by Stella Riley
‘No? Changed his mind, has he?’
‘No. We were mistaken,’ said Eden. And, firmly changing the subject, ‘Do you know if Jude has decided whether or not to pay us a visit?’
‘I don’t.’ He fished in his pockets. ‘But he’s sent you a letter. Here it is.’
Eden took it and spread it open. After a few moments, he looked up smiling and said, ‘He says he’d like to come after Yule.’
‘Good. He can travel back here with me. You as well, if you care to spend the festive season at home for once.’
‘That will depend on a few things – but I’ll see.’ He stood up. ‘Doubtless you’ve already ordered food. Unfortunately, I’ve got to give Lambert a progress report and won’t be able to join you – but I’ll see you at supper.’
Actually, I’ve got to give Lambert a report that omits all mention of Rochester and the fact that I’ve now met the man twice. This assignment is turning into a knife-edge.
* * *
Nicholas duly escorted Mistress Clifford to the small house in Botolph Lane to which Samuel Radford had moved his family upon the discovery that a second child was on the way. For the hour during which Phoebe and Bryony scarcely stopped talking, Nicholas took a mug of ale with Samuel and said, ‘How are things at the newspaper?’
‘We’re scraping by. Leveller politics aren’t fashionable, these days.’
‘And Free-born John?’
‘Still in prison on Jersey. None of the petitions have borne fruit. And though I have hopes of the new Parliament, it’s too early yet to expect anything.’ Samuel smiled wryly. ‘I have to be more circumspect in my activities now that I have a family to think of. Making sure I won’t be arrested is rather limiting. Not,’ he added, looking across the room at his wife, still chattering animatedly to Phoebe, ‘that I’d have it any other way. Marriage and children have their own rewards.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for that.’
‘Your turn will come. Meanwhile, thank you for bringing Phoebe – and don’t hesitate to do it again, if you have the time. As always, she brings the sunshine with her.’
Later, conveying his charge back to the Tiltyard, Nicholas said curiously, ‘Eden says you own your family’s lands. That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But Father is dead, Mother doesn’t like dirtying her hands, Venetia and Elizabeth are both married and my only living brother is a Jesuit priest. So that just left me.’
He blinked. ‘I … see. That sounds a heavy responsibility.’
‘It is – and at first I found it overwhelming. But Venetia was near enough to advise and Gabriel taught me to treat it as a challenge.’ She cast him a sideways glance. ‘I imagine you know all about challenges. If it’s all right to ask …when did you lose your arm?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘Oh. Worcester?’
‘Yes.’
She nodded, part sympathetic and part matter-of-fact.
‘Then afterwards … learning to manage. I can’t imagine how you did that.’
Her voice was full of candid admiration. Slightly taken aback by it, Nicholas said tersely, ‘One gradually finds ways to adapt.’
‘And now you help Mistress Neville at her lorinery?’
‘Where there are a good many men in far worse case than I am. Men with families who, but for Lydia, would be begging on the streets. Thanks to Eden I was never in that position.’
‘Do you not … have you no family of your own to go back to?’
‘Not one that would welcome me.’
For a moment, he thought she was going to ask why not. Instead, however, a frown entered the grey eyes and she said seriously, ‘I understand how politics and religion and war can create divisions with families. But what I’ve never understood is why those divisions are allowed to become permanent; why people can’t put them to one side and agree to differ. Even now, Mother can barely bring herself to be civil to Gabriel because she’s never looked past his birth and the colour of his sash to who he actually is. It’s quite maddening.’
Nicholas looked at her, recalling what Samuel had said. She brings the sunshine with her. He hadn’t understood that at the time. Now, however, he was beginning to.
‘You obviously think a lot of the Colonel.’
‘No one could have a better brother,’ she said firmly. And with a slight, rueful smile, ‘Gabriel’s wonderful – and I’m profoundly envious of Venetia. Her marriage isn’t just a loving one – it’s also a genuine partnership. And, from what I can see, that is truly rare.’
‘And what you’d like for yourself?’
