The Black Madonna (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 1)

by Stella Riley

  As if reading his thought, she said flatly, ‘No. I’m staying exactly where I am. But I’m willing to be discreet.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ he returned briefly. And then, to the Italian, ‘All right. It’s perfectly true – I do want something. I’d like you to refrain from terminating Lord Wroxton’s bond.’

  Kate choked on her wine. Whatever she had expected to hear, it certainly wasn’t that. The two men ignored her, hazel eyes locked with midnight blue; and Luciano del Santi, as usual, appeared in no hurry to speak. Finally, he said gently, ‘And just what makes you suppose that I hold such a bond – let alone that I may have been considering recalling it?’

  ‘I don’t suppose – I know,’ said Eden baldly. And then, deciding to live dangerously, ‘Just as I’ve a shrewd suspicion to whom you owe those cracked ribs.’

  This time the silence was airlessly unpleasant. Kate looked uneasily from one to the other of them and tried, unsuccessfully, to work out what was going on.

  ‘You appear to know a great deal, Mr Maxwell. I can’t help wondering how.’

  ‘Purely by accident. And like Kate, I’m discreet. But that’s irrelevant really, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hardly.’ The lean mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. ‘Nam et ipsa scientia potestas est. Or so I have always found.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Eden.

  The dark gaze continued to impale him until Kate unexpectedly drew its fire.

  ‘Knowledge itself is power,’ she offered helpfully. And then, ‘My brother dislikes quotations, Signor del Santi. They bring out the worst in him. You might find the fact useful for future reference.’

  Entirely without warning, a very different and singularly infectious smile dawned.

  ‘Not particularly, Mistress. I automatically bring out the worst in almost everyone.’

  Damn him! thought Kate, assuming her most wooden stare and ruthlessly ascribing the odd sensation in her chest to indigestion. I wish he wouldn’t do that. Aloud, she said sweetly, ‘Oh? And there I was thinking you had to work at it.’

  Eden groaned. ‘Pot calling kettle, Kate. So just drink your wine and be quiet.’ Then, to the other man, ‘Well? As a favour to me, will you continue to hold his lordship’s bond past quarter-day?’

  Luciano del Santi gave an almost imperceptible shrug and came to his feet.

  ‘Why not? Though how grateful you will find him, I take leave to doubt.’

  ‘Grateful? What do you mean?’

  ‘Simply that I imagine you can have only one reason for making such a request.’ A sudden, faintly satiric glint appeared. ‘Or am I mistaken? Is it less a desire to put his lordship under an obligation to you and more a question of freeing his daughter from the pressures which may be surrounding her?’

  A hint of colour crept beneath Eden’s skin and he said curtly, ‘Possibly. But my reasons are my own business.’

  ‘True. And, in either case, it’s a neat strategy. But for one minor point, I would even be inclined to congratulate you.’

  Eden rose to face him.

  ‘Oh? And what is that?’

  ‘Nothing that you will find in the least palatable, I’m sure,’ said the Italian dispassionately. ‘It merely occurs to me that, in this particular case, you might be advised to heed the old maxim and take a long look at the mother before wooing the daughter.’

  His meaning was perfectly plain and a hard knot of anger formed in Eden’s chest. Controlling his breathing as best he could, he said, ‘I’ll try to believe that you mean well – but I find your suggestion both offensive and insulting. Celia is nothing like her mother.’

  ‘As yet, not very much perhaps. But I’m just expressing an opinion. You don’t have to agree – or even listen.’

  ‘Then I’ll do neither.’

  ‘And that, if you ask me, is a pity,’ remarked Kate to no one in particular. ‘Because it’s the most straightforward and sensible thing he’s said today. Much as I hate to admit it.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  FIVE

  For the first time in their marriage, Dorothy Maxwell was aware that Richard’s attention was wholly absorbed by matters outside his family – and it worried her. He had sat in the House before and been much occupied by its business, but never to the degree where he could be oblivious to the peculiar pursuits of his children. But so it was now.

