by Robyn Carr
“Sire, you think it’s true?”
“That again? Yes, I suppose it’s true. I quite imagine that Seavers took one look at Charlotte Bellamy and thought that even for a fortune he couldn’t bear the wedding night. That’s not how Perry tells it, but it could be the fact. And I imagine he brought his own Charlotte from some decent household; she’s a lovely creature, don’t you think? And I imagine if she didn’t in fact die of the plague, she’s off somewhere where we won’t see or hear of her again.”
George swallowed the rest of his wine in confusion and held his empty glass toward Charles. “Sire, may I?”
Charles chuckled. “Be my guest.”
Villiers poured again.
“I think this has you in more of a knot than I, George. Would you like to handle the problem for me?”
“Sire,” he said, turning back from the decanter, “I can’t for the life of me imagine how that could be done to please Your Majesty.”
Charles loved to play this game, and with George it was especially amusing. Poor Buckingham needed to be on the better side of his king and never knew from one moment to the next if Charles would be laughing at a plot, or having a man’s head for it.
But Charles wasn’t likely to spend a great deal of time with this amusement, since there were so many serious things to deal with. He controlled his laughter and composed his face.
“Simply, Buckingham, I was looking for a way to drop an inheritance in Seavers’s lap. I considered one or two estates that could be given as rewards, but there are always so many of higher rank asking and I’m not the fool to anger the few good men I’ve got in this country. When Fergus died and left a tidy sum for his daughter, I thought it might get Seavers started on his ships.”
“You never had any intention of letting anyone but Seavers marry Lady Bellamy?”
Charles let his brooding eyes drop and he shook his head.
“But you put her on the block and let the gallants all have their bid for her.”
He nodded.
George began to laugh. “And Seavers bargained himself into the money with a promise to make his venture joint with you. God’s bones, but you’re a crafty fellow.” He raised his glass in a toast to his king, impressed and a little jealous. “And what about Perry?”
“Perhaps he has something, perhaps not. I told him I particularly admired the lady in question, and if he brought his gossip through my chambers another time, he’d be buying his way out of Newgate.”
George laughed uproariously.
“As for Seavers, if you like your head you would do well to hold silent. I don’t think I’d like him to know I don’t give a damn who he’s married, I want him on the seas earning a decent wage, half of which belongs to me. Let him stew awhile and then I’ll let him out of his hole.” Charles laughed. “Spending a few days with Barbara should be sufficient punishment, especially if he’s frightened to death to crawl into her bed.”
Buckingham’s loyalty to Barbara didn’t go very far, and certainly no farther than his king. He laughed in good humor when the king, presently angry with his mistress for her bawdy behavior, criticized her.
“She rather expects that keeping Seavers warm for you will cause you to visit her apartments, Sire.”
“I know that, too. Why is it I’m the smartest one here and always taken for a fool?”
“Beyond me,” Buckingham laughed. “Completely beyond me, Your Majesty.” He laughed for a moment longer, Charles enjoying his own humor all the while as well. “Sire, you’ll pardon me if I wonder what will happen next.”
Charles shrugged. “I don’t see how it matters much, as long as Seavers is alive enough to sail. Odd’s fish, I don’t think a better sailor has come along since Rupert.” He took a long pull on his wine and grimaced slightly. “You may tell Barbara I wouldn’t discuss Lord Seavers, and be sure and let me know how bad her tantrum was. I enjoy hearing about them a great deal more than witnessing them.”
Charles rose from his chair and moved to the window. The sun was setting and his city was in for another fitful night, with the church bells tolling for the dead and the stink of disease floating through the air. It pained him a great deal to think of death and suffering. It hit him in the stomach and head, and he ached with a longing to have powers beyond that of a mortal, but his gifts were few and his money less. Once again his hands were tied and he punished himself and his inadequacies as little as possible. He turned back to George.
“I do hope Lady Seavers is not dead, George. She seemed a decent woman.”
