by Stella Riley
She moved away from him though it was tempting to stay where she was to absorb a few moments of comfort.
‘You should save your blandishments for those likely to appreciate them, Captain.’
He grinned. ‘And, of whom, fortunately, there are many.’
‘I believe you.’ It was impossible not to smile back at him even though she knew the flirtatious banter for exactly what it was. ‘You are atrocious, you know.’
‘And impossible and unutterably annoying. I know. But the charm helps.’
‘I daresay.’ She paused and then said, ‘Are you going to Paris?’
‘I might. Why? Do you want me to bring you a silk petticoat?’
‘I wouldn’t say no,’ Venetia retorted, knowing that he couldn’t afford it. ‘But what I really want is for you to take a letter to Harry.’
He removed his hat and bowed with a flourish. A stray shaft of sunlight lent his dark blond hair a temporary, subtle brilliance.
‘Anything to accommodate a lady.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘Does that mean you know where he is?’
‘Not exactly. But I imagine he’s still debating theology in some seminary or other. Someone will point me in his direction.’
‘Well, I hope so. It’s important.’ She produced the letters from her sleeve and added negligently, ‘And so is the one for Ellis … if you can find him.’
The beautifully-sculpted face assumed an expression of profound gloom.
‘Can’t you settle for the petticoat? It would be a hell of a lot easier. Finding Harry is one thing … finding Ellis is quite another. He’s never still.’
‘So I’ve gathered,’ said Venetia, her voice becoming suddenly brittle. ‘But the simple fact is that he is now Sir Ellis. And if he wants to add ‘of Brandon Lacey’ he’d better come home and do something about the Roundhead bastard that Sir Robert has named as his heir.’
~ ~ ~
THREE
Three days later, after a long, gruelling ride and with only hours to spare before rejoining his regiment at Reading, the Roundhead bastard sat in the house in Shoreditch where he had grown up and watched his foster-brother methodically polishing a sword.
‘Well, Jack?’ he asked, after a silence of infinite proportions.
Jack Morrell’s hand stilled from its work and he looked up, his pleasant, unremarkable face expressing faint perplexity.
‘What do you want me to say? That I congratulate you on your good-fortune? I do, of course. It’s the chance of a lifetime … in its way.’
‘That is certainly one way of looking at it.’
‘It’s just … I suppose it’s just that I can’t quite picture you as the lord of the manor. I thought all your ambitions lay with the Army.’
‘They do.’ Gabriel frowned absently into his tankard of ale and then set it abruptly down on the hearthstone. ‘I ought to be delirious with joy – but I’m not. Quite frankly, I feel like a bloody pawn on a chess-board.’
Jack eyed him thoughtfully.
‘You didn’t know, then? The old man gave you no reason to expect it?’
‘None. Perhaps if I’d visited him in May when he asked me … but I couldn’t, so it’s useless to speculate. And the devil of it is that he’s sewn me up so neatly, I don’t see how I’m to get out of it.’
‘It’s only proper that he should have done something for you, though.’
‘Maybe. But not this.’
‘Perhaps not. But it wasn’t right to leave you neither fish nor fowl by insisting you bear his name and yet be brought up as one of us. And as for never telling you who your mother was – unless the letter he left you has finally rectified that omission?’
‘No,’ came the brief, quelling reply.
‘Oh.’ Recognising that he’d trespassed too far, Jack resumed his work and sought for another topic. ‘How’s the rightful heir going to take it?’
‘Ellis? God knows. Our paths have crossed only once and it was scarcely a fortuitous meeting. My impression then was that he didn’t know of my existence and I saw no reason to enlighten him. Perhaps I should have done.’ A gleam of humour appeared in the storm-grey eyes. ‘If he was planning to marry the Clifford girl from choice, there must be more to him than I’d imagined.’
Jack laughed. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Beautiful – or would be if she’d been carved from marble. As it is, she’s got the tongue of a shrew, an expression that gives you frostbite and no manners worth mentioning. Which, if Sir Robert’s letter is to be believed, doesn’t say much for me. He seems to have nurtured the notion that she was destined to be my soul mate.’ Gabriel gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it? He knew me no better than to suppose I’d be bowled over by a pretty face but well enough to guess that a double indictment for theft would be more than I could stomach.’