  He did not know that Amy had acquired a secret supply of cosmetics and that, discovering them, Tabitha had appeared in front of her mother’s guests with her face plastered in orris powder and carmine. Neither had he noticed that Tobias was consumed of an inexplicable desire to become a goldsmith and was spending every waking moment in the establishment of one Signor del Santi on Cheapside – accompanied, more often than not, by Kate on the pretext of learning Italian. He did not know and Dorothy didn’t tell him. She simply consigned Amy’s illicit hoard to the kitchen fire, told Toby not to trouble his father with talk of apprenticeships just yet and forbade Kate to set foot outside the house without a maid in attendance.

  Less easy to deal with was the strange state of armed neutrality that seemed to exist these days between Eden and Kate, or the fact that Eden was dividing his time between Whitehall – whence he had been introduced by Francis – and somewhere unspecified that frequently kept him out half the night. Under normal circumstances, she would have discussed it with Richard; but an unpleasant sense of foreboding told her that it was not the time … that he had greater and graver things on his mind.

  She was right. Led by the member for Tavistock, one John Pym, the King’s critics accused Lord Keeper Finch of breaching Parliamentary privilege, demanded an enquiry into the imprisonment of fellow-members Holles and Strode and began to re-examine the case of John Hampden – thus refuelling the fiery question of ship-money. Then, as April drifted into May, the Earl of Strafford returned from Ireland to oppose Mr Pym from the other side of the chessboard.

  The Earl appealed to the Upper House and secured a majority in favour putting the King’s subsidies before Parliament’s grievances. Pym countered by demanding a consultation between both Houses and, with the help of Lords Saye & Sele, Warwick and Brooke, neatly squashed potential dissent. Lord Keeper Finch, meanwhile, tried to divert attention from his own problems by announcing that the Scots rebels had fired on Edinburgh Castle – only to be hoist by his own petard when word came that, in fact, the reverse was true. That night the taverns of Westminster abounded with rowdiness and rumour – and a desire to burn Lambeth Palace and Archbishop Laud along with it before permitting him to wage his Papist war on the good Protestants north of the border.

  Then, just as Richard started to wonder if the situation wasn’t getting out of hand, the King showed his first sign of weakness by having Secretary Vane offer to accept eight subsidies in place of the original twelve if only they were voted immediately. He would even, the Commons were told, halt the present levy of ship-money. Scenting desperation, the House replied that it could not debate this proposal without hearing the Privy Council’s opinion on the legality of the said ship-money – at which point Secretary Vane offered complete abolition of the thrice-blasted ship-money if only the House would cease delaying and grant all twelve subsidies that very day.

  At this point, Mr Pym came slowly to his feet on a long, satisfied sigh and gently refused the bribe. Grievances first, he said; subsidies later. And to himself while the House roared its approval, ‘Check!’

  * * *

  While all this was happening, four lesser gentlemen of the Court found themselves facing financial ruin. One retired to his crumbling manor, two fled the country and the fourth blew his head off with a cavalry pistol. My lord Wroxton was not one of them and was thus able to leave for a brief visit to Far Flamstead with a clear mind. And while the inevitable buzz of gossip echoed around the corridors of Whitehall, Luciano del Santi departed unobtrusively on his annual pilgrimage to Genoa and took the amber chalice with him. Toby, who had wanted to see the finished
product was disgruntled; Kate had no such excuse.

  She found that she hardly saw anything of Eden these days and rather regretted it. But they had quarrelled with unusual thoroughness on their return from Cheapside that day and, since she could not retract what she had said about Celia, there was nothing for it but to wait for him to come round in his own good time.

  But though she could not talk to Eden, she could and did talk to Francis – thus discovering that all was not well in the Langley household. With the laconic candour he always employed with Kate and rarely with anyone else, he revealed that Celia was being sought in marriage by a Gentleman of Means and behaving like a chicken with its head cut off in consequence.

  ‘Why?’ asked Kate, bluntly. ‘It sounds to me to be just what she always wanted.’

  ‘One would certainly think so. A position at Court, influence and a husband with considerable style – who is also, with the possible exception of that Italian crookback, the richest man in London.’

  ‘He’s not a crookback,’ snapped Kate without thinking.

