by Stella Riley
Mr Crisp bit his tongue and repressed the observation that she would have disliked the loss of her home still more. And, with feeble reproof, Lady Clifford said, ‘Venetia, dear – please!’
‘I’m sorry, Mother – but these things have to be said.’
‘Quite possibly,’ remarked a deep, rich and slightly sardonic voice. ‘But not now.’
With one accord, eight pairs of eyes riveted themselves upon the tall, dark-haired speaker and, in the faintly stunned silence that followed, no one seemed even to breathe. Then the girl said glacially, ‘You are no doubt entitled to your opinions, Captain—’
‘Colonel,’ he corrected indifferently.
‘Colonel. You are not, however, entitled to voice them. This is a family matter.’
‘It’s a will-reading. Or it would be if you could hold your tongue for a time.’
This time the silence was positively cataclysmic.
A faint flush touched the girl’s cheeks and, raising derisive brows, she said, ‘You are in a hurry, Colonel? No doubt you have a mutiny to quell or yet another petition to write or a church to wreck? Or perhaps a King to kidnap?’
Lady Clifford moaned and even James Bancroft was alarmed enough to focus his eyes on the Colonel’s face. Critical references to the Army’s recent seizure of the King’s person were risky in any company – particularly in that of one who might conceivably have had a hand in the plot.
His expression remaining unchanged, the Colonel said, ‘Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. Now… may we proceed?’
‘By all means. No one here has any wish to detain you.’
He did not trouble to answer and Lawyer Crisp took advantage of the resulting lull to resume. The sooner it was done now, he told himself stoically, the better.
He began with the minor bequests to Goodwife Fox the housekeeper, Mr Lane the steward and Dick Carter the bailiff; all involved small sums of money, an appropriate personal gift and the promise of continued employment at Brandon Lacey. None provoked any comment. Next came a set of three miniatures to Lady Clifford and two dozen bottles of wine for James Bancroft. The erstwhile bishop’s eyes brightened and her ladyship sniffed elegantly into her handkerchief.
Mistress Sophia came next in the lists, receiving three hundred pounds a year, a small but pleasant house in nearby Knaresborough and the firm assurance that Brandon Lacey was to continue to be her home for as long as she wished to remain there. Sophia accepted all three with her habitual air of abstraction and Venetia wondered if she was even listening. Certainly, with the best will in the world, her own attention was beginning to flag beneath the ponderous legal phrases.
Two minutes later, her ears sharpened again when Mr Crisp said, ‘And to the only child of my marriage, Ellis William Brandon, I hereby give and bequeath without entail and for his use absolutely, my estate of Steeple Park in the County of Oxfordshire. I appoint my man of law, Mr Isaiah Crisp, executor of this bequest and entrust to him the prosperity of the said estate during my son’s absence from England and, when circumstances permit, to discharge from it such sums as may reasonably be required by my son for his subsistence.’
The lawyer paused, as if waiting for interruptions. None came. A slight frown creased Venetia’s brow but she said nothing. Mr Crisp resumed, his speech noticeably more rapid.
‘To Venetia Anne Clifford, whom I have long hoped to welcome as a daughter, I leave Ford Edge Manor for her to maintain or dispose of within her family as she sees fit, on the following condition; that she regard her contract of betrothal with my son, Ellis William, as null and void and espouse instead my natural son, Gabriel Robert Brandon, to whom I bequeath my estate of Brandon Lacey and all other monies and properties not hitherto named in this document.’
Lawyer Crisp drew a long gulp of air and wondered why he’d tried to lose the word ‘natural’. It was both stupid and pointless. Ineffective, too, if the stifling atmosphere in the room was anything to go by.
Venetia Anne Clifford came slowly to her feet, her face as white as paper.
‘Is this some sort of macabre joke?’ she asked in a voice like splintering ice. And then, when Mr Crisp continued to stare silently at his papers, ‘I’m to forget my betrothal to Ellis and marry a – a bastard I never knew existed till today?’
