by Stella Riley
‘Not at all.’ Some of her ladyship’s wistful sweetness deserted her and the tambour-frame fell unheeded into her lap. ‘I simply want what’s best for you.’
‘And an illegitimate rebel soldier will be better for me than the loyal, well-born man I’ve been betrothed to for years?’
‘No. Yes. Oh – how you do twist things!’
‘You can think of another way of putting it?’ asked Venetia sardonically. And then, ‘But of course you can. It’s the land that matters, isn’t it? And so long as we get it back, you wouldn’t care if Gabriel Brandon had two heads.’
‘But he hasn’t,’ muttered Phoebe. ‘And at least he’s likely to be physically present from time to time.’
Venetia swung round to face her.
‘That is a singularly stupid remark.’
‘No it isn’t. If Ellis had come home after the war, you’d be married by now and none of this would have happened. So it seems to me that Sir Robert may have had a fair point in doing what he did.’
This time the silence crackled with tension.
‘I see,’ remarked Venetia. Her smouldering gaze travelled to Elizabeth. ‘And what do you think?’
Elizabeth quailed visibly.
‘You know what I think. I c-can’t bear you to be made so unhappy and I wish with all my heart that you could marry Ellis.’
‘Even if it means kissing goodbye to Tom Knightley?’
The soft blue eyes filled with swift, easy tears and it was left to Phoebe to say flatly, ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’
‘Not fair?’ echoed Venetia. ‘My God! Is it fair that I’m being asked to sacrifice myself for the common good? Or don’t I count?’
‘Dearest – of course you do,’ said Lady Clifford soothingly. ‘It’s just that, if Harry won’t come back and take the Oath, there doesn’t seem to be any other alternative. Unless you want to be left a mere tenant in your own home.’
‘Instead of which,’ came the acid response, ‘I can be irrevocably tied to a complete stranger whose beliefs I utterly despise. I’m to share his bed and board, minister to his wants and bear his children. In short, I’m to give up the rest of my life – gladly and without complaint. And not one of you seems to understand that this delightful prospect is tearing me apart.’ Her glance swept mockingly over them all. ‘What – nothing to say? Not even that I’m making too much of it and that it won’t be nearly as bad as I think? Dear me! Can I have made an impression at last?’
‘What are you saying?’ asked her mother, at length. ‘That you won’t even consider it?’
‘No. I’m saying that I’m not prepared to make any promises. And that I’d be grateful if, just for once, you could all make some small attempt to see this from my point of view. Upon which calm and entirely reasonable note,’ finished Venetia coolly, ‘I’ll bid you goodnight.’
*
On the following morning, not purely to avoid her family, Venetia rode to Brandon Lacey. She felt slightly guilty for not having visited Sophia since she had briefly called to inspect Trixie’s new pups. These, unfortunately, had proved to be lamentably cross-bred bundles of multi-coloured fur that bore little resemblance to their elegant mother. Venetia, who’d had her heart set on a wolfhound, had refused to take one. Now, however, it occurred to her that since the last of the aged spaniels had gone to its rest, Ford Edge seemed somehow bereft … and Phoebe would enjoy having a pup even if it didn’t grow into anything anyone could recognise.
All these were perfectly valid reasons for going to Brandon Lacey and, deep down at the back of her mind, Venetia had an even better one. She had refused point-blank to see Lawyer Crisp but she was not averse to making a few private enquiries of her own – and, in certain respects, Sophia was the best place to start. At any rate, there was no harm in trying.
Venetia found Mistress Brandon in that portion of the stable-block where the animals were kept when she remembered to stop them following her into the house. Three ferrets occupied a large cage in one corner and an indeterminate number of rabbits resided in another. A red squirrel shared a beam with an injured jackdaw and, below them, five long-legged Jacob’s-coat puppies gambolled around Sophia and the understandably ruffled tabby cat in her arms.
