The Black Madonna (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 1)

by Stella Riley

  ‘Someone decided to break a few of his bones. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on your point of view – Father and I happened to be passing in time to put a stop to it.’ He paused, deciding it might be better not to mention the brothel. ‘By then, of course, they’d done a fairly good job on him. A sight I’m sure some people would have paid money for.’

  ‘Yes. Well, it sounds as though somebody did, doesn’t it?’ replied Kate prosaically. ‘And I can’t say I’m particularly surprised.’

  Eden grinned at her.

  ‘Nor was I. On the other hand, I did think of paying a call on him … just to ask after his health, you know.’

  ‘Now why,’ she asked, ‘should you want to do that?’

  ‘That’s my business. But I’ll let you come with me, if you like.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ He folded his arms and regarded her knowingly. ‘You may as well save that look of indifference for someone who’s likely to be fooled by it, Kate. I know you too well.’

  ‘And I suppose you think I’m dying to come?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She held his gaze coolly for a moment more and then dissolved into laughter. ‘Actually, wild horses couldn’t stop me.’

  * * *

  On Monday April 13th, Richard Maxwell and several hundred other gentlemen presented themselves at Westminster Hall for the formal opening of Parliament. It was not a howling success. The King, whose slight stammer made public speaking difficult, delegated the task of making his policy known to Lord Keeper Finch – the tactless and conceited Speaker of the last Parliament, whose patronising and arrogant tone did little to promote goodwill.

  After listening to a catalogue of imperiously phrased demands ranging from subsidies to pay for subduing the Scots to a retroactive bill granting His Majesty Tonnage and Poundage for his whole reign, no one was in the mood to wax patriotic over the Covenanters’ alleged dealings with Louis of France. Neither were they noticeably appeased by the prospect of being permitted to lay their grievances before the King if they first took care of his finances. It was, as the member for Tavistock was heard to mutter, no more than a carrot; and none but the most reckless gambler in the House would have laid long odds on their chances of remaining in session for more than a matter of days once His Majesty had got what he wanted.

  So as the week wore by, Richard listened with the rest to petitions about ship-money and religion and watched the member for Tavistock rise to the front rank of the King’s critics. And, moved by a spirit of curiosity so intense that it alarmed her, Kate Maxwell put on her second-best green velvet and went with her brother to call on a usurer.

  They ended up taking Toby with them – for no better reason than, finding himself at a loose end and catching up with his elders about to depart for a destination they refused to disclose, he decided to enliven his morning by following them. He dodged in and out of doorways all the way to Westminster Stairs and then, realising that they were about to take to the water, abandoned discretion and jumped recklessly aboard the boat at the very moment that the waterman cast off. It was rather disappointing that neither Kate nor Eden showed any sign of surprise … but the boatman’s reaction more than made up for it and Toby settled down to investigate the bilges feeling that his time hadn’t been completely wasted.

  They disembarked at Paul’s Wharf. Eden asked the boatman if he’d care to return Toby whence he came and received a pungent refusal. And when even an offer to tie him to the seat failed to have any effect, Eden and Kate gave up and set off resignedly up Lambeth Hill with Toby marching cheerfully behind them, whistling.

  It was when they were nearing the top of Old Change that Kate’s nerve unexpectedly started to waver and she said, ‘You know, I’m not sure this is a good idea. He’ll find it odd enough that you’ve come – and at least you have an excuse, threadbare though it is.’

  Eden accorded her a brief, slanting grin. ‘Cold feet, Kate?’

  ‘A bit tepid, perhaps. I’d forgotten what he’s like and now I’m starting to remember. And then there’s the question of how to explain Toby.’

  ‘You can’t. No one could.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant.’ She eyed him severely. ‘I suppose you do know what you’re going to say?’

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d tell him that you’re tired of drawing the chapel ceiling and wanted to try real life for a change.’

  Kate’s fingers closed hard over his arm and she stopped walking so abruptly that Toby cannoned into the back of them.

  ‘How do you know what I’ve been drawing?’ she demanded furiously. ‘I don’t show my sketches to anyone!’

