Sovay

by Celia Rees

  ‘Such basic liberties are denied to me as well, and all of my gender, no matter how rich and landed,’ she said quietly. ‘We have that much in common.’

  ‘That is true,’ Gabriel conceded. ‘There is much that is wrong with the world and it will be a great struggle to redress it.’ He looked at Sovay. ‘I have not the words to explain well, but it is as though I have been walking blindfolded, never noticing anything but where my feet were planted. Now, the bandage has been taken from my eyes. For the first time, I can see clear.

  ‘I know that some would think me well placed. Your father is a kind master and a fair one. I have an education thanks to him, and I am grateful, but I’ve always felt betwixt and between. I count you and Hugh as my friends . . .’

  ‘I hope you do!’ Sovay reached for his hand on the covers, wanting him to know that it would always be so.

  ‘But we can never be equals, not as things stand at the moment. A steward is in a strange position, above the servants and the labourers, but not of the house. We own no land and have no prospect of ever owning any. We always have to work for others. I’m determined to make my own way. Be my own man. I will not be going back when this is over. My father is still relatively young. He can manage very well without me. So can Compton.’

  He sat back, exhausted, his piece said. Lydia, who had been listening with quiet attention, looked stricken, and for once, Sovay could think of nothing to say. His words had shocked her, shaken a complacency that she had not even realised existed within her. She had never heard him speak at such length before, or with such passion. Indeed, she experienced a stab of envy for the fire that had ignited within him and burned with such a pure flame.

  She would miss him cruelly, so would everyone at Compton, including her father and brother, but to object, to seek to dissuade him would sound childish, petulant, or worse, would sound as though they had some kind of claim upon him and that he had a duty to remain. It would not do to act the chatelaine.

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I want to travel about the country. Spread the message of liberty. I can turn my hand to many things, blacksmithing and wheel-wrighting, working with animals, working on the land. All I know is, I cannot go on as before, watching from the side, blocking my ears and eyes, stopping the channels to my heart at what is going on around me, at what is happening to my fellow man. But,’ he smiled, ‘that is for the future. For now, I intend to stay here to see this thing out.’

  ‘I’d never stop you from leaving us, Gabriel, or try to dissuade you from doing other than your heart dictates, but I have to say,’ she smiled back at him, ‘I’m mighty relieved that you do not intend to go on the tramp quite yet.’

  From her place by the window, Lydia nodded her agreement with vigour. She did not want him to leave either. Her dreams for the future did not include traipsing about the country like a tinker’s drab.

  That evening Mrs Crombie announced the arrival of Mr Oldfield and his clerk. The lawyer came in, Skidmore behind him carrying files. Sovay showed them into her father’s study. They had come straight from the magistrate’s court in Bow Street. Oldfield’s first words were to enquire after Gabriel, but he hardly listened to the answer. He seemed distracted, his mouth set grim in his pale face, his eyes ringed with tension and fatigue.

  Sovay sent Wallace upstairs to tell Gabriel that the lawyer and his clerk were here. Wallace returned to say that Mr Stanhope insisted on coming down to meet them. He wanted to know what had happened to his friends. Much against Mrs Crombie’s advice, he was helped down the stairs by Wallace and Perkins with Lydia bringing up the rear with a pillow and blanket. He was settled on the chaise longue with a cover about him, his face quiet and composed, his cheeks as pale as the bandages binding the wounds to his head.

  ‘These were not isolated acts.’ Oldfield tapped the files. ‘These are not isolated cases. They were coordinated from a central point. The attack on the meeting, the rampage of the Volunteers, the arrests. None of this was coincidence. The list of those taken by the runners, Skidmore!’ His clerk handed him a document from the bundle he carried. ‘Those named are moderate men, reasonable voices. The hotheads were left alone. It is all part of a scheme.’ He turned to his clerk. ‘If one removes the damper from a fire, Skidmore, what will happen?’

  ‘The fire will flare up, sir,’ the boy replied. ‘It will rage out of control.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Oldfield said and smiled at his clerk. He turned to Gabriel.

