Jamie’s preparations were swift and methodical. First, she collected together her pitifully small store of money and a bare minimum of clothes and other necessities, which she stowed under her bed. Next, she removed the awful muslin dress and her petticoats, replacing them with her nightgown over her underthings. Finally, she lay down on her bed, extinguished her candle and drew the bedclothes up to her chin.
Then, in the darkness, she waited.
She had known that waiting would be the worst part. It seemed the threat was all around her, hovering in the gloom like an evil spirit. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on practical, positive things. In her mind’s eye, she began to design a wondrous garden…
It seemed to take hours before the house was finally quiet. Lying on her bed, Jamie watched the moon flood the landscape with ethereal light. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to some ancient virgin goddess for the help it would provide. Surely this was a sign that her plan would succeed?
Cautiously she slipped out of bed and across to the door. She listened carefully—there was no sound of life in the house. A quick peep into the corridor confirmed that everyone must be in bed, for no lights were to be seen.
Without lighting her candle, Jamie crept downstairs to her half-brother’s room.
Less than ten minutes later she was back with her booty, completing her preparations. The bundle was retrieved from under the bed and tied up for travelling. Her nightgown was cast aside and replaced by outdoor clothes. Wrapping Edmund’s worn cloak over the whole, she made her way down the back stairs and out, by the garden door, to the stables.
Her mare greeted her with a soft whinny and allowed herself to be led quietly out of the yard with only a rope halter.
‘Bless you, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, stroking the velvet muzzle as they reached the shadow of the outside wall. ‘I hope we can both remember the way of this. It’s been a very long time.’ Without further ado, Jamie jumped up on to a convenient outcrop and mounted, tying her bundle into the small of her back with the strings which bound it. Edmund’s old cloak covered her almost to her feet, hiding both the bundle and the fact that she rode bareback.
Holding lightly to Cara’s black mane, Jamie walked her quietly away from Calderwood Hall.
Jamie was in no hurry, since she had all the hours of night to complete less than five miles. Besides, she would not for all the world have risked her beloved old mare by travelling too fast at night.
They made good speed until they came to the edge of the wood and the end of Calderwood land. Now Jamie was grateful for the moonlight, since she had to follow less familiar paths and bridleways, some of them perilously ill-kept. ‘Only another mile down the lane, my Cara,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’ The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her mistress’s voice, but she did not pause in her gentle walk.
When Jamie reached her destination, she slid down from the bay’s back and led her through the hedge and into the shelter of a belt of trees. ‘Oh, I shall miss you so much, Cara,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round the mare’s neck. Cara whickered softly in response, nuzzling Jamie’s shoulder, then stood calmly watching her mistress as she made her final preparations.
Jamie extracted a small spade from her bundle and dug a hole under a leafless beech tree. Then she used a pair of shears to hack off much of her curly titian hair, cursing softly when she realised she had forgotten to bring anything to serve as a mirror. The hanks of hair went into the hole, followed by the shears and the spade.
As she was tying back her shoulder-length hair with a piece of black ribbon from her pack, she was surprised into a giggle by the look of interest on her mare’s face. ‘Well, Cara, what do you think of your new master?’ Cara blinked slowly. ‘Not very complimentary, are you? I admit I’ve probably made a poor fist of the haircut, but I can tidy it up later, if I can find a mirror and some scissors.’ She patted her hair self-consciously. ‘But, at least, Edmund’s clothes are a reasonable fit. Don’t you think I make a fine boy?’ She twirled. Cara edged uneasily as the cloak billowed.
‘Now we must wait.’
Dawn came slowly, a half-hearted winter light.
Still they waited.
After what seemed a very long time, the sound of hooves was heard in the nearby lane. Jamie crept forward to crouch behind the hedge. Yes, it was the Calderwood gig, driven by the old groom, with Smithers sitting very upright in her place, staring straight in front of her.
Jamie returned to her mare. ‘Now, the only risk is that old Timothy will decide to stop to wet his whistle at the inn instead of going straight back to Calderwood, as he ought.’ She continued to wait, listening intently. Some fifteen minutes later, she was rewarded by the sound of the returning gig. If Timothy had slaked his thirst, he had not stayed long to do it. Jamie watched with satisfaction as the gig passed out of sight.
‘And now it really is goodbye, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, releasing the mare, removing the rope halter and throwing it into the hole which she then filled in with her bare hands, allowing the dirt to get under her fingernails and into her skin.
She turned to stroke the mare once more. ‘Go home, Cara. Back to your warm stable.’ Then she picked up her bundle and made her way down to the lane. Behind her, the horse pulled idly at a few tufts of thin grass. There was almost nothing to eat at this time of year. Soon she would be hungry enough to find her way back to Calderwood.
Jamie did not look back. Adopting the easy stride of a boy, she walked on to the village, whistling.
At the inn, all was bustle. No one took any notice of a slightly grubby boy, anxiously looking around as if in search of something. Jamie ventured into the inn, keeping her hat pulled low over her face. In the taproom, she found Smithers alone, seated primly on a bench by the wall. Jamie sat down beside her.
‘What, may I ask, do you want, young man?’ asked Smithers crisply, though her voice was not hostile.
‘I need your help, Smithers,’ pleaded Jamie softly, looking up at her. ‘Please don’t give me away.’
‘Good God! Miss Jessamyne! What on earth are you about?’ Luckily, Smithers did not have a carrying voice.
‘Please, Smithers! Help me! I need to escape. I cannot marry that terrible man. All I need is a few weeks. Then I shall be safe.’
‘What do you mean about “a few weeks”, miss?’ the abigail asked, in a low voice.
‘Don’t call me that. Someone will hear. Just call me “Jamie”.’ Jamie searched the maid’s face for a sign that she might relent, but there was none. Jamie swallowed hard. ‘In a few weeks, I shall be twenty-one. Then, no one can force me into marriage with him. All I have to do is stay in hiding until I come of age. Please help me, Smithers!’
Jamie felt the woman’s slow scrutiny. Surely the proposed bridegroom made even Smithers’ flesh creep?
The abigail lifted one of Jamie’s grubby hands and brushed it across Jamie’s cheek so that it left a dirty streak. ‘You’d better start calling me “Annie”, don’t you think?’ she smiled.
‘Oh, bless you!’ cried Jamie, hugging the older woman impetuously.
‘Hey! That’s enough of that,’ cried Smithers, pushing
