by Stella Riley
‘I do. You can tell him that Kit Clifford is dead. I’m sure he’ll be interested. And if he isn’t,’ said Kate unevenly, ‘if he isn’t … it’s high time he gave his conscience a thorough scouring.’
* * *
April dragged by on leaden feet. In the outside world, Prince Rupert finally reduced Lichfield and battered his way into Birmingham, while Lord Essex settled down to besiege Reading and the Parliament finally recalled its last troupe of Peace Commissioners from Oxford. Reading fell and gave Essex the opportunity to inform the House that he could undertake no further action until his troops were paid; London was full of beggars, Irish refugees and wounded soldiers, and was still being forced to pay for the war on no better security than the so-called public faith; and the King, with an eye to his long-term prospects, wrote to the Earl of Ormonde in Dublin and told him to obtain a truce with the rebel Irish so that he could recruit and despatch to England as many troops of either nationality as could be raised.
At Thorne Ash, meanwhile, Hugo Verney arrived to examine the accounts in a manner as cursory as it was embarrassed and then took reluctant possession of half of the last quarter’s rents. He made no attempt to get Celia alone and indeed, as far as anyone was aware, barely spoke to her; but when he had gone, Celia’s mood was noticeably mellower and Tabitha insisted that she had actually heard her singing.
‘I daresay you did,’ was Kate’s caustic reply. ‘She’s so pleased to see us contributing towards the King’s war, she hasn’t the sense to work out that it’s her son’s inheritance His Majesty is playing ducks and drakes with.’
Brief letters arrived from Amy, who was finding war-time London a big disappointment and thinking it might be more entertaining to spend the summer in the bosom of her family; and longer ones from Richard, who was apparently enmeshed in the intricacies of various committees and missing both his wife and the civilised company of Luciano del Santi. Kate wondered precisely what fun Amy thought they were having out here in Oxfordshire; said it would be wonderful if Father could take a holiday; and kept her mouth firmly closed on the subject of the Italian.
It was, however, all very well to practise self-deception when he was several hundred miles away, Kate acknowledged irritably to herself. The problem came when he was standing in front of her … and, unfortunately, it was always the same problem. She sat back on her heels and stared unseeingly at the rose bush she was transplanting. Just now, she blamed him for causing her to send Kit away, hurt and angry, to his death; for leaving her with feelings and memories she could never quite shake off; and for compounding everything with the confusing gift of the bracelet. But none of that would survive her first sight of him. The lasting truth, as she had once obliquely admitted to Eden, was that Luciano del Santi was the only man she would ever want; and it seemed that nothing he did could change it.
‘In which case,’ she muttered, furiously hammering down the earth, ‘I may as well resign myself to dying an old maid.’
‘Kate? Kate!’ Tabitha’s voice drifted excitedly down from the gatehouse. ‘Somebody’s coming.’
‘Troopers?’ Kate scrambled to her feet and started up the steps, brushing soil from her hands as she went. ‘Or friends?’
‘I don’t know. Oh heavens! No – it can’t be!’
‘Can’t be who?’ snapped Kate, emerging at her side. And then, in tones of complete disbelief, ‘No. I’m seeing things.’
‘That makes two of us then,’ grinned Tabitha, gathering up her skirts. ‘Either that – or it’s Uncle Ivo.’
Kate stayed where she was while Tabitha ran on ahead. It wasn’t just Uncle Ivo. It was also another man she’d never seen before, a couple of servants and a familiar marigold head. Whether by accident or design, Ivo Courtenay appeared to have brought Danny O’Flaherty with him. For the first time in several weeks, Kate smiled and, as she made her way back down the steps, reflected that it was just as well Amy had not come home to roost just yet.
Richard Maxwell always maintained that Dorothy’s brother had a unique talent for mayhem that would one day get him hanged – and it was certainly true that Ivo was anything but dull. Tall and loose-limbed, his hair the colour of beech-leaves, he led his little cavalcade into the courtyard and dropped carelessly from the saddle to give his sister a quick, hard hug.
‘Well, Dolly. Surprised to see me?’
‘Not at all. We were beginning to wonder what was keeping you,’ she retorted. And then, ‘You look tired.’
‘And you look younger than ever. I don’t know how you do it with that lunatic brood of yours running wild in the house.’ He winked at Tabitha, making her giggle.
