Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  She smiled back somewhat perfunctorily, handed both men a glass of wine and said, ‘Inspecting the Castle?’

  ‘Yes. I’m here to prepare for a Scots invasion we all hope won’t actually happen,’ came the calm reply. ‘And, since Parliament ordered Knaresborough Castle to be slighted almost two years ago, it’s my duty to discover why very little has actually been done and to take whatever steps are necessary to correct the situation.’

  ‘I see,’ said Venetia coldly. ‘But perhaps you aren’t aware that the local people have petitioned Parliament against the slighting?’

  ‘Ah.’ The Major-General looked mildly uncomfortable. ‘I am aware of it, yes. But —’

  ‘But the security of the north comes first,’ interposed a crisp voice from the door. Then, as both Lambert and Eden swung to face him, Gabriel grinned and said simply, ‘I knew it. You can’t do without me.’

  While she watched the three men greet each other, Venetia silently thanked God that the Colonel had arrived before she’d been asked any tricky questions. Eden had been remarkably restrained so far – but he must know she’d previously been betrothed to another, quite different Brandon and therefore be speculating about a possible connection between Ellis and Gabriel. And if he was working up to a tactful enquiry, Venetia decided she would rather not be the one left to answer it.

  Murmuring something about having to speak to the cook, she winnowed her way to the door and made a graceful exit. Then she leaned against the wall with her eyes shut for a moment and prayed that the Major-General wouldn’t accept an invitation to sup with them.

  ‘Venetia?’ hissed Phoebe from the half-landing. And when her sister looked up, ‘Who are they?’

  Venetia ascended the stairs and absorbed the glories of Phoebe’s best rose-coloured taffeta and becomingly arranged curls.

  ‘Oh my God. All this for John Lambert? Or no. It’s more likely to be Eden Maxwell, isn’t it?’

  ‘The one with red hair?’ asked Phoebe, a becoming flush mantling her cheeks. And then, ‘Maxwell? He isn’t related to that girl Kit was going to marry, is he?’

  ‘He’s her brother.’

  ‘Oh Lord! So that’s how you know each other.’

  ‘It’s part of it. But while I was at Whitehall, I was also fairly well-acquainted with his wife.’

  ‘Oh.’ Instant disappointment. ‘Oh. I see.’

  Venetia crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt and hoped no one would be silly enough to tell Phoebe the catastrophic truth about the Major’s marriage. Then she said casually, ‘I’m just hoping they don’t stay long. I don’t feel like raking over the past with Eden Maxwell and I’d as soon not listen to John Lambert’s plans for demolishing the Castle.’

  Phoebe’s eyes sharpened. ‘Is that why they’re here?’

  ‘Yes. By the time Parliament has finished, there’ll be scarcely a castle left intact anywhere. And they won’t have been destroyed in warfare but by an army of grubby little men with mattocks and shovels,’ was the bitter reply. ‘And what, I wonder, will posterity make of that?’

  Inside the parlour, Gabriel established a few basic facts and realised that he had little choice but to acquaint Lambert and Eden with his personal circumstances before Eden started coming up with a few theories of his own or Lambert heard the tale from Tom Knightley. He therefore outlined the situation in a tone calculated to discourage further questions before saying coolly, ‘So there you have it. And now perhaps we can close this discussion and talk of something else. The recent Vote of No Addresses, for example. It is true that the Lords have passed it?’

  John Lambert, who was as good at hiding his thoughts as anyone Eden had ever seen, immediately embarked on a smooth explanation of how their lordships had naturally been worried that ending negotiations with the King might eventually lead – not only to the abolition of the monarchy – but also to that of their own Upper House. They had consequently resisted the Vote until, on the excuse of riots in the City, the Commons had asked for two thousand soldiers to guard Whitehall from violence. Then and only then had their lordships taken the hint and given way.

  Throughout this, Eden remained deep in thought. He had known Gabriel for too long and liked him to well for a little thing like illegitimacy to matter in the slightest. But there were others who wouldn’t see it that way – and, reading between the lines, it rather looked as if Venetia might be one of them. As for what all this meant to Gabriel himself, Eden couldn’t begin to guess. The only certain thing was that his situation wasn’t one anyone could envy.

