The morning post brought another card from Geoff, a spectacular snowy view of the Pyrenees, with a caption that said simply: 'Basque Country.' Am bored with the beaches, his message read, and so off to Mother and Pamplona for a few days. Might even try to find Roncesvalles, where good old Roland of the 'Chanson' died trying to capture Navarre for Charlemagne. My history tutor would be proud. Love, Geoff.
Navarre ...
An image rose unbidden to my mind, of the great gray horse with the gentle liquid eyes, and of his darkly handsome rider. I touched the postcard with wistful fingers and set it aside to be placed with the others later, cheering myself with the thought that I could use that view of the snowcapped mountains for my next illustration of a Swiss folktale.
My immediate plan for the morning, however, was to clean out the dining room. I hadn't actually used it since I'd moved in, and it had become a handy dumping ground for unpacked boxes, furnishings that hadn't yet been assigned to a room, and reams of papers that I fully intended to sort through 'later.' Really, the only time I opened the dining-room door was when I wanted to toss something else into storage. Working on my mother's principle that a tidy house begets an ordered life, I descended on the room with determination.
The dizziness came on just before lunchtime. At first I thought it might be simple lack of food, but then the clamorous ringing started in my ears, and my hands began to blur before my face. The ringing rose, and swelled, and stopped, as if a door had shut upon it.
I lifted a hand to my forehead, pushed the hair away from my heated face, and went on polishing the floor, my legs tangling in the rough fustian skirts as I slid across the thick oak boards. As I drew near the door to the parlor, the sound of a stranger's voice from within stilled my hand and brought my head up sharply.
'It is to be tonight, then,' the voice said.
'Ay.' The second voice was my uncle's. They were standing not an arm's length from me, so near that their shadows blocked the light beneath the door. I held my breath, not daring to move, and was relieved when my uncle continued speaking.
'He will remove this night to Oxford. One of our number rides with him, in confidence, and will find cause to delay the party at the place of our choosing."
'How many will they be?'
'Himself, and but four others, including our confederate.'
'And we are seven.'
'Ay. We are not likely to fail.' I recognized the tone of my uncle's voice, and shrank from it. The two men moved -a step away from the door, but still their voices carried clearly.
'What news from Holland?' the stranger asked.
'Richard Cromwell rejects our plan, but methinks 'tis only caution on his part. When he finds the way clear for his return, he'll judge our cause more fair.'
'I've heard he is grown weak, and shiftless.'
My uncle made an impatient sound. 'A weak protector is yet worth more than a hundred kings, who whore and play at cards and take the name of God in vain. No,' he said, 'the people of Sodom must tremble, for the day of the Lord Cometh.' He paused, and his voice when he next spoke held a faint smile. 'My niece is wondrous versed in the Bible, did I tell you?'
'You did. Mayhap you should offer her to poor Elias, as recompense.'
'I would it were possible. He would have been her father, had not my sister stole away, and Rachel now has shamed the both of us, and damned her own soul forever. Elias is a man much wronged, and will not claim a wife of me again, I think.'
'He knows the meeting place tonight?'
'Elias? Ay, he knows it well, and carries a sword well for his years. Get you the others in readiness, and gather at the crossroads in three hours' time.'
'I will pray for our success,' the stranger offered, but my uncle brushed the offer aside.
'There is no need. The Lord has already declared Himself for us by delivering the Devil into our hands, and come tomorrow we shall all toast the restoration of the Commonwealth.'
They moved away from the door then and I shrank back against the table leg, my blood chilling, the forgotten polishing cloth clutched tightly in my trembling hand. This was no dream, I told myself, nor yet some idle fancy of my own imagination. They meant to kill the king. They actually meant to kill the king, and put another Cromwell in his place. It seemed incredible, and yet ...
I touched my cheek with searching fingers, and felt the faint tenderness of bruises still remaining.
My uncle was capable of killing. 9. I must warn the king, I thought ... then realized the foolishness of that thought. I, warn the king? Not only foolish, but impossible. Yet a warning was called for. Richard, I decided. I would tell Richard, and he would find some way to send word to the king. I rose to my feet and was halfway to the kitchen door when a clattering of dishes reminded me that Caroline still stood between me and the back door. My uncle and his visitor were no longer in the parlor, but I could hear the echo of their voices from the front hall. There was no escape to be had there, either.
Panicked, I turned, and my desperate gaze fell upon the windows looking over the garden. One of the windows stood open a crack, and by applying my weight to it I managed to inch it upward by degrees, silently, until the opening was wide enough for me to slip my body over the sill. I dropped carefully to the soft ground beneath and pulled the window sash down again behind me, lest someone look into the room while I was gone. With luck, I told myself, no one would notice my absence. It had been a bitterly quiet household since Rachel's leaving of it, and my aunt and uncle paid me little heed.