The Black Madonna (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 1)

by Stella Riley

  Thomas began to feel that he was in the grip of a nightmare. He said unevenly, ‘So – so who owns it now?’

  ‘I am afraid that I’m not at liberty to tell you,’ came the unhelpful reply.

  ‘But you’ve got to tell me! I’m desperate, can’t you understand? I need money now – and if I don’t know who holds my bond, how am I to enlarge it?’

  ‘It would seem that you can’t.’

  ‘But the damned butcher won’t supply us with meat!’ cried Mr Ferrars with unwary candour. ‘God rot it – I’ve got to do something!’ And then, violently, ‘Will you lend me money?’

  ‘No. I won’t.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘Because you are obviously not a good risk, sir. For example – what collateral can you offer me? House? Lands?’

  Mr Ferrars’ gaze dropped.

  ‘Mortgaged,’ he muttered. And then, with one last flicker of hope, ‘But my wife’s jewels are worth a fortune.’

  ‘Then I suggest you sell them. I am not a pawnbroker. Alternatively, you might try one who is – or go to the other money-lenders in the town. Someone may be prepared to accommodate you. I, sadly, am not.’

  ‘But --’

  ‘You have my last word, Mr Ferrars. There is nothing left to be said.’ Signor Morello opened the door and bowed slightly. ‘I’m sorry your visit was unproductive. Good-day, sir.’

  White to the lips, Thomas went.

  The signor shut the door gently behind him … and seconds later, Luciano del Santi walked in from the other room where he had been listening.

  ‘That,’ he remarked, ‘was quite masterly. I’m in your debt.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ Signor Morello looked curiously at him. ‘What will you do now? Call him to see you and then foreclose?’

  ‘Eventually, perhaps.’ Luciano contemplated the sapphire that had replaced the lost emerald on his finger and then looked up. ‘But it would be a pity to end Mr Ferrars’ lesson too soon. And I really don’t think I can resist the temptation to let him sweat a little longer.’

  He was smiling. But Signor Morello, meeting that smile, felt a chill make its way down his back.

  * * *

  Towards the end of the month, the Master of the Mint reached Oxford with his own original dies and a goodly part of the bullion from the Tower. He took cheerful possession of Luciano’s handiwork and complimented him on its quality before destroying it; then he sought out the medallists Rawlins and Briot and got down to the serious business of making money at New Inn Hall.

  His Majesty also returned to turn the town and its environs upside down with war preparations – which might have annoyed the worthy citizens a good deal more than it did but for the money they were suddenly able to make on food and clothes and beds. Consequently, few people complained about the cattle inhabiting the Christ Church quadrangle or New College being stuffed with explosive devices or even the incessant hammering accompanying the construction of drawbridges in the School of Rhetoric; and the Wolvercot sword factory was actually a welcome source of employment, along with the Osney gunpowder mill. In short, the town – though chaotic – was thriving; and in no time at all, this – coupled with the news that Londoners were paying forced loans to the Parliament – had the townsfolk happily building earthworks alongside the students.

  Relieved of his responsibility towards Salvatore Morello, Luciano let another week go by before inviting Thomas Ferrars to call on him at the Mitre. Then he told Selim to stay out of sight, put on his best sable satin and sat down with his back to the light to await his guest.

  The knock on his door was a little early, causing Luciano to smile. And then, for the first time, Thomas Ferrars was before him, hovering uncertainly on the threshold while he peered into the shadows. Luciano remained motionless in the high-backed chair and conducted his own leisurely appraisal.

  Of moderate height and angular build, the fellow had slightly receding dun-coloured hair and the glassy, myopic gaze of a rabbit. His clothes were good but by no means extravagant and he looked eviscerated with sleeplessness and worry. Not, thought Luciano, the villain of one’s imagination … but appearances, as everyone knew, were often misleading.

  He said dispassionately, ‘You may shut the door, Mr Ferrars. I rarely bite.’

  Thomas started and did as he was bidden so fast that a gust of smoke billowed from the fireplace. He coughed and took a couple of hesitant steps towards the disembodied voice in the chair. ‘Signor d-del Santi?’

