Chapter 30 #2
“No, of course not,” Francis said. “And this is no joke.” He explained what had happened. “Alas, we cannot stay here. Frankfurt is no longer safe for us. We have to leave, and soon.”
Kate felt tears welling up. It was horrible being a fugitive again, and even more horrible having to uproot the children. She had liked living in this house, had grown fond of her hosts, and hated this feeling of being hunted. It was frightening. But yes, they had to leave.
“I have a friend in Strasbourg, a good Protestant called Johann Hummel,” Weller told them. “He lives alone in a big house and has sheltered English exiles in the past. I will write you a letter of introduction.”
While he was doing this, they gathered their belongings, stowed them once more on the cart, and told the children and the servants that they had to go on yet another journey.
“To a lovely town called Strasbourg,” Kate said. “You will like it there.”
“But I like it here,” Robert said.
“So do I,” chimed in Richard. “Why do we have to leave?”
“Because your father has business there.” Kate had no intention of scaring them by telling the truth. They were too young to understand and, anyway, why burden their young minds with it?
They left, as before, in the dead of night.
Kate’s heart thudded so loudly that she thought the guards on watch at the gates might hear it, and it did not stop thudding until Frankfurt was safely behind them.
Another twenty days on the road lay ahead.
Kate felt weary at the thought. At this rate, their money would run out, what with the cost of inns, and food being so expensive.
But John Weller was arranging for their funds to be transferred to a bank in Strasbourg, so there should be money waiting for them when they got there.
—
By the time Kate saw the walls of Strasbourg ahead in the middle of April, they were exhausted and demoralized.
It seemed they were destined to flee from place to place ad infinitum.
It wasn’t fair to the children, or to themselves.
She prayed that they would be left unmolested here until it was safe for them to go back to England.
Like Frankfurt, the city was clustered around a hill on which stood a massive cathedral. The houses, again, were tall and timbered, and there was an abundance of flowers everywhere. Strasbourg had an unmistakable air of prosperity.
They found Meister Hummel’s house without difficulty.
It was near the river and had a long balcony above a ground-floor terrace.
With some trepidation, Francis knocked on the door.
Asking a stranger to accommodate two people, six young children, and three servants seemed very much like cheeky presumption, but they had no choice.
A woman in a neat apron and cap showed them into the hall. It had a black-and-white-checkered floor, ornate woodwork, and latticed windows. A small, white-haired man rose from a tall chair by the fire.
“Master Smith,” he said, beaming at them. “I have been expecting you.”
—
They settled in quickly. Meister Hummel lived on the ground floor only. “I can no longer manage the stairs because of my stiff legs,” he explained. “You can have the run of the rest of the house. Gerda does all the cooking and cleaning.”
“Oh, but I will help her,” Kate hastened to assure him. “We can’t have her waiting on us.”
“I am sure she will appreciate that.” He smiled.
Upstairs, they found the best accommodation they had had since leaving England. The bedchambers were spacious and theirs led onto the balcony, which afforded a pleasant view. There were fine feather beds, oak furniture, and tapestries. Meister Hummel was clearly a very rich man.
Yet they had to bear in mind that he was elderly, and Kate was continually admonishing the children to keep quiet and stop racing around.
Francis, busy with his correspondence and visits from leading Protestants, and growing ever more frustrated with their situation, was increasingly testy, both with her and the little ones.
It saddened Kate that she felt only relief when he went off on the first of what proved to be a series of calls to be paid on his fellow reformers, several of whom lived quite some distance from Strasbourg.
She longed for an end to their exile, for life to be as it used to be. That was her constant prayer.
By the summer, it was apparent that no heir would be born to the Queen.
Philip had once more left her and gone off to fight his wars, and there were reports that Mary’s health was failing.
Kate and Francis kept a constant ear open for further news.
Almost, she could smell the scent of autumn at Greys Court.
Soon, soon, God willing, they would be back there and reunited with their other children. How she had missed them!
She wished she could feel sorrow for Queen Mary, whose hopes of motherhood had been twice thwarted and who had been abandoned by her husband.
But Mary was no longer the sad, slight, kind girl Kate remembered from her days at court.
No, she had become her father’s daughter, single-minded, cruel, and vengeful.
It was hard to believe that she and Kate were half sisters.
Kate could only be grateful that she herself had more of her mother in her.
She would rather be a Boleyn than a Tudor any day!