by Stella Riley
* * *
In the offices around Westminster, bets were being taken on which of the two foreign Ambassadors currently courting the Lord Protector would finally win his hand. Most of Europe had been at peace since 1648 but Spain and France obstinately refused to let go of their grievances and were still fighting over pretty much the same ground they’d been squabbling over for the last five years. So now that England’s war with the Dutch was over, both countries were vying with each other to gain English support … and the ensuing bidding war was providing a good deal of amusement to those in the know.
On behalf of Philip of Spain, Ambassador Cardĕnas had promised £120,000 a year. Not to be outdone, Cardinal Mazarin immediately instructed Ambassador Baas to match this figure and also put a promise of giving no further help to the House of Stuart on the table. Those with substantial wagers waited with bated breath.
For a few days nothing happened. Then rumour said that Cromwell was making the most of his sudden popularity and playing the coy virgin to see what further inducements might be forthcoming. Cardĕnas was asked if King Philip would consider adding Calais to the mix … and Baas told the Cardinal that the Protector wouldn’t consider an alliance that didn’t include better treatment for French Protestants. Once again, everything ground to a halt.
Meanwhile, the non-event that, for want of a better name, Colonel Maxwell’s clerks referred to as the Ship Tavern Plot had only one significant repercussion. Although Captain Dutton and a couple of others remained in prison, Colonels Gerard and Whitley were eventually released without charge … as, after as long a delay as Eden could manage, was Sir Ellis Brandon. But Secretary Thurloe’s interest in all these men was now minimal. He was intent on tracing a single shred of rumour and discovering what, if anything, lay behind it.
In pursuit of this, he sent for Colonel Maxwell.
‘Who is currently our best agent in Paris?’
‘Best in what sense, sir?’ asked Eden, sighing inwardly. ‘Regularity? Accuracy? A nose for what will be useful? And are you seeking intelligence about French policy or --’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Colonel. I want to know what plans Sir Edward Hyde may be hatching with regard to the management of future conspiracies.’
‘We’re talking about the rumour Cotes got wind of regarding the establishment of some kind of controlling executive body?’
‘I believe it’s more than a rumour. Recently, I’ve seen two intercepted letters referring to something called the ‘sealed knot’ and I want to know precisely what that is. Which of our people is best-placed to find out?’
‘At present? None of them.’
The Secretary looked up, scowling. ‘None?’
‘No, sir. I have three fairly useful agents operating around the fringes of the court-in-exile – but none has access to the internal workings of Charles Stuart’s council. They’ll pick up gossip, of course – should there be any. But in a case such as this, I doubt --’
‘What about Bampfield?’
‘He still sends reports … but since the Royalists have known about him for quite some time his information isn’t to be relied upon.’
Thurloe stared back with acute displeasure.
‘So what can you give me, Colonel?’
‘I can instruct our people to keep a close eye on everyone entering Hyde’s office and to find out exactly who Charles Stuart is receiving these days. Those names may be sufficient to confirm or deny the existence of this ‘sealed knot’ and may even give an indication of which men are part of it. My guess is that there won’t be many because the more people who are involved, the less secret it becomes.’
‘I hardly need you to tell me that,’ said the Secretary testily. Then, restoring his attention to the sea of papers in front of him, ‘Very well, Colonel. If that’s the best you can do – get on with it.’
* * *
March became April. On the 5th, the long-awaited Treaty finally concluded the Dutch War; on the 8th, General Monck was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Army in Scotland; and from his office in Westminster, Eden sent out orders to his agents in Paris and then continued to deal with the usual day-to-day business while he waited for their replies. Meanwhile, at home in Cheapside, Deborah Hart slowly let Jeremiah Fisher know that she might not be averse to hearing his addresses.
A shy and rather gentle man, Mr Fisher finally stammered out a proposal and then beamed with unadulterated pleasure when Mistress Hart accepted. He said, ‘My dear … thank you. I was afraid that I stood little chance of winning you and, even now, can hardly believe my good fortune.’
Deborah’s heart lay like lead in her chest. He was a good, kind man who deserved a better bargain than the one he was getting. Keeping a tranquil smile in place, she said, ‘You are too modest. I have no doubts that we will deal admirably together … and I look forward to caring for your children – though it might be best to make it clear that I’m not trying to replace their mother.’
He shook his head.
‘They already like you, Deborah and will become fond when they know you better.’ He paused. ‘I have not asked … but what are the terms of your employment with Colonel Maxwell? Are you obliged to give notice?’
‘No – though I can’t possibly leave until I’ve found a suitable replacement.’ She spread her hands. ‘I’ve worked here for over two years and the household has come to rely on me.’
He nodded. ‘I imagine the gentlemen will be very sorry to see you go.’
‘It’s a bit more than that.’ Deborah managed a tiny laugh. ‘Mr Tobias has a prodigious appetite and is particularly addicted to anything involving pastry. Sir Nicholas is easy to please but has the unshakeable conviction that I saved his life after he lost his arm. And, probably as a result of years spent caring for his regiment, the Colonel feels responsible for me.’ She kept her eyes on his face to see how he would take her next words. ‘They’d all like to meet you.’