George nodded his agreement, though he didn’t really have an opinion. She wasn’t dreadful, but he hadn’t seen the challenge as Charles had.
“I suppose I won’t know the truth unless I’m of a mind to punish someone for lying—and I’m not. Pity is, I could easily have endured a bit more of Lady Seavers,” he said, raising one knowing brow at George. “But my poor circumstance insists I give a mind to money, and Seavers can’t earn any for me if he’s dead or in jail. As long as I’m left out of it entirely, I’m just as happy.” He looked out the window again, then turned quickly back to his friend. “Let’s leave tomorrow. Or the next day. I’ve had enough of those damn bells.”
The plague did not confine itself to London. Many of the small villages began to report cases soon after droves of Londoners fled the city for the safety of the country, taking the infection along with them and spreading it from town to town.
Charles came to a decision and the court left Whitehall on the first day of July and moved just twenty miles away to Hampton Court. Lady Castlemaine went with them, though it looked as though that might not happen. Seavers was told by Barbara that the king was not interested in his story or lack of it, but simply sent his regrets if Lady Seavers had in fact died, his congratulations for Seavers’s part in a victory over the Dutch, and his best wishes for his sailing.
“And what of Lord Perry’s tales?” Seavers asked impatiently.
“His Majesty quite expected Perry’s jealousy to appear a good deal sooner; he did bid for the hand of Lady Seavers before the king gave you permission to marry her.”
“If he’s chalked it up to jealous lies, why has he kept me here for so long?” Geoffrey stormed.
“Very likely to keep me occupied, the rogue,” Barbara pouted.
“But you’ve at least seen him. I—”
“I haven’t seen him at all,” Barbara retorted. “Buckingham came to tell me we are moving and you can go where you please. He said the king’s message to you is that he’d like to see Perry handled, and out of his chambers, with as little attention drawn to him as possible. I fear for you both if Charles hears any more about digging up graves to prove identities.”
“What?” Geoffrey blustered. “What is this? I am not even certain my wife was ever ill.”
Barbara gave an impatient wave of her hand. “How would I know what the fool prattles about? I am leaving, Lord Seavers, and you can find your lodging elsewhere. I have a bone to pick with Madame Stewart. If you’ve any sense you’ll leave London too. This bloody city is crawling with death.”
It cost a decent sum to get a courier even to visit the wharves to see if any messages of any kind had been left for Lord Seavers, that being about the most dangerous place in the city.
The house on Tiller Street was looted, as could be expected. Most of the furniture was still there, the heavier pieces, but everything else was gone. Geoffrey’s spirits sank as he thought of the silver and other small valuable items, and he hoped that Rodney had had those things moved, and they were missing from the house for that reason and not because they had been stolen by scavengers. It was with a heaviness in his heart that Geoffrey closed the door and headed for Bellerose.
With the threat of disease all about, inns were dangerous places to stop for the night. Traveling on horseback, with a small packet of food and some water, and sleeping on the ground, were the best safeguards against the risks of eating infected food and sleeping among other people,
who might no longer be alive by morning.
As he rode, he passed people moving from the city to the country, some of them taking plague with them. Some weary travelers held pomanders over their mouths and noses as he rode near, in case he was carrying the infection. He saw carts and wagons stopped because one of the members of the family was sick, and he witnessed a burial more than once. His heart ached anew as he wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that Alicia was just about to enter the coach that would have carried her to safer territory, when she became ill. And with that thought he quickened his pace.
The sun was hot and high when he neared Bellerose. The grounds and house were quiet; work on it had ceased, probably because of the heat and illness. He pounded at the front door of the mansion and heard his man’s voice answer his knock. “Who calls?”
“Lord Seavers—if you remember me...”
The door creaked open and Rodney stood in the doorway, a huge smile on his ruddy face. “Good to see you, sir.”
