The valet hurrying at his side sent Louis a sidelong glance, and Louis supposed that within the hour most of the people at Charles’ court would know that the king had sent for his favourite French companion in the midst of the night.
Why? they’d whisper. Could our king not manage to service his wife as he ought, and thus called for de Silva? If the queen be pregnant this time next month, should we be watching at the child’s birth to see if it cries in French, or in English?
Louis didn’t give a damn about the undoubtedly ribald whispers. All he wanted was to discover the reason for the summons.
Finally they reached their destination. There was a small crowd standing about outside the bedchamber—Louis could see two physicians, as well as Sir Edward Hyde, five Dutch noblemen, three serving girls and at least seven guardsmen.
“Allow us passage!” the valet cried dramatically. He threw open the door and gestured Louis to enter.
Then, thankfully, he was inside, the door closed behind him, and he could see Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, and Catharine in its centre, her pretty face pale and patently upset.
“What?” Louis said, starting towards the bed.
“Weyland Orr has taken Noah,” Charles replied, and Louis stopped dead, still only halfway to the bed, his face slack in shock. “But—”
“I know, I know,” Charles said, standing. “Not until I set foot in England, Long Tom said. But when has Asterion ever done what anyone else has planned for him? No, he must have suspected we’d try to rescue her ourselves, and so has forestalled us.”
Louis looked to Catharine. “You felt this?”
She gave a single nod. “The imp…such pain…she can’t resist. She must to London immediately.”
Louis paled. “She is still in Woburn village?”
“Yes,” said Catharine. “But I have no doubt she’ll leave soon, in the morning. She can’t go through an attack like that again. If she doesn’t move, Weyland will…”
Charles and Louis locked eyes, thinking over that Weyland will…
“If she’s at Woburn, then I have time to get to her,” Louis said.
“But—” Charles said.
“Damn it, Charles! We can’t just sit here and moan! There are ships waiting at the wharves. On your authority I can command one to take me for England within the hour. If there is a good wind—”
“There will be,” Charles said quietly.
“—then I can be at London within two days. Perhaps only thirty-six hours. It will take Noah at least that long to reach London by road. I can reach London before she does, be waiting at the city gates, watching the road from Woburn. I can get to her before she reaches Weyland!”
“Gods, Louis,” Charles said. “If Weyland realises you are there—”
“And if he takes Noah?” said Louis. “What then, eh? If he has Noah, then he has the bands. If he can command her to London, then he can command her to fetch those bands as easily.”
Charles gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Very well. But, by all gods in existence, be careful! I’ll move as fast as I can, set out for England myself within the next few days. Weyland Orr, if he senses anything, will think it is me moving.”
“Write me letters of introduction. To Monck, to Parliament, to the damn passport inspectors, to the street sweepers if you must, but give me enough documentation to get me free access to London.”
Charles turned for the desk set against one wall of the chamber. “Send for Hyde. He can aid me with the cursed passports and letters of introduction while you send to the wharves to wake the captain of the Fair Polly. He’ll stand the best chance of getting you speedily and safely to London.”
When Jane finally woke from her unconscious state, she only very slowly became aware of her surroundings.
The kitchen was dark; both the lamps and the fire had died.
She was cold, colder than she’d ever been in her life.
Her entire body ached. Everything, not just her belly: her fingers, her head, her very bones. Her entire existence throbbed.
And yet, Jane was barely conscious of any of this.
Instead, she thought of something that had happened to her in the time when she had been in agony and when unconsciousness had not yet claimed her. Someone else had been there with her, sharing her pain.
Noah. Noah had been there, very faint, but there, writhing even as Jane writhed. Screaming, even as Jane screamed.
Sisters, finally, in agony, as they had never been when free of Weyland’s imps.
Five
Woburn Village to Luton, Bedfordshire
NOAH SPEAKS
I had not expected that agony. That was foolish of me, I am sure, but I had truly not expected it. As Caela, whether as herself or in her glamour as Damson, I’d seen the terrible effects of Swanne’s imp on her body, and I’d seen the suffering in Swanne’s eyes. I should have known that Weyland would visit a similar anguish on me.
And yet, still, both the pain and the attack came as a shock. I’d harboured the imp for so many years, through two lives, with little to show for it save some discomfort during my monthly menstrual cycle that when it did strike…oh, merciful heavens…
I could feel that imp crawling through my body. Feel him reaching out his claws and raking them slowly down my inner back, delighting in my terror and pain.
Hear him giggling, the sound horribly distorted by its passage through my flesh.
All I could think of was Catling’s statement that she could help if the imp troubled me during my monthly menses. All I could think of was how Catling seemed able to control the imp. All I could think of was that she could now call a halt to this terrible tearing…this terrible agony.
That she didn’t came as no true surprise. She was right, of course, to say that if she stopped the imp then Weyland would know that the black horror was beyond his control.
