Page 40 of Dawnlands

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We wait,” Ned replied. “Most of soldiering is waiting around, then being terrified, and then waiting around again.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not terrified,” she said.

“You’re not soldiering. Nor ever going to.”

She ducked her head to avoid another argument. “No.”

The dinghy reached shore; they could just see the distant figures jumping out of the boat, and a couple of fishermen approaching them. They all talked together, then Thomas Dare and Andrew Fletcher waved good-bye and turned inland, while the dinghy came back to the ship.

The boatman climbed the ladder and went straight to the bridge. Ned watched the duke’s face and saw his growing smile. Monmouth turned from the boatman and addressed his men.

“Good news,” he said. “The best news. Even the fishermen here in the west country know that we are on our way to victory. The Earl of Argyll has drawn the royal army north, they’re lost in Scotland. James is calling out the militia in every county—he has no idea where to look for us. The southwest is ready to rise for us, the fishermen are for us. We’ll go on to Lyme Regis and land there!”

The busy port of Lyme Regis was only four miles away. The Cobb—a massive seawall of tumbled stones—curved like a claw before the harbor, sheltering the trading ships from the sea. TheHelderenbergsailed so close to the shore that Monmouth could see, through the captain’s spyglass, the men playing bowls on the seaside green.

There was a shout from the lookout as a fishing boat approached. “Man selling fish, Captain!”

Monmouth grinned. “Tell him yes! We’ll buy all he has!”

Slowly, the ship made way past the Cobb, behind the defensivecannon that pointed over the harbor mouth, to the beach beyond. Sailors bustled to reef the sails and tie up as the soldiers packed their kit and stood ready, divided into three regiments with their own colors—red, blue, and white. Ned, in the red jacket of Monmouth’s own division, turned to Rowan.

“You come ashore with me,” he told her. “Stay at my side.”

She grinned at him, her belongings in a little sack slung over her shoulder. “Yes, sir!”

Ned tried to scowl at her. “Then you’ll go to London,” he told her.

“Perhaps we all will!”

ST. JAMES’S PALACE, LONDON, SUMMER 1685

Mary Beatrice, the queen, was standing alone in her privy chamber, looking out of the window over the gardens, when Livia came in.

“Your Majesty?” Livia dipped a curtsey, instantly alert to the frozen figure.

“We’re lost,” Mary Beatrice said simply. Now, at the moment of defeat, she was calm. “Argyll has landed and thousands of men have flocked to his standard. He is marching on Glasgow, and once he takes that town with our stores, and recruits the castle, they think he will march south, here, to London. He will march with our men and our arms, against us.”

Livia thought briefly of her husband and his lands that lay before an army of violent highlanders, the certainty of his defending his home, the likelihood of his death. “And what about Lord Dumbarton’s army? Will he fall back and protect the north of England?”

“He hasn’t even found the rebels! We don’t know what he’s doing. This isn’t news from him but from the local lords, sending desperate messengers, demanding help. They haven’t even seen Dumbarton! He’s probably wandering around lost while Argyll knows all the roads: he built them himself on his own lands!”

“What will the king do?”

“Nothing!” she burst out furiously. “He has no plan. This is his terror. The terror of the Stuarts. It’s what the late king always said to avoid, whatever the price. Never let the people see a flag or hear a drum, they’ll just run after it like fools. He’s sent his army to Scotland and lost them. The rebels are marching south and there is no one to stop them. I’ve told the king, I told him that I dare not stay. My mama, Duchess Laura, has written that I must go to her in Rome. I told him: I want to go to my mama!”

“Will he send you?” Livia asked.

The younger woman’s hands were clenched into fists. “First, he said he would send me to Portsmouth, and he has a coach and horses ready for me to go, and a ship to take me to Mama. But now he says he doesn’t dare! Monmouth could be anywhere! He could have landed at Portsmouth. I could be going straight towards him. And if I set sail in a royal ship, I could run into him at sea! He’d recognize the royal yacht in a moment, he must have sailed on it a hundred times. What if he fired on me? What if he captured me?”

Livia took the queen’s hands in a firm clasp, hiding her own fear. “Be calm, my dear,” was all she could say. “Be calm. We’re in danger; but we’re not lost yet. If the king cannot send you to Portsmouth, if you can’t take the royal yacht, then we can take our berths on the little ship. Nobody will know you are aboard. Nobody would look for you on a little trading ship. It’s due to sail this week, it’s worked out for us perfectly… we can go.”

Mary Beatrice gripped Livia’s hands, as if she would be hauled from danger. “You will come with me?” she demanded.

“Of course.” Livia realized that she was speaking the truth. “I couldn’t bear to leave you.” She bent her head and kissed the queen’s trembling hands. “I will never leave you,” she promised. “Exile or victory, I will be at your side.”

LYME REGIS, SUMMER 1685