  ‘None other.’ A pause; and then, ‘I have no objection to your being seated.’

  Mr Ferrars sank unhappily down on the only other chair which was placed at some distance from his host and bathed in pale, merciless sunlight. Then, twisting his hat nervously between his hands, he said, ‘Are you the – is it you who --’

  ‘Holds your bond?’ finished Luciano helpfully. ‘Yes. It is. You wish to discuss the matter?’

  ‘No. I just want to increase it,’ came the bald reply. ‘Now. That is – today.’

  ‘I see. By how much?’

  ‘Fif-fifteen hundred.’

  ‘As much as that?’ The bland voice was mildly astonished. ‘And can you afford it?’

  ‘Yes – yes. You needn’t worry about that.’

  ‘But I do worry, Mr Ferrars. If I didn’t, I could soon find myself in a position not dissimilar to your own. But let us consider the figures.’ Luciano reached out to the table at his side and picked up the topmost paper from the neat pile lying there. ‘As matters stand, you are indebted to me for the sum of two thousand eight hundred and forty pounds. And --’

  ‘But I only borrowed two thousand!’ said Thomas, aghast.

  ‘Quite. There is, however, the small matter of the interest – and, as you are doubtless aware, quarter-day is fast approaching. I’m sure you see my difficulty. If you are in urgent need of fifteen hundred pounds now, it seems unlikely that you will be able to produce the necessary nine hundred or so in a couple of weeks’ time. And if I advance the extra funds you require and the interest is not forthcoming, you will then owe almost four-and-a-half thousand.’ Luciano smiled and spread his hands. ‘Without some rather more … tangible security, I really don’t think I can help you.’

  There was an odd sort of buzzing in Thomas’s head. He said chokingly, ‘You don’t understand – I’ve got to do something! None of the damned tradesmen will supply us with so much as a candle. And my wife … my wife …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s worn d-down with anxiety.’

  Something about the quality of the silence told Mr Ferrars that the euphemism had failed to convince and he racked his tired brain for a way of putting it right. Then the beautiful, disturbing voice said invitingly, ‘You appear to be in a great deal of trouble. Perhaps it might help if you were to tell me how it has come about.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation. Then, at his wits’ end and past caring, Thomas told him.

  Luciano listened without surprise to the catalogue of Alice Ferrars’ extravagance and with faint contempt to that of her husband’s foolish indulgence. And finally, when it was done, he said with apparent carelessness, ‘You must love her very much. How long have you been married?’

  ‘Since the early spring of ’28,’ said Thomas wretchedly. ‘And even then I had to --’ He stopped abruptly and drew a ragged breath. ‘None of this matters. Will you advance me some more money or not?’

  ‘All things, however unlikely, are possible. I will consider it.’

  ‘But --’

  ‘I said I will consider it, Mr Ferrars – and with that you will have to be satisfied. You may call on me again … shall we say the day after tomorrow? And, in the meantime, I suggest you decide what security you can offer me and whether, should I choose to impose any other conditions, you will be prepared to meet them.’

  ‘Will you take my wife’s jewels?’ he asked jerkily. Alice had so far refused to part with so much as a pin; but if he could tell her the stuff was merely
being held in trust, she might … and if the worst came to the worst, he would have to steal them. He couldn’t take much more of this.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Then I’ll bring them.’ He rose, still crumpling his hat. ‘As for the rest – I’ll do anything you want. Only you’ll have to advance me some money now. I can’t last two days. There’s scarcely a crumb in the house.’

  There was a long, poisonous silence and then Luciano tossed a small purse to him.

  ‘Five pounds, Mr Ferrars. Tell your wife that several families could eat well for a week on that.’

  Thomas extended a clumsy hand and the purse dropped with a clink at his feet. He bent stiffly to pick it up. He didn’t have much in the way of pride, but just now he felt like a whore. Worse still, he was cold with fright and wishing he need never see this man again.

  He said dully, ‘You don’t have to humiliate me. I’ve no choice but to dance to your tune, have I?’

  ‘Unless you resign yourself to a debtor’s prison – no,’ began Luciano pleasantly. And then stopped in response to an imperious tattoo on the door.

