Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  He watched them come in, clutching their hats and looking nervously around them. Very few, he guessed, had ever been inside a house like this and they were intimidated as much by their surroundings as by what he himself was going to say to them. But great jugs of ale stood comfortingly on the trestles and both Sophia and Phoebe were ready with welcoming smiles. It was just a pity, he thought, looking at Venetia sitting straight-backed and silent by the hearth, that his wife couldn’t be equally helpful.

  When the time came, he spoke for fifteen minutes, outlining his project simply and with dispassionate clarity whilst keeping a weather eye on the faces in front of him. And, when he had finished, he let the echo of his words lap the edges of the room for a moment before saying, ‘If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them. Alternatively, if you need some time in which to digest what I’ve said and talk amongst yourselves, ale is ready and waiting.’

  The faint air of tension dissolved into a ripple of approval and someone said jovially, ‘You’ve given us a fair bit to think on, Colonel – and no mistake. But I reckon I can speak for the rest when I say you’ve not gone about it so badly. You might even make a Yorkshireman yet.’

  ‘Now I am worried,’ retorted Gabriel with the sudden, flying grin which, as always, rendered his face younger and less formidable. ‘And so, I think, should you be.’

  This time there was a rumble of scattered laughter and then the men headed for the beer tables talking as if their tongues had been frozen for a week. But Jane Skilbeck and a handful of other widows remained in an uncertain huddle by the wall until Venetia walked gracefully over to them with a tray of small tankards.

  ‘Some refreshment for you, ladies. I thought spiced wine might be more welcome than ale on such a cold day.’

  One by one, they bobbed a startled curtsy and carefully accepted a cup, leaving Jane to express their thanks.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Venetia. ‘I just wanted the chance to say that, since you’re all the equal of any man here, you’re equally entitled to express your opinions.’ And she encompassed them in a dazzling, faintly mischievous smile.

  Gabriel stared at her. The unpretentiousness of her manner and the thought which had provided the mulled wine were unexpected enough; but that smile gave him the disorientating feeling of looking at a completely different person. Putting himself in her path as she left the women, he said slowly, ‘That was a very kind thought and uncommonly well-handled.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re impressed.’ The lovely eyes surveyed him witheringly. ‘I’d have been sorry to put myself to so much trouble for nothing.’

  Gabriel’s brief moment of admiration died stillborn. He said, ‘My mistake. After your talented performance just now, I thought we might stand some chance of a civilised exchange for once.’

  ‘Why bother when we both know it can’t last?’ she said. And walked away.

  He immediately found himself surrounded by a group of men eager to ask questions and had no difficulty whatsoever in banishing Venetia from his mind. Her hostility, after all, was nothing new. And right now, he had a job to do.

  He did it well. Even Venetia, watching once more from the hearth, had to acknowledge that. He explained, reiterated and clarified without ever wandering from the point and often with a good deal of dry humour. And, long before the ale showed signs of running out, it was becoming plain that he’d succeeded. First the women cast their votes in favour and then, gradually most of the men. At the end of an hour, Phoebe was already helping Dick Carter to list names and skills … and before two had passed, the last of the stragglers left the house a good deal more jauntily than they had entered it.

  Gabriel drew a long breath and let his head drop back in a moment of silent communication with the ceiling. Then he faced his helpers with a grimly satisfied smile and said, ‘It would appear that the day is ours. All we have to do now is make tomorrow live up to it.’

  *

  In the end, Venetia decided to go to York – but only, so far as Gabriel could see, because Phoebe had set her heart on the trip and Sophia preferred to stay at home with a sick rabbit. They therefore set off early on Monday morning on the twenty-mile ride which, but for Phoebe’s determination to talk non-stop, would have been accomplished largely in silence. Gabriel lent half an ear to her chatter whilst wishing he’d asked John Lambert for an introduction to the Merchant Adventurers. He also found himself wondering why Venetia and Wat were glowering at each other even more than usual … but concluded that it was probably better not to ask.

  They entered York beneath the high, crenelated turrets of Micklegate at around eleven o’clock and made their way across the Ouse into the bustling medieval heart of the city. Carts, drays and carriages thronged the streets and rumbled noisily over the cobbles, spattering unwary passers-by with the refuse from the gutters; hawkers cried everything from hot pies to pamphlets, church bells clanged and a hundred different smells charged the air. Wat brightened. It was the best place he’d seen since leaving London.

  At the top of High Ousegate, Gabriel paused to consider his direction and, seeing this, Venetia said brusquely, ‘This is where we leave you. The Merchant Adventurers Hall is over to your right, on Fossgate - and the best mercers’ establishments lie in the other direction. When and where do you wish us to meet you?’

  ‘No later than three and at some respectable inn, which I’m sure you can name more easily than I.’

  ‘The Bear on Stonegate, then.’ And, without waiting for him to reply, Venetia rode away.

  Phoebe cast Gabriel a look of apologetic resignation and shrugged. Then she set off in pursuit of her sister. As soon as she’d caught up, she said flatly, ‘If this mood’s going to last all day, we might as well have stayed at home.’