Geoffrey walked through the door, glancing around and noting that the place was a good deal cleaner and some progress had been made in its restoration. He saw no other people. “Where is everyone?”
“I’ve given Mrs. Margaret leave to go to her son and am keeping the steward and a few maids here. There are no workers now and I imagine new ones will have to be found.”
“Lady Seavers?”
Rodney sighed and rubbed his sweating neck with one hand. “I can tell you about that over a bite and drink, if you like.”
“I’d like to hear about it at once; food can wait. Is she dead?”
“Charlotte Bellamy is dead, sir. Alicia booked passage to America.”
“How did you allow her to do that without waiting for word from me?” he stormed.
“I was told you gave her permission to go wherever she pleased.”
“I was due out of port when she began babbling about—”
“About her marriage, my lord,” Rodney said, his face growing stern and implacable. “She said the bargain was over and you were not interested in the marriage—or her love.”
Geoffrey turned away and sulked, then turned back to his servant and blustered, “Love, so she says...but how am I to know...any of a hundred men could have…”
With a movement too fast to predict, he found himself seized by the front of his linen shirt and backed up to the wall. He was not as tall or as strong as Rodney, but had the circumstances been any different, Geoffrey might have given him a good fight. His shock at being so handled by his own servant and friend was so great that he simply stared into Rodney’s angry eyes.
“My lady served you truer than any and I pledged her my aid when you failed to care for her. ‘Twas I who brought her from the country for you to use, and it was meet that I should help her to leave and find people who would give her a home and a chance to start over.”
“Aye, Mr. Prentiss,” Geoffrey said, trying to soothe him.
“Do no decry her again. Speak as if she is dead, for there lies a grave on this property and Lady Charlotte Bellamy is gone.”
“Aye. Let go of me.”
“The loyalty she carried was to you and no other.”
“Aye,” Geoffrey said calmly. “I know that.”
Rodney loosed his grip and let Geoffrey stand free of the wall. Geoffrey looked at him first with a frown and then let himself smile. “She certainly got under your skin, didn’t she?”
“She deserved better than she got here.”
“Aye,” Seavers admitted. “But how do I rectify that? You’ve let her go.”
“Perhaps this time it is too late,” Rodney said, turning away from his young lord.
“I don’t like the sound of that, Mr. Prentiss. Now come, help me find something to eat and show me this grave that holds Lady Seavers.”
A courtyard for burials had been cleared years before by one of the Bellamys, and within it there was a grave, still not covered by a decent marker.
“It is, in fact, Charlotte Bellamy,” Rodney told him. “I’d hired a man to watch Perry and the woman he had in keeping on New Street. It wasn’t until the crosses appeared on that street that Perry panicked, for he’d gotten nothing out of you or Alicia. He went straightaway to the king to report that you’d likely hired an impostor, and that he had kept Charlotte Bellamy in lodgings in the city. They fairly laughed him out of Whitehall.”
“And the death?”
“For your purposes, sir, we’d planned to bribe a body off the dead cart to be buried here when Alicia sailed. But our work became easier then, for just as Alicia was due to leave, Mr. Scanland reported to me that Perry had just the opposite plan. He bribed the man pulling the dead cart to call the death in his house plague. The girl he had them haul away was dead of stabbing. I feel certain it was Charlotte, though Perry is the only one to know.”
“And Perry?”
“I have no idea. I had the body shrouded and carried to Bellerose, with a statement from the man I bribed to get the body, saying it was yielded to me to bury and the death had been reported by Lord Perry. That done, there’s more than one witness to the fact that Perry killed the lass, and we buried her on her own rightful property. No one can accuse you of murder. It cost a good bit.”
“I’ll see you settled with, not to worry. Where do I find Alicia?”
“Left to her, you don’t.”
“So, she plans to punish me with a great deal of style. And whom do you serve now, Prentiss?”
“I gave my word to her.”
“Will it help her to keep it?”