  The Major-General accepted both an invitation to supper and an offer of accommodation for the night; and, when Venetia came back into the room, Eden watched her receive the news with glacial courtesy. He sighed and resigned himself to an uncomfortable evening.

  Sophia greeted their unexpected guests with her usual uncritical vagueness and Phoebe decided that it was enough just to be able to watch Major Maxwell. Venetia kept her tongue firmly between her teeth and wondered how long she could put off asking about the Major’s sister.

  For obvious reasons, talk at the table centred largely around the possible coming of the Scots.

  ‘Both we and the Parliament are doing everything we can to avert it, of course,’ said Lambert. ‘Commissioners are being sent to Edinburgh; and Oliver St John and the Lieutenant-General have opened a dialogue with the Queen, aimed at putting the Prince of Wales on the throne.’

  Venetia’s eyes rose.

  ‘Does Cromwell know the Prince?’

  ‘Not personally. But —’

  ‘No.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I thought not.’

  There was a tiny pause. Then, as if she hadn’t spoken, Gabriel said, ‘And what of the Scots Army?’

  ‘At the moment, its prospects don’t sound very hopeful,’ shrugged Lambert. ‘The Duke of Hamilton is apparently having trouble persuading Covenanters to enlist alongside Catholic Royalists and both Leven and David Leslie have refused to command. Argyll, of course, is opposed to the Engagement full stop.’ He paused to select a piece of chicken from the dish in front of him. ‘But as I see it, the Scots may be the least of our problems. There are too many factions for my liking – too much general discontent. And that madman Lilburne is no help.’

  ‘Free-born John?’ Sophia smiled gently. ‘Such a remarkable young man. What has he done now?’

  ‘The usual sort of thing,’ supplied Eden. ‘He’s called Cromwell a traitor and dug up that old rumour about him wanting the King to make him Earl of Essex.’

  There was another pause into which Venetia said delicately, ‘Excuse me asking … but is it only a rumour?’

  John Lambert’s brows rose.

  ‘The fact that Cromwell supported the Vote of No Addresses proves that it is.’

  Venetia’s expression was a masterpiece of polite disbelief and, seeing it, Phoebe said hastily, ‘Have you met Mr Lilburne, Major?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ nodded Eden. Then, turning cheerfully to the Colonel, ‘Which reminds me. I got young Mr Radford released by vouching for him in your name – so if he does anything stupid, you’ll be the first one to hear of it.’

  Sardonic grey eyes met mischievous hazel ones.

  ‘How very thoughtful,’ murmured Gabriel.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ returned Eden. And smiled.

  Already more than half-enslaved, Phoebe drew a long, painful breath and forced herself to say brightly, ‘Venetia tells me that she knows your wife, Major Maxwell – and that you have children. You must miss them very much when your duty keeps you with the Army.’

  Eden’s face froze into an expressionless mask and there was a sudden, catastrophic silence which Sophia and Lambert plainly understood no better than poor Phoebe.

  ‘I – I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Have I said something I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Venetia smoothly. ‘You’ve just brought the conversation on to a personal level that both the Major and I would have been happier to avoid.’ Then, to
Eden, ‘It’s no good, is it? We both know I can’t let you leave here without asking about Kate.’

  The scarred face relaxed fractionally.

  ‘She’s well, as far as I know. She married Luciano del Santi and lives with him in Genoa – where I believe he’s taken over the running of his uncle’s business empire. They have a son.’ He paused and then added stiffly, ‘It’s a little late to say it but I was sorry about Kit.’

  Venetia merely inclined her head. If she spoke, it would probably be to say something best left unsaid; and she’d only begun this to prevent Phoebe finding out that, though the gallant Major was married, he lacked a wife.

  Had she but known it, her effort was wasted. As the party moved from the table to the parlour, Phoebe grasped Gabriel’s arm and said rapidly, ‘You’d better tell me what I did wrong or I’m likely to do it again.’

  He considered her for a moment.

  ‘You referred to a part of Eden’s life which he prefers not to discuss.’