  Venetia turned and eyed her remotely. The truth, of course, was that the business of amassing Ellis’s fifty pounds had left her extremely tense. She’d managed to get just over half of it from Ford Edge but the rest had come out of the household budget at Brandon Lacey. And although she tried to tell herself that she had only taken what rightfully belonged to Ellis anyway, her conscience was far from clear – which was why she’d been unnecessarily shrewish with Gabriel the day before.

  Phoebe was right, though; and there was no point in worrying about what couldn’t be mended, so she summoned a smile and said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to spoil the day. Let’s stable the horses and fortify ourselves with a glass of cordial.’

  ‘And a couple of slices of curd tart?’ grinned Phoebe. ‘By all means. I’m starving!’

  By the time they entered Mr Sutcliffe’s shop, hard by St Helen’s church, Venetia was already fully acquainted with the indecisive nature of her sister’s requirements.

  ‘I’m not sure if I want taffeta or silk – and I can’t have blue because that’s what Bess will be wearing. Also, since I’m to attend her, I suppose I’d better be careful not to choose anything that will clash. But that means pink would probably be best and I really wanted something more sophisticated. What do you think?’

  ‘That we’ve got three hours not three days,’ replied Venetia. ‘Come on. Let’s get started.’

  *

  While his wife and sister-in-law debated the rival merits of primrose taffeta and jade silk and turned Mr Sutcliffe’s trestles into a glowing jumble of colour, Colonel Brandon entered the majestically-timbered hall of the Merchant Adventurers and found it a hive of activity. Groups of men stood in corners or sat at tables, talking rapidly and passing round numerous sheets of paper; servants ran hither and thither, bringing food and drink or anything else their employers demanded; and black-clad lawyers moved sedately through the chaos, holding apparently precious documents close to their chests. Gabriel eyed it all with interest and then set about finding the man he’d come there to see. Five minutes later, he was sitting opposite Leonard Thomson, the current Governor of the Company.

  Mr Thomson looked at him thoughtfully and with a certain air of caution.

 
‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’

  ‘Primarily, I wished to introduce myself as the new owner of Brandon Lacey and to re-establish any connections Sir Robert may have had here on my own account.’ Gabriel smiled ruefully and added, ‘You will appreciate that all of this is new to me … and therefore advice or information about what is or is not possible, would be greatly appreciated.’

  The Governor relaxed a little.

  ‘Many of us here were acquainted with Sir Robert, of course. Some may even have had mercantile dealings with him. But, so far as I am aware, he confined himself to selling raw wool – where the business of the Company is largely concerned with the export of finished cloth.’

  ‘So I understand. And, as a result of certain changes I am setting in train, finished cloth is what Brandon Lacey will be selling.’

  ‘Ah. Interesting. I assume, then, that you are looking to trade with the Company?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You … er … had no ideas of exporting your output directly?’

  ‘Since the Company has a monopoly on the export of cloth, that would be rather foolish of me, wouldn’t it?’ returned Gabriel, well aware that he was being tested. And then, with a slight shrug, ‘We can increase our yield but not to those levels.’

  ‘Mm.’ Mr Thomson picked up a pen and drew a sheet of paper in front of him. ‘And what quality will you be producing?’

  ‘The best,’ returned Gabriel, with more assurance than he actually felt. ‘Worsteds, mostly. And linen.’

  For the first time, a distinct gleam lit the Governor’s eye.

  ‘Linen. Even more interesting.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘You were not aware that, over the last year or so, the demand for linen has been bidding fair to outstrip the supply?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t aware of that.’ Gabriel experienced a small degree of optimism. ‘The decision to plant flax was made purely in order to keep our looms busy throughout the year.’

  ‘Sensible – and quite possibly lucrative. Supposing you give me some idea of the estate’s capability? Number of fleeces, flax acreage and so on.’

  Gabriel battened down a strong desire to remark that he didn’t see how such details concerned anyone but himself and reeled off a series of estimates. Then he said blandly, ‘And now … supposing you tell me the current market rates for wool and linen, and whether you think any of your fellow merchants might be interested in entering into a contract to buy from me. After all, I’ve no wish to waste either your time or mine unnecessarily.’

  ‘I never waste my time, Colonel,’ Mr Thomson replied coolly. ‘And, unless you are in any particular hurry, I may be interested in coming to some arrangement with you myself.’

  *

  It was almost two hours later before he repaired to the nearby tavern where Mr Larkin had elected to wait for him and, when he did, the look on his face spoke for itself.

  ‘You’ve found a buyer, then,’ said Wat.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘No. I’m just flummoxed as to why you’re going to all this trouble. There must be easier ways.’

  ‘Suggest one.’

  ‘Well I don’t know, do I? I’m not a bloody farmer.’ Wat paused and then said abruptly, ‘There’s one thing I do know, though. It would pay you to keep a better eye on that missus of yours.’

  Gabriel draped his cloak over a corner of the settle, signalled for the pot-boy to bring more ale and then sat down.

  ‘And what makes you think that?’

  ‘Because she’s either got one extremely good friend or a whole parcel of poxy Royalist ones. And I reckon you ought to find out which before something nasty comes of it.’