‘Well, you know how it is,’ shrugged Dorothy. ‘We keep leaving them out in the woods but the fairies don’t take them. Not that they can take Eden or Toby or Amy because they aren’t here. Kate, on the other hand, is just behind you.’
He swung round and stopped dead, saying, ‘Little Kate? It can’t be! I haven’t been away that long, surely?’ Then, turning to his unknown companion, he said, ‘Will you look at this, Liam? A houseful of beautiful women, no less. Where are your complaints now, I wonder?’ And, without giving him time to reply, ‘But come down from your horse, man, and be introduced. Dolly – this is Liam Aherne of Kildare. And if you’re especially nice to him, he may overlook the fact that I’m only a Protestant Englishman and allow me to marry his sister.’
Tall, dark and possessed of stormy grey eyes and a mouth like a steel trap, Liam Aherne bowed to Dorothy and calmly remarked that pigs might fly.
‘He’ll come round to the idea,’ said Ivo airily. ‘And in the meantime, I daresay you remember Danny-boy here. I sent him to you a while back with some letters.’
‘Yes.’ Dorothy surveyed the understandably anxious young man with faint amusement. ‘But why are we standing here? I presume you’ve time to come in and take a glass of wine?’
‘At last! And there I was thinking it was a damned dry house you were keeping and wondering if you’d all turned Puritan while I’ve been away.’
‘Goodness, no,’ responded Kate, mildly indignant. ‘Why, a bottle of raspberry cordial doesn’t last the month in this house.’ And then, grasping Tabitha’s wrist while the others went inside, hissed urgently, ‘Where’s Celia?’
‘Out riding again, I suppose. Why?’
‘Because Uncle Ivo and that dangerous-looking friend of his don’t know what Daniel got up to with Amy and it might be better to leave it that way.’
In the parlour, Ivo was fortifying himself with Richard’s best claret in between a stream of airy witticisms. The sight of Danny lurking miserably in a corner immediately aroused Tabitha’s ready sympathy and sent her over to join him. Kate, on the other hand, sat down by her mother and took a long critical look at the grimly silent Mr Aherne.
He was a little younger than Ivo, probably not much past thirty, and he looked as though he’d be more at home in the saddle brandishing a sword than sitting in Mother’s best chair, sipping wine. If he’d trouble to smile, thought Kate, he’d probably turn out to be quite spectacular. But he didn’t look as if that was something he did often … and a more unlikely friend for Uncle Ivo she couldn’t imagine.
Then, as Ivo paused for breath, the Irishman said suddenly to Dorothy, ‘I’m told your husband sits in the Parliament?’
Her brows rose a little. ‘Yes. He does.’
‘Ah. And was he sitting there, by any chance, on the day they decided to murder Black Tom Strafford?’
‘If you mean was he there at the time of the trial – yes, he was,’ replied Dorothy calmly. ‘But if you’re asking whether he voted for the attainder, the answer is that he didn’t. Does that mean that you may now drink your wine with a clear conscience?’
Liam Aherne crossed one long leg over the other and looked austerely back at her.
‘Well, now, it might at that. But at this stage, I wouldn’t like to be sure of it.’
There was a brief, tricky silence.
Then Ivo
sighed and, in a tone of surprising crispness, said, ‘All right. Having dispensed with the pleasantries, I suppose it’s time for the nasty truth. You can’t fail to know something of what’s happening in Ireland. The removal of Strafford paved the way for it and his death lit the fuse. But the rebellion is not against the King. It’s against the Puritanism coming out of Westminster and the more recent Protestant settlers and the rank mishandling of both the Catholics and the Anglo-Irish.’ He paused and then, spreading his hands, said, ‘Dolly, I don’t want to let this become personal. But Ireland’s my home now and I don’t like what’s happening to it.’
‘So why are you here?’ she asked.
‘To see the King and hopefully persuade him of a few realities.’
‘Have you heard of the Irish Catholic Confederacy at all?’ asked Liam Aherne softly. ‘It’s been set up these several months in Kilkenny and on its seal are the words ‘Irishmen united for God, King and Country’. It would be a nice thing, so it would, if His Majesty were to recognise it.’
