"Lee Edgar - Plot 03 - Plot For A King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edgar Lee)

‘Careful, Anne-Marie. That’s what Queen Anne said, and look where it’s got her - our country
divided. Maybe we need a more subtle approach.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Henriette, why don’t you and I do some
plotting of our own?’


ANDREW did not see the Roundheads until it was too late. About a dozen of them came at him out
of the blizzard and, although he protested his innocence, he was taken along by them. By
nightfall, he was securely incarcerated at Berwick Castle.
The Commandant was an ugly man. He sat at a big desk with a junior officer either side of him
and Andrew’s chains scraped on the floor as he was ushered to stand before them. There were
several other soldiers in the room which had stone walls and was cold despite the roaring fire.
Out of the window, Andrew could see the sea - cold and grey with the low headland jutting out;
black cliffs covered with a thick white blanket. If he hadn’t had the prospect of anything ahead of
him but to spend the night in a cold, damp cell, he might have preferred to stay in Berwick rather
than to travel south through all that snow. But that was foolish thinking. He had to leave and
quickly. Both King and Kirk were relying on him for communication.
‘What is your name, boy?’ the Commandant asked eventually.
‘Andrew Bosvile, Sir,’ he replied, judging a certain measure of truth to be prudent at this stage in
the proceedings. He was also glad he carried no items to could connect him with the Crown. If he
had been caught on the northward journey and the King’s papers found...
‘What was your business in Scotland?’
‘Just visiting relatives, sir.’
‘Wrong!’ The Commandant slammed his fist down upon the desk. ‘You are a Royalist spy.’
Andrew’s blood went cold. Did he know? If so, how?
‘No, sir,’ he decided to reply. ‘I come from a good Puritan family in Yorkshire.’
‘Whereabouts in Yorkshire?’
‘From Hellaby, near Rotherham. My father is Sir John Bosvile.’
‘Is your father a Puritan?’
‘Yes, sir. He fought against the Cavaliers at the Battle of Rotherham.’
‘One of Fairfax’s men, eh?’
‘No, sir. He has spent most of his time with Squire Cromwell at Huntingdon, training new
recruits.’
‘Hmm. And where were you going, when my men stopped you?’
‘Back to Hellaby, sir.’
He leant back and smiled like a hungry wolf. ‘Then my men shall accompany you on your return
and check your story. We will be travelling south next week when the snow clears.’
‘But, sir, my aunt cannot manage without me for so long,’ he lied. ‘She will start to worry soon
because she has lived on her own at Hellaby since the Cavaliers murdered my uncle and I have
moved to help her in her old age.’
Would they swallow it, he wondered? He could not afford to be trapped here for a day never
mind a week.
‘Your aunt, eh?’
Andrew stood silently and prayed.
‘Sergeant Briggs?’ the Commandant finally called.
A middle-aged soldier with a pike stepped forward. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You served with General Cromwell, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. For a short while.’
‘Do you remember this John Bosvile?’
‘Yes, sir. We knew him as Jack.’