Free The Manner of Amy's Death by Carol Mackrodt Page B

“They’re either too drunk or too scared to help.  No one’s able to take us.”
          I can understand why.  They could be accused of helping traitors to escape.
          “We’ll just have to leave without the chests.  Maybe Elizabeth will have them sent on to us when she returns to Somerset House,” says Amy.
          Ha!  From what I know of Elizabeth, Amy is dreaming!  The princess has a reputation for acquisitiveness second to none and the dresses will go straight into her own collection, even if Amy were her best friend – which she clearly is not.
          The three of us put some things into small bags that we can fasten to the saddles of our horses , clean shifts, fine woollen and linen stockings, combs and hoods decorated with pearls.  Amy fastens a silk bag to her waist containing her jewellery and money.
          In the stables are our two horses , two mules and another horse, a lovely mare, belonging to Robert.  Valiant has gone with him into Norfolk.  We can’t take all of them and Mrs Picto will struggle to ride any of the horses.
          “We’ll saddle our two and a mule,” decides Amy, “And we’ll take the other mule to carry the bags.”
          “What about the mare?  We can’t leave her on her own.”
          But we have to.  We can’t lead Mrs Picto’s mule and the baggage mule and manage the mare as well.  Had Amy and I been better horse women it might be different.
          The two of us set about saddling the horses and mule.  When this is done we find a man’s saddle for the second mule and fasten the bags securely onto this.  But, as Amy goes to find some hay for the little mare we’re leaving behind, she uncovers a heap of rags on the ground.  Imagine her surprise when the rags give a loud snore!
          “James, you lazy dog,” she says kicking the rags with her toe, “Get up straight away.  It’s nearly evening.”
          James struggles uncertainly to his feet.  He’s obviously been sleeping off the effects of last night’s ale.  Amy grabs him by his collar and pushes his head into the horse trough outside.
          “Waken up!”
          Unsteadily James begins to saddle Robert’s mare.  Amy holds her while he hoists himself i nto the saddle.  He’s staggering on the ground but, once on the horse, he can ride as well as anyone.  I then help Amy onto her horse and she takes the lead reins of the two mules, one on each side, while I help Mrs Picto into the saddle of one of them.  Then I climb the mounting block and attempt to get on my horse unaided.  James, who’s now coming to his senses a little, rides alongside and steadies her.
          Once I’m safely in the saddle, James takes the lead rope for Mrs Picto’s mule and we set off for Amy’s cousin’s house.  Outside the gate we stop and take a last look back at Somerset House.  We’ve lived in this palace for six months and we won’t see it again, ever.  Our lives have changed irretrievably, we have no home and no idea what lies ahead.
          When we arrive at our destination there are looks of astonishment and disapproval.   Amy’s cousin is much older than we are and scowls at us in a most unwelcoming manner.  “Word gets around!  She wasn’t like this when I had the most powerful man in England for a father-in-law,” remarks Amy grimly as we help James take the bags from the mule.  A manservant comes out of the house and he and James lead the horses and mules to the mews round the corner.  He’ll sleep in the straw in the hayloft over the stable and the manservant takes him a bowl of pottage to eat.
          The wooden and clay hous e is tiny compared to what we’ve been used to.  Mrs Picto goes to join the two servants in the kitchen and, as the rest of the family have had their supper, Amy and I sit at the table to a bowl of mutton in a broth and some bread on a wooden platter.  The bread is the coarse