But even so…to have her refuse to aid me…
Marguerite and Kate did what they could. Cool herbal poultices and love and compassion, applied in equal amounts, eased much of my suffering. By dawn the overwhelming agony had gone, but my flesh still pained considerably. Marguerite said the welts in my back had bruised a deep purple, and when she gently laid her fingers to one of them I yelped and jerked my body away.
Catling had returned to her bed for the night, but now came to me. At one point, when both Kate and Marguerite had left to prepare our breakfast, she said to me, “You are leaving for London today.”
It was no question.
“Aye,” I said.
“I shall accompany you,” she said.
I said nothing. I wondered what she wanted, and what her purpose was.
I wondered what she was.
I was so tired from my night of suffering, so drained, and still so terrified of what might lie ahead of me that I said nothing. I knew full well that if I said “No” then Catling would nonetheless accompany me.
Marguerite returned eventually, carrying a fresh dish of herbs to apply to my back, and Kate came with her, bearing a tray of food for myself and Catling.
Both women were very quiet, very reserved. “I wish…” Kate said as she handed me a bowl of thick, warm porridge. She leaned back to her tray, hesitated, then handed a second bowl to Catling.
“Aye,” I said, trying to smile at her. “I wish also.”
“When will you go?” asked Marguerite. “How shall you travel?”
“I will leave as soon as I have finished this porridge,” I said, trying to keep the despair out of my voice, “and I shall take one of the horses, and Catling and I shall ride it well enough.”
“But,” said Marguerite, accepting without comment that Catling should accompany me, “travelling the roads to London for a woman and child is dangerous. I thought you would…walk the land.”
She was being obtuse, but I knew what she meant. Why risk physical travel along the roads when I could use my power well enough to walk the land as Eaving?
“I do not want Weyland
to see it,” I said. “He knows too much as it is. I do not want him to see all that I can do. Besides, he wants me in London. He shall make sure I get there alive.”
“Alive,” Marguerite said, her tone harsh, “but not necessarily well and whole. We all know the extent of his cruelty and I can well believe he shall have several ‘surprises’ for you on the journey south. Sweet heavens, Noah, the journey will take you three days at least. Where will you stay? Who shall protect you? And Catling? What of her? You are so terribly injured you cannot look after yourself, let alone her. I—”
“Peace,” I said. “I will travel to London, and both myself and Catling shall arrive there safely enough.”
“And then?” said Kate.
I fell silent, not wanting to think of what would happen once my daughter and I reached London.
And then?
I shivered, and turned my mind away from it. I would think no more of London, but only of the journey there.
I rose. “Marguerite, will you aid me to wash? I do not want to set out unwashed.”
She nodded, and, as she aided me to first bathe and then don some loose-fitting underclothes beneath a lightly laced bodice and skirt, we talked of some of the necessities I should take with me in a pack.
Such preparations did not take long. What could I take save a change of clothes for Catling and myself, along with some food for the journey? If I travelled too heavy, then I risked not only slowing myself down, but exposing myself to theft. Better to journey light, and poorly, than to invite attention.
We were all subdued. I felt sickened, not merely with the ache in my back, nor only for the fact I should so soon be leaving Marguerite and Kate, but for what I walked towards.
By the time dawn had made its mark, I was ready. The horse was stabled at the back of the house and was saddled and bridled and standing by the front door, Catling’s and my small bag of belongings tied behind his saddle. I took my daughter’s hand and smiled somewhat wanly for Marguerite and Kate.
“It is farewell for the time being, then,” I said, a little lamely.
Marguerite’s eyes filled with tears.
I gulped, and then all three of us were crying, and huddled together in as close an embrace as we could manage.
“We will come to London after you,” said Marguerite once she had regained some semblance of control.
“Charles and Catharine shall be here soon,” Marguerite continued, “and then all Eaving’s Sisters shall be together, and near you. We will find a way to touch you and comfort you, Eaving.”
I touched Marguerite’s face, then Kate’s. Then I turned for the horse, and managed to mount with as much grace as my painful back and voluminous skirts would allow me.
Marguerite handed Catling up to me—I settled her in the saddle before me—and then, with nothing more than a nod, I put my heels gently into the horse’s flanks, and turned his head for the road, and we were off.
That day was but a gentle ride, paced at a walk. I had no heart for a joyous canter southwards towards London, nor did I have the strength. With one arm about Catling at all times, and the other being tugged at constantly by the horse (who had patently decided to repay me for his early morning’s awakening by leaning his head down into the bit the entire day), by midmorning my body ached and my back throbbed horribly. The road was relatively quiet, for which I was thankful, and Catling kept quiet, for which I was even more grateful. I did not think I could bear some false, daughterly chatter.
It was a dreadful ride. This was not merely because of my aches, nor because of what I rode towards, but because I think I was finally forced to confront the fact that Catling was not all that she should be. Had her journey into the Otherworld and back to this world changed her so much? Had she learned, perhaps, to hate me somewhere on that long and terrible journey? I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t know what was wrong. All I knew was that Catling bore me no more love than she bore the most inanimate pebble, and that I regarded her with disappointment, even some slight fear, rather than with love.