  ‘But why? I don’t see the harm in it. I only mentioned his —’ She stopped, sudden horror darkening her eyes. ‘Oh God. Has – has one of them died?’

  ‘No. To put it bluntly, three years ago his wife left both him and their children to elope with her lover.’

  Phoebe lost a little of her colour.

  ‘That’s horrible! How could she do such a thing?’

  ‘Not being acquainted with her, I couldn’t say. But Eden is finding it difficult to adjust.’

  ‘Of course.’ The blue-grey eyes grew suspiciously bright. ‘He must have loved her very much.’

  ‘I believe he did,’ agreed Gabriel. ‘But don’t approach this subject with him or even let him guess that you know. He’s not the kind to appreciate sympathy. And if you show any, he’ll take you apart with his tongue.’

  ~ ~ ~

  THREE

  Major-General Lambert and Major Maxwell left Brandon Lacey the following morning and, as soon as they had gone, Venetia descended wrathfully upon her husband.

  ‘Why on earth did you have to tell Phoebe about Celia Maxwell? Didn’t it occur to you that, since I could have told her myself, I might just possibly have had a good reason for not doing so?’

  ‘No. I can’t say that it did. I simply wished you hadn’t seen fit to mention Eden’s wife at all – after which I was more concerned with ensuring Phoebe didn’t compound her mistake,’ he responded coolly. ‘If that has created some problem, however, you’ll have to explain it.’

  ‘Then you can’t have eyes in your head,’ came the tart reply. ‘Didn’t you see how she was looking at Eden? She seems to have been struck by a coup de foudre – so I tried to nip it in the bud and hoped you’d have the sense to keep quiet. Only, of course, you didn’t.’

  Gabriel’s brows rose.

  ‘My mistake. I ought to have realised that your muscles would go into spasm at the mere possibility of having another Roundhead in the family. But it won’t happen, you know. Eden is neither free nor ready to marry again. And even Phoebe can’t fall in love in the space of one evening.’

  ‘No? Think about it. She’s seventeen years old, incurably romantic and over-flowing with compassion. He is attractive, almost but not quite unattainable and the victim of personal tragedy. With Phoebe, that’s all it takes.’

  ‘Then doubtless it’s just as well that they’re unlikely to meet again,’ came the maddeningly patient reply. ‘Is that all you wanted to say?’

  Venetia checked her temper with an effort.

  ‘Not quite. You might have told me that you knew him.’

  ‘And vice versa. However, if you’re seriously worried, we could each prepare a list of everyone we’ve ever met in order to compare notes … though, as far as I’m aware, the only other acquaintances we’re likely to have in common are Luciano and Kate del Santi, whom I met briefly at Basing House in October of ’45.’ He paused, a hard smile bracketing his mouth. ‘And that, I would suggest, is where this conversation should end.’

  ‘By all means,’ she snapped contemptuously. ‘After all, I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking if your conscience is ever troubled by the screams of those you and your friends roasted alive.’

  ‘None at all.’ He did not bother to qualify it but the look in his eyes was wholly at odds with the butter-smooth tone. Then, without giving her time to probe further, he said, ‘Dick Carter is in the bookroom, waiting to hear my suggestions for improving the estate’s finances. You may join us, if you wish. Or not. It’s entirely up to you.’

  Venetia kept her face carefully blank.

  ‘Then I’ll come. If you’ve dreamed up a miracle, I’ll be the first to applaud it.’

  Mr Carter’s heart sank when he realised that Mistress Venetia was joining the Colonel and himself for their meeting. He didn’t approve of women meddling in business matters and this one was more difficult than most. However, since there wasn’t much he could do about it, he greeted her respectfully and then gave all his attention to the Colonel.

  ‘As you’re aware, I’ve spent the last two months trying to acquire a basic working knowledge of Brandon Lacey,’ began Gabriel briskly, ‘and, though I realise I still have much to learn, the time has come to start making a few decisions. Our position is a very simple one. I’ve paid the last quarter’s taxes and have the means to meet the next two. But by the third quarter of this year – even with a decent harvest – we’re likely to be in trouble.’