  For a moment, he hesitated. He neither expected nor wanted visitors – and he hoped to God it wasn’t Selim. Then, when the summons was repeated, he irritably bade the intruder enter.

  It was, ludicrously, the last person he’d have thought of.

  ‘Well, well,’ drawled Francis Langley. ‘It really is you. When Goring said he’d seen your servant leaving here, I was so convinced he was mistaken I wagered a bottle of canary on it. Ah well. One mustn’t repine.’ He paused, as if becoming aware for the first time of a third presence. ‘But I interrupt, it seems. A thousand apologies.’

  ‘One will suffice.’ The smooth tones had suddenly acquired an edge like a razor. ‘But as it happens, this gentleman is just leaving.’

  ‘Not, I hope, on my account?’

  ‘N-no. Not at all.’ Thomas rammed the purse in his pocket and headed gratefully for the door. Then, turning, ‘Till Wednesday then, Signor. G-good-day.’ And, slithering gratefully to the door, he vanished.

  For a moment, Francis’s eyes followed him thoughtfully.

  ‘Now where have I seen him before? And quite recently, too.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Rising wraith-like from his chair, Luciano crossed to the hearth. ‘Or do you want a list of all my debtors?’

  ‘Ah – of course!’ Francis closed the door and sauntered into the room. ‘I saw him yesterday, trying to talk to Cyrus Winter – presumably about the same matter that brought him to you and, judging by the look on his face, with as little success. What it must be to have money. Do you enjoy the power? Or would you prefer the rags of respectability?’

  ‘Do you have a point to make?’ The Renaissance face was bereft of expression. ‘Or did you merely call to indulge in a little moral philosophy?’

  ‘You don’t find it amusing?’ Francis laid his hat and gloves on the table and then, dropping his theatrical manner, said, ‘But that wasn’t what I came to say. I want to know what the devil you mean by meddling with Kate Maxwell.’

  ‘Ah.’ Understanding dawned. ‘You’ve been talking to Mr Clifford. How is he?’

  ‘Distraught.’

  ‘Obviously. If he wasn’t, he’d presumably have a better care for the lady’s reputation. Perhaps you might drop a word in his ear.’

  ‘Perhaps I might. But it wasn’t Kit I came to talk about. He can look after himself.’

  ‘And Kate can’t?’ The dark gaze was politely incredulous. ‘Either you don’t know her very well or, with Mr Clifford so neatly disposed of, you’re hoping to step in yourself. If you still want to amuse me, you could try telling me which.’

  Francis curbed a distressingly crude impulse to hit him and said contemptuously, ‘I’ve a better idea. Why don’t you try accepting that – though Richard Maxwell may be happy to associate with a gutter-bred leech – he’s not so lax that he’d ever give his daughter to one. Unless, that is, the bastard had seduced her.’

  Luciano’s flicker of ironic amusement died still-born. In a voice that could have cut bread, he said, ‘I think you have said enough, Mr Langley. More than enough, in fact. I am willing to overlook your unflattering views on myself; but if your long association with Kate doesn’t thunder the impossibility of her becoming any man’s mistress, I can only suggest that you’ve been spending too much time with rakehells like George Goring. And now I think you had better leave.’

  Francis coloured faintly but stood his ground.

  ‘Very well. I take your point. But I’ve known Kate since she was six. And with Richard in London and Eden God knows where, I still feel entitled to ask why you --’

  ‘Christ!’ Luciano was within a hair’s breadth of losing his temper. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I was cutting the bloody cord. Unless you wanted her put in the same position as your sister?’

  ‘Oh.’ Completely taken aback, Francis thought about it for a moment or two. ‘Yes. I see.’

  ‘Bring on the drums and cymbals.’

  ‘Give me a little credit! How could I be expected to guess? You’re not exactly well-known for your caring nature, are you?’

  ‘No. And, having been cast as Beelzebub, it’s unfair of me to step out of character, isn’t it? But if you’re going back to hold Clifford’s hand and tell him that what he saw meant nothing, I may as well have saved myself the trouble. Well?’

