Page 89 of Exile's Return
Hannah muttered and groaned and turned restlessly on her pallet. Agnes willed her back into slumber but when the second knock came, more insistent than the first, Hannah awoke, pushing her hair from her eyes and stumbling from her bed toward the door.
Agnes’s breath caught in her throat. She was safe enough for the moment but if the noise woke the children or…God forbid, the alarm was raised…Without a second thought she slipped off the bed on the far side, out of sight of the door, and slid under the bed, just as Lizzie had done when she had played hide and seek.
She inched her way toward the head of the bed where it stood against the wall and flattened herself to the floor. Closing her eyes, she struggled to control her breathing, both from fear andthe dust that rose from the unswept boards. From beyond the doorway, she heard Simpson’s upraised voice and the clatter of his boots on the floorboards. A moment of silence followed and Hannah began to scream.
Agnes inched her way to the edge of the bed, from where she had a good view along the corridor. Simpson lay sprawled on his back, his head in Hannah’s lap. The maid’s screams alternated with choking sobs.
They’ve killed him, Agnes thought.
Any one of the three men would be capable of such an act without thought or compunction. They had all killed before. Simpson’s booted foot twitched and Agnes let out a sigh of relief. She did not want murder added to their list of crimes.
She could see no sign of Daniel, Kit, or Jonathan and she prayed they had got away.
The corridor filled with servants and soldiers, including Septimus Turner, hurriedly pulling on his jacket and his sister, in her nightgown with a loose coat pulled over it. Turner pulled the sobbing maid to her feet and, holding her by her forearms, appeared to be cross-examining her. All he succeeded in doing was increasing her distress. She pointed down the corridor, away from the nursery.
Turner whirled on his heel, gathering those soldiers who had answered the maid’s cries. They set off at a run along the gallery and out of sight. Agnes balled her fist against her mouth. All she could do was pray that they had got away.
In the corridor all the attention turned to the wounded man who writhed on the floor, clutching his leg. No one was looking at the nursery door. Agnes wriggled out from under the bed and sidled out of the room, keeping to the shadows. As she reached the gaggle of servants clustered around Simpson, she elbowed her way into the group as if she too had been forced from her bed by the uproar.
‘What’s happened here?’ she demanded in an imperious tone.
Everyone turned to look at her. ‘Intruders, ma’am,’ one of the servants answered.
‘Take this man to a bedchamber and tend to his wounds,’ Agnes said and turned on Leah. ‘Has anyone checked the children?’
Leah stared at her. ‘The children?’
‘Your responsibility, as you are so quick to remind me.’ Agnes turned and ran back to the nursery, pulling back the bed curtains to reveal the two children still slumbering peacefully, despite the rumpus outside their room.
Agnes gave Leah a sharp, reproachful glance. ‘That stupid girl is in no fit state to stay with the children,’ she said. ‘I will…’
‘Return to your room, Mistress Fletcher. I will see the children are not left alone,’ Leah responded.
Agnes bent and kissed Henry’s curls. Better to be seen to be acquiescent.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘They should be properly guarded, not left in the hands of that incompetent wench.’ She pointed at Hannah. ‘You might like to ask her what that man was doing in this part of the house at this time of the night.’
Leah straightened. ‘His duty,’ she replied, but her tone wavered with uncertainty and she cast the still-dopey Hannah a malevolent glare.
Brown still slumbered outside Agnes’s door, and she gave him no more than a cursory glance before slipping back into her room and climbing into the cold bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin, forcing her breathing to steady as she shook from head to toe with cold and nerves.
What now?
She had no choice but to carry on the pretence. Turner would have every one of his men on the hunt for the intruders. Had Daniel gone with them? How would she explain that to Ashby?
Sleep was impossible and as she tossed in the uncomfortable bed, she told herself that all she had to do was show Ashby the empty room tomorrow morning and then she could leave. She repeated the instructions to herself.
In a few hours, she would be back on the road to Seven Ways, but she just had to accept that it would be without the children. Her head had prevailed and she acknowledged Jonathan had been right — better to wait until the King’s return and see what could be done. If the King had his gold then he should feel well disposed toward her petition. The thought heartened her.
She closed her eyes to hold back the tears, recalling the warm little body pressed against her, the silken feel of Henry’s soft hair beneath her fingers.
A gulping sob racked her body and she rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees up, trying to warm her frozen feet.
Chapter 38
The maid’s screams still rang in Daniel’s ears as he bolted after his brother and Jonathan. The alarm had not reached the kitchens and they paused long enough to pull on their boots. From the main courtyard, they could hear orders being shouted.
Balancing caution with haste they crept through the kitchen gardens to the wooded area where they had left their horses.