I had hoped for so much for her and from her. What I had instead was such a vast realm of disappointment that I felt a complete failure, as both a mother and as Eaving.
Thus we continued. The pain in my body grew increasingly worse, and eventually I had to grind my teeth together to prevent myself from begging Catling to do something about it.
By late morning we had passed through the town of Toddington. The town was bustling with market day, and it took a good hour for us to thread our way through the crowded streets. Every time someone jostled the horse I winced, and once a stab of pain so agonising seared up my spine that I only barely managed to restrain myself from falling off the horse.
When we emerged into the countryside again I was weeping, not only with pain, but with fear: how was I going to continue on as far as London in this degree of pain? Damn Weyland! He did not need to be so vicious.
We continued on, Catling gripping the pommel of the saddle with both hands, as if she could not trust me to keep hold of her, and she kept her face determinedly ahead, ignoring every gasp that escaped my lips.
Gods…
By late afternoon we had reached Luton, and I knew I could go no further that day. I reined the horse in at a roadside inn, wanting nothing more than to be able to stretch out on a bed and close my eyes and somehow sleep away the aches and pains and worries.
But my day in the saddle, coupled with the injury to my back, meant that my muscles had cramped badly and, as I tried to first lift Catling from the saddle, I felt myself waver before inexorably tilting over the horse’s near shoulder.
Then, just before Catling and I plummeted to the ground, I heard a marvellously familiar male voice call my name, and the next instant strong arms lifted both myself and Catling down, and I blinked, and looked into John Thornton’s dear face.
Six
Luton, Bedfordshire
John Thornton had only barely handed the reins of his own horse to the stableboy when he heard the sound of another horse behind him.
He turned, then froze in shock as he saw Noah Banks and her daughter ride into the inn’s courtyard.
In hindsight, he realised that it was not merely the shock of seeing them there, but the look of agony on Noah’s face that momentarily glued him to the spot.
Then he saw Noah teeter, her mouth open in horror as she realised she and Catling were about to tumble to the muddy surface of the courtyard, and he lunged forward, catching them only just in time.
One of his hands slipped about Noah’s back as he steadied her, and she flinched away from him with a terrible cry.
“My God, Noah, what assails you?”
“Mama needs aid,” said Catling. “She is not well. She cannot cope.”
Thornton spared the girl a glance (and, by God yet again, how had a girl only some thirteen or fourteen months old managed to grow to such height, and clarity of expression?), then looked back to Noah.
She had steadied herself now, and proffered him an apologetic smile. “John. What do you here?”
I could well ask the same thing, he thought, but for the moment saved the question. “I am on my way to London. Lord Bedford has sent me there to prepare his townhouse for his and Lady Bedford’s arrival…they are journeying down in a few days to greet the king on his arrival. Noah—”
“John, I beg you, Catling has spoken truly. Can you aid me to obtain a bed, and perhaps some manner of hot food? I am tired beyond knowing—”
“Noah,” Thornton said softly, moving closer to her again and settling an arm gently about her waist, avoiding as best he could her back, “you are in agony. What has happened?”
“John, I beg you, a bed…”
Thornton gave her one more searching look, then acquiesced. “Catling, take my other hand. There is a room waiting for me, and you shall share it. No, don’t protest, Noah. I have a feeling that if I allow you out of my sight then you shall slip away.”
“I shall slip nowhere in
this state,” Noah muttered, but she made no more protest about the room.
Thornton looked to the stableboy, nodded at Noah’s horse to indicate the boy should take care of the animal, then slowly led Noah and Catling inside the inn.
Far distant, on the grey heaving seas, a ship leaned into the wind.
At its prow stood Louis, alternately glancing at the billowing sails, silently thanking Charles for sending such a propitious wind and looking forward, straining to see the coasts and cliffs of the British Isles.
Further back on the deck of the Fair Polly the captain stifled a yawn, then muttered to his first mate, “You’d think the hounds of hell were after him the way he begs us to make full speed.”
The first mate shrugged. “So long as he pays us.”
The captain grinned, and jiggled his hand deep inside the pocket of his voluminous coat. “Handsome payment in king’s gold already received, my friend. We’ll all be dining well once we reach London.”
Sweet Jesus Christ! Thornton slowly peeled Noah’s bodice back over her shoulders so that her back lay exposed before him.
She must be in agony! He’d never seen wounds like this before, and could not think what had caused them, save that perhaps some foul villain had thrashed her with a lead-tipped whip.
As soon as they’d reached the room, and Thornton had closed the door behind them, he’d sat Noah on the bed and wordlessly, ignoring her protests, unbuttoned her bodice. He’d had no idea what he might find…but it certainly had not been this.
He spoke a single, soft word. “Who?”
“It is no one you—” Noah said.
“Who?”
“A bad man,” said Catling, sitting on Noah’s other side and looking at Thornton.
“Who?” he repeated yet one more time.
“John,” Noah whispered, “there is nothing you can do.”