  ‘Your friend, Chapman, is safe for the moment. I had him released on a detail. The runners sent to arrest him seized the wrong matter. Instead of pamphlets full of incendiary material written to incite the nation to revolution, they took away self-improvement tracts and advice on home economy. He might not be so lucky a second time. The officers will be better prepared the next time they come knocking at his door. Others were not so fortunate. The case against them will likely not stand up at trial, but the way things are, they may be imprisoned for months, even years, before they see the inside of a court.’

  ‘I thought there were laws against people being held without trial?’ Gabriel interjected.

  ‘Indeed there are. Or were. The writ of habeas corpus has been suspended. A new law enacted. Prisoners can be held without trial for an indefinite period. I detect a plan in this, a pattern.’ He used the furniture on the desk to demonstrate, moving them like men on a chessboard. ‘If the moderate leaders are removed,’ he took away the pen holders and laid out a row of steel nibs on the blotter, ‘then their more revolutionary brethren will come to the fore and take to the streets, demanding the release of their comrades and threatening general insurrection. Against them, loyalists will be set.’ He took more steel pens and arranged them in opposition. ‘The same pattern will happen all over the country, one group set against another. If both groups are armed, paid for by Dysart, then . . .’

  He toppled a bottle of carmine ink, drenching his improvised armies. The stain spread out across the blotting paper, surrounding them in a great ragged circle of red.

  ‘Dysart is funding both sides?’ Sovay asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. I divined that from the contents of the wallet that,’ he hesitated, ‘came into your possession. That is why he was so anxious to get it back. I thought at first that it was because his agents might become known, but no. His concern is that this greater plot might be exposed.’

  ‘Surely he cannot think that this plot will work?’ Sovay shook her head, unable to believe such madness.

  ‘Oh, he does. And it is clever, fiendishly so. He is not to be underestimated. He has crafted something that works with a devilish logic, and once it is put into operation, it will be very difficult to stop. The ensuing violence will eventually be quelled by troops loyal to Dysart and his party. Dysart is not acting alone. He heads a group, a cabal of already powerful men, all hungry for even more power. They will stage a coup d’état and rule the country much as Robespierre and his Committee of Public Safety are doing in France. They will be able to do as they wish, curing the nation’s ills with copious bloodletting, I’ve no doubt. A White Terror will be upon us.’

  ‘What about His Majesty?’ Skidmore asked.

  ‘What about him? Who knows when his madness will return? He will be confined, whatever his state of mind. His son will be declared Regent with Dysart pulling the strings. If he proves unsatisfactory to his purpose, then Dysart will get rid of him. There is a precedent. France is not the first nation to kill its king.’ He turned to Sovay. ‘Tell me, Miss Middleton, has Dysart been in contact with you?’

  ‘Why, yes. He called to give me this.’ She showed him her invitation to Thursley. ‘He said it was for my father, but insisted that I should come in lieu of him.’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’ Oldfield studied the black-rimmed invitation, with its heavy, gothic lettering. He walked about, brushing the edge against his chin, as he put his thoughts in order. Then he turned to Sovay. ‘The time has come for us to act.
Dysart and I are old acquaintances; we were students together at Ingolstadt. I have also received an invitation. The date is nearly upon us.’ He looked from Sovay to Skidmore and Gabriel. ‘If we are to save our friends and prevent the entire nation descending into bloody revolution and savage suppression, I feel that we must go to Thursley.’

  Before Oldfield left, Sovay asked if she could see him on a matter of private business.

  ‘Certainly,’ he nodded to Skidmore to wait for him in the hall.

  When they were alone, he turned to Sovay. ‘It is only fair to warn you, if you go to Thursley you may be in very great danger. You are perfectly at liberty to refuse the invitation. Dysart does not welcome interference and will certainly strike at any who he perceives to be his enemy. His chosen method is to destroy all who might have any knowledge, however peripheral.’ He described concentric circles on the desk. ‘And you are at the centre of the web.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Sovay replied to him. ‘I am not stupid. But if Dysart succeeds, who will protect Gabriel’s friends? Who will defend their liberty?’ Sovay straightened her shoulders. ‘I will meet such danger when I come to it.’