‘In order to gain outright possession of Ford Edge – yes,’ said Mr Crisp. ‘In view of the equivocal nature of Sir Ellis’s position at the present time —’
‘Don’t be coy! You mean because Ellis has never shared his father’s politics and prefers to remain in exile rather than capitulate to his King’s enemies.’
Wordlessly, Mr Crisp inclined his head.
‘The latter being equally true of my brother, Harry – to whom Ford Edge rightfully belongs?’
‘Yes. In view of these and other factors, I believe Sir Robert felt that some practical alternative was called for.’
‘Whatever this is,’ said Venetia unsteadily, ‘I can assure you that it is not practical.’
There was another unpleasant silence, during which Lady Clifford glanced with anxious confusion at her brother and Dick Carter, the bailiff, permitted himself a grin of secret enjoyment.
His expression even more enigmatic and his tone drier than ever, the Colonel said, ‘And if the condition is not met … what then?’
Venetia’s calm broke and she whirled on him with glittering eyes.
‘That is hardly any concern of yours. I don’t know who the hell you are, but —’
‘Then you’re remarkably slow.’ A strange smile touched his mouth and he said coolly, ‘I’m the bastard, of course.’
She stared at him, transfixed, dimly aware that someone behind her – Dick Carter, probably – was trying to turn a snigger into a cough. Then Mistress Brandon stunned them all further by saying gently, ‘You’re young Gabriel?’
The Colonel detached himself from the mantelpiece and bowed.
‘Gabriel, certainly – but not so young, I’m afraid.’
She smiled. ‘I met you when you were five.’
‘I remember.’ Storm-grey eyes fringed with dense black lashes regarded her with mild amusement. ‘You gave me a white mouse.’
‘Sophia?’ Lady Ellen’s voice was weak with shock. ‘You knew that Robert had a … had a —’
‘Another son,’ supplied James, forced into speech by fear of mass carnage.
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Sophia placidly. ‘He was so proud, you see. He had to tell someone.’
‘And Margaret – Robert’s wife? Did she know?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Does it matter? She’s been dead for years, after all.’ Sophia soothed the kittens in her lap and allowed her gaze to drift back to her illegitimate nephew. ‘Robert was right. You don’t favour the Brandons. He spoke well of you, though, these past few years.’
‘I’m flattered,’ came the astringently unhelpful reply.
‘Did you know about this?’ demanded Venetia sharply.
He looked at her.
‘The will? Hardly!’
‘Then you’re unbelievably cool for a man who’s just acquired a fortune.’
‘Thank you. Self-control is a useful thing.’
‘So is six thousand acres!’ she snapped, stung by the discreet barb. ‘One can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve it.’
‘So far as I’m aware, absolutely nothing.’
‘Nothing? Come now – I’m sure you’re too modest. It seems to me that a man would need a very good reason indeed before disinheriting his rightful son in favour of a by-blow.’
‘Venetia!’ expostulated Lady Clifford. ‘I understand how you feel – I’m sure we all do – but there is no need to be vulgar.’
Gabriel Brandon gave a brief, derisive laugh and the girl snapped, ‘I’m sorry I can’t remember my company manners, Mother. But the situation is vulgar – monstrously so. Brandon Lacey belongs to Ellis. And, as for me, I’d sooner starve in a ditch than comply with this insanity.’
‘Befor
e you allow yourself to be carried away by grandiose gestures,’ remarked the Colonel, ‘it might be wise to discover what the consequences are likely to be.’
‘I don’t make gestures – grandiose or any other kind. I mean what I say.’
‘Oh? Then, if you intend to go on saying it, perhaps we might continue this in private.’
She stared at him. ‘Why?’
His eyes travelled to the silent trio in the corner and then returned to her face.
‘I’d have thought the answer to that was perfectly obvious … unless you habitually discuss your personal affairs in front of servants?’
He was right, of course – but she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of admitting it. Her brows arched scornfully and she said, ‘If you had been reared in a gentleman’s establishment, you would know better. These people are almost family and it’s their right to be present. And if you plan to set yourself up as a country squire, you’d do well to accustom yourself to the fact.’
