Escapes! by Laura Scandiffio Page A

present my last petition to the king!”
    Below her, the stout Mrs. Mills was already huffing on her way up the stairs. Winifred took her by the arm and lead her past the guards toward the cell. As planned, Mrs. Mills pressed her handkerchief to her face and sobbed loudly the whole way. The guards looked away, embarrassed. Good, thought Winifred. The less closely they look, the better!
    Lady Nithsdale smiled and patted her friend’s arm, saying loudly, “I have high hopes, Mrs. Betty, that the king will pardon my husband this very night.”
    Inside William’s room, Mrs. Mills took off her cloak and put on the one Miss Hilton had left. She handed her own cloak and handkerchief to William. Then she straightened up and prepared to walk out with her head held high.
    â€œNo crying this time,” Winifred reminded her. “You must look like a different lady than the one who went in with her face in her handkerchief.”
    Winifred led her by the hand into the guardroom. Glancing around, she noticed that the room was fuller now. The guards’ wives and daughters were sitting in small groups, whispering. After all, it wasn’t every day that three executions were to take place at once!
    A hush fell as the two ladies passed, their footsteps echoing under the high, timbered ceiling. Winifred turned to the disguised Mrs. Mills and addressed her as if she were Miss Hilton.
    â€œMy dear Mrs. Catharine,” she said with growing alarm in her voice, “go in all haste and send me my waiting-maid, she certainly cannot reflect how late it is. I am to present my petition tonight, and if I let slip this opportunity I am undone, for tomorrow will be too late.”
    From the corner of her eye Winifred could see the looks of pity on the ladies’ faces. “Hasten her as much as possible,” she called after Mrs. Mills as she hurried down the stairs, “for I shall be on thorns till she comes.”
    Winifred turned and walked back toward William’s cell, noting with satisfaction that the guards on either side looked away as she passed. Inside his room, William had already put on Mrs. Mills’s riding cloak. Now it was time to complete the transformation!
    Winifred fished out the tools she had hidden under the folds of her clothes. First she must do something about his heavy, dark eyebrows — Mrs. Mills’s were a light sandy color. She brought out the paint she had prepared and began to disguise them. Next she fitted a light-haired wig over his head. With quick, sure strokes she powdered his face and painted his cheeks with rouge, to help hide his stubbly beard — he’d had no time to shave! Over it all she pulled the hood of his cloak, close around his face.
    Finally, she stepped out of all of her petticoats except one and slipped them under William’s cloak.
    Winifred glanced up at the small window and noticed it was growing dark. This was the time she had planned for their exit — in the twilight that would hide their faces, but before the candles were lit.
    They stood together before the closed door, blocking the rest of the room from view. Winifred turned to William and raised her eyebrows.
    He nodded and pressed the handkerchief to his face. As Winifred pulled the door open, William began to make loud sobbing noises. Holding his hand, Winifred stepped out and guided William through the doorway.
    The murmurs in the guardroom died down as they appeared.
    â€œEvans has ruined me by her delay!” Winifred said for all to hear. “How could she do this to me?”
    They started walking, past the guards and their wives. Only their footsteps and William’s sobs broke the silence. The guardroom seemed endless, and Winifred felt the ladies’ curious eyes boring into them. Was she walking too quickly, too suspiciously? She took deep breaths to slow her racing heartbeat.
    â€œMy dear Mrs. Betty,” she said to William, her voice catching and sounding