by Stella Riley
‘I’ve ordered the prisoners released and sent the ledger back with them – so, if Quinn keeps his word, Lydia should be safe for a while. But Nick has warned Henry and Peter to be extra vigilant and I’ve sent to Ned, asking for a couple of troopers to keep an eye on the women and the lorinery.’ Another pause. ‘But without anything further to go on, I don’t know what else I can do.’
‘At the moment, you’re in no fit state to do anything,’ said Gabriel flatly.
‘I can be up by tomorrow.’ I hope so, anyway.
‘Don’t be a bloody fool. You may haul yourself out of bed – but what possible use do you think you’ll be?’ He waited and, when Eden said nothing, asked abruptly, ‘Does Lydia know this happened?’
‘No. And I don’t want her to.’
‘Then she’d best not see you.’
‘I realise that.’ Eden didn’t need a mirror to know that he had a spectacular black eye, a split lip, a miscellany of cuts and that his jaw was bruised and swollen. And those were just the marks clothes wouldn’t hide. ‘Nick has told her I’ve got extra duties at the Tower. That should buy me a few days unless she starts to wonder why there are troopers loitering around her premises – in which case she’ll be hammering on my door wanting to know what I haven’t told her this time.’
Gabriel’s opinion was that he’d need more than a few days but he merely said, ‘Leave her to me. Fortunately, a letter arrived from Venetia enclosing a note – so I’ve an excuse to call. I don’t suppose it will turn up anything new but I’ll find a way of getting her to talk about these mysterious papers while I’m there.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘And now you can explain how three hired bravos managed to jump you without you having the least warning. At the risk of sounding unsympathetic, I thought you were better than that. Well?’
* * *
Having slept most of the afternoon, Eden woke with an appetite and asked Mistress Wilkes very politely for some solid food. She told him that he could have calves foot jelly, a little mutton broth and a custard. Rather less politely, Eden demanded some chops and a mug of ale. Mistress Wilkes folded her arms beneath her more-than-ample bosom and said, ‘No. Tomorrow, perhaps – if I’m satisfied it’ll stay down. Today you get what you’re given.’
As a consequence of this, Eden was not in the best of moods when Nicholas stuck his head round the door later that evening and said, ‘If you’re feeling up to it, can I talk to you?’
‘That depends. Get me some ale and a slice of pie and I’ll think about it.’
Nicholas grinned and shut the door behind him.
‘Alice would have my head on a spike.’
Eden grunted and, in one very terse sentence, said what he thought of Alice.
‘Say that to her face – I dare you.’
Eden sighed in defeat and let his head fall back.
‘Prisoners in the Tower get better treatment than this,’ he muttered. Then, ‘All right. What do you want?’
Nicholas pulled up a chair and sat astride it, facing the bed. The amusement faded from his face and he said slowly, ‘You know I’ve been corresponding with Phoebe Clifford?’
‘I didn’t – though I daresay I might have guessed.’
‘She … she writes exactly as she is, if you know what I mean. So it’s almost as if she’s standing next to me. Only, of course, she isn’t. And I wish she was.’
‘I see. And how does Phoebe feel?’
Nicholas coloured a little and traced the chair-back with one finger.
‘I think she may possibly feel the same … but I’m not sure.’
‘Then go to Yorkshire and find out.’
The brown eyes rose, frowning a little. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Yes,’ said Eden. ‘It is.’
‘No. There’s all this trouble surrounding Lydia – and now this.’ He waved his hand to encompass Eden’s injuries. ‘I can’t just walk away from the two of you.’
‘I agree that Lydia would miss you. But between us, I’m sure Henry and I could find a way to cover your absence for a while. And as for me … I’m not your responsibility and neither do I need a nursemaid.’
‘Maybe not. But you do need help,’ replied Nicholas flatly. ‘The whole situation’s getting out of hand and, with Toby still away --’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Nick – if you want to go to Yorkshire, go to bloody Yorkshire. Are you in love with the girl or not?’
‘I … yes. I think so.’