‘Ah.’ Mr Fisher swallowed hard. ‘That sounds … rather alarming.’
‘I know. But you need not worry. I have no doubts at all that the gentlemen will like you.’ She paused and added resolutely, ‘Also, I have promised to marry you – and I will.’
* * *
Telling Eden that her future was now settled was no easier than she had expected it to be and was made all the more difficult by what she saw in his eyes.
Somehow, past the hiatus in his chest, he said, ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes.’ Sure, at any rate, that – for your sake – it’s the right thing to do.
‘It … it seems rather soon.’ Too soon. I never thought it could happen so quickly. ‘There’s time, you know. You don’t need to rush into anything.’
‘I know. But --’
‘Tell him you want a long betrothal,’ he said, half way between entreaty and command. ‘At least two or three months.’
Deborah looked at him in silence for a moment.
‘And what would be the point of that?’
‘You’d allow yourself time to know him better. Time to be absolutely sure.’
‘As I just said, I’m sure now. He’ll suit me well enough and better than most,’ came the flat reply. ‘And I’m hardly likely to rush out and get married tomorrow, am I? You know I won’t leave until I’ve found someone to take my place. So --’
‘Deborah, no one can ever do that.’
‘Don’t!’ The word was out before she could stop it and she had to shut her eyes for a moment so that he wouldn’t see what this was costing her. ‘I know you mean it kindly – but it isn’t helpful.’
‘No.’ He stared down at his hands. ‘No. I suppose not. I’m sorry.’
She nodded. ‘I’ve started looking about for someone suitable to look after the three of you. Meanwhile, I’ve told Jeremiah that you wish to meet him. If you still want that, tell me when and I’ll arrange it.’
Eden tried to think of a way – any way – to make this better. She was using every means she had to make it ea
sy for him but he knew that, behind that cool facade, was a vortex of pain that far exceeded his own. He wished she’d pile it on his shoulders where it belonged. He might feel less of a bastard if he could just put his arms around her and absorb some of her hurt into himself. But since he couldn’t, he forced himself to say evenly, ‘I’ll do whatever will suit you best. That is the very least I owe you.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
SEVEN
For Lydia, the first week of April brought no further hints of danger, thus enabling her to dispense with the escort of both Nancy and her workmen on her journeys to and from Duck Lane. What it did bring, however, was Cousin Geoffrey who took to visiting on a daily basis until Lydia started to feel hunted and wanted to strangle Margaret for the regularity with which she managed to find a reason to leave them alone.
‘What was that fellow doing here again?’ asked Aubrey one day, as soon as Lydia had managed to send the Reverend Neville on his way. ‘Hasn’t he got anything better to do?’
‘Apparently not. As for why he visits so often, I’m surprised you haven’t guessed. He’s not exactly being subtle – and neither is Margaret.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Lydia managed a sardonic smile.
‘They want me to marry him. To keep my inheritance from Stephen in the family, as it were – and to curtail what they persist in calling my “outside activities”.’
Aubrey opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, ‘Are they completely insane? Aside from the fact that the man’s a weasel, you’re still in mourning.’
‘Yes – which is the only reason nothing has been said yet. But as soon as I put off my blacks, I’ll wager that I’ll have Geoffrey going down on one knee.’
‘God forbid!’ he muttered. And then, ‘I trust you’ll send him off with a flea in his ear?’
‘If it comes to it, yes. But the best plan might be for us to look around for a house of our own a bit sooner than we’d planned,’ she said calmly. ‘Otherwise, I’m likely to end up in the madhouse.’
* * *
Four days later, Lydia received a renewed offer for the Lorinery.
This time, Mr Hetherington was able to reveal that the potential purchaser was a gentleman who wished to buy the business as a wedding gift for his son. There would be no question of dismissing her current employees and the offer price was increased to the sum of fifteen hundred pounds. Lydia knew the Lorinery was worth little more than half that – even including the premises. She was also sceptical of this shy gentleman’s real intentions. So she sent a polite refusal to Mr Hetherington and promptly forgot about the matter when she arrived in Strand Alley on the following morning to learn that Lily had curtailed the newcomers’ trial period and dismissed them out of hand.
‘I know I should’ve spoken to you first, Mistress Neville – but I didn’t dare keep them a day longer,’ said Lily briskly. ‘That work they showed us had been done by somebody else because neither one of them could even knot a fringe. But that wasn’t the worst of it.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No. Underneath their cloaks and shawls they weren’t dressed like decent women. And then I caught them loitering in the alley,’ she said darkly. ‘Laughing and flirting and kicking up their skirts with men.’
‘Oh.’ Lydia’s heart sank. ‘You think they were --?’
‘Trollops? Yes. Standing outside our door, plying their trade bold as brass. But what bothers me is why they came – when they must have known we wouldn’t keep them on once we realised they didn’t know which end of a needle to thread. It doesn’t make any sense.’