‘He can’t,’ said Kate bluntly. ‘After all the tales of rebel atrocities we’ve heard, it would cost him support here that he can’t afford to lose.’
Ivo and Liam exchanged enigmatic glances.
‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Ivo, at length. ‘But Ireland needs a truce and needs it badly if we’re not to go on living in futile, bloody stalemate.’
‘Is it really as bad as we’ve heard?’ asked Tabitha.
‘That would depend, would it not, on what you’ve been told?’ responded Mr Aherne. ‘But it’s bad enough. The land’s been devastated and filled with the starving and homeless – while here in England soft-skinned gentlemen take their ease from the profits they’ve made off the backs of the Irish.’
‘You don’t like us much, do you?’ said Dorothy. ‘And I’ll admit that you probably have cause. But it does rather make me hope that Ivo isn’t serious about marrying your sister.’
For the first time since he’d arrived, the hard mouth softened a little and he said, ‘Oh he’s serious about it – and so, God strengthen her wits, is she. But for my part it’s not just the matter of him being Protestant English.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ grinned Ivo. ‘Accustomed as he is to being accounted the biggest madman in Kildare, he’s not sure he wouldn’t rather have Gibbaloney the Devil for competition than myself. True?’
‘True enough,’ agreed the Irishman. And smiled.
Tabitha’s jaw dropped and Kate suddenly found the affinity she’d been looking for. Then the door opened and Gianetta walked in.
She was wearing dark blue satin and every jewel not buried behind the hen-coop; most prominent of all, as usual, was the amethyst crucifix. Ivo and Liam rose as one while Dorothy made the introductions and, across the room, night-dark Italian eyes met cloud-grey Irish ones and locked. Gianetta stopped dead three steps into the room and Liam Aherne did not even appear to be breathing. Kate looked from one to the other and then, with a shrug, at her uncle, whose face was alight with unholy glee.
The moment stretched out to infinity before Liam, with an effort that could be felt, drew a long, uneven breath and crossed the room to the girl. He said, ‘Fairer she is than the wings of the morning. I’m sorry, alannah. I didn’t hear your name.’
‘It is Gianetta,’ she said wonderingly. ‘And – and you?’
‘I am the Aherne.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Liam, if it pleases you.’
‘Liam,’ repeated Gianetta softly. And again, with a smile, ‘Liam.’
* * *
They stayed two days – which was twenty-four hours more than had been planned before Mr Aherne had laid eyes on Signorina Falcieri del Santi – and left before Celia’s strangely tranquil detachment broke sufficiently for her to reveal Daniel’s previous misdeeds.
Gianetta stood on the gatehouse and watched until they were out of sight. Tabitha eyed her curiously for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t mean to be a killjoy – but you do think you’ll ever see him again?’
‘But of course.’ Gianetta smiled with complete serenity. ‘How can I not? I am going to marry him.’
* * *
May arrived and Celia’s remoteness survived even the news that John Pym had finally succeeded in getting Parliament to impeach the Queen. And then, discreet in the deepening twilight on an evening towards the end of the month, Eden came home.
He was leaner than when he had left; leaner, harder and more tanned. And he’d also acquired a new air of command which Kate realised they ought to have expected.
‘How long can you stay?’ asked Dorothy when the first shock and excitement of welcome was over.
‘Three or four days,’ he grinned. ‘The truth is that I’ve had enough of Lord Essex and am hoping to leave him.’
‘Leave him?’ echoed Celia. And then, suspiciously, ‘Why?’
‘Because there are other generals better worth following. It was bad enough that Essex left the London road open to the King after Edgehill and then dallied about getting there himself. But since we took Reading he’s done nothing but complain about the lack of money – with the result that half the army is either indulging in petty squabbles or deserting through sheer boredom,’ said Eden flatly. ‘So I’ve been in touch with Ralph and he’s paving the way for me to transfer to Waller.’
‘Sir William Waller?’ asked Kate. ‘The one who’s Major-General of Gloucestershire?’
‘And Worcestershire, Wiltshire, Shropshire and Somerset,’ he nodded. ‘Last autumn, he took Portsmouth, Winchester, Arundel and Chichester – which means he’s achieving more than all our other commanders put together. And I’m told he’s a gentleman who inspires loyalty. He’s inspired it in Ralph, anyway – along with this fellow Gabriel he told us about, who is now a major.’