‘Why – Venetia, dear,’ said Sophia vaguely but with genuine pleasure. ‘How nice. Have you come to see how the pups are doing?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Venetia kissed the older woman’s cheek and smiled. ‘I really came to see you. But I’ve also decided that – if your offer is still open – I’d like to change my mind and take one of Trixie’s offspring after all.’
‘But of course.’ Sophia beamed. ‘Pick whichever one you like. They may not be precisely beautiful but they have very affectionate natures.’
This was so like Sophy that Venetia couldn’t help laughing and twenty minutes later she was sitting in the winter parlour with a bright-eyed little dog on her knee, wondering what had possessed her. The brown and black markings on its face gave it a lopsided appearance which was intensified by the fact that one ear was up and the other down; it had a pointed nose, four worryingly large paws and a tail like a brush. Venetia grinned at it and let it lick her chin. Mother was going to have a fit.
Sophia placed a glass of raspberry cordial on the table at Venetia’s elbow and drifted into a chair on the other side of the hearth.
‘What will you call him?’ she asked.
Gypsy, thought Venetia immediately. But a remnant of sense remained and she said carelessly, ‘I’ve no idea. Phoebe can decide.’ She paused for a moment to sip her cordial and consider how best to approach the subject she had come to discuss. Then, deciding that subtlety was a waste of time with someone as perpetually abstracted at Sophia was, she said, ‘Have you heard anything from Colonel Brandon?’
‘Colonel …? Oh, Gabriel. No. Should I have done?’
‘Probably not. I just thought that if he was planning to move in here he might have advised you of the fact.’
‘Ah,’ said Sophia. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’
Venetia sighed and tried again.
‘Sophy … what do you know about him? It’s not that I’m being vulgarly curious. I just think that, under the circumstances, I’ve a right to know. And I can’t very well ask Mr Crisp or the Colonel himself, can I?’
‘No, dear. I suppose not.’ Sophia tugged ineffectively at the fringed silk shawl that was threatening to slide off her shoulders. ‘I’m just not sure how far I can help you. I really don’t know much at all.’
‘Then let’s start at the beginning. You said you met him when he was five. Was that the first you knew of his existence?’
‘Yes. As far as I recall, it was the year before Ellis was born. Margaret was eager to see me married, so she and Robert took me to London to find a husband.’ A faint, mischievous smile touched the plump face, ‘You see how successful that was.’
‘But while you were there, Robert presented his – his baseborn son to you,’ persisted Venetia, absently allowing the puppy to chew the finger of her riding glove. ‘How did that come about?’
‘He just took me to visit him one morning while Margaret was out shopping.’
‘Where?’
‘Where? I’m not sure. The Exchange, I suppose.’
Venetia put a severe curb on her impatience.
‘No, Sophy. I meant – where did you visit Robert’s son?’
‘Oh. At an armourer’s house in Shoreditch. Their name was Morton or Morris or some such.’
‘And that was where the Colonel was being brought up?’
‘As far as I know. He seemed very happy and I remember thinking what a nice little boy he was.’
‘You’ll have noticed a difference in him then,’ muttered Venetia. And aloud, ‘No doubt his mother was there too. The armourer’s daughter, perhaps?’
‘Oh no. I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t recall him having a daughter. Just two boys a little older than Gabriel. No, dear. I think they were a sort
of foster-family. Robert was probably paying them.’
‘I see.’ Venetia thought about it. ‘In that case, who was his mother?’
‘Presumably some unfortunate girl who couldn’t look after him herself.’
‘I can imagine. A dairymaid or laundress or yeoman’s daughter.’
Sophia shrugged slightly.
‘That’s something you’ll have to ask Gabriel himself.’
Venetia stared moodily into her glass.
‘I sincerely hope that won’t be necessary. To be frank, I shan’t care who his mother was so long as I don’t have to marry him.’ She looked up. ‘And I would suppose that you can’t exactly be relishing the prospect of seeing him become master of Brandon Lacey either.’
The myopic gaze seemed to focus slightly.
‘Why not?’
Venetia choked on her cordial.
‘Why not? Because of Ellis, of course!’
