The Drop of the Dice

THE CAPTIVE

AS I TURNED MY horse southwards I could not help feeling a glow of pleasure at the prospect of seeing my family again. They would be aware of what was going on in the North and worrying about me, I was sure.

The countryside was beautiful on that morning. There were little clumps of gorse in flower on the moors. The mist hung heavily over them and here and there trees lifted their denuded branches to the sky. We left the open country behind us and came into lanes, past woodlands and I thought how beautiful the trees were with their bare branches making a lacy pattern against the sky. The winter was more advanced up here than it was in the South, but we should be lucky if we reached Eversleigh before the snowstorms came.

We stopped for a meal in the shelter of a hedge and did full justice to the good things which had been provided for us at Hessenfield. There was new bread and capon with ale to wash it down with. The four grooms said it was right good fare indeed and the best thing about the Northerners was that they knew how to eat.

They were Jim, Jack, Fred and Harry and they had enjoyed their stay at Hessenfield mainly, I gathered, because of the excess of victuals. Not that they were inadequately fed at Eversleigh, but at Hessenfield there was what I heard one of them describe as ‘a mountain of vittels’.

They were all delighted however to be going home and they looked upon this jaunt as an adventure.

After eating, we continued our journey and just before dusk were at the inn which Uncle Paul had told us to make for. The first stage of the journey had been completed with success, and we were all tired and hungry and ready for the excellent meal our host was ready to serve in the inn parlour—hot soup, roast beef, and veal and ham pie with cheese and fruit to follow. Fortunately there was room for us all and we decided to retire early that night and continue our journey at dawn.

After that most satisfying meal I went to my bedroom which overlooked the inn yard and it was a great relief to take off my clothes and get into bed, and having slept scarcely at all the previous night I was soon fast asleep.

I was awakened by the clatter of horses’ hoofs below. More arrivals, I guessed, and I listened a while to the voices of the grooms and the host. There was some sort of argument going on and I imagined the trouble was of that nature which was not unusual on journeys like this. Someone had arrived too late to get a room. I and my party had taken up a fair amount of space, I knew. Well, it was only two rooms—the four grooms were in one, I was in another. However, the altercation seemed to go on so long that I slipped out of bed and looked out of the window.

I half wished that I hadn’t for my rest would be disturbed for the night. One of the horsemen down there was Frenshaw, whom I still thought of as the man in the brown frieze coat. What was he doing at the inn? I had a horrible fear that he was looking for me.

I waited at the window, keeping well in shadow. The host was wringing his hands. His inn was full. It was most unusual. The Rising Sun was not a big inn, my lord must understand. He could accommodate three of the party but unless they all wished to sleep in one room some of them must go elsewhere. The Stag and Huntsman was only two miles up the road. There were a lot of travellers about… which was strange at this time of the year.

They seemed to come to terms. Frenshaw and one other would stay. The rest would go on to the Stag and Huntsman.

I did not go back to bed. We must be off very early in the morning. Before dawn, perhaps. I guessed that Frenshaw would be on the look-out for us and it was very possible that he was here looking for me.

I hastily dressed and went along to the room where the grooms were sleeping. I had made up my mind that we should leave without delay—steal away when the inn was quiet and settled for the night.

I tapped on their door. It took a little time to wake them, for they were all fast asleep. When I told them we were to leave at once they all looked dismayed.

‘The horses need a night’s rest, mistress,’ said Jim.

‘I know, and so do we, but we must get away from this inn. We left in a hurry because my uncle feared for us. I know now that we have been traced here and we must go at once and quietly. I settled with the landlord last night so we can get away quickly. But we must be quiet.’

It took me a little while to impress on them the urgency of the situation but at last I managed to do so. They had heard the rumours that there was trouble in the North for they had talked with other stablemen at Hessenfield. At length they roused themselves and said they would be in the stables preparing the horses without delay.

I went back to my room, collected my things and was ready to leave.

It was a very starry night and about two in the morning when we rode out of the inn yard and I was very relieved when the Rising Sun was several miles behind us. We had passed the Stag and Huntsman and I had looked anxiously at the inn as we passed, wondering how many of Frenshaw’s men were there.

With the coming of the dawn my spirits rose and I found I was enjoying the adventure. We should make our way to York and in doing so would pass the little village of Langthorne. Our jaunt at the fair there seemed a long way in the past and I had almost forgotten Lance Clavering because, I supposed, so many impressions had been imposed over that one; but it would be exciting if, when we arrived in York, he was still there.

It was midday. I had meant to get food from the inn but there had been no time for that. There was a little of the capon and bread left and also some ale; but it had lost its freshness and the meal was not as good as it had been on the previous day.

We had come to a wood. We were very tired and the horses were in need of a rest. There was a stream near by and Harry took them down to it. We stretched out under the trees and before long were fast asleep.

I awoke with a start. I was cramped and cold. The sun would be gone in another hour, I reckoned. It was a pale wintry sun, but at least it was there and I was annoyed that we had slept so long. We should have found ourselves an inn for the night by now.

The four grooms were fast asleep and the horses were tethered to trees. I felt the need to stretch my legs before awakening the men, so I walked down to the stream. My mouth felt parched and dry, and perhaps the water would be fresh and clear.

It was not far, I knew, because Harry had taken the horses there. I knew the direction. There it was, clear, pure water.

I looked back. The grooms and horses were hidden by the trees. I must not be long for they would be alarmed if they woke up and found me gone. Moreover, we must be on our way if we were to find an inn before nightfall.

I was about to kneel by the stream when I heard a movement behind me. I turned. I was suddenly caught in a pair of strong arms. I gave a little scream and a hand was immediately clapped over my mouth. Something like a hood was slipped over my face so that I could not shout.

‘Good work,’ said someone. ‘Now to the horses.’

I tried to struggle free but it was useless. My strength was puny beside that of the one who held me and I was carried off under someone’s arm as though I were a bundle of hay. I was aware that I was slung across a horse and then we were galloping away.

I was bewildered and very frightened. I was not sure who had captured me but I feared it had something to do with Frenshaw. They had followed me to the Rising Sun and in the morning must have discovered that we had left. This was the road to the South and they knew I was going that way so it had not been very difficult to find me.

I did not know what I could do. To attempt to wrest myself from the arms of my captor would be folly while we were galloping at this speed. There was only one thing I could do and that was wait and see what they wanted of me.

After what seemed like hours we began to slow down and I gathered that we had arrived at our destination. We clattered into a courtyard.

‘Bravo!’ said a voice which I recognized as Frenshaw’s.

I was lifted from the horse and the hood was taken off. I could see nothing for a few moments, then I was aware of a house. Two flaming torches were on either side of the door and a man was standing there. It was Frenshaw.

‘Bring her in,’ he said. My arm was seized and I was propelled into the house after him. We were in a hall—not large by Enderby standards, but panelled with heavy beams across the roof, with a fire blazing in a large fireplace.