‘Theft? Who put that idea into your head?’
‘Guess … and I can’t entirely blame her. I’ve no real claim to either estate. But very few people are likely to believe that I don’t want one.’
Jack scratched his head and thought about it.
‘What baffles me is why Sir Robert would suggest such a crazy scheme. I didn’t know him well – but he never struck me as eccentric. So to try to tie you to a wench you never saw before last week—’
‘Quite. He paints her in such glowing colours that it makes one wonder why he didn’t marry her himself,’ remarked Gabriel acidly. ‘He could have done, too – for she’s not exactly fresh out of the nursery. She must be twenty-five if she’s a day and should have been married off long since. Come to think of it, that’s probably what ails her.’
Jack could not help laughing.
‘You really did take a dislike to her, didn’t you?’
‘I’m glad you’re amused. Were it not for the prospect of spending the rest of my days with that patronising vixen, I’d probably laugh my boots off with you.’
Suddenly sobered, Jack said, ‘You’re surely not going to do it?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Gabriel rose and, walking to the window, stared unseeingly into the narrow, cobbled lane. ‘But the burning question is – can I?’
‘Well, of course. The brother is bound to come back, isn’t he? It stands to reason.’
‘So I’d have thought – but the exquisite Mistress Clifford says not.’ Gabriel turned, his expression suddenly grim. ‘I want no part of it, Jack. My knowledge of estate-management could be written on a pin-head and my interest in learning is smaller still. Besides which, I already have the only career I ever wanted and it suits me. I don’t want to give it up and I don’t like being used to deprive two men of their birthrights. But I’m in a cage. Brandon Lacey is mine whether I like it or not; and if I don’t steal Ellis’s lady-love from him, I get life-long responsibility for the Clifford lands as well.’
‘It’s a problem,’ agreed Jack, sighing. ‘But I wouldn’t let it rush you into marriage.’
‘I don’t intend to.’ The grimness dissolved into a sudden, unexpectedly attractive smile. ‘And couldn’t even if I wanted to, for the antipathy was wholly mutual. I don’t know which revolted the lady most – my illegitimacy, or this.’ He gestured lightly to his tawny sash.
‘There’s your answer, then. If all else fails, propose and let her refuse you.’
‘I would – except that it’s only half a solution. What I need is a loop-hole big enough to crawl through. But heaven knows how I’m to find the time to look for it because my duties on the Army Council alone are enough to prevent me being granted any more leave. We’re already knee-deep in manifestoes of one sort or another. And, even as we speak, Ireton and Lambert are busy drawing up a list of proposals which we hope will form a sound basis for agreement with the King. All that aside, there’s the daily business of persuading the men to remain patient in the face of Parliament’s everlasting procrastination over pay.’
Jack’s expression hardened.
‘Well, you’d b
etter keep trying. You can’t go on bending the Commons to your will by marching on London. And don’t fool yourself with the idea that the City will back the Army against Westminster because it won’t. It was less than thrilled when the Eleven were driven out; and all that the merchants and tradesmen want is a chance to rescue the economy before it collapses completely – not a set of new-fangled notions from your Independent friends or the Army in its midst, creating havoc.’
‘We’re aware of that,’ responded Gabriel. ‘But the New Model is more than just an army, Jack. It’s a powerful voice demanding to be heard. And it’s a damned sight more representative of this nation than Denzil Holles and his colleagues.’
‘So you say. But if what I hear it true, it’s also on the brink of mutiny.’
‘There is unrest … but that’s hardly surprising, is it? If you make a sword for someone and they don’t pay, you can take them to law. The rank and file of the Army doesn’t have that option. The infantry regiments are owed roughly six months’ wages and the cavalry, almost a year – but even though arrears have been promised, we’ve yet to see the money. And as for Parliament’s plan to disband the bulk of the Army and send the rest to Ireland … the ordinary trooper is worried that, if he’s ignored here in England, he’ll be totally forgotten once he’s crossed the Irish sea. So can you honestly wonder that he refuses to budge till he’s been justly treated?’