‘And what are you?’ demanded Tabitha. ‘Still a lieutenant?’
‘For the moment. But I’ve reason to believe that my removal to Waller will result in a captaincy.’ He paused, still fondling his wife’s unresponsive hand. ‘And now, if no one minds, I’d like to see my son.’
‘He’ll be asleep,’ objected Celia. ‘Wait until tomorrow.’
‘Oh no. I’ve already waited the best part of nine months and that’s more than enough.’ He rose, drawing her up with him. ‘Come on. I promise I won’t wake him. And then I think you and I are due for a little time to ourselves while you tell me all the news.’ He turned a cheerfully audacious gaze on his mother and sisters. ‘I don’t mean to be rude and will talk all you like tomorrow. But tonight is for my wife.’
When they had gone, Tabitha looked at her mother and said, ‘Well. He didn’t even ask about our bit of excitement with Cyrus Winter.’
‘You heard him,’ replied Dorothy. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Quite.’ Kate achieved an acidulous smile. ‘And meanwhile, if it helps, you can cherish the thought that Celia’s no more thrilled than we are.’
Upstairs in the nursery, Eden smiled a silent greeting at Meg Bennet and then bent an avid eye upon his sleeping son. At two-and-a-half, Jude was already bidding fair to become the image of his father and, when awake, was a placid, laughing child who never showed a hint of his mother’s temperament. Eden touched one chubby fist and whispered wonderingly, ‘I can’t believe how much he’s grown.’
Celia shrugged and said nothing.
‘You needn’t worry about waking him,’ volunteered Meg quietly from the corner where she sat sewing. ‘Nothing disturbs him once he’s properly asleep.’
Eden leant over and kissed Jude’s brow. Then, looking across at the maid, he said, ‘Or yours either?’
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘They’re both model babies.’
‘Naturally.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘I brought Tom with me. If the two of you are still not speaking to each other, I thought you might want to know so that you can avoid him.’
Meg’s colour rose.
‘That’s up to Tom. I – I’d be happy to – to --’<
br />
‘To be friends with him if he’d be friends with you?’ offered Eden helpfully. ‘I’ll tell him – though I can’t promise it will help.’
‘If you want to have a long cosy chat with all the servants,’ said Celia suddenly, ‘I’m going back to the parlour.’
‘No. Don’t do that.’ He slid an arm round her waist. ‘Let’s go and sit by our own hearth and you can pour me wine as you used to.’
‘If you like.’ It was the last thing she wanted but it wouldn’t do to say so; and, realising that she had also better put a smile on her face, she summoned all she could of the old, practised charm and said, ‘Come, then. But if you don’t take off that horrid buff-coat, I swear I’ll have no more to do with you.’
‘And that would be a pity,’ he murmured. Then, wickedly, ‘Just the buff-coat?’
She sent for wine and, when it came, was assiduous in keeping his glass filled while she gave him her own version of everything from Cyrus Winter’s attempt on the house to Gianetta’s fancy for a bog-trotting Irishman … and all the time she was thinking, evaluating, planning. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to keep him at arm’s length or not - and then realised that, under the circumstances, doing so would not be a good idea. It was also obvious that she could not risk going to Far Flamstead tomorrow.
‘Celia?’ Eden’s voice cut across her thoughts. ‘You look a million miles away.’
‘Do I? I was just wondering if joining Waller means you’ll be home more often.’
‘I doubt it. With such a large area in his charge, I imagine Sir William has to keep on the move. At the moment, for example, he’s busy securing the lower Severn valley.’
‘Oh.’ Celia examined the ruby on her finger. ‘So we may not see you again for some time, then?’
‘Possibly not – though I’ll naturally do my best to get here as often as I can.’ He paused and then said, ‘You know, you’ve told me about everyone else but said virtually nothing of yourself.’
‘There’s not much to tell. Aside from your uncle and his friend – and Gianetta’s ghastly brother, of course – we’ve had no visitors to speak of. And the only place I ever go is Far Flamstead. With Father and Mother and Francis all away, it’s up to me to keep an eye on the place – so I try to get over there a couple of times each week.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just to look in on some of the tenants and see that the house is being properly maintained. And at least it gives me something to do.’