The King’s Mistress

Jane’s heart thrilled. Something real was happening, after all the rumour and uncertainty.

“How many men does he have?” she asked. “Is it the Scots, or has France or someone sent troops?”

“It’s mostly Scots so far,” John said. “But yesterday the king issued a general pardon and oblivion for those who fought against his father, and is calling on his subjects to join him and fight.”

He took a printed broadsheet from his coat pocket, and Richard pulled it out of his hands.

“Dear God,” Jane’s mother moaned. “More war.”

“But this will be the end.” Richard’s eyes were gleaming. “This is our chance to defeat the rebels for good and all.”

“Let’s not stand here to discuss it,” John said as a groom took the team of horses by the bridles and led the wagon away. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”

AS THE FAMILY GATHERED AROUND THE TABLE, SERVANTS EDGED IN from the kitchen to hear the news.

Jane had seized the Parliamentary Mercurius Britannicus newsbook her father had brought home, and snorted in disgust.

“They’ve set forth in the most alarming terms every invasion of the Scots since 1071. ‘Un-English’, they call those who would join the king, and say they deserved to be stoned.”

“Hardly surprising from that source,” Henry said. “But hear what the king says. Read it, Dick.”

“‘We are now entering into our kingdom with an army who shall join with us in doing justice upon the murderers of our royal father …’”

“It’s really happening!” Jane cried. “He’s coming to take back his throne!”

“‘To evidence how far we are from revenge, we do engage ourself to a full Act of Oblivion and Indemnity for all things done these seven years past, excepting only Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, John Cooke, and all others who did actually sit and vote in the murder of our royal father.’”

“That’s only right,” Henry said, to murmurs of agreement.

“‘We do require some of quality or authority in each county where we shall march to come to us …’”

They were all silent for a moment, and then John spoke.

“I’ll go to Walsall tomorrow to begin to form a regiment. We’ll send word around tonight. And we shall hasten to the king’s side as soon as we may.”

Oh God, that I were a man! Jane wished. Then I, too, could rally to his side and fight, instead of sitting here to await the outcome.

AS SUMMER RIPENED, THE EMOTIONAL TEMPERATURE OF ENGLAND seemed to rise. Every day there was more ominous news. The Catholics of Lancashire had failed to rise for King Charles. Parliament ordered the raising of militias in each county. A month’s pay was provided to the militiamen who were flocking to support the Parliamentary army, and the generals Cromwell, Lambert, and Harrison were harrying the king’s forces as he moved southward. The government clamped down, ordering that all copies of the king’s proclamation were to be turned over to the authorities to be burned by the local hangmen. Public meetings were forbidden. The already stringent restrictions on travel were tightened.

“You cannot think of going to Abbots Leigh now!” Jane’s mother cried over supper on a warm evening towards the end of August. “Soldiers everywhere, and thousands of Scots among them!”

“The Scots are with the king, still far to the north,” Jane responded. “It’s the Roundheads and the militias I would run into, and in any case, my pass provides for a manservant. I’ll take one of the grooms with me.”

“That’s scarcely better. John, you must accompany your sister.”

“You know I can’t, Mother.”

“Or you, Dick.” Anne rounded on her youngest son.

“No more can I,” he said, doggedly tearing into a piece of bread. “I mean to join the king as soon as we are provisioned.”

“I’ll get a son of one of our tenant farmers to travel with Jane,” Thomas Lane intervened. “Some great strapping lad who’ll make sure no harm befalls her.”

Jane’s mother shook her head in exasperation. “That’s a step in the right direction. But, Jane, surely Ellen would understand if you cannot come?”

“I would not ask her to understand.” Jane tried to keep the irritation from her voice. “She wants my company, and I would not miss the chance to be with her for anything.”

JOHN, RICHARD, AND HENRY WERE DAILY AT WALSALL, AND THE TROOP of men and horse they would take to the king’s aid was growing as the people of the surrounding countryside took heart at the prospect of his return to the throne. Jane joined her brothers and cousin in the parlour after supper each evening to hear about the events of the day, and shook her head in disgust as she read the latest proclamation, “An Act Prohibiting Correspondence with Charles Stuart or His Party”.

“‘Whereas certain English fugitives did perfidiously and traitorously assist the enemies and invaders of this Commonwealth and did set up for their head Charles Stuart, calling him their king’!”

“The more frightened they are, the harder they strike out,” Henry said, his booted feet propped on a stool before him. John lit his pipe and blew a smoke ring, watching it dissolve into the shadows before he spoke.

“They’ve made it a capital offence to give aid to the king in any form. There will be no middle ground. If we’re defeated, the repercussions will be bloody and terrible.”

“The king has reached Worcester!” Henry crowed a few nights later. “He summons all men between the ages of sixteen and sixty to rally in the riverside meadows near the cathedral.”

Richard tilted the newly printed broadsheet towards the firelight. “He promises the Scots will return home once the war is done. Perhaps that will mollify Mother.”

A few days before the end of August, Jane heard the men return home earlier than usual, and ran down to the kitchen to hear the news. John was bathing his face with water from a bucket near the door. Henry and Richard stood nearby, their faces ashen.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

“The worst news we could have hoped for.” John shook his head, drying his face and hands. “The Earl of Derby had stayed in Lancashire to defend against Cromwell’s advance. Cromwell’s men caught up with him at Wigan. It seems he may have escaped, but more than two thousand have been taken prisoner, including the Duke of Richmond and Lord Beauchamp.”

“The enemy had word of where he was,” Henry said, sinking in despair onto a stool. “There must be spies in the ranks. Some of the Scots are abandoning the king now, and making for the border.”

“The king was already outnumbered,” Richard fretted, slamming his fist onto the big worktable. “The battle could come any day. John, we can’t wait any longer.”

“Another two days,” John said. “Mistress Hawkins has promised a dozen horses, and we’ll need every beast we can get.”

“Let me leave tomorrow,” Richard insisted. “With the men and horses we have now.”

Oh, that I could be riding with you, Jane thought.

“Very well,” John said. “Henry and I will follow the day after.”

THE NEXT EVENING AFTER SUPPER JANE SLIPPED INTO THE PARLOUR to find her brothers and cousin huddled together near the hearth, their worried looks and low urgent conversation presaging some further bad news.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Come in and shut the door,” John said. He handed her a printed broadsheet.

“‘We do hereby publish and declare Charles Stuart, son to the late tyrant, to be a rebel, traitor, and public enemy to the Commonwealth of England,’” Jane read. “‘And all his abettors, agents, and complices to be rebels, traitors, and public enemies, and do hereby command all officers civil and military in all market towns and convenient places, to cause this declaration to be proclaimed and published …’”

She let the proclamation drop to the floor, suddenly wishing that she could bar the doors of the house, locking out danger and keeping these men she loved so much safe at home.

“It’s not that I mind risking my life,” Richard said, his cheeks flushed with anger. “But if we fail and are captured, the dogs will take the house, the land, and we’ll not be here to protect Mother and Father.”