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“But it can’t be helped,” Alys said. “It’s business.”
“And we won’t be alone with Mama,” Hester volunteered. “For my papa will come down today or tomorrow. Mama was supposed to tell you…”
“I hardly saw her yesterday,” Alys said grimly. “It was yesterday she turned her ankle when she stepped on the grass, and had to rest it.”
“Well, he said he would come in his carriage. So you can take it back to London, if you like.”
“You’re very free with your father’s carriage?” Alys smiled at her niece.
“Of course, he would want you to use it, when you have taken us in, and you have looked after Mama so well, and it’s not been easy…”
“No trouble at all!” Matthew remarked, one eye on Gabrielle, who was fighting the giggles.
Hester flushed. “I do know,” she told him.
“Don’t tease Hester,” Alys reproved them. “Her mama has always been delicate. And the worry has very been bad for her. She’ll be better when she has her husband at her side, and better again when she can go back to her home. Did your father say when he would come?”
“He said he’d leave first thing, he should be here by midday.”
“Then I’ll take his carriage back to London tomorrow,” Alys decided.
“Should you travel alone?” Matthew said. “We don’t know where the armies are nor the state of London. Hadn’t I better come with you? And shouldn’t I be with you at the wharf?”
Alys had a bright smile for her foster son’s concern. “God bless you, Matthew. I’d be glad of your company. Yes, you come with me and Rob can hold the fort here.”
“That’s good of you, Matthew,” Hester said, getting a little revenge. “But what a pity that you will miss my papa!”
“And that’s you told, Matthew,” Mia said, smiling. “We all know you’d rather face William of Orange’s army than Hester’s papa!”
WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON, WINTER 1688
Livia was wakened at midnight by a knock on the door.
“It’s the Comte de Lauzun,” her maid whispered, scandalized that the French adventurer should be making calls in the middle of the night. “He says he must see you. What is it, madam? Has William of Orange come?”
“Go and fetch me some mulled ale from the kitchen,” Livia said, to get her out of the way. “Make sure that it boils well.”
She got up from her bed and stripped off her nightgown. Beneath it, she was dressed. She picked up her bag and seized her cape. The count, waiting outside, was relieved to see that she was ready. “Wake the queen,” he told her. “Tell her it’s time.”
Livia went into the queen’s rooms and found her Italian nurse and her lady-in-waiting frantically packing her bags. “Aren’t you done yet?” she said furiously. “Only take her jewels and her furs. She can buy everything else new.” She strode in to wake the queen.
“Is my baby here?” were her first words.
“Yes, he’s here, God bless him. Now quick—the count gave me this for you.” It was a plain black silk dress, with a thick cape and scarf.
“I am to dress as a servant?” the queen asked in horror.
“Lord Sunderland went disguised as a woman,” Livia said bluntly.
“Where’s Father Petre? I won’t leave him here.”
“He’s gone.”
For a moment she did not understand the betrayal. “What do you mean?”
“Run away. Abandoned you. They’re all saving their own skins. The palace is almost empty.”
The queen was stunned into silence as Livia threw the gown over her head, tied the cape around her, and pulled up the concealing hood. Livia ransacked the boxes in the bedroom and slipped jewels inher own pockets and tied a heavy purse of priceless rubies around her neck. “Come on,” she said.
