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Still the queen hesitated, but then there was a sound of many running feet and bobbing torches coming down Market Street behind them. They could hear the shouts and the smashing glass of windows. Mary Beatrice plunged down the stairs and stepped into the rockingboat and everyone followed. Dangerously overloaded, the boat bobbed low in the water as the count took up the oars and rowed into the middle of the dark river. The water swirled around them; Livia saw torchlight on the north side and was glad to be away from capture; but they were still very far from the south bank. She felt the purse of jewels around her neck and thought it would be a cruel irony if they capsized and the weight of the queen’s treasure pulled her down. The nursemaid shrank in fear and made the little craft tip. “Sit still!” Livia snapped.
The count leaned forward and hauled on the oars, grunting with effort. Livia found she was gritting her teeth as they seemed to make no progress against the wind and the tide. Slowly, the south bank came closer, the steps, the ramp where they led the horses, and then the nose of the little boat juddered against the stone steps and Livia grabbed the iron ring set into the wall. She held it while the queen, the nursemaid with the royal baby, and Lady Powis climbed out, then the count tied off the boat and helped her up the stairs and jumped ashore himself. The rain suddenly swept down on them in an icy wind.
“I have a coach waiting at the Swan Inn,” the Comte de Lauzun said in Livia’s ear. “Wait here, I’ll get them to bring it round.”
“She can’t wait outside in this weather,” Livia objected.
“She can’t be seen,” he replied and ducked under the archway into the yard.
The queen looked at Livia.
“Stay here,” she whispered.
They huddled in the lee of the church tower; the baby, tucked under the nursemaid’s cloak, started to cry.
“He’s got to be quiet.” Livia swore.
The nursemaid glared at her. “How?”
A man came out of the inn, hat pulled down over his head to shelter him from the rain, and checked when he saw the four of them, hiding against the church wall. He turned and came towards them. The queen gave a little moan, certain that they would be discovered. Livia put her head down and started to run, like a servant getting out of the rain, dashed across the road, fell to the ground at his feet, and brought him down as well. “Oh!” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I was running to get out of the rain, and I slipped. Did I hurt you? So clumsy of me!”
“No, no,” he said. “But who’s that over there—”
“My mistress waiting for her coach. Look! Your cloak’s filthy. You must get it cleaned at once before it dries, I shall wash it for you myself!” she assured him. “Go into the inn at once and I’ll get it clean.”
He glanced towards the little party in the rain.
“Oh, Lord!” Livia exclaimed. “You can’t see it. Quite dreadful. It looks as if you have soiled yourself. I’ll come and wash it for you. Come. Come and get it off quickly.”
She pushed him before her and made as if she were following him, but as the coach came out from under the archway, she doubled back to open the door and bundled the nursemaid and Lady Powis into the coach and helped the queen inside. Lauzun stepped in after them and told the driver to drive along the south bank to Southwark.
The coach jolted along the road, the queen rigid in one corner, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. She said quietly: “There are men blocking the road.”
A wagon was drawn across the narrow road as a makeshift barricade, the driver seated on the box, his horse with its head bent low against the driving rain. The coachman pulled up. “Give way!” he bawled.
“Not to you!” the wagonner shouted back. “Not to a coachload of papists!”
“Tell him you’re an English lady going to Southwark.” Livia pushed Lady Powis towards the door and dropped the window for her to lean out.
“Why me?”
“All the rest of us sound foreign. You tell him!”
“I’m no papist,” Lady Powis quavered to the wagonner.
“Spit on the Pope!” came the yell.
“This is a betrayal!” the queen said, her eyes dark with horror. “We are denying our faith and running from our kingdom. We are like Peter, denying Christ!”
“No, we’re not!” Livia desperately. “We’re staying alive for the next battle!”
“I will die rather than deny my faith.” She went to rise up, pushed Lady Powis from the window, and went to declare herself.
Livia grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back into her seat. “Sit down!” she hissed furiously.
The wagonner shouted at Lady Powis: “Say cheers for William and Liberty!”
Livia laid hold of Lady Powis’s wrist with a two-handed grip, and twisted it so the skin burned. “Cheers for William and Liberty!” Lady Powis cried out in pain.
