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He laughed good-naturedly and pulled the wagon to one side to let them pass.
“Close the window, draw up the blind,” Livia hissed. “Don’t let him see her.”
The count hauled on the window strap and pulled down the blind on the queen’s side, the carriage rocked and moved forward, past the flickering torch and the laughing, dark face.
“There’s a backyard,” Livia said to the count. “A backyard to the wharf where they load the wagons. It’s the last yard before Savoury Dock.”
The coach went slowly along Shad Thames Street, between the rows of wharves on the riverside and the poor houses behind them.
“Get out and lead the way,” the count said.
Livia hesitated.
“We can’t make a wrong turn and get stuck,” he said shortly. “If we get trapped in one of these alleys, they could block the doors and burn us in the carriage.”
Just as she was about to argue, the bells of St. Olave’s began to toll, sounding an alarm, calling out the militia. Livia opened the door of the slowly moving coach and jumped down, ran before the horses, and shouted: “Follow me!” at the coachman on the box.
Ahead of her, at the quayside, she could see a ship, but she could not tell if it was Captain Shore’sSweet Hope. She led the way right down the alleyway between the old Reekie warehouse and their new building. The gate to their yard was barred from the inside. Livia went through the lantern door and struggled with the heavy beam. Crying with rage, she flung herself at it and levered it up to swing the big double gates open. The coach turned into the yard, and the coachman pulled up the horses. Livia pushed the gates closed behind them,and dropped the beam into place with a sob of relief, as the light at the kitchen window showed that someone was home.
REEKIE WHARF, SOUTHWARK, LONDON, WINTER 1688
Alys and Captain Shore, together for the first time in many months, were in the warehouse, going through the accounts of the ship that they had unloaded together earlier in the day, when they heard the tolling of the St. Olave’s bell calling out the militia.
“Trouble?” Captain Shore raised his sandy eyebrows to his wife.
She lifted her head to listen. “Was that the yard gate?”
He got up from the table. “Are the lumpers gone home?”
“Not yet, and your crew are eating their dinner on board before they go.”
“I’ll check on the ship,” he said, going out to the quay as Alys took a lantern from the hook, went through to the kitchen, lit it from the fire, and opened the kitchen door. Her gaze took in the carriage, the hooded women, the count letting down the stairs of the coach and putting out his hand to the lady getting out. He bowed as low as for a queen. The baby let out a cry as Livia came towards the door from barring the gate.
“What have you done now?” Alys demanded of Livia. “What trouble have you brought to my door?”
“I can explain.” Livia surged towards Alys, holding out her hands. “You are the only one who can save us,” she said in a quick undertone. “I truly believe the mob will kill her, and the baby. We have to get them away.”
The lantern was steady in Alys’s hands. “You mean that my husband, Captain Shore, has to get them away.”
“Yes, yes, is he here?”
“He has just this day docked, and in this weather!”
“Then tell him not to dismiss the sailors and that he is to set sail again! At once! To France.”
“No,” Alys said steadily.
“Alys, I beg of you…”
“No.”
“You would have done it before! I could tell everyone that you would have sailed for her before. I could tell them that you are a papist yourself!”
Alys raised the lantern so that it swept the empty yard. “No one here but us,” she said simply. “And I doubt you’d want to raise a mob, with her in my yard.”
The queen, white-faced, leaned on the count’s arm.
“Please, Alys,” urged Livia. “There’s nowhere else for her to go.”