“You cannot get your fleet out of port, my lord. You likely cannot get back into the city, for that matter.”
“I can make France and book passage from there, if I know where I’m bound. Did she have arrangements at the other end?”
Rodney turned and started to walk back to the manor, not giving Geoffrey any answer. “Rodney,” he called, causing the man to turn and look at him again. “So I’ve bought this trouble with dishonest fare, but tell me, she is alive?” The man nodded. “And it is to America I’m bound if I mean to find her?” Again the man nodded and then walked back toward the house.
Geoffrey stared at the simple grave for a while. The relief of knowing that Alicia was still well and on her way out of the country felt a damn sight better than wondering if she could actually be dead of plague. And Rodney would see her taken care of; his loyalty would not have allowed her to be placed on a dangerous ship with a less than honorable captain, which ruled out most of the ships leaving London.
And then it hit him: he had not seen the Letty in port. A slow smile spread across his face and he chuckled to himself. He couldn’t arrange to leave England without seeing to a good many details, which gave him some time to think on it and time to work his way back into Rodney’s loyalty. Finding her seemed less of a problem than he’d first thought. But still, he was not wise enough to realize that, although finding her could be easy, winning her back might be difficult. After all, the lass loved him, but he’d hurt her deeply.
Whistling, he walked back into the manor to find Rodney and began to mend the damage their friendship had suffered.
Culver Perry sat at a lonely table and had drunk the best part of an ale when the serving maid approached him. “ ‘E’ll see ye when ‘e can gov’na. ‘E’s in the stable.”
“Tell him my business is urgent,” Perry said. “I can’t wait while he plays with his animals.”
“I said I told ‘im,” she whined. “Wait or go, I doubt Armand cares at all.”
“Tell him it’s urgent,” he insisted.
The wench smirked and moved away from his table and out of sight, muttering as she went. “Bloody ‘igh and mighty nobles ain’t got nothin’ better to do but order simple folk...”
Perry nursed the rest of his ale and waited, his anger having subsided not at all since he left the city. He had worked and worried with the best piece of evidence against Geoffrey Seavers that ever he could have fo
und, and what good had it done? Seavers would not respond to him, the wench he married would not give him so much as her worry, and the Bellamy bitch had done nothing but hound him and screech at him for months on end.
He remembered the night he returned from Whitehall, the sounds of the guns of the fleet of Lowestoft still sounding in the city. The king had told him in a near rage that he found Lady Seavers to be everything he had hoped for and would hear no more slander against her. Perry was ordered out of the palace and preferably out of the city.
“While my navy is fighting and dying at the hands of the Dutch bastards, and my city is being eaten alive by disease, you are here complaining about some fortune you missed, when I never would have allowed you within a mile of that money. Haven’t you had a bit of ill luck with brides as it stands?”
Charles’s words had been clear enough. He was not about to investigate the legitimacy of the inheritance, and he had no patience with Perry’s claims. When Culver argued that the king had been cheated, Charles shouted loudly enough for every courtier and lady within the kingdom to hear. “I don’t care if it’s an orange girl he’s wed, the contract is made and I am done!”
Regardless of the shape of it, Perry was not done. He would find a way to remedy his loss. He’d gone back to the apartments on New Street and told Charlotte of the situation, but the maid got out of hand and talked too much. From where he sat, he was the only one to know that he had killed twice in his life; both victims were young women who were counting on him to bring them the happiness they deserved.
The innkeeper approached Perry’s table, using his towel to wipe off his balding head. “I’m Armand, innkeeper here.”
“There was a wench here nearly two years ago, her name escapes me.”
“They come and go,” the man said.
“This one was tall and slender, brown hair and light eyes. I remember her clearly as being quiet and bright for a tavern wench. She would have left here almost a year ago with a nobleman bound for London.”
Armand sat down at the table and eyed Perry suspiciously. “I can’t say I understand why so many men ask after her.” And then he was silent.