I was dizzy and my legs felt stiff. I swayed a little.

‘Give her a stool,’ said Frenshaw.

They did so and I sat down.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘I want you to tell us without delay what you have discovered at Hessenfield and to whom you have sent your discoveries.’

I was numb with the shock of having been kidnapped and brought here in this fashion. I had been afraid of this man from the moment I had seen him at the castle; but even before that he had filled me with some eerie premonition that I should come to no good in his hands.

I stammered: ‘You are mistaken. I know nothing. I have not sent anything to anyone. I am ignorant of these matters. They are nothing to do with me. I am not interested…’

‘Your uncle was misguided to send you away,’ said Frenshaw. ‘He will have to answer for that. I myself discovered you listening at the door. Quite clearly you were sent to spy on us. General Eversleigh primed you on what you must do. He thought it ingenious to send a young girl into the enemy’s camp. It was a godsent opportunity to him that Hessenfield happened to be related to you.’

‘You are quite wrong. There was no question of my finding out anything. This attempt to put another King on the throne only came about after I arrived at the castle.’

‘Don’t think to fool us with infantile babblings. You know and we know that we have been trying for years to bring the rightful King back to the throne.’

‘I didn’t think of it.’

‘Oh come, come… and you in a hotbed of Hanoverian supporters! We all know that General Eversleigh is one of George’s greatest commanders. Tell us what you have discovered. We know that you sent your findings to the General in York.’

‘I did nothing of the sort. I have had no communication with him since I left him in York.’

‘Do you think we are going to believe that?’

‘I have no idea.’

One of the guards slapped me hard on the side of my face. I cried out and Frenshaw said: ‘There is not need for that… yet.’

‘She was insolent to you, sir.’

‘She will tell us in time.’

‘How much time is there?’ asked one of the men whom I had just noticed. I was so tired, and it was only my terrible apprehension which was keeping me awake. I had had no sleep the previous night and all I had had since was the hour I had snatched in the woods just before my capture. I was hungry, but what I wanted most was sleep.

‘We will get what we want from her,’ said Frenshaw. ‘She seems dazed just now.’

‘She could have had no sleep last night, leaving the Rising Sun in the dead of night. Look, she’s exhausted.’

I realized that the best thing I could do was to pretend to fall asleep. That would give me a little time to think of what I could do and to discover if there was some means of escape.

As Frenshaw rose and came over to the stool on which I was sitting, I closed my eyes and let my head fall to one side. He leaned over me and shook me. I opened my eyes sleepily.

‘Where… am I?’ I said; and shut my eyes again.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Shut her up for the night. We’ll deal with her in the morning. There’s time.’

I was shaken and made to stand up. I did so, yawning.

I was half dragged across the hall to a staircase. I tried, under the guise of sleepiness, to note where I was going. As we left the hall the two men who were escorting me took candles from a shelf by the staircase and lighted us up the stairs. We came to a landing on which there were several doors. I was prodded towards another staircase which we mounted and which led to a long gallery. We walked through this to a wooden door beyond which was a passage with more rooms. Then we ascended a pair of steps to a kind of attic. It was large and the roof, which had two windows in it, sloped steeply. I noticed a bed, a stool and a table. I was pushed inside and left alone. I heard the key turn in the lock.

I stood in the centre of the room, my heart beating wildly. I was wide awake in spite of my exhaustion. How was I going to get out of here? The windows were in the roof, I should have to stand on the stool to see out of them and then all I would see would be the sky. There was a curtain at one end of the room. I went to it, and drawing it back disclosed a hip bath and a small table. I turned away and going back to the bed, sat on it.

How could I possibly escape? If I told them all I knew they would not be satisfied because I knew nothing that was of importance. It was common knowledge that the Jacobites had always been a threat. They had been for years. What could I tell them more than that?

And they would not believe me.

I lay down on the bed and in spite of my bewilderment and fear, in spite of my growing apprehension, I fell fast asleep.

When I awoke the attic was filled with light which came through the windows in the roof. I was stiff with cold. At first I could not remember where I was and then the horrible realization dawned on me.

I got off the bed and went to the door. I shook it, which was a foolish thing to do for it was of heavy oak and I had heard the key turn in the lock. I wondered what my captors intended to do with me and horrible thoughts came into my mind. I thought of what I had heard of prisoners tortured in the Tower of London. I visualized the thumbscrews, the rack, the Scavenger’s Daughter, that fearful iron case shaped like a woman, with nails lining it, into which victims were forced and, as their tormentors cruelly joked, ‘embraced’ until the nails entered their flesh.

They would not have one of those, I reassured myself. But there were other cruelties they could inflict without such complicated instruments.

I was growing more and more frightened as the minutes passed. I had longed for adventure. Now I longed for nothing so much as to be back in my cosy cocoon.

I started, for I thought I heard footsteps.

I looked at my watch, which was still hanging on the chain round my neck. I was surprised to see that it was nine o’clock.

Yes, the footsteps were coming to my door; a key was turning in the lock, and the door wheezed open. I realized later that the attic was rarely used.

I expected to see the villainous Frenshaw, but instead a young boy stood there. I was astonished because he seemed to be about my own age and that comforted me. Moreover, having expected Frenshaw or one of his men, this boy looked beautiful by comparison. He was wigless and his waving hair was cut to a fringe so that it made a shiny bell about his face. His skin was clear and pale, his eyes deep blue. I thought I was dreaming or perhaps that they had killed me and I had gone to heaven. This boy’s face had that purity of expression that might have belonged to an angel.

He looked at me steadily and said: ‘Are you ready to tell us what you passed to the enemy?’

So he was one of them after all. It was strange that he should be so young and look so innocent of evil.

‘I told them I knew nothing,’ I said shortly. ‘I have nothing to tell. You had better let me go from here. When my family hears how I have been treated…’

He held up a hand. ‘I shall not let you go from here until you have told us all you know.’

I cried out in desperate exasperation. ‘How can I tell when there is nothing to tell! If you keep me here until I die of cold and starvation, I can tell you nothing… because I know nothing.’

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘I have not eaten for a long time.’

‘Wait,’ he said.

He went out, shutting and locking the door after him.

I felt a certain lifting of my spirits. He looked so young and as if he might listen and take heed of what I said; I might be able to convince him that I was speaking the truth. But what about the others?

It was a tense ten minutes before he returned. I heard his footsteps coming along the gallery and mounting the three or four steps to the attic. He opened the door and came in bearing a tray on which was a bowl of oatmeal.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Eat that.’

I took the tray. I was ravenously hungry and food had never tasted so good.

When I had eaten it all he said: ‘Do you feel better… more inclined to talk?’

‘I feel better,’ I replied, ‘and inclined to talk, but I cannot tell you what you want me to simply because I do not know it.’