‘I suppose not,’ came the grudging response. ‘But disbandment’s a necessity, Gabriel. The country can’t afford a massive fighting force now the war’s over.’
‘No one’s disputing that. And the Army will disband once it has been paid. I don’t consider that unreasonable … particularly since, though Parliament apparently can’t find the money to pay us, they’ve found it fast enough for the bands of reformadoes that have been pouring into London. Those fellows who were disbanded when the New Model was first formed. Christ, Jack – they’ve even offered full arrears to any of our boys who’ll desert! And if all else fails, they’ll happily invite the Prince of Wales over at the head of a Scottish invasion. Is that what you want?’
‘Hardly,’ said Jack shortly. He had no need to ask if it was true. With a goodly portion of the Army Council also sitting in the Commons, Gabriel was very unlikely to be misinformed.
For a moment, neither of the spoke; and then, in a more moderate tone, Gabriel said, ‘I’m no Independent idealist, Jack. You know that. But I do demand justice for my men … and we really did try all the usual channels. But when our petitions were burned by the public hangman as sedition, tempers naturally became a bit frayed. And the result, as you’re aware, is that the regiments elected agents to speak on their behalf.’
‘A collection of radicals out to cause trouble,’ nodded Jack. ‘As I understand it, every man-jack of them is a disciple of John Lilburne.’
‘Very likely. And we’ve got green ribbons sprouting like weeds as a result. I’ll even admit to being vaguely in sympathy with them myself on some issues. But as far as the men are concerned, it’s simply a matter of one grievance breeding others – and most of the more extreme notions would wither fast enough at the prospect of some back pay.’
Jack grunted and, laying down the sword, reached for his untouched mug of ale.
‘Well I hope to God something gets settled soon. The war’s been over a year or more and – speaking as a common fellow who hasn’t been inspired by the Army’s lofty notions – I just want to live a normal life again.’
‘With the King back on his throne, no doubt – wings suitably clipped?’
‘Yes. And I’m not the only one who thinks that way. But I’d also like some assurance that the country hasn’t gone through a civil war only to end up with something that, however well it’s cloaked, amounts to nothing more than martial law. And if the Army comes marching into London in pursuit of its demands, martial law is what it will be seen as – because Parliament’s already promised everything you’ve asked for, hasn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ came the sardonic reply. ‘It’s promised. The only trouble is that the reformadoes are still in London, men are still enlisting in the Militia and our fellows are still without pay. In short, the only thing we’ve asked for which has actually been given to us is indemnity against acts committed during the war. It’s all pie-crust, Jack – and I’m as heartily sick of my situation as you are of yours. I fought in Europe for ten years without a tithe of these complications; and, if it weren’t for the support I owe my men, I’d probably have left England six months ago to find work abroad. Now, of course, it’s too late. I’m bound hand and foot by this asinine will.’
Jack looked him in the eye.
‘Tell me something. Do you know who concocted this plot to seize the King?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought as much. Cromwell?’
‘He probably knew of it. But the main architect was Edward Sexby.’ Gabriel paused, choosing not to mention that he’d received an eye-witness report of the doings at Holdenby from his major. ‘Now you can tell me something. Why are you so edgy?’
Jack drained half his tankard in one jerky movement and then, after a brief hesitation, said baldly, ‘Annis is pregnant again.’
‘Ah.’ A faint frown touched the dark eyes. ‘I see.’
‘She seems quite well so far and I’ve managed to get Peter Chamberlen to attend her. Only —’
‘Chamberlen? Isn’t he the fellow who used to physic the King but now writes political tracts along the lines of Free-born John?’