‘Ah yes. Ellis.’ There was a short meditative pause. ‘But then, you know, I doubt Ellis would ever have settled to country life. He’s a charming young man – but not one to apply himself to anything for very long. Too fond of excitement, perhaps.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Venetia stiffly.
‘Only that it’s possible Robert knew what he was doing,’ came the placid reply. ‘And that we ought, therefore, to give Gabriel the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Including me?’
‘Well yes, dear. In view of the circumstances, particularly you,’ said Sophia.
*
Venetia rode home with Gypsy in her lap and a dark tide of foreboding in her heart. As she had expected, her mother pronounced the puppy totally unsuited to a gentleman’s establishment and ordered it to be kept out of the parlour. Phoebe, on the other hand, loved it.
*
While Venetia waited for a message from France, Charles Stuart was busy tying another knot in the already tangled affairs of the nation. He persuaded Lieutenant-General Cromwell to support his desire for a personal treaty with the Parliament by telling them that he much preferred their Heads of the Proposals to the old Newcastle Propositions; and then he told the Scots that if they would declare in his favour, he’d soon stem the rising power of the Independents.
The first ploy worked best for, when those Independent members wanting to see the monarchy abolished proposed that no further negotiations be carried on with His Majesty, Cromwell personally saw to it that the motion was defeated. But its ramifications did not end there. Amongst the ranks of the Army – still unpaid, despite Fairfax’s attempts to raise £50,000 from the City – was born a suspicion that the Lieutenant-General’s goodwill towards the King boded less well for the Army than it did for the Lieutenant-General himself. And, coinciding as this did with Parliament’s rejection of the Heads of the Proposals and John Lilburne’s cries that Cromwell was prepared to let him rot in the Tower rather than help him to get out of it, the Lieutenant-General immediately found himself less than popular.
Amidst the resulting deluge of news-sheets, September moved inexorably towards October and Venetia began to wonder if the remaining three months were any more likely to provide a solution than the last three had done. Then, just when she had almost given up expecting it, Ashley Peverell came back and frightened her silly.
It wasn’t his appearance that paralysed her nervous system. It was the manner of it. She returned one afternoon from visiting a tenant whose child was sick, to find the Falcon comfortably ensconced in the parlour with her mother and sisters.
It was fortunate that, just for a moment, she was too shocked to speak for it gave him the chance to hand her her cue.
‘Ah,’ he said, rising easily to his feet and executing an unnecessarily extravagant bow. ‘Mistress Clifford, I presume? I was hoping I might have the pleasure of meeting you – and now, of course, I can only bless my good fortune.’ The audacious green gaze swung back to Lady Clifford. ‘But I forget my manners, Madam, and must crave your forgiveness. My only excuse is that being faced with four such lovely ladies has made me a trifle light-headed.’
It was exactly the kind of gallant flummery that her ladyship liked and, smiling benevolently, she said, ‘I fear you flatter us, sir. But allow me to present you to my eldest daughter. Venetia, dear, this is Mr Peverell. He is a friend of Harry’s, newly-arrived from France.’
Venetia achieved an expression of surprised pleasure.
‘Oh? And have you seen my brother recently, sir?’
‘Less than two weeks ago and can therefore assure you that he is in excellent health. In fact – as I was just on the point of telling your lady mother – he entrusted me with a letter to you all.’ He pulled a sealed packet from his pocket and handed it to Lady Clifford. ‘I gather it contains news of some urgency. And since I’m sure you’ll wish to read it in private, I’ll relieve you of my presence.’
Her ladyship blinked and Phoebe, unwilling to lose the handsome, tawny-haired stranger so quickly, said, ‘There’s no need for that. And, after your kindness in calling on us, I’m sure we’d all be very pleased if you would stay for supper.’
Ashley Peverell gave her a smile of dazzling charm.
‘I only wish I could for there’s nothing I’d like better. Unfortunately, however, I’m already overdue for an appointment in York and so, on this occasion, I’m afraid I have no choice but to leave immediately.’