  ‘I,’ remarked Francis, recovering his sangfroid, ‘am discretion itself. If required, I will even swear an oath of silence … or, better still, drink to exquisite secrecy.’ He smiled artlessly. ‘Having cleared the misconceptions, let us progress to more interesting matters. Did I mention that I had met your sister?’

  * * *

  While Luciano was entertaining first his unsuspecting quarry and then Francis Langley, a party of dragoons under the twin leadership of Harry Wilmot and Lord Digby were rampaging their way through Marlborough – partly for the sake of the cloth, cheese and cash they brought back, but mainly for the greater glory of Wilmot and Digby. They returned full of bravado and beer to cock a metaphoric snook at Prince Rupert, whose growing influence was beginning to chafe them; and then they rounded off the affair in style by keeping half the town awake all night with a wildly successful supper-party at the Angel.

  On Wednesday morning, Luciano prepared precisely as before for what he expected to be his final meeting with Thomas Ferrars. Having equipped himself with every advantage he could think of, it did not seem that anything could go wrong this time … nor, with the clock ticking steadily away in Genoa, must it be allowed to do so.

  Thomas arrived, shaking, on the stroke of eleven and sat on the same strategically placed chair he had occupied before. Then, addressing the shadowy figure of the man who was either his torturer or his life-line, he said abruptly, ‘I – I’ve brought them. Alice’s jewels.’

  ‘Put them on the table. I’ll look at them presently. I trust your wife saw the wisdom of surrendering them?’

  ‘No.’ Thomas tugged at his collar, recalling the horrible scene when Alice had caught him emptying her coffer and the unbelievably cruel things she had said. ‘No. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Then let us address the business in hand.’ Luciano surveyed his prey clinically and took his time about continuing. Then he said coolly, ‘As matters stand, you are completely insolvent. The shop-keepers of the town will supply you with no further goods until your various accounts are paid – but you can’t do that without increasing the already substantial amount you owe me. None of the other money-lenders will touch you with an eighteen-foot pike … and even wealthy acquaintances such as Cyrus Winter are loath to help you.’ He paused and, in response to the other man’s expression, said, ‘How do I know that? Suffice it to say that the extent of my knowledge might surprise you. However … to resume. You’ve brought me security in the form of jewellery to support both your existing bond and the additional sum you have asked for – and presently we shall determine if i
t is equal to the task. But first we have to consider the fact that, in a little over a week, I shall require you to pay me the last quarter’s interest. And we both know you won’t be able to do it.’

  Ferrars’ skin felt clammy and he could see the bottom of the pit rushing up to meet him. In a voice which seemed to come from a long way off, he said, ‘You’re refusing me?’

  ‘At the moment I am merely establishing the precariousness of your position,’ came the maddeningly calm reply. ‘It seems to have escaped your notice that this is not simply a question of whether I will or will not help you out of your present predicament. It is whether or not I will bankrupt you.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Ferrars drove his face into his hands. ‘Oh God. What can I do?’

  ‘You can cast your mind back to the year of your marriage,’ said Luciano with severely controlled impassivity. ‘And you can tell me everything you know about the trial of Alessandro Falcieri.’

  The lank brown head came up revealing a face contorted with shock.

  ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘You heard me. The case of Rex versus Falcieri – in which you and three others gave evidence for the prosecution.’ There was a long, terrible silence. ‘The case in which you perjured yourself for the purpose of sending an innocent man to the gallows. I’m sure you remember it. And please don’t try convincing me that you don’t know what I’m talking about or that you didn’t lie under oath. I’ve spoken to Samuel Fisher.’ Luciano took a folded document from the table and held it lightly between his fingers. ‘I also have the trial record.’

  Ferrars seemed to shrink in his chair. He said, ‘Then you know it all. There’s n-nothing more I can tell you.’

  ‘On the contrary. You can tell me how it was done … and why.’ An undercurrent of nameless danger flowed through the melodious voice. ‘You ought to be grateful, Mr Ferrars. I am giving you the chance to unburden your soul and engage my sympathy. Or would you rather I had simply sent someone to knife you in the back one dark night? Surely not. And you must have realised that – after so long and with what I already know – nothing you can say is likely to make matters any worse for you than they are at this minute.’