Lydia had a sudden very unpleasant thought. She said slowly, ‘It doesn’t … unless someone put them up to it.’
‘What?’ Lily stared at her, baffled. ‘But who’d do that? And why?’
‘To give the impression that none of you are quite as respectable as you seem.’
‘But – but that’s just spiteful!’
‘Yes. It is, isn’t it?’ said Lydia grimly. ‘As for the who … I can’t prove it, of course – but I could take a reasonable guess.’
Lily’s gaze sharpened.
‘Mr Stephen’s family? No. Surely they wouldn’t do something like that?’
‘I’ve given up guessing what they might or might not do. But I’ll do my damnedest to make sure they don’t try anything else.’
* * *
She was half-way to Duck Lane before she realised quite how angry she was; not only because of what she believed Margaret and Joseph had done but because, without proof, she knew she couldn’t accuse them openly.
The morning wasn’t destined to get any better.
At the lorinery, she walked in to the all-pervading odour of something very like rotting fish and a feeling that everyone was avoiding her eyes. Mr Potter apologised, said that the smell had been caused by a batch of incorrectly mixed glue and went on to tell her more about that process than she’d ever wanted to know.
Lydia nodded and tried to breathe through her mouth. Then, muttering something about an urgent errand, she collected the ledgers for the previous quarter and headed for the fresh air beyond the door. On the threshold, she collided with Will Collis, almost knocking his wooden leg from under him and immediately noticing that his right hand and forearm were heavily bandaged up to the elbow. When asked what had happened, he turned rather red and said, ‘Had a bit of an argument with my neighbour’s dog. But it’s nothing to worry about, Miss Lydia. Healing up nicely now it is and it’ll soon be good as new.’
Lydia shook her head at him and promised to send Nancy round with a pot of salve. Then she set off home, moodily wondering what else the day would bring.
* * *
For the first time since the night he’d been arrested, Aubrey failed to join them for supper.
Typical, thought Lydia. Just when it might have been helpful to have some support.
Swallowing her annoyance, she waited until supper was nearly over before saying mildly, ‘I discovered something extremely vexing today.’
Joseph said nothing, Margaret kept her eyes on her plate and Kitty continued bickering with Janet. It was therefore left to Geoffrey to say winsomely, ‘Dear me. And what might that have been?’
‘I found out that our two newest employees in Strand Alley were … women of dubious morality.’ Lydia sent a bright smile around the table. ‘Needless to say, Mistress Carter dismissed them forthwith. But what interests me is why – since neither had any skill with a needle – they applied for work with us.’ She paused, letting the words linger in the air for a moment. ‘It seemed quite a mystery … until I was able to give it a little thought. And then the answer seemed fairly clear.’
‘Really?’ Margaret continued busily sawing up a piece of mutton.
‘Really,’ agreed Lydia. ‘The only possible explanation is that someone paid them to do it for the purpose of damaging the good name of the other women.’
‘Not the only one, surely?’ Joseph laid down his knife in order to run a finger round his collar, as if it suddenly felt too tight. ‘Perhaps they were acquainted with some of the others and thought --’
‘No, Joseph. They were strangers. They claimed to be supporting their husbands and children and they brought samples of work which they most assuredly did not make themselves.’ She smiled again, toying with her wine-glass. ‘They didn’t go to all that trouble for the sake of a few days’ work, knowing how quickly they’d be found out. So the idea must have originated elsewhere for the reason I said.’
‘My goodness,’ jeered Margaret. ‘What an imagination you have!’
‘You think so? Then how would you explain it?’
‘I haven’t the remotest interest in explaining it.’
‘Oh. That’s disappointing. I was quite sure you would have a theory.’
Margaret’s knife hit the plate with a clatter.
‘What is this? Are you accusing me?’
Lydia’s eyes widened mockingly.
Upon which note she walked out of the room and left them to digest what she’d said.
* * *
Lydia would have been even more annoyed with her brother had she known where he was.
When the note from Colonel Gerard had first arrived, Aubrey had known that the sensible course was either to ignore it or to send back a polite excuse. In the end, however, he’d done neither – which was how he came to be passing the evening in the back room of the Belsavage on Ludgate Hill with Gerard, Colonel Whitley and five men he’d never met before.
Offering his hand, Gerard said, ‘Welcome, Aubrey. I’m glad you were able to join us. Allow me to introduce Colonels Deane and Aldridge. Also, Majors Henshaw and Halsall and Captain Griffiths. Gentlemen – Sir Aubrey Durand.’
Aubrey acknowledged the other men with a brief nod and took a seat at the table.
Major Henshaw subjected him to a gimlet stare and then, turning to Gerard, said tersely, ‘I take it you can vouch for him?’
‘He wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,’ replied Gerard, sliding on to a bench and sending a cool smile around the table. ‘Like Major Henshaw, some of us here are recently returned from Paris so, if those gentlemen will bear with me for a few minutes, perhaps I should begin by giving the rest of you an outline of the current situation.’