by Stella Riley
‘And have been for some years?’ The Italian laid down the exquisite antique cameo he had been inspecting and advanced with his usual lurking smile. ‘You are, as ever, more than welcome. But do I detect a note of discontent?’
‘Why bother to be tactful?’ returned Richard, grasping the outstretched hand. ‘The truth is that I’m in a bloody bad mood because I’ve torn myself away from Thorne Ash when I’d much sooner have stayed, only to find the House wasting time on the nation’s morals instead of its safety.’ He paused and looked around. ‘Giacomo says business is booming. Is it?’
Toby snorted and muttered something unintelligible.
‘Giacomo,’ explained the signor, ‘is not a goldsmith. This basically means that as long as customers bring us commissions, he’s happy. Tobias, on the other hand, regards most of what we are doing at present as sacrilege; a point of view with which I occasionally find myself in sympathy. In short, we are melting things down.’
‘Ah. Yes. In times of uncertainty, people tend to prefer ready coin.’
‘They also like their assets to be easily portable. Salts and candlesticks, for example, are becoming ingots. As for the jewellery we’ve been buying, most of that goes for the melt as well because there’s no market for it at present – and the vast majority of it is clumsily made. I have my reputation to consider, after all.’
‘Not to mention making the odd crust on the transaction?’
‘Quite. How else,’ asked Luciano sardonically, ‘do you think we poor artisans are able to meet the forced loans demanded of us by your associates in the House?’
Richard winced. ‘Enough said. But don’t think you’re the only sufferer. The taxes on Thorne Ash have risen to the point of iniquity.’
‘And this is only the beginning.’ Luciano paused to look across at Toby. ‘If you’ve finished what you were doing and would care to make yourself presentable, you may join your father and me upstairs.’ And then, to Richard, ‘You’ll stay to dine?’
‘With pleasure.’
Throughout the meal Richard confined himself to family matters, giving his son all the news from Thorne Ash. And it was thus that he discovered that Toby had been seeing a good deal of Amy … and, more significantly, Amy’s husband.
‘He’s a good fellow – though how he puts up with Amy, I don’t know. She seems to get sillier every day,’ said Toby, part-way through his third portion of pie. ‘Geoffrey’s all right, though. He’s been showing me how his new presses work.’
‘I thought,’ remarked Richard, ‘that he was continuing in the book-binding business?’
‘He is. But he says the future lies in the printed word.’
‘Thinking of changing trades, Tobias?’ asked the Italian.
‘No. But I wouldn’t mind having a go on one of those machines. In my time off, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ agreed Richard mildly. ‘And what is Geoffrey printing?’
‘Oh – this and that. Just experimenting, really.’ Toby became suddenly vague. ‘Tabitha wrote that Kate’s Mr Clifford is with the King. I suppose that means she won’t be able to marry him, doesn’t it? After all, it’s bad enough having Celia in the family.’
Richard’s answer was to bend a satiric gaze upon his son and make a mental note to visit Geoffrey Cox quite soon. But later, when Toby left him alone with his host, he said reflectively, ‘He’s right, of course. Celia is becoming a problem – for which I blame myself. I should have played the magisterial father for once.’
‘Perhaps.’ Luciano refilled his glass and pushed the bottle across the board. Richard noticed that the emerald had been replaced with a plainly-set sapphire so dark it was almost black. ‘You could hardly have foreseen the current situation, however. Has Eden voiced any regrets?’
‘No – and won’t even if he has them. But the wretched girl never stops carping.’ Richard stared gloomily into his glass. ‘You know, Dorothy and I used to congratulate ourselves on having reared sensible children. Now look at them. Eden’s married to a selfish shrew; Amy had to be hustled to the altar before she could ruin herself; and I suspect that Toby is up to no good with son-in-law Geoffrey. All I need now is for Tabitha to run off with a troupe of mummers or decide to take the veil and we’ll have a full set.’
If Luciano noticed the obvious omission, he refrained from remarking on it and said instead, ‘My God. You really are depressed, aren’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’ Richard emptied his glass and then sighed. ‘The world’s going mad. And as if that - on top of everything I’ve already said - were not enough, Kate’s half-tied to a man who – if she marries him – will let her lead him by the nose.’