‘Ideally, yes. But sooner or later I expect I’ll have to accept something less.’ She laughed wryly and rolled her eyes. ‘Mother is driving me demented on the subject of marriage. A daughter of hers, unwed at the advanced age of twenty-four? God forbid!’
‘God forbid, indeed,’ grinned Nicholas, as they arrived outside Gabriel’s door.
‘Will you come in?’ asked Phoebe.
He shook his head. ‘I promised to oversee some consignments at the lorinery.’
‘Then thank you for taking me to see Bryony and Sam – and for your company. I’ve enjoyed it.’
‘So have I,’ replied Nicholas. And surprised himself by adding, ‘If you wish, we could do it again.’
* * *
The first week of October drifted by, then the second.
Venetia Brandon visited Mistress Neville at her home, met the women currently making lace and other folderols in the spare room and pronounced the quality of their work excellent. Then she insisted on bearing her hostess off to the Exchange to do some shopping.
‘If you’ve had nothing new since well before your husband died,’ said Venetia, in a tone that brooked no argument, ‘it’s high time you did.’
The result was that Lydia went home with a length of sapphire watered taffeta and another of shell-pink shot-silk – and an instruction from Mistress Brandon to have the latter trimmed with ‘that exquisite pearl beading Jenny Sutton is making’.
Two days later, Lydia signed the lease on the entire building in Strand Alley and spent the next week purchasing the necessary additional furniture. On the day the rooms were finally ready, Venetia and Phoebe arrived with baskets of food and wine so that everyone could celebrate. The rooms rang with eager voices and laughter and, for a time at least, Lydia’s spirits rose.
It didn’t last. By the time she got home, she was feeling lonely and a little forlorn. She’d seen nothing of Colonel Maxwell for a fortnight and was beginning to wonder if she ever would again. So when, on the following morning, Mr Wakefield arrived on the doorstep in time to escort her to Duck Lane, she found she was glad of the distraction.
* * *
In fact, though he’d decided to allow time for Lydia’s temper to cool, Eden hadn’t intended to stay away for quite so long and wouldn’t have done so had Major-General Lambert not asked him to investigate rumours of discontent within the Army.
Eden reflected that, having spent years fighting the King in the name of Parliament, it was hardly surprising that some officers might consider the Protectorate equally undesirable. But he said merely, ‘Anyone in particular?’
‘No – though I suspect that John Wildman may be stirring the pot.’
No surprises there, either. Wildman has a number of talents – most of them nefarious.
‘There is already trouble brewing in Portsmouth,’ Lambert went on. ‘Sailors petitioning for everything from the end of impressment to pensions for widows – which, since Admiral Penn’s fleet is due to sail for the Caribbean, we could well do without.’
‘Pay the sailors. It will quiet down quickly enough.’
‘I daresay. But it’s a bad time to be facing rumblings in the Army as well.’
‘When is it not?’ asked Eden, getting to his feet. Then, ‘With regard to the other matter you entrusted to me, neither Villiers nor Compton are currently in London. But even if they were, there’ll be no p
rogress until they see signs of conciliation from Westminster … for which, on present showing, they’re unlikely to be holding their breath.’
Several days later, Eden was back in Lambert’s office with the required information.
‘Colonels Okey, Saunders and Alured have been holding meetings with Wildman – who has drafted a petition asking for complete liberty of conscience which they intend to circulate through the Army. Robert Overton’s name has also been mentioned …but since he’s still in Scotland, his involvement seems unlikely.’
‘We can but hope,’ sighed Lambert. ‘Meanwhile, I’d better arrest the three Colonels. I don’t suppose Wildman has written something inflammatory enough for me to arrest him as well, has he?’
‘No. He’s too wily for that.’
‘Ah. Pity.’
Very soon after this meeting, Eden suspected that the Major-General was regretting his restraint. He arrested the Colonels. And Wildman retaliated by having the Humble Petition printed. Within twenty-four hours, copies of it were everywhere.
