Mary had not quickly recovered from her
disappointment at the hands of her brother. Since returning to Woodham Walter,
Mary had contrived plans and written to Charles, begging for his assistance in
her escape.
Now, the time had come. The Holy
Roman Emperor had acquiesced to her wishes, and a small fleet would soon arrive,
their mission to whisk Mary away. She would live out her days at Charles’
court, though she despaired at leaving Edward to his fate if he carried on his
heretical ways. Still, when she remembered her mother’s impoverished, lonely
death, Mary assured herself that she was doing what she must.
Whispers had crept through the
district that Mary was plotting to leave the kingdom. It was impossible with a
household the size of hers to prepare for such a feat without some rumors
spreading, but no one from the king had arrived. If news had reached Edward, he
had not taken it seriously.
Mary paced the corridors of her
estate. There were more productive tasks that she could be attending to, but
she could bring her mind to focus on none of them. Instead, she found herself
memorizing the precise color of the region’s bricks and the smell of
honeysuckle, for she was afraid that she would forget these small details of
her daily life that would not exist in her new world.
Pain was her constant companion
since leaving her brother. The headaches had been like nothing she had
experienced before, even when she lost her mother. She had grown pitifully
thin, because most food nauseated her. Mary would not trouble herself or others
over this though. Soon, she would be relaxing in the Low Countries, at peace
and snacking on fresh oranges.
The idyllic image brought a
smile to her face. She deserved some peace in her life. If her brother was as
independent and astute as he claimed, she need not feel that she was abandoning
him.
She was not sure how many
circuits of the corridors she had completed when Rochester found her. Before he
uttered a word, she could see that the news had arrived and her deliverance was
at hand.
“Ships have been spotted,” he
whispered. His handsome brow was creased with worry, and Mary felt some guilt
for the stress that she put him through.
“You have served me more loyally
than any other,” Mary said. She had the urge to put a hand to his face to
soothe the tension in his rigid expression, but it would not have been proper.
Her words served to soften his clenched jaw a bit, and that would have to
suffice.
“I would be willing to suffer
death for my faith if that was what I felt God was calling me to do,” she
added, though she owed him no explanation. “England is no longer a place for
me.”
Rochester nodded with his lips
pressed into a thin line to hold back any disagreement he might have given
voice to. He had agreed to go with her, for as much as he was uncertain of the
plan he would leave no one else responsible for Mary’s safety.
“Let us then be about our
business,” he said. There was no reason for him to say more. The plot had been
discussed at length. Four ladies had been chosen to accompany the princess, but
they would carry little with them. Disguised as commoners, they would leave
Woodham by boat and meet the Spanish ships. It was deceivingly simple.
Mary spun, her skirts stirring
the rushes, and fled to her room. As soon as she entered, she dismissed all
except the four she trusted to travel with her.
“Fran, our clothes,” she
ordered, sending the woman scurrying without further instructions needed. “Susan, the jewelry.”
They could not carry anything of
great size or weight, so Mary’s precious jewelry would be distributed among
them. Besides the largess of Charles V, it is all they would have to live upon.
A few other frantic whispers
sent the ladies to their preassigned tasks, and they were ready in less than an
hour to depart. Part of Mary was thrilled by the adventure, but her guts were
twisted with anxiety and uncertainty that she could not alleviate.
Rochester arrived to lead them
to the water’s edge. He was confronted by five pale faces with wide eyes following
him from under dark wool hoods. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mary said with much more
confidence than she felt. “God be with us.”
“Amen,” the four other women
murmured as they left the room in a somber single file line.
Mary was thankful that her head
had cleared as she followed Rochester’s broad form, yet she was still plagued
by a growing sense that something was wrong. The small party left the manor for
the canopy of stars and darkness of night, and their path was clear. No one on
watch noticed them to inquire who they were or what their business was. Through
the summer foliage, they made their way to the pier that stretched out into the
river.
The boat that was usually
utilized for trips to the port town of Maldon was bobbing upon the low waves.
Besides the fact that they were leaving in the dead of night, there would be no
reason to suspect this boat when it took their intended course. Once they
reached Maldon, their success was assured by the presence of Charles’ warships.
Rochester stood at the side of
the boat, ready to hand the women across the span between the dock and the
vessel. He had not spoken the words, but his countenance told Mary that he
retained doubts. She stiffened her spine and told herself to stop
second-guessing.
In a moment, she was on the boat,
her ladies huddled tightly around her more to soothe their fear than to ward
off chill. Mary realized that the summer night was mild and pleasant. It seemed
odd that it had taken her so long to notice.
The boat was rowed by Rochester
and a younger man he had chosen to assist him. No one spoke as they made their
way up the dark river. Mary marveled that the water’s vivid turquoise of day
was replaced by an oily black at night. The murky river was more eerily
threatening than the same calming scene in the warm summer sunshine.
In that darkness, Mary’s
imagination conjured up images of a gloomy hell that remained in shadow despite
the inferno of flames. Souls in agony twisted and screamed in eternal pain that
nothing could soothe. Mary closed her eyes in vain as the images continued to
dance upon the back of her eyelids. Her brother’s face appeared upon one of the
wraithlike figures being tortured by the demons, and his eyes bored into her
accusingly.
You have left me to this fate,
his face seemed to say. Mary’s eyes flashed open, and the vision disappeared.
It was replaced once again by the disapproving countenance of Rochester and her
terrified ladies. She searched the dark water for answers as their boat
silently cut through its surface.
That darkness would not only
swallow up her brother and his evil advisors. Mary started counting the little
waves, pretending that they were Englishmen who followed her brother’s heresies
to their doom. Squeezing her eyes shut, her face crumpled in mental anguish.
“I cannot do it,” she announced.
When no one responded, Mary
wondered if she had not spoken the words aloud. She forced her eyes open, and
found that her ladies were looking to her in confusion. Then her gaze met
Rochester’s and found understanding. He had stopped rowing, and now gave a
signal to the young man to halt as well.
“I cannot leave my people to
this future,” Mary repeated more confidently. “Whatever I can do, I must,
though it may cost my very life.”
Rochester nodded his approval as
the women embraced Mary with happy exclamations and the boat was turned around.
Mary wondered how upset Charles would be that she had changed her mind at the
last moment, with his ships there waiting to receive her, but she found that
she did not care. A great peace had enveloped her when she made her decision,
and she knew that God had plans for her yet in the kingdom of England.