‘You are a good spy,’ he said, almost admiringly. ‘But you will weaken in the end.’

‘How long will you keep me here?’

He lifted his shoulders. ‘It depends on so much.’

I was sitting on the bed; he took the chair and studied me intently. ‘When were you born?’ he asked.

‘February 1702.’

‘I was born in November 1701, so I am quite a bit older than you are.’

‘I make it three months.’

‘Three months can be a long time. I am your jailer now, until the men come back.’

‘Come back… from where?’

My heart had begun to beat faster. Everything seemed brighter since this handsome youth had come into the attic.

‘Did you hear the commotion in the night?’

‘No.’

‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t up here. They have all left in a hurry. It will soon be over now. The loyal Highlanders are marching into England. The call came for all here to join the triumphant army of Highlanders. They are marching towards Preston.’

‘Do you mean to say they have invaded England? Is there a war, then?’

‘It will all be over soon. The English are falling back before the brave Highlanders. James will soon be here to claim his throne.’

‘You are a staunch Jacobite?’

‘Of course. And you have been brought up in error. I know about you. They told me some of it and I gathered the rest. They didn’t know what to do with you. Some of them wanted to kill you.’

‘Kill me! They must be mad.’

‘They said my uncle was mad to let you live.’

‘Who is your uncle?’

‘Sir Thomas Frenshaw.’

‘Oh! So you are his nephew.’

He nodded. ‘I live with him here. He brought me up. Of course I see very little of him. He is a brave, good man.’

‘He has scarcely been good to me. As for his bravery—to bully an innocent girl does not show much evidence of that quality.’

‘You have a sharp tongue.’

‘Sharp tongues are often good weapons. Not quite as effective as swords, but they have their uses.’

‘You are a most unusual girl. You seem much older than you say you are.’

‘That may seem so to you because you are young for your age.’

‘I am not. I can outride many of the grooms, and my fencing master says I could fight a duel with success tomorrow.’

‘Great achievements,’ I mocked. ‘You can also act as jailer to a girl who is not even in a position to attack you… except with her sharp tongue.’

He laughed. ‘You are different from anyone I have ever known before,’ he said.

‘Of course I am, I’m a spy.’

‘You admit it then,’ he said quickly.

‘You are very young,’ I said loftily. ‘You don’t even know when that tongue of mine is mocking you.’

‘Remember you are my prisoner. Until the men come back I have sole charge of you.’

‘Then beware… I might escape.’

‘You can’t. There are servants here. They all know that you have to be kept prisoner. My uncle and his friends will soon be back.’

‘Then if they are victorious and poor George is sent packing to Hanover and James the Saint is crowned, then my little sins won’t amount to much.’

He considered this. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘That might be your salvation. So you hope for James to be triumphant?’

‘Nay!’ I cried. ‘George for ever!’

‘That’s treason.’

‘On the contrary, you are the one who is guilty of treason.’

‘You are a spy.’

I laughed at him derisively. Odd as it seemed, I was beginning to enjoy this. I was a captive, it was true, but my jailer was only a boy and I believed I could outwit him.

He was angry with me. He picked up the tray and went out, carefully locking the door behind him. I had been foolish. I should have played along with him. I should have found out more about the arrangements of the house. I might now be planning a way of escape.

I sat on the bed. In a few moments I heard the footsteps again. He had returned and he had a scared little maid with him.

‘This is Janet,’ he said. ‘She will take you where you can wash and see to your toilette. I shall be on the alert, so do not attempt to escape.’

I was grateful. I followed Janet out of the attic and down the stairs. There was a small place where I could wash and make myself generally comfortable. I saw cans of hot water standing there with a ewer and basin. She went out shutting the door behind her, after she had indicated that she would be waiting for me.

In due course I emerged and was conducted to where my young jailer was waiting for me. We went back to our attic and I sensed that he was still annoyed with me as he said nothing. However, I thanked him. ‘It was very thoughtful of you,’ I said. ‘Not the sort of treatment a spy would expect.’

‘We are not savages,’ he said, and went out locking the door after him.

I felt better now. In fact, I was aware of a certain elation creeping over me. I was a prisoner in this house; my captors had hurried away to join in the victory they were expecting and my jailer was a boy more or less my own age. It did not seem such a desperate situation as it had when they had first brought me here.

It was midday when he came again. This time he brought me hot soup and a chicken leg. It tasted like ambrosia.

‘You enjoy your food,’ he said.

‘Have you ever heard that hunger seasons all dishes?’

‘Not an original remark, I believe,’ he said.

‘That does not detract from its truth. However, thank you for my excellent meal.’

He smiled and repeated that they were not savages.

‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘Thank you for the information. I might not have known… had I not been told.’

‘You are very foolish,’ he told me. ‘You should be trying to ingratiate yourself with me.’

He was right, of course. My mocking manner was making things worse for me.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Good kind sir, I thank you for the benefits you have bestowed on me. To feed one in my position is gracious of you. I bow before your magnanimity.’

‘That,’ he said severely, ‘is worse than ever.’

I began to laugh and to my amazement he was laughing with me.

I thought: He is enjoying this too. Of course he is. He has a position of responsibility. But I think he rather likes me.

From that moment our relationship began to change. At moments I thought we were like two children playing a game in which I was taking the part of the kidnapped girl, he her guard. There was something unreal about the situation and we were both enjoying it.

He sat in the chair and looked at me.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said.

I began to tell him how I had visited my uncle Hessenfield and had come north from my home in the south but he interrupted: ‘Not that. I know all that. I have heard them talk about how you came to York with your Uncle, General Eversleigh, and on to Hessenfield. They thought it was a good opportunity for you to do a little spying for them and

‘You are wrong about the spying but the rest is right.’

I told my story. It seemed very romantic. My beautiful mother… my incomparable father, the great Hessenfield.

‘The great Hessenfield,’ he repeated, his eyes shining. ‘He has always been a hero to us. I was always taught that I must grow up like him.’

‘He was wonderful. I used to ride on his shoulders.’

‘You rode on great Hessenfield’s shoulders!’

‘I was his daughter.’

‘And you could bring yourself to spy for the other side!’

‘I keep telling you I did not spy…’

‘You really came up here to work for us?’

‘I did not. I did not. I want none of your wars. I want old George to stay where he is and for everyone to stop shouting about it.’

‘Can this be Hessenfield’s daughter?’

‘The very same.’

I told him how my parents had died and I had been taken by a faithful maid and how Aunt Damaris had come to Paris to find me.

‘Yes,’ he said, surveying me with admiration. ‘I can imagine all that happening to you…’

Then he told me about himself. It seemed very mild compared with my adventures. His father had died at the Battle of Blenheim when he was about five years old.

‘Not for the Jacobites?’ I asked.