‘Then you’d better tell her, hadn’t you? Or at the very least, write something that gives her a clue and ask her permission to visit.’
Nicholas took his time about answering but finally he said, ‘There’s something else.’
‘Naturally,’ muttered Eden. Then, ‘What?’
‘This.’ Nicholas touched his empty sleeve. ‘On top of everything else, it hardly makes me the ideal suitor. From what Phoebe’s told me, her mother would have a fit at the mere thought of acquiring me as a son-in-law. And I can’t imagine what Colonel Brandon would think.’
‘Gabriel merely wants to see Phoebe married to a man who will make her happy. But the only thing that truly matters is what Phoebe thinks.’ Eden paused and then said bluntly, ‘What’s the real problem, Nick? Frightened she’ll be horrified when she sees you without your shirt?’
This time the silence lapped the edges of the room.
Then Nicholas’s mouth twisted and he said, ‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Yes. Probably.’ Eden tried to envision it and felt his insides curdle. ‘Unfortunately, there’s only one way to find out. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Phoebe would recoil or even think less of you … not if she’s already come to care for the man you are. She’s not that shallow.’
‘No.’ A faint smile dawned. ‘She isn’t, is she?’
‘Can I give you a couple of other pieces of advice – one of which may not be palatable?’
‘Of course.’
‘Talk to Gabriel. And visit a decent brothel.’
* * *
On the following afternoon, Eden decided it was time to test his abilities. He was just heaving himself out of bed, stark naked, when the door opened unexpectedly causing him to snatch belatedly at the sheet.
‘Shy, aren’t you?’ said Tobias cheerfully. Then absorbing the state of his brother’s face and the multi-coloured patterning on what could be seen of his torso, ‘God. Did somebody put you through the meat-grinder?’
‘Something like that. And I thought you were Mistress Wilkes. She’s in and out of here like a bird with twigs in its beak.’
‘Hoping to catch you in the buff, no doubt.’
‘Very funny. When did you get back?’
‘Just now. And I suspect I’ve beaten the snow by little more than a day.’ Tobias put a hand on Eden’s shoulder and gently pushed him back down on the bed. ‘Sit before you fall – and tell me. Lydia again? Or is a jealous husband on your trail?’
‘Lydia,’ replied Eden, more grateful to be seated again than he cared to admit. And, in as few words as possible, told his brother what had happened.
Tobias listened in silence and then said, ‘What are you doing about it?’
‘Right now? There’s not a lot I can do.’
‘You can start taking your own advice and stop wandering about the City at night unaccompanied. They know who you are, Eden – and probably a lot of other things as well.’
‘Thank you. That thought had occurred to me. But I’m not going about my business with a bodyguard in tow. And they wouldn’t have been able to give me such a mauling if I’d been paying attention – as, in future, I will be. So stop trying to be Mother and tell me how things are at home.’
* * *
Lydia had been worried about facing Nicholas after what he’d witnessed on Christmas Day but, in the event, he behaved as though nothing had happened. Inevitably, this left her free to worry about Colonel Maxwell instead … what he had thought, what he might do, what the mood of their ne
xt meeting might be. Then, as one week became two and there was no meeting at all, worry turned to faint resentment. After all, she thought, he had no business leading her into temptation like that and then, for the second time, calmly walking away as if nothing of any great consequence had happened.
Nicholas had said Eden was exceptionally busy and Colonel Brandon, when he came to deliver Venetia’s note, had echoed this. Difficult though it had been, Lydia congratulated herself on not appearing unduly interested in Colonel Maxwell’s doings during the course of either conversation. That she had fooled neither gentleman mercifully did not occur to her.
‘Fretting about why you’ve not been near since that night we won’t speak of,’ was Nicholas’s verdict.
And, ‘She’s careful about what she says but less good at guarding her expression,’ shrugged Gabriel. ‘I sensed confusion – but you’d know better than me, I daresay.’