‘Then stop her.’ The tone was negligent but the dark eyes were watchful. ‘She’s not stupid. Perhaps this is what she wants.’
‘I’m fairly sure it isn’t. She’ll never admit it, of course … but I think there’s someone else. A man she believes her mother and I will find unacceptable. And young Clifford is the wall she’s hiding behind.’
‘Not the best solution, perhaps,’ remarked Luciano. ‘But if this man is unsuitable --’
‘Dorothy might think so,’ shrugged Richard. ‘I don’t.’
‘You know who he is?’
‘I’ve a shrewd idea, yes. And, assuming that he were to return Kate’s regard, I think he’d suit … in every respect save one.’
‘Only one? You’ve found a paragon.’
‘Since that’s the last thing Kate needs - far from it.’ An odd smile invested Richard’s mouth. ‘Do I really need to spell it out?’
The blue-black gaze grew suddenly opaque.
‘Why should you? It’s no business of mine.’
‘No? My mistake, then. I thought it was.’
‘Forget it, Richard.’ Luciano came abruptly to his feet. ‘I recognise the compliment and am honoured by it. Kate is … a remarkable girl and it’s possible, I suppose, that she has a passing fancy for me at the moment. But that will fade fast enough – which is just as well since, given my current circumstances, marriage is something I neither want nor have time for. And now, if you don’t mind, we’ll change the subject.’
‘As you wish.’ Although Richard noticed that Luciano did not speak of his own feelings in the matter, he refrained from commenting on it. With perfect equanimity, he refilled his glass and leaned back. ‘Tell me about Genoa.’
Seeing, but choosing to ignore, the glimmer of amusement lurking in the grey eyes, Luciano said, ‘You want the minutiae? I paid my dues and found my uncle in mercifully robust health. Then I listened to all Cousin Carlo’s usual reminders of what will happen when that health fails – or better still, I can’t repay on time.’
‘I don’t follow. What will happen?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Luciano shrugged and sat down again. ‘It’s very simple. My uncle lent me a spectacularly large sum of money for a period of ten years. The term expires in April of 1646. But if Vittorio dies before then and my bond falls into the hands of my beloved cousin, he’ll foreclose on me.’ A wry smile touched the fine-boned face. ‘You will therefore appreciate that, for the next three-and-a-half years, I exist within a hair’s breadth of ruin. If I’m astute and - more important – lucky, I may avoid it. Otherwise … not.’
‘You don’t need luck,’ said Richard, aghast. ‘You need a bloody miracle! And all so you can play Nemesis to four men who may not even still be alive? It can’t be worth it.’
‘That depends on your point of view. In other respects, however, you’re quite right. They may all be dead. I already know that one of them is.’
‘Giles Langley? Yes. I could have told you that.’
There was silence for a moment. Then, his tone suspiciously mellow, the Italian said, ‘I am aware of it. I believe, however, I had some idea of not involving you further on account of your connection with the family. It seems I wasted my time. But what really interests me is how you know.’
‘Kate told me.’
‘Kat
e?’
‘Yes. It’s not so surprising really. You spoke to Gervase; Gervase spoke to Francis; Francis spoke to Kate. And Kate was curious enough to mention it to me. I, of course, simply put two and two together.’
‘I see.’
‘Well you must have expected something of the sort,’ argued Richard reasonably. ‘And as for keeping me out of it – it’s a bit late for that, surely? So you might as well tell me what, if anything, you found out about the late Mr Langley … and also the names of the others on the list. Who knows? I may be able to help you.’
‘Are you sure you want to? As I understood it, you consider the whole business futile to the point of lunacy.’
‘The word,’ said Richard, ‘is suicidal. But since no amount of talking will stop you, the sooner you get it over with, the better it will be.’
A glint of sardonic humour appeared.
‘So I can court Kate?’
‘So you can keep the shirt on your back. Well?’