‘If and when I set myself up as anything, I’ll manage my affairs as I see fit. But we are straying from the point again. Mr Crisp … I, at least, would like to know how matters are to be left if we refuse.’
‘It – it is a complex situation, sir.’
‘Then let’s simplify it,’ suggested the Colonel crisply. ‘Suppose you begin with Brandon Lacey. Is it mine to do with as I wish?’
‘God in heaven!’ exploded Venetia, almost choking with wrath. ‘You’d sell the place before Sir Robert is even cold?’
‘Let us first establish whether or not I can,’ he responded, his gaze still on the lawyer. ‘Well?’
‘N-no, sir,’ admitted Mr Crisp reluctantly. ‘Sir Robert insisted on a rather unusual form of entail which effectively prevents you from disposing of the property – either by sale or deed of gift – during your lifetime.’
‘And what happens if I die?’
‘It goes to the – to the legitimate heirs of your body.’
Venetia gave a short, unamused laugh.
The irony was not lost on the Colonel either but he ignored it. He merely said, ‘If you’re talking about my children, I’d be obliged if you’d say so. But supposing I have none? What then?’
‘In the event of your dying without issue,’ came the obstinately prim reply, ‘the estate descends to Sir Ellis’ heirs.’
‘Legitimate ones, I hope,’ remarked Venetia acidly.
‘Naturally.’
A frown had entered the Colonel’s eyes.
‘What you are saying, I take it, is that my half-brother has no personal claim.’
‘None.’
‘Not even if he could obtain indemnity from the Parliament for his part in the late war?’
‘No, sir.’
There was a small, indefinable silence and then Gabriel said dryly, ‘I see. Sir Robert appears to have thought of everything.’
‘Quite,’ said Venetia. ‘That makes it nice for you, doesn’t it?’
‘You would naturally think so,’ he replied absently. And, to the lawyer, ‘What about Ford Edge?’
Mr Crisp sighed.
‘In the event of the marriage failing to take place within the next six months, Sir Robert instructs that you are to replace him as keeper of Ford Edge Manor, taking full responsibility for the running of the property and making all necessary decisions on behalf of Lady Clifford and her family.’
‘What?’ Venetia’s face was a mask of incredulity. ‘But that’s more than Sir Robert ever did himself! I’ve run Ford Edge these last three years. He can’t seriously have supposed I’d give it all up to a —’
‘Bastard,’ supplied the Colonel, coldly. ‘I think you’ve made that point more than adequately. And I’m rather more interested to know how I can be forced to manage your manor as well as this one if I choose not to do so. Mr Crisp?’
‘From the time of Sir Robert’s death, Ford Edge became assigned to you in the High Court,’ came the unhappy reply. ‘You are responsible for its taxes and its tenants. Failing your presence, I am to handle all matters concerning the estate – but no legal or financial transaction will be complete without your signature.’ He paused and then, drawing a long breath, added, ‘And there is one thing more. No contract of betrothal can be entered into nor any marriage portion fixed for Mistress Clifford or her sisters without your approval.’
A strangled sound escaped Venetia and all traces of the Colonel’s former indifference evaporated as he stared grimly at the lawyer.
‘Brilliant! And how long is this farce to last?’
Mr Crisp quailed visibly.
‘It may only be terminated on Sir Harry Clifford’s taking of the Negative Oath or the pardoning, by Parliament, of all proscribed persons. Or b-by your marriage to Mistress Clifford.’
The suddenly harsh gaze swept back to Venetia.
‘Well? Would your brother be willing to swear loyalty to the Parliament?’
She tilted her chin and, controlling her voice as best she could, said, ‘As willing, I imagine, as the Parliament will be to issue a mass pardon.’
The Colonel said nothing. Since she was right, there was little point in saying that Henry Ireton’s Declaration of the Army had proposed just such an Act of Oblivion but that the Presbyterian brood at Westminster had refused to consider it. So finally he said coolly, ‘Do you know where your brother is?’
‘Not precisely. And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.’