Lady Clifford rose and extended her hand.
‘Then we will not detain you, sir. But if you are ever passing Knaresborough again, I hope you will find the time for a longer visit.’
He kissed her fingers and bowed to each of her daughters in turn.
‘Nothing,’ he vowed, lifting an impudent brow at Venetia, ‘shall prevent me.’
Allowing none of her very natural feelings to show in her face, Venetia followed the only sensible course and offered to show him out. Then, when they were safely out of earshot, she hissed furiously, ‘Have you completely lost your mind? After all your lectures on taking every precaution, what on earth possessed you to come here so openly?’
He grinned. ‘Scared you, did I?’
‘Somewhat.’
‘I thought I might. But it wasn’t so much of a risk, you know. I’ll take care that your family never clap eyes on me again – even though it’s something of a sacrifice. Why didn’t you ever tell me what a beauty your sister Elizabeth is?’
‘Because she’s betrothed,’ snapped Venetia. And then, drawing a steadying breath, ‘That letter from Harry … since you’ve seen him, you presumably know what it says. Is he coming back?’
He had hoped she wouldn’t ask.
‘No.’
Venetia’s insides turned cold. No. A monosyllabic death-knell. The air seared her lungs and she said raggedly, ‘Not ever?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied the Captain uncomfortably. ‘Look, as far as I know, he’s explained everything in his letter so I think you should just read it for yourself. Besides, we haven’t much time.’
They had just entered the stableyard where his horse stood waiting.
Venetia regarded him stonily and said, ‘I see. Then, if there’s more, you’d best tell me quickly.’
Something darkened the normally carefree expression and Ashley Peverell said baldly, ‘I found Ellis, too.’
‘And?’
‘And when he’d read your letter, he got remarkably drunk. Then, after he’d sobered up, he became rather more philosophical and said that the bastard was welcome to enjoy Brandon Lacey while he could because he won’t hold it long once the King occupies his rightful place again.’
‘I hope he’s right. But while we wait for that to happen, is Ellis coming home?’
It was the moment Ashley had dreaded and he had to force himself to look Venetia squarely in the eye to preserve himself from any suspicion of subterfuge. It really wasn’t his fault if the majority of Ellis bloody Brandon’s reasons for staying in France weren’t fit for the ears of Ellis bloody Brandon’s affianced wife.
‘No,’ he said, at length. ‘He isn’t. He said that his presence here won’t solve anything and that, if there was a way to foil his father’s wishes, he was sure you’d find it.’
‘Did he?’ Her skin was perfectly bloodless. ‘I’m flattered. Is that all?’
‘Except that this would be a particularly bad moment for him to leave France, yes. He intended to write you a letter. But when I went back next morning to collect it, he appeared to have rushed off on some mission or other and no one knew when to expect him back.’ He paused and then added awkwardly, ‘I’m really sorry. It’s not what you were hoping for, is it?’
‘No. No, it isn’t.’ She met his eyes with carefully detached composure. ‘But that’s not your fault. And at least you tried.’
Back in the parlour were three bewildered and tearful faces. They hadn’t waited for her before reading the letter. Harry, it appeared, had taken great pains to explain that he was unlikely ever to return to Ford Edge except secretly as a visitor – and for a very good reason. He had made his conversion to Catholicism and was even now studying to become a Jesuit priest.
Venetia accepted the annihilation of all her hopes with the same glacial control she had shown Ashley Peverell. Then, when the anxious incoherence of her mother and sisters finally dwindled into silence, she did the only thing left to her. She promised to go and see Lawyer Crisp.
*
Isaiah Crisp received Mistress Clifford in his rather cramped Finkle Street office with a marked degree of reserve which still didn’t prevent him from remarking that it might have been more suitable for him to have called on her at home.
‘I daresay. But at Ford Edge it would have been impossible for me to speak with you privately.’ She met his eyes with a complete absence of expression. ‘You will presumably realise that this isn’t easy for me.’
The lawyer seated himself behind his desk and surveyed her warily over his latticed fingers.