* * *
It took over a week for the worst of the marks on Eden’s face and hands to fade and during it the promised snow arrived and various events took place in Westminster and elsewhere. In defiance of the Army, Parliament abolished the extended franchise created by the Instrument and restored the old, narrower system of forty-shilling freeholders, hedged about with numerous religious and moral restrictions. This done, it confirmed the vote on ‘damnable heresies’ and, amidst a fresh wave of arrests, moved on to financial matters. These, according to Colonel Brandon, were the subject of much on-going argument and resulted in a temporary Act granting the Protector a woefully inadequate sum to cover both domestic and foreign policy. And finally, adding insult to injury as Gabriel put it, the House re-affirmed its earlier decision to have the final say on what Cromwell was or was not allowed to veto.
The cracks were not only showing but getting wider by the day and through them emerged the fanatics and the mildly deranged. In Lambeth, Thomas Taney – or Theoro-John as he called himself – lived in a tent. To Eden’s knowledge, he had been doing this long enough for most passers-by to be accustomed to him. Now, as the mutterings of discontent grew ever louder, he decided to get their attention. He lit a bonfire into which he tossed a Bible, a saddle, a sword and a pistol and announced to his baffled audience that these were the Gods of England. Then, blade in hand, he marched off to Westminster and swung wildly at all and sundry until guards restrained him and hauled him off to prison.
‘Time was,’ observed Colonel Maxwell to Colonel Brandon, ‘when that might have been funny. I’d have thought that this wasn’t one of them … and yet here you are looking unaccustomedly cheerful.’
‘That’s nothing to do with Theoro-John,’ returned Gabriel. ‘There are finally signs of common-sense emerging. The House has back-tracked on the question of the so-called damnable heresies and agreed that the Protector be consulted on those exempted from toleration. Better and more encouraging yet, we’ve formed a coalition comprising both Court Party members and some of the less-radical Opposition MPs.’
‘Of which I imagine you are one?’
‘I am. And our first priority is to increase the stupidly impractical sum previously awarded to the Protector. The proposal under discussion is to add a further hundred thousand pounds to the original grant for domestic government, plus substantial amounts to fund the Army and Navy.’
‘Well that should keep both the Council of Officers and Cromwell happy – though one has to wonder where the money is coming from.’
‘There’ll be a deficit,’ admitted Gabriel. ‘But that’s something that can be remedied. The current deadlock between the Protector and the House, on the other hand, is stifling progress of any kind and must be resolved. Money, at this stage, is the least of our worries.’
* * *
In the event, Colonel Brandon’s optimistic mood didn’t survive the next twenty-four hours. The following evening, he hurled his snow-covered hat and gloves across the room and sent a stream of invective flying after them.
‘Ah,’ said Eden. ‘A less than successful day, I gather?’
‘It needn’t have been,’ ground out Gabriel. ‘We’d voted seven hundred thousand for the Army over the next four years. Everything was going well and, barring the usual extremists, everyone was happy.’
‘Until?’
‘Until the Court Party couldn’t resist pushing its luck and pressing for the Instrument to remain in force and in its original form if Cromwell wouldn’t sanction the changes to the franchise contained in the Constitutional Bill. That sent the Opposition members of the coalition scurrying back to their own side of the House – and put the Opposition as a whole back in the majority. So now we’re no further forward and I’m bloody sick of the whole thing.’
Eden handed him a glass of wine.
‘So what now?’
‘I don’t know.’ He pushed a weary hand through his hair. ‘The rumblings in the streets are getting ever louder and the gulf between Protector and Parliament remains as wide as ever. Not one of the eighty-two ordinances Cromwell laid before the House has been ratified – not even one as a good-will token. I wanted to see his power reduced but the House is cutting too much ground from beneath his feet and doing it far too fast because it fears the influence of the Army. The result is that men like myself are voting with the Court Party more often than not in the frail hope of holding back the tide – which is not something any of us anticipated and which clearly isn’t working. We’ve gone from Cromwell having the bit between his teeth to the honourable members having it between theirs and any possibility of reasonable compromise is as far away as ever. In short, nothing either useful or lasting has been achieved and the whole thing is a mess.’