* * *
With this mission accomplished and no other pressing business, Eden recognised that he ought to try mending his fences with Lydia before their friendship was past saving. Circumstances, as it turned out, were against him. The first time he called in Bishopsgate, Henry regarded him with mild reproof and informed him that Mistress Neville was at the lorinery; and when he tried again on the following day, Henry announced that Madam was shopping in the Exchange.
‘I believe Mr Wakefield offered his escort,’ he added in such an approving tone that Eden wanted to grind his teeth. ‘He has been quite a frequent visitor of late.’
Walking back towards Cheapside, Eden reminded himself that Lydia was free to do as she pleased and that he had no right to feel aggrieved. It didn’t help very much.
Fortunately, a note from Annis Morrell inviting him to supper the following evening arrived in time to improve his mood. She suggested that Tobias might like to join them and added that, in addition to Gabriel, Venetia and Phoebe, Nicholas would also be present – as would Aubrey and his sister.
Eden thought about this. Meeting Lydia in company for the first time since he’d behaved like a prize ass might either be a good thing or a very bad one. The only certainty was that he didn’t need Tobias watching him try not to make an ever bigger fool of himself than he already had – and also, knowing his brother, quite possibly interfering. Consequently, he told Toby of the invitation and, without giving him chance to reply, added, ‘Unfortunately, you are otherwise engaged.’
Tobias’s brows rose. He said, ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Think again,’ advised Eden. ‘There will be two susceptible, unmarried females present. One of them is being sought by Aubrey Durand and the other seems to have taken to Nicholas. Neither of them needs to end the evening drooling pointlessly over you.’
‘Can I help it if women find me irresistible?’ grinned Tobias. And then, meditatively, ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind furthering my acquaintance with the little widow.’
‘No.’
‘No? Why not?’
‘Because you’re not coming,’ said Eden flatly.
And turned away before he was stupid enough to try wiping the knowing expression from his brother’s face.
* * *
The only thing that dissuaded Lydia from sending Annis her excuses was the knowledge – somewhat smugly conveyed by Henry – that Colonel Maxwell had paid not one but two abortive calls at her house. She assumed from this that he wanted to put the damned kiss behind them … in which she was perfectly prepared to meet him half-way.
The fact that the sapphire gown had just been delivered from the dressmaker, she told herself firmly, had nothing at all to do with it.
Eden would have disagreed with her on that point. When she walked into the Morrells’ parlour on Aubrey’s arm, his brain turned fuzzy at the edges. The dark watered-taffeta reduced her waist to a hand-span and its décolletage formed a calyx for fine-boned shoulders and creamy skin. She wasn’t precisely beautiful … but by God there was something about her that made a man want to touch.
Lydia avoided looking at Colonel Maxwell for as long as possible but had the odd – and patently ridiculous – feeling that he was staring. In an attempt to rid herself of the sensation, she watched Aubrey watching Verity watching Nicholas, as he and Phoebe talked animatedly together on the opposite side of the room.
‘I haven’t seen Phoebe glow like this since the first time Eden Maxwell smiled at her,’ remarked Venetia, arriving at her side. ‘I only hope she doesn’t make the same mistakes.’
Lydia took a breath, tried not to ask … and failed.
‘Mistakes?’
‘She was seventeen and wore her heart on her sleeve for a while. Eden didn’t handle it with a great deal of finesse – though to be fair, he was still reeling from his travesty of a marriage – oh.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I don’t suppose you know about that.’
‘Actually, I do. He told me.’
The violet eyes widened.
‘He did? Really? Heavens! Did you use thumbscrews or red hot pincers?’
‘Neither – though he behaved as though I had,’ admitted Lydia with a wry smile. ‘He used as few words as possible, none of them being specifically about his wife.’
‘He could describe Celia in one word if he didn’t mind using it.’
Venetia’s tone gave a fair indication of what that word might be and also suggested something else. Lydia said, ‘Did you know her?’
‘Celia? Yes. Not well – but as well as one would want to. Eden’s sister, Kate, couldn’t abide her and his parents had doubts but … well, he was twenty years old and dazzled by the outside.’