‘Don’t be childish. I’m trying to find a way out of this mess and it would help if I had your co-operation. Now. Can you get a message to him?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Then I suggest you do it. Unless you can think of some ingenious alternative?’
Her eyes grew sharp with suspicion.
‘Why should you care? As far as I can see, you’ve nothing to lose – since you keep Brandon Lacey in any event. I should have thought you would have been delighted with the prospect of getting your hands on Ford Edge as well.’
‘Would you? But then, you don’t know me, do you? Whereas Sir Robert, it appears, knew me a good deal better than I’d supposed.’ And then, less cryptically, he said to Mr Crisp, ‘Is there anything else that we should know?’
‘Not from me, sir. But there are letters for yourself and Mistress Clifford which I am instructed to request you to read privately.’
The Colonel gave an exasperated sigh.
‘Then you may give mine to me now and I’ll take it with me.’
‘You mean you’re leaving?’ demanded Venetia. ‘Just like that – and with nothing settled?’
‘What did you expect – that I’d stay and argue all night? I’ve told you what to do. Contact your brother. And in the meantime, my place is with my regiment.’
‘Wonderful. And exactly how do you propose the two estates are to be administered?’
‘In the same way as before,’ he responded with laborious patience. ‘By their respective stewards and bailiffs – presumably with a little help from Mistress Brandon and yourself. How else? Since the will allows us six months grace, I suggest that we take advantage of it.’
‘In the hope, you would have us believe, that my brother will return and take the oath?’
‘Precisely.’
‘He won’t do it.’
‘So you say. It’s possible, however, that you’re mistaken. He wouldn’t be the first man to pocket his principles.’
‘He’d be the first Clifford to do so,’ retorted Venetia. ‘Not everyone can be bought, you know.’
‘I do know. I feel sure, however, that I can depend on you to persuade him.’
She faced him stubbornly.
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then no doubt all of us will live to regret it.’
‘Don’t be obtuse. That’s not what I meant and you know it! I want to know if you … if you’re considering carrying out Sir Robert’s wishes.’
‘My dear girl!’ The dark eyes mocked her. ‘Is this a pro
posal?’
Venetia clenched her hands on the folds of her skirt to prevent herself from slapping his face. Then, in a voice shaking with temper, she said, ‘No, you insolent oaf – it is not. In case you haven’t yet grasped the fact, I wouldn’t marry you if my life depended on it.’
Entirely without haste, he surveyed her from head to foot before saying deliberately, ‘How fortunate, then, that it doesn’t. For after witnessing your ill-conditioned behaviour this afternoon, hell is likely to freeze before I ask you.’
And, with a slight bow for Mistress Brandon, he twitched his letter from the lawyer’s nerveless fingers and walked calmly out of the house.
~ ~ ~
TWO
‘So that,’ concluded Venetia, ‘is it. I’m required to forget the man I’ve been betrothed to for five years in order to marry a baseborn Roundhead usurper. And neither Mother nor Uncle James appear to realise how utterly impossible it is.’
It was the following afternoon and, having been unable to cope with her sisters’ curiosity immediately on her return from Brandon Lacey, she now faced them with a sangfroid she was far from feeling. In a single hour, her life had been turned inside out and something within her was still quivering with a sickening mixture of rage, fear and disbelief … and worse than all of these, the gnawing suspicion of being caught in a trap.
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with easy, sympathetic tears.
‘It’s hard to believe that Mother could be so unfeeling.’
‘She isn’t.’ Iron discipline kept Venetia’s tone cool and light, with only the minimum of sarcasm. ‘She feels for me deeply, she says – and it would be much the best thing for all of us if Harry were to come home. On the other hand, I was both thoughtless and just the tiniest bit selfish to risk offending our new lord and master.’
Seventeen-year-old Phoebe supported her chin on both palms and regarded her eldest sister with bright-eyed interest.
‘And did you offend him?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Venetia with grim satisfaction. And related her final catastrophic exchange with the Colonel.
Phoebe groaned. ‘Do you think he meant it?’
‘I certainly hope so.’