  Dick Carter nodded gloomily. None of this was news to him and, though he had plenty of ideas for improved farming methods, they wouldn’t show a profit for at least a couple of years.

  Venetia continued to regard her husband cynically. Since the bulk of Brandon Lacey’s revenue came from rents, there was really only one solution – and she wondered why it was taking the Colonel so long to admit it.

  Perched on a corner of the desk, Gabriel frowned down at the quill he had been idly twirling in his fingers. He said, ‘The obvious answer is to raise the rents … but I won’t do it. We’ve too many men disabled in the war, too many sons lost and too many widows; and for the last couple of years, their harvests have been as poor as ours.’ He looked up. ‘In short, these people have the same problem in making ends meet that we do but with far fewer resources. And I’m not about to fill our coffers at their expense.’

  His voice, though dispassionate as ever, sounded remarkably sincere and, had it not been for the tenor of their earlier conversation, Venetia might have been tempted to believe him. As it was however, she told herself that only a fool would trust one of Cromwell’s bullies and said coldly, ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Something you may consider rather radical,’ he replied. ‘I’m proposing that we go into the cloth business.’

  She stared back impatiently.

  ‘What are you talking about? We keep sheep – which means we’re involved in the wool trade already.’

  ‘Quite. But let’s start at the beginning.’ Gabriel looked at Dick Carter. ‘We have roughly two hundred sheep of our own and, after shearing, we send the wool off to be spun and dyed. Then we sell it in York. At the same time, virtually all our tenants are doing much the same thing but with a smaller quantity of fleeces – except that most of them do their own spinning and a few weave as well. Is that a fair assessment?’

  Mr Carter agreed that it was.

  ‘Very well. Then I propose two things; that we stop paying outsiders and start using the expertise of our own people … and that, instead of selling unwoven wool, we aim to market finished cloth. I’d like to put wheels and looms into the empty cottages at Scar Croft, fix a daily rate for labour and offer the jobs of spinning and weaving Brandon Lacey’s wool to any tenant willing and able to do it. I also want to try persuading the tenants to sell their wool to us instead of taking it to York. That will enable us to command a higher price because we’ll no longer be in competition with each other and will be dealing in greater bulk.’ He paused. ‘Well? What do you think?’

/>   ‘I think it’s despicable!’ said Venetia hotly. ‘You’ll employ children because they’re cheaper – and take their parents’ independence away at the same time.’

  There was a long, unpleasant silence. Then, in a voice that could have cut bread, Gabriel said, ‘I’m not sure whether you’re congenitally incapable of listening or whether you just can’t help thinking with your stomach. Either way, it’s a fault you’d find it useful to overcome. I can’t be the only person who finds continual repetition and self-justification tedious.’

  Just for a moment, Venetia was too stunned to reply. Then she surged to her feet, a tide of colour staining her skin.

  ‘How dare you? I don’t take that tone from anyone!’

  ‘Then you should beware of using it yourself, shouldn’t you?’ He eyed her with mocking indifference. ‘If you’re going – go. If not, sit down and listen to the facts.’

  Venetia would have given a good deal to have walked out – anything, in fact, except the satisfaction of letting him drive her to it. She sat down with a bump and stared him derisively in the eye.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gabriel. ‘And now let us be clear. I simply want to use our resources to maximum advantage – and in a way which will benefit our tenants as much as ourselves by keeping their rents down and also providing increased income. Does that make sense?’

  Still inwardly seething, Venetia merely shrugged.

  ‘It makes sense, Colonel,’ said Dick Carter cautiously, ‘and I daresay as a good many folks’d be happy wi’ arrangement. Only trouble is, you’ll be setting up looms and the like but not getting use out of ’em during best part o’ year. Sheep are only sheared once, thou knows.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Gabriel, an odd gleam lighting his eyes. ‘So I want to plant flax. As much of it as we can grow.’

  The bailiff pursed his lips.

  ‘You can’t grow flax year in and year out. It takes too much out o’ soil.’

  ‘So I understand. But since you’ve been expounding the various advantages of crop-rotation to me at every opportunity, I’d have thought you’d be glad of the chance to put your theories into practice. Well?’