Jean Plaidy - The Wondering Prince

“How can we know whether he was speaking the truth?”

“Do you think he suspected who the child is?”

“I am not sure. But if she had awakened and called herself ‘Princess’ we should certainly have been betrayed.”

They were silent for a while. Then Anne started up again. “Listen! Steps on the stairs!”

“’Tis new arrivals at the inn,” said Tom.

“But they are on the attic staircase. It leads only to us. I am sure they are there. It is the groom. He has betrayed us.”

The next seconds seemed like minutes. Anne held the Princess close against her. Little Henrietta began to whimper in her sleep. Tom was on his feet; the footsteps had stopped and they knew that someone was standing on the other side of the door.

Then there was a sudden nerve-shattering hammering against the wood.

Tom threw his weight against it. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“It is your landlord.”

“What do you want of us at this hour?”

“Soldiers are here. They demand quarters. I have no room for them all.”

“Open the door to him,” said Anne, and Tom obeyed.

“Listen here,” said the landlord. “I’ve got to find room for the soldiers. I told them that the inn was full, but they wouldn’t have it. They demand shelter. Some of them have been drinking. Now there’s an outhouse you can have for the rest of the night. I often let it to passengers from the wagon. It would serve you well.”

“Cannot the soldiers use the outhouse?” asked Tom.

“I don’t want trouble at my inn. There’s a war raging in this country. In wartime we’re in the hands of the soldiery.”

Anne said quickly: “Let us go to this outhouse. I doubt not that it will suit us well.”

“Thank you. You are a wise woman. Come quickly. The soldiers are drinking in the parlor.”

He held his candle aloft and, gathering the sleeping child in her arms Anne, with Tom leading and Nell and Gaston taking up the rear, followed the man down the staircase. When they were on the lower landing, a door opened, and there stood the elegant man who had made such a commotion earlier that night.

“By God’s body!” he cried. “Cannot a gentleman be allowed to sleep? Comings and goings the whole night through! What is happening now, man?”

“Your pardon, your honor. It’s the soldiers. They’ve just come in. That’s how it is these days, sir. There’s nothing a poor innkeeper can do.”

He quizzed the party. “These hardly look like soldiers.”

“Nay, sir. Some poor travellers I took in, sir, and let them have the attic. Now the soldiers want it and …”

“So you’re turning them out into the night, eh?”

“No … no, your honor. They’ve paid for shelter and they shall have it. I am giving them an outhouse. ’Tis warm and comfortable and will seem cozy to such as they are, I’ll swear.”

With an oath the man shut his door and the party continued their descent. The landlord took them through the kitchens where, setting down his candle, he took up a lantern, and conducted them to the outhouse.

“You’ll pass the rest of the night in peace and comfort here,” he said. “You could not be more snug. See, there’s straw for you all and ’tis a warm night.”

“Can the door be barred?” asked Tom.

“Aye. You can lock it from the inside if you wish to.”

“This will suit us for the rest of the night,” said Anne quickly.

The landlord left them; and as soon as he had gone Tom turned the heavy key in the lock.

“I feel a little safer here,” said Anne; but she was still trembling.

They left early next morning as soon as the first sign of dawn was in the sky. All through the morning they walked, and in the afternoon they came into the town of Dover. Anne felt great relief as, looking out to sea, she caught sight of the Dover Packet-boat lying at anchor; the weather was undoubtedly favorable. Very soon her ordeal must be ended.

Henrietta was lively; she had ridden all the morning on Anne’s back, and if Anne was tired, she was not.

“Water!” she cried.

“It is the sea, my precious one,” Anne told her.

“Nan … want my own gown …”

“Soon you shall have it, little Pierre.”

“No Pierre! No Pierre!”

“Just a little while longer, dearest.”

“No Pierre!” chanted Henrietta. “Me … Princess. No Pierre! No Peter!”

“Let’s pretend for a little longer. Let it be our secret, eh?”

Tom said: “I wish the Princess would sleep.”

“She cannot sleep all the time.”

“No sleep! No sleep!” chanted the Princess.

“’Twould please me better if she slept as we passed through the town,” persisted Tom.

A man passed them. He gave no sign of having recognized them, but he was the elegant gentleman whom they had seen at the inn and who had opened his door as they had passed along the corridor.

None of them spoke, but each was aware of him. He turned slowly and followed them. At the water’s edge he called to a boatman in his arrogant manner. “Is that the Dover Packet lying there, fellow?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Then row me out to her, will you? These people will go with us.”

“Milord …?” began Tom.

The man shook his head impatiently.

When they were in the boat the baby Princess showed clearly her appreciation of the elegant gentleman, but he did not glance at her as he gave orders to the boatman in his cool arrogant manner.

“How’s the wind?”

“Set fair for France, milord.”

“Then the Packet will be leaving soon, I’ll swear.”

“Waiting but for the turn of the tide, milord.”

Now they were alongside and the party stepped aboard, obediently following the man who led the way.

He signed to Anne and led her and the child into a cabin. When they were alone, he bowed to her, taking her hand and kissing it. “You have done a marvelous thing, Anne,” he said. “The Queen will love you forever.”

“It was a great comfort to know that you were with us … though not of the party.”

“There were some uneasy moments. The worst was last night when I opened my door and saw you being marched down the stairs. Well, that is over. Stay in your cabin during the crossing, and remain disguised until you are safely on French soil. I must go now. Assure Her Majesty of my untiring devotion.”

“I will, John.”

“Tell her the Berkeleys will hold the West against any number of Roundhead oafs.”

“I’ll tell her, John.”

“Goodbye and good luck.”

Sir John Berkeley kissed her hand and that of the Princess. Then he quickly returned to the boat and was rowed ashore.

Not long after, the Packet slipped away from the white cliffs on its way to Calais.

The Princess was happy. No sooner had she and her faithful little party set foot on French soil at Calais than her dear Nan discarded her hump, kissed her rapturously and called her Beloved Princess. The indignity she had suffered was now over; there was no need to remind people now that she was a princess. There were fine clothes to be worn, there were many to kiss her hand and pay her the homage she had missed when dressed as the child of a servant. The crowds welcomed her. They called to her that she was the granddaughter of great Henri, and therefore France was her home and all French men and women were ready to love her.

How she crowed and waved her little hands! How she smiled as she smoothed down the folds of her dress! Occasionally she would turn to Nan and look with happy pleasure at the tall and beautiful governess whom it seemed she had sought in vain to revive from those dirty rags. Henrietta was happy; she did not know that she came to France as a suppliant; that she was a beggar far more than she had appeared to be on the road to Dover.