‘No. My father was not one. But I was sent to my uncle soon after when my mother died, and I learned all about the cause, so I became a Jacobite and you can mock all you like, but I tell you King James is coming back to rule over us.’

‘You should never be too sure of what is going to happen. You may be wrong, you know.’

‘Soon my uncle will be coming back from Preston with the good news.’

‘And then what will happen to me?’

‘So much will depend on what it is necessary to do.’

I shivered. ‘At least they are not here yet,’ I said.

We talked of other things including horses and dogs. I told him about Damon and he said he had a mastiff. He would show me… Then he stopped. ‘But you are a prisoner,’ he said.

‘You could let me free… just to see the dogs.’

‘What if you ran away?’

‘You could catch me and bring me back.’

‘You are mocking again.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

And so the day passed not unpleasantly and when it was dark he came up with a fur rug and two candles for me.

Looking back, I realized that that was a very happy day.

Even now it is difficult for me to know what exactly happened to me during those days I spent in the attic. They seemed, even looking back, to have been touched with a mystic light. He came to me every morning with my oatmeal and he would stay during the morning, then go away and return with my midday meal. Before the second day was over we no longer pretended to be antagonistic towards one another. I did not disguise the fact that I greeted him with joy any more than he could pretend he did not want to be with me.

He was called Richard Frenshaw and he told me those who were intimate with him called him Dickon. I called him Dickon. I thought it suited him. Clarissa suited me, he told me. We used to look at each other in silence sometimes. I thought he was the most beautiful human being I had ever seen—with a different sort of beauty from that of my parents. I suppose it was what is called falling in love but neither of us realized it at first, perhaps because it had never happened to either of us before.

We argued incessantly. He put the case for the Jacobites with fervour. I laughed at him and shocked him by telling him I simply did not care which King was on the throne. I only wanted people around me to live happily without fighting or getting angry because others had different views.

I would have found it easy, I think, to have persuaded him to let me escape. I could have asked to see the horses and mounted one and ridden away; I could have got the key of the attic from him. But I would not. I could not let him betray his uncle’s trust. There was something essentially honourable about Dickon.

He brought his mastiff to show me. The dog was called Chevalier after the would-be King. He took a fancy to me and this was an added bond between us. The little maid who had brought up the water for me on the first day knew how it was with Dickon and me. She was a romantic at heart, and, I believe, thought it charming to see the love springing up between us. I began to get special delicacies brought up from the kitchens—and I wanted this episode to go on and on. It seemed more than three days I spent in the attic. It was like a dream. Dickon felt it too—so he told me afterwards.

We were avid to know everything about each other. The smallest detail seemed of the utmost importance. This was the strangest and most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me.

It was on the fourth day that he came to me and I knew that something was wrong from the moment he stepped into the attic. He was paler than usual and his hair was ruffled. He had a habit, I knew, of running his hand through it when he was disturbed.

I went swiftly to him and put my hands on his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever touched him. His reaction was immediate. He put his arms about me and held me close to him. He did not speak for a few moments and I did not ask him to. I was savouring the wonder of being close to him.

At length he broke away from me and then I saw how frightened he was. He said: ‘You must get away from here. They are coming back. They are only a few miles away. One of the men reached here in advance with the news. There has been a disaster at Preston. Most of the Highlanders have surrendered; the rest are in retreat. My uncle will be back soon… and I fear he will kill you.’

This was bringing me back to reality. I should have known that my idyll could not last. Dickon had changed. He was remembering, too.

He looked at me very seriously. ‘You must not stay here,’ he said. ‘You must get away.’

‘We shall have to say goodbye,’ I murmured.

He turned his head aside and nodded. A terrible desolation came over me. ‘I should never see you again,’ I said.

‘No… no… That must not be.’ Then he held me against him and kissed me. He said: ‘Clarissa!’ and went on saying my name over and over again.

Suddenly he was alert. ‘There is no time to lose,’ he said. ‘You must get out of here.’

‘You… will let me go?’

He nodded.

‘Your uncle…’

‘If they find you here they might kill you.’

‘But they will know you have let me escape.’

‘I will make some excuse…’ he muttered. ‘Come… now. They could be here at any moment. You will have to be careful. Follow me… quietly.’

He shut the door behind us, carefully locking it. I followed him down the steps and through the gallery. He went ahead, beckoning to me when the way was clear. We reached the hall safely and went out to the stables. Quickly he saddled a horse.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘You will have need of this. Get to York. There send a message to your family. Perhaps your uncle is still there. There is a coach that goes to London from York. It starts from the Black Swan in Coney Street every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It takes four days, providing there are no mishaps. Perhaps you could take that. I don’t think they will follow you south. They will have to go to Scotland and join the men there.’

‘Oh, Dickon,’ I said. ‘You have done this for me. I shall never forget…’

I was not generally given to tears, but they were in my eyes then. I saw, too, that he was also trying to suppress his emotion.

‘It will be dangerous on the roads,’ he said. ‘A girl alone

Then he began to saddle another of the horses.

I said: ‘Dickon… what?’

‘I am coming with you. How can I let you go alone?’

We came out into the frosty morning air.

‘Oh Dickon,’ I said. ‘You must not. Think what you are doing…’

‘There is no time for talking,’ he said. ‘Ride… gallop… We must get away from here as fast as we can.’

I knew I was in danger. I believed that they would be capable of killing me if they returned and found me there. There was indeed no time for delay. They were in retreat and would want to set out for Scotland immediately. They would not want to waste time with me and on the other hand they would not want to let me go free. Yes, I was in acute danger. But I knew I had never been so happy in my life.

Our horses’ hoofs rang out on the frosty road, and it was exhilarating riding along beside Dickon. The countryside seemed more beautiful even than in the spring. The black lacy pattern of branches against the sky, the grey tassels of the hazel which shivered in the breeze, the jasmine round a cottage door which was beginning to show shoots of yellow—they all enchanted me. I heard the song of the skylark which was soaring over the fields, followed by the wild cry of the mistle thrush. It was strange that I should notice such details at such a time. It was perhaps because Damaris had made me aware of the wonders of nature.

In any case I was happy. I refused to look beyond the moment. Dickon and I had escaped together; and he had rescued me—at what cost to himself I could only guess.

In the early afternoon he called a halt. ‘We must refresh not only ourselves but the horses,’ he said. We went into an inn which I saw was called the Red Cow according to the sign which creaked over the door.

‘We are brother and sister,’ he told me, ‘if any should ask your business. We live at Thorley Manor. No one will ever question that for as far as I know there is no Thorley Manor. We are visiting our uncle in York. Our grooms with the saddle-bags are going on ahead. Our name is Thorley and you are Clara. I am Jack.’

I nodded. The adventure was growing more and more exciting with every passing moment.