‘That’s him. He’s full of peculiar ideas on midwifery and says that if Annis spends most of her time in bed – which is where she is now, by the way – all will be well. But she’s miscarried four times in the last three years and she was so ill last time that—’ Jack broke off and ran his hand through his hair. ‘I tell you, Gabriel, I’m scared to death for her. And if she comes through this – baby or no baby – I’ll make damned sure it never happens again.’
‘Allowing for Annis’s feelings in the matter, I should imagine that’s easier said than done,’ began Gabriel. And then stopped as the door was flung wide and his foster-brother’s niece erupted into the room.
‘Gabriel!’ she cried. ‘Why is it you always come when I’m out?’
‘Or conversely,’ he replied, moving lazily towards her, ‘why are you always out when I come?’
Bryony Morrell tucked a recalcitrant marigold curl back into her cap and fixed him with an intense brown stare. She was just sixteen years old and had lived with her Uncle Jack and Aunt Annis since her parents had been carried off by the plague in the second year of the war. And though Gabriel – like everybody else – thought she was still a child and expected her to regard him as just another uncle, Bryony knew that he was no relation at all and that she had been passionately in love with him for a whole year. The only difficulty, since he visited so rarely, was how to make him aware of her developing charms. And so, seizing her opportunity with both hands, she said artlessly, ‘You’ll stay to supper, won’t you?’
‘I’m afraid not, sweetheart. If I don’t join my men tonight, I’m likely to be shot for desertion,’ he replied. And with a slanting grin at Jack, ‘Either that or be offered Denzil Holles’s hand and my back-pay.’
Bryony tugged his attention back to herself.
‘Oh please stay! We haven’t seen you for so long and I’m sure you could stay if you really wanted to.’
‘You malign me. I really am remarkably busy right now. But cheer up. Your Uncle Jack – wise in all things – is convinced I may be working closer to home in the not-too-distant future. And if that’s so, I’ll be less of a stranger.’
She curled a hand round his arm and smiled up at him with what she hoped was subtle allure, thinking how tall and strong and masculine he was – and how broad his shoulders were. Of course, she recognised that thirty-four was perhaps a little old, but somehow, in Gabriel’s case, it only added to his glamour. His thick, dark hair showed no hints of silver a
nd there was no doubt that he looked incredibly elegant in his uniform. It was this last thought that caused her to say dreamily, ‘If the Army comes to London, will you drill your troops for me?’
‘No. But if an exhibition muster is arranged, I’ll send word to Jack so that he can bring you along. Will that do?’
Bryony pouted but, before she could speak, her uncle said flatly, ‘You’ll not catch me gawking at a military display. I’ve better uses for my time.’
Gabriel smiled blandly.
‘Business good, is it?’
‘I’m not complaining.’
‘We’ve taken on three more apprentices,’ offered Bryony.
‘Three more? Well, well. But with the Morrell name recognised as one of Europe’s foremost armourers, I can’t say I’m surprised. Even Cromwell has one of your blades.’
‘So has the King – though I doubt he’s allowed to carry it,’ retorted Jack. ‘Father made it.’
‘I remember. It has to be said, however, that Old Noll has made better use of his.’
‘Better for whom?’
‘All of us, I hope.’ Gabriel switched his gaze to Bryony and flicked her cheek with a careless finger. ‘If you’re a good girl and take especial care of your aunt, I’ll take you to have your fortune told when I come again. But meanwhile, duty calls … though I could find the time to swallow some bread and cheese if anybody cared to offer it.’
Bryony gave him a beaming smile and sped off towards the kitchen.
Gabriel waited until she was out of earshot and then said, ‘With regard to the business we discussed earlier … I take it I can count on your discretion?’
Jack blinked. ‘Of course. If that’s what you want.’
‘It is. Tell Annis if you wish – but no one else. I may or may not be forced into marriage with Venetia Clifford but, until I know which it’s to be, the less people who are aware of the situation, the better.’
‘As you like. Though I can’t help wondering whose reputation you’re protecting.’
‘Mine,’ replied Gabriel dryly. ‘From what I’ve been privileged to see of the lady, she wouldn’t give a tinker’s curse if our problems were shouted from every steeple. I, on the other hand, value my privacy.’