  ‘I do not doubt it,’ the lawyer smiled at her. ‘Skidmore has told me a little of your exploits of last night.’ He waved a hand to quell her protest and dispel any anger she might feel towards his clerk. ‘Do not be angry with him. He did not mean to betray you, he was mortified to think that he had, but I know how to unearth secrets. I would not be worth my salt as a lawyer if I did not. He admires you greatly, Miss Sovay.’ His smile grew broader. ‘It is a wonder your ears were not burning. Now what is this business?’

  The business Sovay wished to discuss with him was regarding the money that she’d found in the wallet. The money belonged to Dysart, but she was determined that it should not be returned to him. Ever. Nevertheless, the money had been stolen. Moral scruple prevented her from spending it on herself, but she saw no reason why she could not spend it on others.

  ‘I have a sum of money,’ she began to explain. ‘Deposited at Turnbull’s Bank, in my name. I want you to arrange to put it to particular purposes.’

  She sat down at the desk, removed the ruined blotter, took a fresh sheet of paper from her father’s drawer, dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

  To Master Toby White, to be found at Mistress Pierce’s establishment in Chandois Street, Covent Garden, the sum of £100, to pay for his apprenticeship to a reputable locksmith and to pay also for his passage to America.

  To Mr Algernon Skidmore of Vine Street, Clerkenwell, the sum of £100 to pay for his articles to the firm of Oldfield & Oldfield, and to meet any other expenses he might incur.

  The residue to be given to Mr Gabriel Stanhope to disperse as he sees fit.

  She blotted the ink and handed the paper to Oldfield who studied it carefully.

  ‘Generous.’ He nodded. ‘Very generous. Money well spent on Skidmore, he will make a fine solicitor. Now, this other, Mr White . . . This establishment, ah, if I’m not mistaken, it’s a –’

  ‘I know very well what it is, Mr Oldfield.’ Sovay looked up at him, her steel-blue eyes clouding to thunder grey. ‘Do not seek to interfere. I want to save the boy from a life of criminality and vice, because I think he is worth saving.’

  ‘Certainly, of course.’ Oldfield was at his most conciliatory. He had not seen her angry before. ‘I will make the arrangements immediately, rest assured. I will . . .’

  As Oldfield talked on about escrow and fiduciary duty, Sovay sat back in her father’s chair and stared at Dysart’s invitation lying on the desk before her. She ran her fingers over the embossed script and tried to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling creeping through her that she was putting her affairs in order, as people do when they think that they are going to die.

  ‘A lad came for you, while you were with Mr Oldfield,’ Mrs Crombie said after seeing the lawyer out. ‘He’s downstairs in the kitchen. Said he weren’t hungry, but he looked half-starved to me. I told Lydia to give him a few slices of beef and a mug of ale.’

  Toby stood up when Sovay came in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Toby!’ After the events of the day, she had quite forgotten that she had asked him to call on her. ‘I’m glad to see Lydia has taken care of you. If you have finished, perhaps you would like to accompany me to my father’s study. We can talk there.’

  ‘Very well, miss. That were very nice, miss, missus,’ he smiled and bobbed his head to Lydia and Mrs Crombie. ‘My thanks to you.’

  Sovay led the way to the study and closed the door, eager to tell him about her plans for him. To get his agreement.

  ‘I want you to find a good master,’ she told him. ‘A locksmith, an honest one, and have yourself apprenticed.’

  ‘But I ain’t got near enough money for that!’

  ‘I will give you the money,’ Sovay said, ‘but you have to promise me something.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  ‘That you won’t go back to Ma Pierce.’

  ‘I got to, miss. What will I do for tin?’

  ‘I’ll give you money, I just told you. I have made arrangements to that effect with my lawyer, Mr Oldfield. All you have to do is present yourself at his offices in Carter Lane. Do you know where that is?’

  ‘Yes, miss. Off Ludgate Hill, just down from St Paul’s.’

  ‘Very well. If you go there, he will make the necessary arrangements and release a sum of money to you, for expenses and so on. When you need more, you just apply to him and he will give it to you.’

