Page 181 of Dawnlands

Quietly, the two women crept out of the room. The count bowed low when he saw the queen and led the way down the stairs to the nursery. The prince was fast asleep, tucked in his nurse’s arms; Lady Powis, his lady governess, dressed like a scullery maid, exchanged one resentful look at Livia, who had a better cape. Beckoning them to follow, Livia went after the count into the palace gardens.

It was bitterly cold, the frost white on the formal paths, the towering plant pots showing dark shadows of black ice. There was a shout of “Halt!” and four guards raised their muskets.

“My family and servants,” the count said quickly.

Livia slid her hand in his arm and dropped her hood to smile at the guards. “Please let us through,” she said. “My services are no longer needed here, and we want to go home.”

The guard stood to one side. “Take care,” he warned the count. “The apprentices are tearing London apart, and there are blockades at every crossroads to catch papists.”

“What do they do when they’ve caught them?” Lady Powis quavered.

The guardsman shrugged. “They cut off a priest’s arm to get the crucifix he was holding.”

“Let’s go,” Livia whispered to the count, and he led the way. Glancing back, Livia saw the queen nearly fainting with fear, supported by Lady Powis. The nursemaid, carrying the baby in her arms, was behind them.

“There’s our carriage,” the Comte de Lauzun whispered, as they came through the garden gates, and saw a plain coach without arms on the door, drawn up for them, the blinds down in the windows.

“The king has come for me?” the queen exclaimed.

As soon as they opened the door, they saw it was empty. “No, he sent it for you, Your Majesty,” the count said, helping her into a seat.

“Is he coming?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

“Will they kill him?” she whispered to Livia.

“No, no, he’ll go back to the army,” Livia assured her. “He’ll lead them into battle.”

“Will the citizens kill us?”

“No, for we will take the road to Dover and our yacht is waiting for us there. TheIsabella, your own yacht. Then we’ll be safe.”

“Quickly!” the queen said. “Quickly!” for the count was talking quietly to the driver. He stepped into the carriage and closed the door. Livia saw his face was grave. She clutched the queen’s cold hand.

“I have bad news,” he told them. “Dover Castle has been taken by the rebels. We can’t sail from there.”

“William’s army is at Dover?” Livia demanded incredulously.

“No. It’s the townspeople. They’ve risen up and taken the castle and the town for William. Just like Portsmouth. I don’t know about any other towns, but we should assume that nowhere is safe.”

The queen gave a little moan. “What can we do?”

“Perhaps Rye?” The count turned to Livia. “What ports are there on the east coast?” he demanded. “Where might be loyal? This is not my country.”

“Nor mine,” she snapped.

Lady Powis let out a little moan of fear. “Where can we go? We must go!”

Livia looked from one frightened face to another. No one knew what they should do now that the coastal ports were turning against them. “Southwark,” Livia said. “I know a wharf there, and the captain of a ship.”

The count nodded, put his head out of the window, and yelled: “The stairs!” at the driver, and the dark coach with the blinds down rocked over the cobbles through the darkness of Tothill Fields towards the Horseferry Stairs.

The count’s boat, a low-lying punt, was moored at the stairs.

The river was high, the wind whipping the dark water into waves; rain came in scuds out of the darkness, and the queen flinched from the wet stairs and the little boat.

“Go on,” Livia said. “Courage.”