The Countess sent for him at once to her bedside. She guessed that his message was one of imminent import.
"Noble Lady," said Wright, with a low courtesy—for the courtesy was a gentleman's reverence in those days,—"behold here my Lord's token, who greets you well by me, and desires you to come unto him, and my young ladies withal, at Dartmouth, in Devon, so speedily and secretly as you may."
He held forth a diamond ring, which the Countess recognised as one usually worn by her husband, and not sent as a token except on occasions of serious moment. She sent Mother Bonham at once to communicate the news to her daughters, and to desire them to be ready to set forth two hours earlier than the time originally fixed. Her idea had been to seek the Earl at Warwick Castle, though she hoped to receive more exact news before her departure. But she deemed it quite as well that that very reliable person, the Marquis Montague, should be left in a little uncertainty touching her departure. She had already taken advantage of a conveniently smoky chimney to move the Marquis into a tower which did not overlook her own. She now gave further orders that the horses were to be in waiting outside the Castle, on the grass, so as to avoid noise, and in a position where they could not be seen from Montague's windows. At two o'clock, wrapped in long travelling cloaks, and wearing list slippers, the ladies crept out of the Castle into the fresh April night air, and mounted their horses in silence. Sir John Clare rode before the Countess, Sir Walter Wretill before the Duchess of Clarence, and John Wright before the Lady Anne. Slowly and silently, at first, the procession filed off from the Castle, not breaking into a trot till they thought themselves beyond sight and hearing. The Archbishop (just then to be trusted) was keeping watch over his brother, and with him Warwick's servant, Philip Strangeways, who was to follow an hour later, in order to gallop on and warn the ladies if any pursuit were attempted.
Once out of Wensleydale, and joined by Philip, the journey changed into a rapid flight. They travelled by night. They were afraid of being pursued, not only on their own account, but on that of Warwick, to whose locality theirs would give a clue, as it would instantly be surmised that they were going to join him. They kept as much as possible to the bye-ways and moor roads, which were less frequented, and also less capable of ambush, than the high roads: but they could not keep altogether out of human sight and hearing. Many a cottager woke up in the dark to hear a rush of horses, and to see the flash of the lanterns as the fugitives fled past. It was a wretched journey, especially for the Duchess, who was by no means in health to stand it. But the Duchess had a spirit which carried her above all pain and languor. She would have no halts made for her. She entertained a strong dislike and fear of Edward personally, and if report spoke truly, not without good reason.
Before Dartmouth was reached, Frideswide Marston had most heartily wished herself, a score of times at least, within the safe shelter of Lovell Tower. Oh, if she could wake up from this hurried snatch of sleep under an elderbush, to find herself in that little white bed in the turret chamber, with Dorathie's head beside her on the pillow! It seemed to Frideswide as if, that wish granted, she could never complain of any thing again.
Along the wild hill-passes of "the back-bone of England," winding round the Peak, keeping clear of Stafford Castle, where the Yorkist Duke of Buckingham had his home, skirting Shropshire and Hereford, taking the ferry over the Severn, down through Somerset, avoiding alike the uncivilised neighbourhood of Exmoor, where bandits loved to congregate, and the too civilised neighbourhood of Exeter, they came into those safer parts of Devon where the exiled Courtenays were lords of the hearts, though they had lost the lands,—where once more "the King" was Henry VI., and his adherents would meet with honour and help. Near Totness they were met by William Newark, Warwick's nuncio, who conducted them to boats moored in the river awaiting them. It was a great relief to change their weary saddles for the boats in which they dropped down the lovely Dart, and found Warwick's fleet, of eighty ships, ready to weigh anchor the moment they arrived, lying off Kingswear.
The voyage, however, had not been long before they discovered that the saddles had been the safer mode of conveyance. The wind, though low, was not unfavourable: but they had scarcely passed Portland when they were met by the very enemy from whom they were endeavouring to escape. As they rounded the little peninsula, ships of war stood before them, with King Edward's standard and Lord Rivers' pennon flying from the masthead.
An evil augury for Warwick was that pennon. With any weaker commander, the fleet would have obeyed its Lord High Admiral, as Warwick had been created a year before. But Lord Rivers was a conscientious man of one idea, and he thoroughly believed in Edward's right. The ships joined battle, and the ladies of course were kept below.
Oh for that little white bed and Dorathie!
Never till then had Frideswide Marston looked death in the face, and never after that day could she be as she had been, again.