  ‘That bad, are they?’

  Kate glared at him. ‘I asked how you knew.’

  ‘I expect Amy told him,’ volunteered Toby obligingly. ‘She told everyone else. Not that anybody found it in the least bit interesting.’

  ‘Except you,’ said Kate frigidly to Eden.

  ‘Not even me,’ he replied placidly. ‘Or not until the other night when I suddenly realised where I’d seen Signor del Santi before … and why you’d suddenly developed a fascination for the Fall of Lucifer. Do you think we might go on? And if you’re too chicken-hearted to come with me, you can always take Toby to the nearest pie shop. I shan’t mind.’

  ‘I know you won’t,’ came the astringent reply as they fell into step again. ‘But – after what you just said - if you think I’m going to miss the chance of finding out what you’re up to, you’re mistaken. I’ll come. And if you don’t feel you can depend on swearing Toby to secrecy, you’ll just have to bribe him.’

  ‘I don’t mind being bribed,’ said Toby hopefully from behind. ‘Honest.’

  ‘That’s comforting,’ said Eden. ‘Perhaps you won’t mind being knocked on the head either.’

  The premises of Luciano del Santi lay on the corner of Friday Street and Cheapside and were not hard to find, for a large hanging sign proclaimed the owner’s name in flowing Italianate script over a symbol that looked like a peculiarly convoluted knot. And below the sign, somewhat to Eden’s surprise, was the entrance to what was very plainly a goldsmith’s shop. Of course, it shouldn’t have surprised him for most goldsmiths were also money-lenders. But all money-lenders were not also goldsmiths – and, as far as he could recall, no one had mentioned the fact that Signor del Santi was also, presumably, a craftsman.

  The blank look that Kate gave him told him that she felt the same. Toby, on the other hand, was suddenly enthusiastic. He always liked watching people work.

  The door was flung open and Giacomo bounced through it. He seized Eden’s hand, moustaches quivering and kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘Come in, signor – come in! Welcome to the ’ouse of del Santi! Welcome, welcome. The signor, ’e will be so ’appy! I tell ’im you are ’ere pronto. And la bella signorina,’ he said, releasing Eden in favour of Kate. ‘Bellissima! You are ze sister, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate, grinning and at the same time stepping back in case the little fellow embraced her again. Toby, she noticed, had put himself out of range and was wearing a look which defied anybody to kiss him. ‘Yes, I’m Mr Maxwell’s sister. And I too have some small acquaintance with Signor del Santi. So we called to enquire after his health.’

  ‘Is kind of you.’ Giacomo beamed with gratification. ‘I tell Signor Luciano you are ’ere. ’E is in ’is workshop and ’e do not come out for heverybody – but for you ’e will come. Scusi – momento!’

  ‘Workshop?’ said Toby, on just the right note of appeal.

  Giacomo stopped in his tracks and regarded the boy with benevolence.

  ‘Si. You ’ave interest? You like to see?’

  ‘Well,’ said Toby in the tone of one reluctant to give trouble but willing to be persuaded, ‘it’s just that I’ve never – ow!’

  Having discreetly trodden on his brother’s foot, Eden smiled blandly at Giacomo and said, ‘Another time, perhaps – if Signor
del Santi permits. We’ve no wish to cause him any inconvenience.’

  ‘Is not inconvenience – is pleasure!’ cried Giacomo, expansively. ‘Please – you come. The signor will be so ’appy. You come.’

  There was no help for it. They went, Toby clattering on in front at Giacomo’s heels.

  ‘Damn,’ said Eden softly to Kate. ‘Why didn’t I drop him overboard while I had the chance?’

  ‘No resolution,’ she replied. ‘But don’t worry. You heard what the man said. The signor will be so ’appy.’

  ‘You think?’

  She rolled expressive eyes at him and said nothing.

  Ahead of them, Giacomo had opened a door and embarked on a vivacious flow of Italian which was stemmed almost immediately by a brief and pungently delivered sentence in the same language. Kate and Eden exchanged glances and then, arriving in the doorway, looked past Giacomo to the scene within.