‘How long before Cromwell loses patience?’
‘Not long. I think he’ll dissolve Parliament as soon as the terms of the Instrument entitle him to do so.’
‘The third of February?’
‘The third of February,’ agreed Gabriel, raising his glass. ‘And here’s to it.’
‘I can see,’ remarked Eden, shifting his position which the strapping round his ribs was beginning to make uncomfortable, ‘that you’re looking forward to it. Still … it’s an ill wind, I suppose.’
‘Quite.’ Gabriel fell silent for a moment. Then, ‘What are you going to do about Lydia?’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘You might start by watching your back.’
‘Oh Christ – not you as well!’ snapped Eden. ‘First Nicholas, then Toby and now you. What do you all think I am? No. On second thoughts – don’t tell me. I doubt I’ll like it.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
TWELVE
At around the time Colonel Brandon was tearing his hair out over matters at Westminster, Mistress Neville received an unexpected visitor.
‘Lord Northcote, Madam,’ said Henry – looking, for the first time that Lydia could remember, slightly worried.
She frowned.
‘Northcote? I don’t … oh. It must be Mr Wakefield’s brother.’
‘Ah.’ Henry’s brow cleared. ‘Then you’ll receive him?’
‘Yes.’ I can’t very well refuse – though goodness only knows what he wants with me. ‘Yes. And ask Nancy to bring wine, please.’
The gentleman who entered the room was dark-haired, slender and dressed in the height of fashion. In fact, for the first few moments, all Lydia really noticed were the wine-red velvet coat, the extravagant scalloped-lace collar and the jewels winking on his hands.
He made her an exquisite bow and said, ‘Mistress Neville. You will forgive me, I hope, for calling without prior arrangement but affairs keep me frequently from London – which means it is often a case of seizing an opportunity when it presents itself.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Lydia made her curtsy and wondered afresh why he’d come. ‘Please sit down.’
‘Thank you.’ He laid his hat to one side, waited until she was seated and then took a chair facing her. ‘I felt it was time I made your acquaintance.’
Something a
bout his tone and the way he said it was time he made her acquaintance rather than that they became acquainted, ruffled Lydia’s feathers.
So she smiled and said, ‘Oh? Then you must forgive me, sir, if I ask why that should be.’
His lordship’s brows rose.
‘Do not be unnecessarily disingenuous, Mistress. I should have thought my reason rather obvious. I understand that my younger brother is making you the object of his attentions. His very marked attentions, if my information is correct.’
‘I’m not convinced that it is. It’s true that Mr Wakefield and I have become friends but --’
‘It is a little more than that, is it not? He visits this house often and the two of you have been seen together in public on numerous occasions. I believe I may be excused if that speaks less of friendship than courtship.’ The Viscount crossed one beautifully-clad leg over the other. ‘If Gilbert has not yet made you an offer of marriage, the indications are that such an offer cannot be far distant.’
Lydia was prevented from replying by the arrival of Nancy with refreshments. Swallowing her annoyance, she waited until the maid had left the room and then, whilst busying herself with the wine, said coolly, ‘I have no idea – and would imagine that you know your brother’s intentions better than I. But if --’
‘In fact, I don’t,’ said Lord Northcote, interrupting her for the second time inside five minutes. ‘Gilbert and I have been at odds for some time now and, in recent months, rarely speak. This, however, does not mean that I do not interest myself in his doings … and, in particular, with his possible choice of a wife.’
‘Then perhaps,’ said Lydia, setting the glass down at his side with a little snap, ‘you should mend whatever rift is between you and speak to him directly. However --’
‘Sadly, that is unlikely.’
‘Do you think,’ she asked glacially, ‘that you might do me the courtesy of allowing me to finish?’
‘Of course. I beg your pardon.’
‘Thank you. I was about to inform you that if the sole reason for your visit was to establish whether or not Gilbert has asked me to marry him, I can set your mind at rest. He hasn’t.’