  The dark blue eyes gleamed with lazy amusement.

  ‘Why Kate … such passion. It won’t do, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that he’s being very good to Toby – and I don’t like inaccurate and exaggerated statements.’ Battening down her annoyance, she smiled at him. ‘So what’s wrong with this paragon of Celia’s?’

  ‘Something you might describe as a skeleton in his closet – and ours,’ came the cryptic reply. ‘And more than that, dearest Kate, it would be grossly improper of me to tell you. Except perhaps to add that, although Celia’s objections are not without foundation, our lady mother is not inclined to be sympathetic. The result is deadlock – and noisy, histrionic deadlock at that. Very wearing on the nerves.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Kate sardonically. ‘It must be. So why don’t you bestir yourself to talk some sense into one or other of them?’

  Francis smiled slowly and with cheerful malice.

  ‘Dear heart, I’ve done better than that. I’ve written to Father. Under the circumstances, that should do the trick. And in the meantime, we can all go a-Maying with a clear conscience.’

  * * *

  Richard Maxwell, had he been privileged to hear this remark, would have laughed. On May 5th, two days before May Day, he arrived in Westminster Hall along with his fellow members to find that Speaker Glanvil had failed to appear. There was one obvious possibility to account for this and, while they were discussing it, Black Rod entered the chamber and confirmed their suspicions by announcing that His Majesty commanded their attendance in the Upper House.

  Dourly silent, they followed him. And there was the King with a prepared speech of some length – but which said neither more nor less than they had expected. It was not, he said, either his own fault or that of the Upper House that this Parliament had not come to a happy end; it was not even the fault of the entire Commons – but only ‘the malicious cunning of some few seditiously affected men.’

  Richard glanced across at Pym and Hampden, their faces marked only with resolution, and then back at the small, neat figure who was slowly but surely coming to the point.

  ‘As for the liberty of the people,’ concluded Charles, in the measured tones that enabled him to control his stammer, ‘no king in the world shall be more careful in the propriety of their goods, the liberty of their persons and true religion than I shall. And now, my lord Keeper – do as I have commanded you.’

  There was silence as Finch stood up, as heavy a silence as Richard could ever remember. And then the words came.

  ‘My lords – and you, the gentlemen of the House of Commons – the King’s Majesty does dissolve this Parliament.’

  The breath that everyone seemed to have been holding released itself in a long sigh and Richard found himself thinking, ‘That’s that, then. Twenty-two days and it’s all over.’

  John Hampden touched his arm.

  ‘We can’t give up now. There has to be a way forward. Will you join with those of us who are resolved to look for it?’

  Richard thought about it. Pym, he respected but could not like. Hampden was a different matter. He said logically, ‘Why me?’

  Hampden smiled. ‘Because you’re a sensible man, not easily carried away by high-flown words. I think we’ll need such as you. And I don’t ask you to commit yourself; simply to dine at my house tomorrow so that we may have the opportunity to understand each other.’

  It was too reasonable an invitation to decline but, in the event, it came to nothing. For on the morning following the dissolution, John Hampden was arrested and committed to the Tower – along with John Pym, Walter Earle and my lords Saye, Brooke and Warwick. All their lodgings were searched for evidence of treasonable communication with the Scots and all were held for questioning before the Council.

  Richard was suddenly angry. He was not, he decided, ready to go back to Thorne Ash just yet.

  * * *

  It was Tabitha who woke first to the ghostly pre-dawn light of May Day and, shivering a little, clambered out of the big feather bed she shared with her sisters to throw back the shutters and open the window.

  ‘Kate? Kate – do get up or we’ll be late and miss all the fun.’

  Kate opened sleepy eyes and raised a tousled red head.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s getting light and you know you have to go while the dew’s still on the grass or it’s not the same.’

  ‘All right – I’m coming.’ Kate’s grin widened into a yawn and she dug an elbow into the mound that was Amy. ‘If you want to bathe your face in the morning dew and so on, you’d better wake up.’

  Amy grunted and burrowed deeper into the pillows.