  Sovay sat back, thinking that she had explained it very well. Toby looked at her. He could not help but be sceptical. He had never trusted anyone in his life and was not about to start now. It wasn’t Sovay, as such. She was well-meaning and good-hearted, he didn’t doubt that, but like as not she’d get bored with all this nannicking, or she’d take fright and go back to country life and old Tobe would be left with nothing. He didn’t see anyone handing the darby over on his say so, especially not a lawyer. He’d promise, of course he would, but he had no intention of leaving Ma just yet.

  ‘Have you had any word of Captain Greenwood?’ Sovay asked, as she rose to show Toby out.

  The question was casual, but Toby wondered if she was sweet on him. She wouldn’t be the only one. Devil for the ladies was the Captain. He was counted a special friend by every innkeeper’s daughter from here to Bristol.

  ‘Not since he left us. Probably out on the pad,’ he replied. ‘He better watch hisself when he comes back.’ ‘Oh, why’s that?’

  ‘Ma’s got it in for him. She’s a terrible one for a grudge is Ma, or sometimes it’s just pure spite.’ In fact, Ma had taken against Sovay as well, but Toby judged it best not to tell her that. Sovay was beyond Ma’s power and couldn’t be harmed by her, but the Captain was a different matter. ‘You know that tall, thin cove, dresses in black, you and the Captain was talking about?’

  ‘Sir Robert Dysart?’

  ‘That’s him. There’s something funny going on between him and Ma. He was in earlier and when he left, Ma was mighty pleased with herself. She asked after the health of my friend, as she put it, meaning the Captain. “Tolerable well when I last I saw him” is what I said. To which she replied, “Well, he ain’t goin’ to be for long.” She had a nasty little gleam in her eye and went off cackling. She intends to peach on him just as soon as he’s back in town.’

  What could Dysart want with the Captain? Sovay thought as Mrs Crombie showed Toby out. Would they all be caught in a web of Dysart’s weaving as Oldfield implied? Was there no escaping, for anyone?

  CHAPTER 18

  The next morning, as Sovay was at her dressing table, Lydia came in to announce that a quantity of boxes had been delivered.

  ‘From Madame Chantal. Oh, Miss, I can’t wait to see what’s inside!’

  Sovay smiled. ‘I think that is what I’m supposed to say.’

  ‘Shall I tell Mr Wallace and the boy to b
ring them up?’

  Lydia ran off down the stairs, without waiting for an answer. Wallace and Perkins duly arrived, the boy hardly visible behind an assortment of pale green boxes, all of different sizes, edged with gold and inscribed in elegant black lettering:

  Madame Chantal of Mayfair

  Magazin des Modes

  They laid the boxes on the bed, Lydia desperate to view the contents that were so carefully wrapped in fine tissue paper.

  Sovay allowed her to open the boxes and throw back the filmy wrappings. Madame had certainly been busy. There were day dresses, evening dresses, robes à la française and robes à l’anglaise, jackets and caracao, shirts and petticoats, clothes for every occasion. Indeed, a whole wardrobe. Sovay refused Lydia’s entreaties to try things on. Instead each item was to be unpacked and hung in the clothes press. The last box was empty, Lydia stepped back.

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why should that be? There’s just this.’

  She handed a note to Sovay.

  Dear Mademoiselle,

  I have not forgotten. Your special gown will be ready. Never fear!

  Your friend,

  Hortense Chantal

  ‘Special gown?’ Lydia frowned. ‘What’s that, Miss Sovay?’

  ‘What it says. Something Madame is making especially. For a weekend party I am attending.’ Sovay kept her tone vague and distant. She did not really want to talk to Lydia about it. The invitation made her feel odd. Excited, but at the same time apprehensive. Slightly queasy in the stomach. She thought that this must be what a soldier felt going off to war, or a sailor to sea. ‘Now, fetch the clothes I’m to wear today.’

  Lydia did not move. ‘You said nothing about this party. Does Mrs Crombie know?’

  ‘I haven’t told her, no.’

  ‘You’ll need a maid if it’s a grand affair.’