With an air of authority Dickon ordered that our horses should be fed and watered. Then we went into the inn. I am sure I had never known such a happy hour as I spent in that inn parlour. The fire in the great fireplace was warm and comforting and the innkeeper’s wife brought us bowls of pease soup and hot barley bread with bacon and cheese; there were two large tankards of ale to go with it, and never had food tasted so good, even in my needy days in Paris. Paradise was an inn parlour in the Red Cow on the road to York, and I never wanted to leave it.

I regarded Dickon with eyes from which adoration must have shone out. We were both of us so happy to be together, and we did not want to look ahead to what this impulsive action might bring. To him it could mean disaster. He had betrayed his uncle who was his guardian; he had betrayed the Jacobite cause, and he had done it for me.

In the parlour there was a grandfather clock noisily ticking away the minutes. It was a constant reminder of the passing of time. I wished I could stop it.

I said: ‘I should like to stay here like this for the rest of my life.’

‘So should I,’ said Dickon.

We were silent, contemplating such bliss.

‘We shall have to go soon,’ Dickon went on at length. ‘We really should not have stayed so long.’

‘Do you think they’ll come after us?’

He shook his head. ‘No. They will have to go north… to the army there. The invasion of England will come later.’

‘And you, Dickon?’

‘I shall have to be there with them.’

‘Let’s stay here for a while.’

He shook his head but he made no attempt to get up. I gazed at the flames in the grate, making fairy-tale pictures of castles and riders—all beautiful, enchanted like this inn parlour.

I suddenly noticed that the sky had darkened and that a few light snowflakes were floating down past the window. I said nothing, for I knew if I did Dickon would say we must leave at once.

The innkeeper’s wife came in; she was plump, red-faced and smiling and wore a white mobcap on her untidy hair.

‘Wind’s getting up,’ she said. ‘Coming from the North. “The north wind do blow, and we shall have snow,” so they say. You two got far to go?’

‘To York,’ said Dickon.

‘Why, bless my soul. You’ll never make that before dark. You’d be caught in the snow if you try to get there today.’

Dickon went to the window. The snow was now falling fast. He turned to me in dismay.

I said: ‘Perhaps we could stay here for the night. Could we pay?’

Dickon nodded.

‘Why, bless you,’ said the host’s wife, ‘I reckon your father would see to that. Live about here, do you?’

Thorley Manor,’ Dickon told her boldly.

‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Have you come far?’

‘Some twenty miles.’

‘That accounts for it. Now, Master Thorley, if you can pay me on the spot I’ll find room for you; No question of that.’

‘My sister and I will consider what is best to be done,’ he said.

‘Well, you’d better consider fast, young gentleman, for I hear horses coming into the yard. There’ll be others looking for a night’s lodging on a night like this is going to be.’

When she had gone we looked fearfully at each other. Who were the new arrivals? What if, discovering our disappearance, Sir Thomas Frenshaw had sent someone after us to bring us back—or perhaps come himself?

I stretched out my hand and Dickon took it and held it comfortingly.

‘You should not have come with me,’ I said. ‘You could have let me escape and told them it was no fault of yours.’

‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I had to come with you. How would you have fared alone?’

We stood still looking at each other and in that moment of danger we knew without doubt that we loved, and that life would be empty for each of us without the other.

Our fears were momentarily lulled for the arrivals were a party of travellers who in view of the sudden change in the weather had decided they could not continue with their journey but would spend the night in the Red Cow.

They came into the parlour noisily and boisterously, invading our privacy and dispersing as they did so that wonderful intimacy I had shared with Dickon. We sat side by side on a settle in a corner of the room while the three men and three women occupied the table and were served with hot pease soup.

The women looked at us with curiosity and gave us friendly smiles. We were ready when they began to ask questions and we told them that we were a brother and sister who were going to York and that our grooms with the saddle-bags were following us.

‘Two young ’uns like you on the road,’ cried the eldest of the women. ‘My patience! I wouldn’t like one of mine to be travelling like that.’

‘My brother has a strong arm,’ I said.

‘And proud of him you are, I can see. Well, we’re going to York. Best ride along with us, eh, Harry?’ She appealed to none of the men.

The man addressed as Harry surveyed us genially and nodded, ‘Safety in numbers,’ he said with a wink.

The innkeeper’s wife came bustling in. ‘Eee,’ she said. ‘Be wanting to stay the night, then?’

‘Reckon there’s no help for it, Missus.’

‘Inn’s full,’ she answered. She looked at us all and scratched her head, pushing the mobcap back to do so and then carefully replacing it. ‘What I’ll have to do is give you pallets in the gallery. We call it Makeshift Gallery.’ She tittered. ‘Nights like this you often gets more than you’ve beds for.’

The woman who had spoken to us said that reckon they’d be glad to have a roof over their heads on a night like this was going to be.

The innkeeper’s wife looked at us. ‘These two young ’uns will be in the gallery too. It’s all we can offer.’

My heart sank. I could see that these hearty, well-meaning travellers had broken into our magic. We were members of a party now—no longer alone.

‘It could have been worse,’ Dickon whispered to me. ‘It could have been my uncle to take us back to… who knows what.’

All during the late afternoon the snow fell so that there was a blanket of it on the roads and the window-sills were covered. Our companions did not mind in the least. It was an amusing adventure to them. The woman came over to us and asked questions. What about our poor mother? She would be worried about us, wouldn’t she? But she would be thinking we were with the grooms. Had we been a bit wicked? Had we lost them a-purpose?

I thought it was best that they should think we had, and tried to look arch and coy.

‘Wicked… wicked…’ said the youngest of the women, shaking her finger at us. And we came from Thorley Manor, did we? Gentry, eh? Well, she could see that. It didn’t need no sign like to tell her. We’d got gentry written all over us… the both of us. Never mind, they would look after us. Mercy had it that they too were on the road to York. We should go along with them. There were some rough characters on the road. They’d think nothing of slitting your throat for the price of a goblet of ale. Never mind: Luck was with us. We’d fallen in with the Macksons and the Freelys, who were in the business of wool. Partners they were, and travelling to York with their families all for the purpose of selling wool.

They were kindly; they meant well; and we could not help liking them.

They sang. Their raucous voices filled the inn parlour and the innkeeper and his wife came in from time to time to supply their needs. There would be sucking-pig for supper that night, we were told almost conspiratorially, and there were cries of approval and one of the men shouted: ‘And plenty of stuffing, Missus.’

‘Ee, I’ll see to that,’ answered the innkeeper’s wife.

The snow continued to fall; the candles guttered and the company sang. The youngest of the men had a good voice.

‘You gentlemen of England,’ he rendered,

‘Who live at home at ease

Full little do you think upon

The danger of the seas…’

And they all joined in at the end of each verse:

‘When the stormy winds do blow… o… o… o… o

When the stormy winds do blow.’

