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“Hallooo!” she bellowed like a huntsman sighting a fox, and when he looked up, she swept a deep curtsey to him.
The king was in no mood for Catherine Sedley today, nor was he moderating his pace to suit his wife. He strode ahead of her, stopping only with a grunt of impatience when he remembered that they were supposed to be walking arm in arm. He looked as if he wished he were back on a quarterdeck facing his enemies, instead of idling in a garden while they mustered against him in the north of his country, rioted in the west country, and whispered in the streets of his own capital.
“You seem troubled, my lord?” the queen asked breathlessly, trying to keep up with him.
“Hallooo! Hallooo!” went Catherine Sedley, until the king turned and bowed to her, as she kissed her hand to him.
“I’ve had a letter from my daughter’s husband, William of Orange,” the king said irritably.
Livia, walking close enough to hear, noted that William was no longer described as a son-in-law.
“Beautiful weather!” bawled Catherine Sedley from her garden.
“Indeed,” the king said, with a distracted smile to his favorite. “William tells me—now he tells me! That he has learned that the Duke of Monmouth remained in Amsterdam after Argyll sailed. So James Monmouth is not with Argyll in Scotland as I thought.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” the queen asked. “You said that they would be impossible to defeat together?”
“I never said that.”
Behind them, Catherine Sedley was curtseying to the retreating court. The queen compressed her lips and turned her head away.
“And anyway, it’s not good!” the king told his wife. “It’s bad news. The worst I could get. William tells me that Monmouth has sailed, but he has no idea where!”
She was aghast. “Then where is he?”
“He could be sailing up the Thames right now! How would I know? He could have gone farther up the coast to the north, where they’re all Protestants and dissenters. Or west, where they’re practically heathen. But since I had no warning of him sailing, I could not put ships in his way. Thanks to William, he can land where he will!”
“I have to go inside,” she whispered. “I cannot walk and pretend that everything is well with us.”
“Go! Go!” James waved her away, furious at his own impotence.
She hesitated. “Husband, should we not leave London?” she asked, her voice a thread. “Is it safe to stay here? And with your daughter Princess Anne about to go into her confinement any day?”
“There’s no safe haven for us Stuarts!” he said bitterly. “Don’t you hear me? The west is all for Monmouth, and the north. The Scots are all for Argyll! If we’re not safe in our own capital city, where we can fall back into the Tower if we come under siege, then we’re not safe anywhere!”
“Siege?” She managed a curtsey to him with shaking legs, and Livia sank down beside her, their silks skirts billowing together; but James had already turned and was stalking across the grass, towards the open door to Catherine Sedley’s garden, his gentlemen following him in stricken silence.
“Did he say we were not safe anywhere?”
Livia helped her up. “Remember, I have a passage in a ship for you,” she whispered. “I will keep you safe.”
REEKIE WHARF, LONDON, SPRING 1685
Captain Shore came to the back door of the warehouse for his midday dinner and seated himself at the kitchen table as Alys came in from the countinghouse.
“You can have your dinner in the parlor, Abel,” she said, seeing he was slicing his own loaf of bread and spreading it with butter. “Susie will bring it to you.”
“I’m in my working clothes,” he said. “I’ll just take a quick bite.”
She smiled at him. “It’s your own dining room,” she said. “You can eat in your working clothes in your own room if you want.”
He smiled up at her. “I know you keep it nice for your ma,” he told her. “And I’ve been loading wool, I stink of lanolin.”
She sniffed at the warm animal scent in the room. “Reminds me of home,” she said. “Ma used to roll the fleeces for the shearing gang. I’ll seethe you some ale.”
The pot of ale hissed as the red-hot poker went in, and she spooned in sugar, then they sat in companionable silence while he finished his meal and drank the hot ale. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Heard from your uncle Ned?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t expect to. Not till it’s all over, one way or another.”