  Tabitha pattered back across the boards and looked at Kate. She said, ‘She takes absolutely ages to dress and we won’t get out till noon. Help me?’

  ‘Why not?’ And moving in perfect, practised unison, they flung back the covers and set about propelling Amy from the bed.

  ‘Stop it!’ she snapped furiously but without much hope of being heeded. And then, ‘All right – all right! I’m awake and I’m up so there’s no need to maul me. You’re so rough!’

  ‘And nasty and vulgar and childish,’ agreed Kate. ‘We know. And you’re a delicate little blossom of the utmost refinement. We know that too.’

  ‘She bruises very easily,’ offered Tabitha wisely. ‘Or so she’s always saying.’

  ‘Well, I do.’ Flushed with annoyance, Amy tugged the ribbons from her braids with unaccustomed vigour and began to unloose her hair. ‘Where’s Meg? If you want me to get ready quickly, you’ll have to let her just help me. I need her to dress my hair.’

  ‘Selfish cat,’ muttered Tabitha, fumbling with her own ribbons which had somehow tied themselves into a knot.

  ‘No, I’m not. It’s just that I care what I look like.’

  ‘And we don’t?’ Kate unfastened the drawstring of her night-rail and allowed it to slither to her feet. For a moment she stood still while the chilly air struck her skin and surveyed herself critically in the mirror. In four days’ time she would be seventeen … and still there was scant sign of the voluptuous curves that were supposedly so necessary to beauty and which Amy, at just turned fifteen, already had in plenty. Then, with a shrug of resignation, she reached for the hairbrush and set about disentangling her hair. ‘Or perhaps it’s just that we’ve other uses for our energies.’

  Amy wriggled out of her shift and smiled complacently.

  ‘Yes? Well, I suppose you’d have to say that, wouldn’t you? I mean, you still haven’t got any figure to speak of – despite being so much older --’

  Her words ended in a strangled gasp as Tabitha hit her squarely in the back with a pillow.

  ‘Shut up! Kate’s got a perfectly good figure – and at least she’s not fat like you.’

  ‘I’m not fat!’ Amy swept round, snatched up the pillow and hurled it at her younge
r sister, missing by a good yard. ‘But it’s not fashionable to be as thin as a rail. You have to have a bosom – and everything. And I’ve got one.’

  ‘You certainly have,’ said Kate, grinning. ‘How can we miss it? But just put it away like a good girl and let’s all stop bickering and get ourselves ready. Look – here’s Meg with the water.’

  ‘Mercy me – you’re all up. And there was I thinking I’d never rouse Miss Amy afore nine,’ said the girl breathlessly as she heaved the great copper jug on to the wash-stand and poured water into the bowl. Scarcely a year older than Kate and as plump as Amy, Meg Bennet was possessed of a generously freckled nose and a pair of roguish dimples. Her father was bailiff at Thorne Ash and, like Tom Tripp – who had lately begun to pay her some interesting attention – she had grown up with the Maxwell children and so been the obvious choice when Dorothy decided that Kate, at least, was old enough to have her own maid. ‘It’s barely cock-crow. What wakened you all so early?’

  ‘Tabitha,’ replied Kate dryly. ‘She wants to weave a wreath of whitethorn and look for her true love.’

  Tabitha denied this with one unladylike word.

  Kate laughed. ‘My sentiments exactly. But the general opinion is that we’ll change our minds. Meg already has - haven’t you, Meg?

  Meg blushed and dimpled.

  ‘Have you?’ asked Tabitha curiously. ‘Really?’

  ‘I might have,’ came the prim reply, ‘and then again, I mightn’t.’

  ‘Do my hair now, Meg.’ Amy turned from the wash-stand and dropped the towel on the floor. ‘I want it twined with ribbons.’

  ‘What for?’ demanded Tabitha. ‘It’ll look stupid with your riding-dress.’

  ‘I’m not wearing my riding-dress. I’m going to wear my new blue satin,’ replied Amy flatly. And then, ‘Meg – is it really true about meeting your one true love on May morning?’

  ‘So they say. But it don’t happen till it’s time – and I reckon this year’s a bit soon for you, my duck.’