  His face still marked by fading bruises, Luciano del Santi was in his shirt-sleeves, sitting at a large trestle on which reposed an impressive array of small tools. His concentrated gaze was wholly taken up with the gleaming object held in one long-fingered hand. In shape and size it resembled a chalice, being set upon a delicately slender stem; but the bowl was composed of intricately pierced lattice-work so fine that it gave the appearance of a spider’s web spun in gold.

  The clever hands stilled and, without haste, the Italian looked up at his visitors. The impassive eyes held Kate’s gaze for a couple of seconds and then he said, ‘In a few minutes time you will be welcome … but, until then, I would appreciate silence.’ And he turned coolly back to his work.

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, Kate discovered the first twinges of respect. If the lovely thing in his hands was of his own creating, then there was more to this man than malicious wit. It did not, she told herself firmly, make him any easier to like; and, with equal firmness, deliberately squashed the sneaking suspicion that it added another dimension to the signor’s inexplicable fascination.

  Toby, meanwhile, had approached the table so stealthily that no one had noticed him doing it. And when Luciano del Santi finally set the piece down, it was Toby who was the first one to speak. He said, ‘Did you make all of that? Yourself, I mean?’

  The Italian looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long did it take?’

  ‘In hours of work? I don’t know. It isn’t important. These things are finished in their own time.’

  Toby nodded, apparently understanding this.

  ‘And is it finished now?’

  ‘Not quite. There are still some slightly roughened edges here – and here.’ He lifted the goblet for the boy’s inspection and pointed to it in various places. ‘You see? These must be smoothed and polished. And then I shall engrave the base along this curvature here.’

  ‘And then?’ asked Toby. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘A wine-cup. But you couldn’t drink out of it. It’s got holes in it.’

  Luciano del Santi reached to his left and picked up an object wrapped in a soft cloth. Then, opening it, he placed its contents gently inside the golden web of the chalice.

  ‘So,’ he said, apparently unaware of the faint breathiness that had suddenly afflicted Kate. ‘The finest amber … I carved it myself. And the gold, you see, is no more than a shell.’

  For probably the first time in his life, Toby took at least two minutes to decide what to say. The amber was beautiful and so thin that the light shone through it; and, set in its fragile tracery of gold, it glowed with almost uncanny life. And Toby, looking at it, was consumed of a sudden thirst for knowledge. Drawing a long breath, he stared the Italian straight in the eye and said, ‘Can … can anyone learn to do that?’

  ‘No.’ The word was bland and unequivocal.

  ‘Could I?’

  There was a long pause. Then, ‘If you mean, could you learn to work gold – yes. Perhaps. It is a skill and can therefore be taught. If, however, you are asking me if you can become a master … then the answer is no. Master-goldsmiths are born, not made. And if you don’t already have the ingredients within you, no one can put them there.’

  Again and much to the surprise of Kate and Eden, Toby seemed to accept this without question. He just nodded slowly and said, ‘Will you teach me?’

  Luciano del Santi leaned his elbows on the trestle and regarded Toby steadily over his hands. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s enough, Toby.’ Eden stepped forward and dropped a hand on his young brother’s shoulder. ‘Signor del Santi has been more than patient – so just take no for an answer and stop haranguing him.’

  Toby shook off Eden’s hand and stood his ground.

  ‘Why not?’ he said again.

  For the first time since they had come in, a vagrant smile touched the sculpted face.

  ‘Because I don’t know anything about you. In the last five minutes, you’ve decided you want to be a goldsmith. For all I know to the contrary, yesterday you may have yearned to be a blacksmith and tomorrow, a pastry-cook. I’m not inclined to waste my time.’

  ‘All right.’ The boy shoved back an unruly lock of dark brown hair from his face and thought about it. ‘I suppose that’s fair. But if I prove I really mean it – then will you teach me?’

  ‘Toby.’ Eden was beginning to see a chasm yawning ahead. The Italian had been amazingly tolerant so far but it couldn’t last. ‘Toby … for God’s sake, stop arguing.’