‘She was beautiful?’
‘Very. One of those curvy brunettes with big blue eyes and lashes constantly a-flutter. She was also vain, selfish and rather stupid. According to Kate, the wretched girl was making Eden miserable even before she ran off with Hugo Verney. Everyone who cared for Eden, thought he was well rid of her.’
Lydia nodded but said slowly, ‘And yet he’s still not over it, is he?’
‘Perhaps not … but I think that’s less to do with Celia herself than the probability that Mary isn’t his child,’ returned Venetia dispassionately. ‘Also I think something else happened the day he found Celia with Hugo; something that made everything much worse – if that’s possible. But I don’t know what it was and I’m not sure Gabriel does either.’
A few minutes later, Eden finally managed to trap Lydia in a quiet corner and, coming directly to the point, said, ‘I behaved atrociously and then made bad, worse. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry it’s taken me until now to tell you so.’
She looked back at him, keeping her expression carefully neutral.
‘Presumably you’ve been busy.’
‘Yes – but that doesn’t excuse it. If I promise to behave like a gentleman in future, do you think you might forgive me?’
‘Probably.’ Though I’d much rather you behaved badly and meant it. ‘Henry said you’d called. I wondered if it was because you’d made sense of Stephen’s strange jottings.’
‘Not yet – but I will.’ Eden hesitated briefly and then said, ‘They aren’t just random collections of numbers, Lydia. Your husband was creating codes.’
‘Codes?’ she echoed, disbelievingly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘But why? Why would he do that?’
‘For fun?’ Eden grinned at her expression. ‘It may sound odd but the ciphers on those papers are the best I’ve seen for a very long time and I’m going to enjoy breaking them.’
‘You know how to do that?’ she began. And then, ‘Oh. Of course. It’s what you were doing for Secretary Thurloe, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He glanced round, aware that Annis was summoning everyone to the table and that any chance of private conversation was at an end. ‘I really am sorry, you know – about what happened.’<
br />
Lydia’s spine stiffened and she started to turn away.
‘So you said. There’s really no need to go on about it.’
Oh I think there is. But if I tell you I lied, we’ll find ourselves in a situation that neither of us will know how to deal with. And that would do more harm than good. Damn.
Annis had arranged matters so that Aubrey was sitting beside Verity at one end of the table, while Nicholas and Phoebe occupied places at the other. Lydia had Jack on one hand and Gabriel on the other … and Colonel Maxwell directly opposite which meant that virtually every time she raised her eyes from her plate, they met his. She wondered whose idea that had been. It was ruining her appetite.
‘What news from Westminster?’ Eden asked Gabriel.
‘We’ve paid the sailors and peace now reigns in Portsmouth.’
‘And that’s all?’ asked Jack.
‘We’ve also – despite the point already having been laid down in the Instrument – been debating the succession of the Protectorate,’ replied Gabriel dryly. ‘For some reason best known to himself, Lambert proposed making it hereditary. I need hardly say that the vote went overwhelmingly against him.’
‘Thank God for that,’ muttered Eden. ‘Have you met Richard Cromwell?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Yes. He’s weak; he’s certainly no soldier; and rumour says he’s up to his neck in debt.’
‘Not much like his father, then,’ observed Jack. ‘So --’
‘Please stop.’ Annis’s quiet voice checked their conversation. ‘We do not argue politics over supper.’
‘We’re not arguing,’ Jack pointed out, smiling.
‘Yet,’ observed Annis, calmly. ‘Meanwhile, you’re ignoring Mistress Neville.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Lydia quickly. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘But I do,’ said Annis. And turned back to the conversation she’d been trying to promote between Aubrey and Verity.
Jack sighed; Gabriel sent a slanting grin at Lydia; and Eden looked as if he wanted to laugh.
Phoebe bent her head closer to Nicholas’s and whispered, ‘Annis is quite right, you know. Sooner or later, it always turns into an argument. It seems that you men can’t help yourselves.’