Sighing faintly, Luciano laid his fingers on the edge of the polished board and, gazing down at them, said, ‘Giles Langley died twelve years ago when he fell into the river and drowned. It would be helpful to know whether this was an accident or murder or suicide – but I doubt we ever shall. As for the rest – the only other thing I know is that he invested somewhat catastrophically in the Cadiz expedition.’
‘That fiasco? Well I suppose it might account for him either borrowing from your father or killing himself. Anything else?’
‘No. The difficulty lies in knowing what questions to task. So rather than waste any more time on what is clearly a dead end, I’ve got Selim scouring London for some trace of one Thomas Ferrars. Ever heard of him?’
‘No. I don’t believe so.’
‘What about Ahiram Webb or Robert Brandon?’
The grey eyes narrowed a little and Richard took his time about answering. Then he said slowly, ‘Webb … no. But the name Brandon rings a distant bell.’ He paused again and then shook his head. ‘No. I can’t place it. I can, however, make a few enquiries for you.’
‘Thank you. I am, as ever, in your debt.’
‘Mm.’ Richard surveyed him aridly. ‘You still haven’t told me what you intend to do if and when you catch up with these men.’
‘No.’ The lean mouth curled in a brilliant, impersonal smile. ‘I haven’t, have I?’
* * *
A week later and acting on the only scrap of information that Selim had managed to glean, Luciano del Santi left Toby with enough work to keep him gainfully employed till All Saints and Giacomo with instructions to keep a close eye on him – then departed quietly for Buckingham.
He had mistimed his journey, he soon realised, by at least a day.
The trouble was that the Great Cuckold, sometimes known as the Earl of Essex and currently Parliament’s commander-in-chief, had chosen the same day to lead his motley troops out of London for the purpose of joining with the Midland forces at Northampton. The result was that the road was jammed tight - not only with a slow-moving column of men and horses - but also with baggage-waggons, heavy artillery and Lord Essex’s private coach, to the rear of which was strapped a rather splendid coffin.
This, at first sight, was undeniably amusing and, beneath its luxuriant moustache, even Selim’s mouth was seen to twitch. But by the time they had been condemned to idling along behind the lumbering cavalcade for the best part of a day on a road bounded by high hedges, Luciano had lost all desire to laugh along with most of his patience. Fortunately, however, the parting of the ways came in the nick of time to avert an explosion. The army headed north by way of Stony Stratford and the signor, with relief, set his face towards Aylesbury.
They arrived in Buckingham only a day later than expected and racked up at the Swan and Castle. Selim found a serving-girl to dally with and Luciano spent the majority of the night trying to keep a curb on his hopes.
This, as it turned out, proved to have been a useful exercise; for when they finally arrived at the modest manor on the outskirts of the town to which Selim had received vague directions, it was to be met with the frigidly delivered intelligence that the Thomas Ferrars they sought – being but a distant cousin – was at no time to be found there. And then, with barely concealed distaste, the information that, if Tom owed them money they were unlikely to get it, but could best find out by pursuing him to his own house near Worcester.
Having subsequently been shown the door, Luciano saw nothing to be gained by lingering. He therefore turned on to the Brackley road and resigned himself to another tedious ride.
Selim followed silently, his hawk-like countenance swathed in gloom. Finally he said heavily, ‘A thousand pardons, efendim. I have failed you.’
Pulled from his abstraction, the Italian looked back with faint surprise.
‘Failed me? How? It’s entirely due to you that we now know where to look.’
‘Then what are you thinking?’
‘That the road to Worcester leads through Banbury and Stratford – and is likely to be alive with troops from either side.’
‘Oh.’ Selim considered this for a mile or so and then said cautiously, ‘Since our way lies so close, will you visit your lady sister?’
‘With your misdemeanour still so fresh in everyone’s mind? Hardly. Unless,’ finished Luciano del Santi smoothly, ‘you are eager to see your daughter?’
Selim sniffed disdainfully and relapsed into silence.
They entered Brackley in the early part of the afternoon and immediately found Luciano’s forebodings justified. A dozen or more horses were tied up outside the inn and an unlikely collection of would-be soldiers lounged against walls or strolled aimlessly about the street.