  ‘I’m not arguing,’ said Toby. ‘I’m enquiring.’

  Kate stared hard at the floor and tried to straighten out her face.

  Luciano del Santi startled them all by laughing.

  ‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ Toby objected. ‘I just want to know whether you’ll ever agree to teach me – or whether you’re just making excuses. Because if you won’t teach me, I’ll just have to find someone who will.’

  Something in his voice broke through Kate’s amusement and caused her to unlock her tongue. She said, ‘Stop and think what you’re saying, Toby. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need Father’s permission and a formal apprenticeship. You’d have to live away from home and sign away your life for years to – to someone like Signor del Santi. It’s not something to be decided on a moment’s impulse.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ came the stubborn reply. ‘I want to know how to make things like that … and I shan’t change my mind, no matter what you think.’

  Giacomo chuckled and said something in his own language. His master replied with what appeared to be dry humour and then relapsed into silence. Kate decided that a basic grasp of Italian might come in useful.

  ‘Very well,’ said Luciano del Santi, crisply. ‘I’ll make you no promises. Perhaps I’ll teach you – perhaps not. We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll allow you the freedom of my workshop. You may come here when you wish and pick up what knowledge you can purely by watching. I, myself, am not always here; but my assistant, Gino, will be pleased to answer your questions. If you care to wait for half an hour or so, you can meet him. But what you will not do is to touch anything at all without either his permission or mine. Break that rule even once and there will be no second chances. And if, in the end, I refuse to take you as a pupil, you will have to accept that I mean it and will not change my mind. Do I make myself quite clear?’

  ‘Yes.’ Toby flushed and grinned widely. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Laying his fingers on the table-edge, the Italian rose from his stool and replaced his coat with a caution which reminded Kate that the attack had done more than mark his face. Strangely, she was conscious of a twinge of sympathy that hadn’t been there when Eden had first told her of it.

  ‘Don’t thank me. Just remember that I’ve promised you nothing. Yet. And now, Giacomo will give you a guided tour and introduce you to Gino when he comes, while I take your brother and sister upstairs for some refreshment.’ And without waiting for a reply, he crossed a l
ittle stiffly to Kate’s side and offered his arm.

  She took it, felt herself colouring and was annoyed. It was this, more than anything, that made her say abruptly, ‘Why are you doing this for Toby?’

  ‘Because he reminds Giacomo of someone.’

  Kate shot him a suspicious glance. ‘Who?’

  He sighed and, for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  Then, ‘Me,’ he said.

  Effectively silenced and not daring, this time, to catch Eden’s eye, Kate trod meekly up the stairs and into a light, spacious parlour. The Italian invited them to be seated, poured wine and then joined them near the empty hearth.

  ‘And now,’ he said smoothly to Eden, ‘you may tell me what I can do for you.’

  Eden liked directness but this was disconcerting. He found himself saying that they had thought to visit the Goldsmiths’ Hall and merely called, in passing, to enquire after the signor’s health.

  Without changing his expression by a hair’s breadth, the signor managed to convey total and satiric disbelief. It was a long time before he spoke and Kate began to share her brother’s discomfort. More than anyone she had ever met, this man had the most infuriating knack of using silence as a weapon.

  ‘My health – save for the temporary inconvenience of a couple of cracked ribs – is excellent,’ he said at last. ‘But you disappoint me, Mr Maxwell.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. I thought you capable of coming to the point without indulging in social niceties.’

  ‘Like Toby, you mean?’ Eden grinned ruefully. The fellow was right, of course – but he himself was in a slight quandary. He’d hoped for a few minutes away from Kate’s sharp ears and it didn’t look as if he was going to get it. Temporising, he said, ‘You seem very sure that there is a point.’

  ‘Naturally.’ Luciano del Santi smiled coldly. ‘You don’t like me very much – though I’m not sure why – and you did all that could be expected of you the other evening. Therefore the obvious conclusion is that I owe you a favour and you have come to collect it.’

  There was no answer to this. Eden turned his head and looked consideringly at Kate but, short of drenching her in claret, there seemed no way of shifting her.