And one of the women sang; ‘The Frog he would a-Wooing Ride.’ I knew that whenever after I heard that song I should be back in that inn parlour with the fire blazing and the snow falling fast outside.

The sucking-pig arrived in due course and we were all one merry party with the other travellers who were staying at the Red Cow. The men talked about the troubles.

‘They say the Pretender’s on his way… may even have landed by now.’

‘He should stay where he is. Don’t he know when he’s not wanted?’

I caught Dickon’s hand and pressed it warningly for I was afraid he might betray himself. The company would not be very pleased to have a Jacobite among them.

They came down as far as Preston,’ said one of the travellers. ‘We was ready for him. Routed they was… the Highlanders of Scotland. What are they up to coming into our country? Up to no good, that’s what.’

‘We soon sent ’em packing.’

‘You don’t think there’ll be war?’ asked one of the women: ‘We don’t want none of that. I remember hearing my granddad tell me what it was like when there was war in the country.’

‘There’s been war only a little while back,’ said one of them.

‘Oh, that wasn’t here. Don’t call that a war. I mean war… when they’re fighting here… on English soil… Englishman against Englishman so your friend today is your enemy tomorrow… and who’s to know what’s what. That’s what I mean. We don’t want none of that.’

‘There’s not going to be none of that. The Jacks is beat before they start. Come on, Bess, give us a song.’

So they sang and Dickon and I sat listening and at last we all retired to the gallery and lay down on our pallets. Dickon and I were very close to each other. We held hands, but did not speak for fear of waking the others. There was no need for words. I lay there thinking of the enormity of what he had done for me. He had set aside his loyalty to his uncle, his entire belief in the righteousness of his cause; and he had done this for love of me. I did not know how I could ever repay him.

I lay sleepless, and I know he did too. During the night the rain started to fall, and in the morning it had washed the snow away.

We were up early and ready to leave. We set off in the company of our fellow travellers and just as dusk was beginning to descend we saw the towers of the Minster and the ancient walls of the city.

‘Your friends are here?’ said the wool merchant to Dickon.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I thank you for allowing us to ride with you.’

‘Eee, nothing to that, lad. Twas only decent. Two young ’uns like you shouldn’t take journeys alone. Where be going?’

‘To the Mayor’s house,’ said Dickon. I caught my breath. I had told him that when we were in York my uncle, Lance Clavering and I had stayed at the Mayor’s house.

The party was impressed.

‘Didn’t I tell you they was gentry?’ whispered the oldest of the women.

We came through Goodramgate up to the Shambles and there we said goodbye to our companions. I had come along this road before so I knew the way to the Mayor’s house. There it stood, an imposing residence, apart from the small houses of the narrow streets.

As we approached my heart leaped, for Lance Clavering was walking out of the house. He stopped in amazement and stared.

‘Clarissa!’ he cried. I had forgotten how handsome he was. He looked quite magnificent in his embroidered coat, the cuffs of which were decorated with mauves and blues of the most delicate shading. His cravat was a mass of frills; and his pale blue stockings were rolled above the knee, which I learned was the latest fashion; on his high-heeled, shining black shoes buckles glittered. He swept off his three-cornered hat and bowed low.

‘Oh… Lance!’ I exclaimed.

He took my hand and kissed it.

‘Why…? What does this mean?’ He looked at Dickon who was gazing at him in a kind of wonder as though he could not believe this scintillating apparition was real.

‘This is, er…’ I hesitated, for fear had seized me. There was danger in the air and I must be careful not to betray Dickon. ‘Jack Thorley,’ I added. ‘He brought me here.’

‘Good day to you, Jack Thorley.’

‘This is Sir Lance Clavering,’ I said. ‘A friend of my family.’

There was no need to explain. I had already told Dickon how my Uncle Carl and Lance Clavering had brought me to York. In fact it was for this reason that I had been held captive.

‘You had better come into the house,’ said Lance. ‘Then you can tell us all about it. We thought you were at Hessenfield. And we were anxious about it too, I can tell you… the way things have gone. Let’s take your horses to the stables.’ He walked beside me. ‘I’m surprised that your uncle let you leave Hessenfield.’

‘There is a great deal to tell you, Lance. Is my Uncle Carl here?’

‘He will be back this night. There is a great deal to occupy him. Things have been happening since you left.’

‘I know.’

Dickon had said nothing all this time. I guessed he was not sure what he ought to do now, having delivered me into the safe keeping of Lance Clavering, and wondering whether it would be wise for him to leave immediately.

‘Did you come alone?’ asked Lance. ‘Just you two?’

‘Well… we travelled with some other people,’ I said evasively.

‘You had a good journey, I trust.’ Lance’s glance took in Dickon.

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Dickon. ‘No trouble at all.’

‘Well, you must be weary. We’ll see that you get some food and a bed for the night. I suppose you’ll want to get back to Hessenfield as soon as possible.’

‘I must do that,’ answered Dickon.

‘You won’t run into trouble. We’ve sent off those accursed Highlanders. The impertinence! Do you know, they got as far as Preston. They’re well and safely back across the Border now—those that got away.’

I watched Dickon wince.

‘Hopeless!’ went on Lance. ‘What they thought they were doing, I can’t imagine. What happened, Clarissa? Did you long to come home?’

‘It seemed time that I did.’

Lance laughed out loud. ‘She’s a determined young lady,’ he said to Dickon. ‘I expect you found that out at Hessenfield.’

Dickon nodded.

When we came into the house Laura Garston, the Mayor’s wife, greeted me warmly, after she had expressed her amazement at seeing me.

‘These two young people are exhausted,’ said Lance. ‘Clarissa is going to tell us all about it later on. In the meantime they would like to wash and eat and rest, I do not doubt. This is Jack Thorley, one of Hessenfield’s young men.’

Dickon had a nobility of manner which was immediately discernible to Lance. He had at first thought him to be a groom but in a few seconds, man of the world that he was, he was treating Dickon as an equal. I liked him for it and in spite of the fact that I was worried about Dickon I felt a glow of pleasure to be in his exhilarating company again.

In the house, rooms were prepared for us and we washed away the grime of the journey.

As soon as we had done this we had a meal during which Dickon and I had a chance to exchange a few words together.

‘I cannot stay here,’ he said. ‘I shall have to go.’

‘Shall we see each other again?’

‘We shall. We must. I will think of something.’

‘They will send me home. We shall be miles apart.’

‘I tell you I will find a way. If I stay here… if they know who I am…’

‘Yes, yes. You are in as much danger here as I was in Hessenfield. These stupid… stupid men! I get so angry with them.’

‘This is no time for anger. I must leave here at once.’

‘Yes, you must go. I see that. When my uncle comes back… when they start asking questions…’

‘They will not be so friendly towards me then. Oh, Clarissa, why did you have to be with them? You belong with us.’