‘Damn,’ said Luciano softly. And then, looking more closely, ‘And thrice damn. Now … do we go hungry and slip quietly through?’
‘Efendim?’
‘Or … no,’ sighed the signor. ‘Too late.’
‘You!’ spat Tom Tripp, erupting at Selim’s side. ‘Been sneaking after Meg again, have you – you bloody heathen bastard?’
Selim stared down his magnificent nose.
‘I,’ he announced, ‘do not sneak. And if you cannot hold your woman – is this my fault?’
White with temper, Tom grabbed the Turk’s bridle.
‘Get down.’
Selim smiled and fingered his knife.
‘You wish to fight?’
‘I wish to ram your teeth down your throat,’ snapped Mr Tripp. ‘Get down, you fornicating bugger.’
‘Tom.’ His voice crisp and cool, Eden Maxwell stood framed in the tavern doorway. ‘I have every sympathy, believe me – but I can’t have you brawling in front of the men. If you must settle this, get yourselves off behind the inn and do it in private.’
‘Suits me,’ said Tom grimly. And to Selim, ‘Coming? Or are you too scared?’
‘Scared? Of the braying son of an ass? Ha!’ scoffed Selim, already preparing to dismount. Then, belatedly, ‘I may go, efendim?’
‘I suppose you’d better,’ sighed Luciano. ‘But your knife stays with me.’
‘But efendim --’
‘With me, Selim. Or you’ll have to let Mr Maxwell’s groom think what he will.’
For the first time, Eden allowed his gaze to encompass the man who’d bedded Celia’s mother and spoken disparagingly of Celia herself. Then, putting aside his instinctive dislike, he said, ‘Quite right. And I’ll take Tom’s sword.’ He looked at the two protagonists. ‘Well? It’s fists or nothing. Take it or leave it.’
‘We’ll take it,’ said Tom, pulling off his sword and watching his foe reluctantly handing over his ornate knife. ‘Let’s go.’
When Selim had departed in Tom’s wake, Luciano dropped lightly from the saddle and approached Eden.
‘It seems that you and I are left to be sociable. Will you share a bottle of wine with me?’
‘I’ll take ale, if it’s all the same to you,’ replied Eden tersely. ‘We’ve a four
-hour march this afternoon.’
‘Ah. Don’t tell me. You’re off to join Lord Essex in Northampton.’
‘Yes. So the sooner Tom and your fellow finish pulverising each other, the better.’
It was not until they were sitting inside and the Italian had ordered food that Eden asked the obvious question.
‘Have you been to Thorne Ash?’
‘No. And neither am I going there.’
‘Oh.’ It wasn’t, Eden decided, worth asking the fellow where he was going; nor did he really care. So, in an effort to maintain conversation, he said, ‘How’s Toby?’
‘Taller than when you last saw him – but otherwise much the same. His latest craze, fostered by your new brother-in-law, is for printing. But I suppose that’s better than rushing off to join somebody’s little army.’
Eden surveyed him without favour.
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’
‘Does it matter what I think?’
‘Not in the slightest. But before you start sneering, you might try remembering that we’re only doing this because we care about our country’s future. Nobody wants this war, but --’
‘Don’t they? You surprise me,’ interposed the Italian sardonically. ‘If that were so, surely everyone would be staying by their own hearth? But no doubt the finer points are lost on a mere foreigner.’
‘No doubt,’ snapped Eden, annoyed that he couldn’t think of a suitably annihilating answer. ‘But I’m sure that won’t stop you from making a healthy profit.’
‘We can but hope,’ came the silky reply. ‘And now, before we end up finishing this in the back yard with Selim and your groom, I suppose I’d better ask how Gianetta is.’
‘Vastly improved in temper.’
‘Due to reduced contact with me. Quite.’ Impassive cobalt eyes met and held irritable hazel ones. ‘Is that all?’
‘No. She’s also having a cataleptic effect on pretty well every man under sixty.’
‘I see. Anyone in particular?’
‘Not that I know of – though I do recall Francis being quite stunned.’