage, Campion was the only hope of raising money and her mother had begged her to accept her uncle’s offer of employment. Her mother, Campion said, was sick. She told the story well and the farmer’s wife sympathised, and did not abandon Campion when the wagon reached its destination at Winterborne Zelston.

      A carrier was in the village, going to Southampton with a string of mules, and the farmer’s wife arranged for Campion to go with the man and his wife. The carrier, like so many travelling people, was a Puritan and Campion was glad of it. She might find their religion oppressive and cruel, but she knew they would also be honest and trustworthy. The carrier’s wife clucked as she heard Campion’s story. ‘You poor thing, dear. You’d best come to Southampton, then on to London. It’s safer that way nowadays.’

      She slept that first night in the public room of an inn, sharing the room with a dozen women, and there were times in the reaches of the night when she wished she was back home in Werlatton. She had launched herself on the stream, and its current was already taking her to strange, frightening places where she did not know how to behave. Yet the thought of Scammell, of his flabby, heavy desire for her, of being forced to mother his children, made her determined to endure.

      In the cold dawn she paid for her lodgings with a gold coin, causing raised eyebrows, and she had to trust that she was given the correct coins in change. The women’s privy was an empty pigsty, open to the sky. It was all so strange. The broadsheets pasted on to the wall of the tavern told of Puritan victories against the King, for this was an area loyal to Parliament.

      The carrier’s wife, having settled her own bill, took her out into the street where her husband had already strung the mules into their chain. They walked into the dawn again and Campion’s spirits soared to the sky for she had survived one whole day.

      The carrier, Walter, СКАЧАТЬ