‘I belong to myself and I am aloof from these foolish quarrels. I don’t care whether you are for George or James. You know that.’

‘I love you,’ said Dickon.

‘I love you,’ I replied.

We smiled at each other. ‘Those days in the attic… I shall never forget them,’ he said.

‘Nor shall I. I wish I were back there. I wish I was still on the road. I wish I were in Makeshift Gallery.’

‘Oh. Clarissa, Clarissa…’ That way of repeating my name never failed to move me. ‘I will come back for you. No matter what happens, I swear I will come.’

‘Yes, I know. And you must go now, Dickon. You are facing a dangerous risk and the longer you stay the more dangerous it becomes for you. I shall be thinking of you… on the road… back there… Shall you go to Scotland? Oh, Dickon, don’t. Leave them to fight their silly wars if they must, but not you… not you… Let us think of a way we can be together.’

‘When it is over… When the rightful King is on the throne… I will come for you. I will ask for your hand in marriage. I will take you away with me… and we shall live happily ever after.’

We sat silently holding hands. Then he rose and said: ‘Now I shall go to our hostess. I shall tell her I must leave first thing in the morning. It is better so. When I am gone you can tell them the truth, who I am… everything. It will be easier that way.’

I nodded miserably.

So the sad night passed. We were taken to our separate rooms; he had to share with one of the higher servants because that was all that was available. I had a small room of my own. I lay awake thinking of him and I knew he was thinking of me.

At dawn I went down to the stables.

We clung together for a few moments. His last words before he rode away were: ‘I’ll come back. Remember it. I shall come back for you, Clarissa.’

I stood watching him ride away in the early morning light.

There was a great deal of explaining to do and when Uncle Carl and Lance heard my story they were horrified.

‘How could Lord Hessenfield send you away like that!’ cried Uncle Carl.

‘How could he keep her there?’ asked Lance. ‘He did the right thing. Gad, what could have happened to her in the hands of Frenshaw!’

‘They thought I was spying,’ I explained.

‘A pretty kettle of fish,’ said Uncle Carl. ‘Now the problem is, what are we going to do with you? You know what’s happening, don’t you? The country’s in a state of tension. The fact that those Highlanders got as far as Preston has shaken us all up a bit. Who would have believed that possible? The North is a hotbed of treachery.’

‘They say the same of the South.’

‘Ah,’ cried Lance, ‘have they made a little Jacobite of you?’

‘Indeed they have not! I think the whole matter is stupid. Who cares…?’

Lance took my hand and kissed it. ‘Your feminine reasoning doubtless displays wisdom,’ he said, ‘but men will never see it. They will continue to wage war and that is a fact we must face. Besides, Clarissa, James is no good. The people would not unite under him. He’s a bigot. He would bring Catholicism to the country and because of Bloody Mary’s Smithfield fires and because some of our sailors have had experience of the Inquisition in Spain, that is something Englishmen will not endure. George may not be all we desire, but he is peaceable and he doesn’t interfere with the people too much. Trade will prosper under him, you’ll see. That’s what we want, a nice German Boor… not a fiercely romantic bigoted Chevalier.’

‘The immediate question is, what are we to do about Clarissa,’ interrupted Uncle Carl.

‘I believe there is a coach which leaves Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It goes from York to London.’

‘You are well informed,’ replied my uncle, ‘but I should not allow you to travel alone on such a coach.’

‘Why not? People do.’

‘Not ladies of our family. Lance…’

Lance smiled at him almost as though he knew beforehand what my uncle was going to suggest.

‘You will be going to London in a few days’ time.’

‘That’s so,’ said Lance.

‘If you could take Clarissa with you… Perhaps we could arrange for someone to come to London and take her back from there to Enderby. I am sure Jeremy or Leigh would be able to.’

Lance said: ‘It shall be my great pleasure to conduct the lady Clarissa not only to London but to Enderby itself.’

I smiled faintly. My thoughts were with Dickon.

All through the days which followed, I thought of Dickon, but the best possible companion I could have had was Lance Clavering. His lively conversation, his observations on life and the passing scene diverted my thoughts from the recent parting as I was sure nothing else could have done.

Moreover, I think he understood what had happened. He was gentle with me, a little wistful, I thought; but all the time he was ebullient and his merry wit did bring a certain comfort to me.

We were fortunate in the weather, which grew more clement as we journeyed south. The skies were even blues and there was little wind. When we left in the early morning there was rime on the tree branches and on the road, but by mid-morning when the sun had come up it had disappeared and although there was a sharp bite in the air it was good for getting along.

Lance sang, laughed and talked a good deal, determined to comfort me; and after a few hours in his company I really did begin to feel better. There was a bright optimism about his attitude to life and it was easy to catch this and believe that one day this stupid trouble would be settled and Dickon could come and visit us. I was sure Damaris and Jeremy would like him; and they would make him welcome when they realized I loved him.

This was the effect Lance had on me. Life was to be enjoyed, and there was always something to laugh about.

I even found myself joining in his singing as we rode along because he urged me to do so—and I was grateful to him.

We travelled with two grooms so we were a party of four. A highwayman would think twice about attacking three strong men.

At dusk on the first day we reached an inn which was known to Lance and where, he said, we should be assured of good service.

He was right. The landlord greeted us effusively and provided two of the guest rooms for us; the grooms were accommodated in another room. It all seemed very satisfactory. When we had washed the stains of the journey from our faces and hands we went down to the inn parlour for a meal. It was delicious, as Lance said it would be. Thick slices of succulent beef were served with dumplings; and there was also pigeon pie with sweetmeats to follow. Wine was brought especially from the cellar to satisfy Lance’s refined palate and if I had not been wondering what had happened to Dickon I could have been very content in Lance’s company.

We talked all the time about his adventures in the army, deliberately not mentioning the present troubles because he sensed that would only increase my anxieties. I really did appreciate his kindness during that journey.

The innkeeper’s wife came in while we were finishing the meal to ask if Lance would like some port wine. He said he would and she told us that she was expecting the coach to arrive at any minute because this was the day for it.

‘They’ll be a hungry lot, they will,’ she went on, ‘but we’re ready for them. These coaches have been good for business. They’re regular, like… more or less. I’ve got enough beef for the coach-load of them… and all hot and ready to serve the minute they arrive.’

The port was brought and as Lance was sipping it the coach lumbered into the inn yard, and the weary passengers spilled out of it—cold, hungry, their faces pinched and pale.

‘Come along in,’ said the host. ‘There’s a fire to warm you and you’ll be fed in next to no time.’

The host’s wife came running into the parlour. ‘They’ve come,’ she announced. ‘I doubt the likes of you will want to be in the same room with ’em. I’ll keep them out though till you’ve finished your port, my lord.’

I liked the way Lance stood up. ‘No,’ he said, ‘let them come in. I can take the port to my bedroom. Poor things, it’s no joy travelling in those coaches. Bone-shakers, I’ve heard them called. Come on, Clarissa, let’s leave them to their food.’

‘Well, thank’ee, sir,’ said the woman. ‘That’s real kind and thoughtful of you.’

I smiled at Lance, thinking that for all his finery and dandified ways he was a true gentleman.

As we walked out of the inn parlour there were more sounds of arrival from without and before we could ascend the stairs to our rooms three men came hurrying in. They were fashionably dressed and one of them, smelling the food which was about to be taken into the dining-room for the stagecoach passengers cried: ‘Gad! The smell is appetizing. What is it, woman?’

The innkeeper’s wife, with that unfailing instinct for recognizing the gentry, bobbed a curtsey and said: ‘’Tis the food we be about to serve to the stage which is just come in, my lord.’

‘Then serve us with some of this goodly-smelling fare before you deal with the stage.’

The landlord came out rubbing his hands obsequiously but showing that he was uneasy.

‘My good lords,’ he said, ‘we have only enough for the coach. ‘Tis bespoke, you see. The coach is regular and we have a duty to be ready for it. There be the end of the hot food we have. But I have some fine cheese and fresh-baked barley bread with good wine…’

‘Fine cheese! My good man, we want the hot meal. Let the coach crowd share out what is left of the hot food when we have had our fill. Or let them take the fine cheese. I doubt not that it will satisfy them. Serve the hot dishes to us… and without delay. We have ridden far and are hungry.’

One of the women from the coach had heard what was going on. She was a large, red-faced woman with a determined jaw; she was clearly one who was accustomed to having her own way.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she cried. ‘That food is for us. It’s bespoke for the coach. So don’t try none of your fancy tricks, my lord High and Mighty, for me and my party are not having that.’

The leader of the new arrivals held the eyeglass which had been dangling from his elegant jacket and surveyed the woman with astonishment.

‘Landlord,’ he said, ‘this creature offends me. Have her removed.’

The woman put her hands on her hips and regarded him steadily. ‘Watch yourself, my little cock sparrer,’ she shouted, ‘or it won’t be me what gets put out.’

‘The creature would be insolent.’

He took a few steps forward and she came to meet him. He put up a hand as though to brush her aside, but it was a blow which sent her reeling against the stairs.

Lance stepped forward then.

‘This is no way to treat a lady, sir,’ he said.

The man stared at him and seemed to be taken aback by coming face to face with one who, on the surface, appeared to be of his own kind.

‘A lady, did you say, sir?’ said the man with a sneer.

‘I did indeed. I have listened to this dispute. The hot food has been prepared for the coach which was due at this time. Unexpected guests cannot expect to take that which has been made ready for others.’

‘Can they not, sir? And may I ask if you are prepared to dine off bread and cheese?’

‘I am not, having just dined off the most excellent beef. But I came in time. I took nothing that was not my due.’

‘You are interfering in what does not concern you.’

‘On the contrary, I am deeply concerned and I will not stand by and see these good people deprived of what is theirs by right.’

‘You will not, eh?’

Lance drew his sword and stood there smiling. I was terrified for him. There were three of them against one. But I was proud of him, all the same.

‘Damme,’ said one of the men, ‘if it is not Clavering.’

‘Ah,’ retorted Lance, ‘so it is you, Timperly. I am surprised to see you in such company.’

‘Come, Clavering, what is it to you? These are a mob of coach people.’

‘They deserve their rights whether they travel by stage or private carriage. I say they shall have their dinner, and you would eat very well I am sure—for the Plump Partridge is an excellent inn—on hot bread and fine cheese. The port is good, too. You’ll enjoy it, Timperly.’

‘Look here, Clavering,’ said the first man. ‘What is it to you? Why bother yourself with this?’

‘No matter,’ replied Lance. ‘Just let it stand that I do. I’ll challenge any one of you to single combat. Let’s fight it out.’

‘Taken,’ said the first man.

‘Careful,’ added Timperly. ‘You know Clavering’s reputation with a sword.’

‘Afraid?’ asked Lance. ‘Come on. Which one of you? We’ll fight it out for hot beef with dumplings against bread and cheese.’

‘I’ll take you on,’ was the answer. It was the first man who had drawn his sword.

‘Gentlemen,’ cried Lance, ‘we can’t let this take place without a gamble. What’ll you offer? Twenty pounds between you for me if I win. And if I don’t… but damme! I’m so certain of victory that I’ll make it twenty apiece if he pricks me first.’

‘And the matter is settled at the first prick?’ said Timperly, brightening considerably.

‘So be it,’ said Lance.

‘When do we start?’

‘Here and now.’

The host and hostess were standing by in dismay, and several of the coach passengers looked on in amazement. They whispered together about the cause of the fight, and they were eyeing Lance with something like adoration. I felt proud of him and at the same time afraid; but I knew in my heart that he was going to win. I could not imagine anything else, and as their swords clashed I was caught up in the excitement. I was praying for Lance’s success.

‘Lance… go on. Win, Lance,’ I whispered. The coach passengers were vociferous. They shouted and called, while the host stood by clasping and unclasping his hands.

In a few tense moments it was over. Lance had won. He had pricked his opponent and blood was spurting on to the man’s elegant cuff. Lance gave a cry of triumph as he held up his sword and stood there for a second or so looking like a medieval knight who had fought the good fight and overcome evil.

‘Twenty pounds for me and hot dinners for the coach,’ he cried. ‘A most satisfactory encounter.’

The three men were rueful but accepted their fate. The money changed hands and they went into the inn parlour while the stagecoach people trooped into the dining-room chattering about the adventures they met with travelling by coach.

Lance laid his hand on my arm and said: ‘It is time we retired. We have to be up early in the morning.’

He slipped his arm lightly through mine and we ascended the stairs. When we reached my room he said: ‘What do you think of our little fracas?’

‘I was proud of you,’ I said.

‘Oh, bless you for that.’

‘But I was sorry about the money. That spoilt it somehow.’

‘That made it worthwhile for me as well as for the coach passengers.’

‘It was a pity. Up to that time it seemed such a noble thing to defend the coach people. Then it seemed as though you had done it for a gamble.’

‘I never miss an opportunity to gamble.’

‘I know. But it would have been so much better without.’

He took my chin in his hands and looked into my face. ‘The trouble with you, Clarissa, is that you always look for perfection,’ he said. ‘Don’t. You’re never going to find it, you know.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it doesn’t exist in this world.’

I thought of Dickon then. Hadn’t that been perfection? Yes, until we had to part. Perhaps Lance was right. There was no perfection in life. One had to be prepared for that. Not look for it. Not hope for it. Just accept what there was to take.

Lance smiled at me thoughtfully. Then he bent forward and kissed me lightly.

‘Sleep well, my dear,’ he said. ‘And rise early. We must be on our way at dawn.’