  The Colonel took his time about answering. Then he said, ‘All right. You know something I don’t. So tell me about it. I’m listening.’

  *

  As soon as Gabriel walked into the parlour of the Bear on Stonegate, Phoebe embarked on a rapturous description of the length of apricot silk which lay, neatly wrapped, on the bench beside her. He smiled, remarked that it would doubtless suit her to perfection and then, when she paused for breath, looked impassively across at Venetia.

  ‘And what about you? Haven’t you bought anything?’

  ‘No.’ She forced herself to speak pleasantly and gave the same excuse she had given Phoebe. ‘I don’t really need a new gown … and nothing I saw was sufficiently tempting.’

  ‘No? But then, you’re remarkably hard to please, aren’t you?’

  ‘She’s hopeless,’ said Phoebe, for once entirely oblivious to undercurrents. ‘She actually refused the loveliest mauve-green watered silk I’ve ever seen.’

  The dark grey eyes remained fixed on Venetia, their expression unreadable but vaguely disquieting.

  ‘How very strong-minded of you. Or was it just native thrift? Or then again,’ he suggested blandly, ‘perhaps you just didn’t have the right incentive?’

  ~ ~ ~

  FIVE

  Along with Wat and Dick Carter, Gabriel spent the following two days overseeing the final stages of preparation in the Scar Croft cottages. There had been no shortage of volunteer labour, so the inner walls had been swiftly demolished and made good, leaving ample time for the interiors to be whitewashed before a small army of laughing, excited women arrived with brooms, buckets and mops. Gabriel praised, joked and dirtied his hands along with the rest. Then, at around four in the afternoon, he turned round to find Major Maxwell at his elbow.

  ‘My God,’ said Eden, looking first at the hive of industry about him and then at his commanding officer’s paint-spattered smock. ‘Another myth exploded.’

  ‘Quite.’ Gabriel rubbed his hands on a rag and grinned. ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t simply wait at the house and let someone come down in search of me?’

  ‘Very. But the truth is that I didn’t have time for that. I’m going south with reports for Fairfax – regimental strengths, the state of the northern defences and so on – and I thought I’d pay you a flying visit on the way, to ask if you’ve any messages for anyone.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ said Gabriel calmly. ‘You just want to know if I’ve fallen in love with civilian life.’

  The hazel gaze was watchful.

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘No. Satisfied?’

  Eden nodded and then, unable to leave well alone, said abruptly, ‘Venetia’s still strongly Royalist, isn’t she?’

  ‘Has she left the fact open to doubt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why ask?’

  There was a tiny, strained pause.

  ‘So that I could remind you to be careful,’ said Eden.

  ‘I see.’ Gabriel stared impassively at him for a moment and then said, ‘You’re thinking that, since my marriage bears certain striking resemblances to your own, I ought to beware of letting it end up the same way.’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘Your concern is appreciated. Fortunately, however, you’re apparently missing the one small but vital detail that makes all the difference.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ A chilly smile touched the Colonel’s mouth. ‘You married Celia for love.’

  *

  As a result of her all-too-brief glimpse of Major Maxwell, Phoebe spent the evening in a sort of rosy glow that eventually made Venetia decide to eclipse him by revealing something that had been on her mind for some time. Waiting until they were all retiring for the night, she followed Phoebe into her bedchamber and, closing the door behind her, said baldly, ‘If you can forget about Eden Maxwell for a minute, there’s something important we need to talk about.’

  Phoebe flushed a little and, waving her sister towards the room’s only chair, hoisted herself on to the edge of the bed.

  ‘What is it?’

  Venetia sat down and tried to think how best to begin.

  ‘Firstly, I think it’s time you went home. Oh – don’t misunderstand me. It
’s not that I want to be rid of you. But now that the weather’s improving, there’s nothing to stop you riding over from Ford Edge whenever you like if you’re still determined to go on searching for the mythical Garland. Besides, with Elizabeth’s wedding no more than three weeks away, Mother is going to want your help.’

  The honey-brown head nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘I know and I’d been thinking as much myself. Was that all you wanted to say?’

  ‘No. That’s only the beginning,’ said Venetia wryly. ‘You know that, as things now stand, Ford Edge belongs to me absolutely. What you may not have realised is that it would be very foolish of me to keep it.’

  ‘Foolish? Why?’

  ‘Because a husband has rights over his wife’s property and I don’t want to have gone through all this for nothing.’

  Phoebe opened her mouth to observe that, if Gabriel had any designs on Ford Edge, he’d never have married Venetia in the first place. But recognising the futility of it, she merely said, ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  Venetia looked her straight in the eye.

  ‘Subject to your consent, I’m going to give it to you for your eighteenth birthday.’

  The colour drained from Phoebe’s face and she slithered slowly to her feet.

  ‘Is – is that a joke?’

  ‘By no means. If you think about it, it’s the only sensible solution. Quite apart from her total ignorance of estate matters, Mother is almost certain to pre-decease both of us – and Bess will soon be married to Tom.’ Venetia paused and managed a touch of mordant humour. ‘I know it’s a huge responsibility – but look on the bright side. Once word gets round, you’ll have every eligible man in Yorkshire knocking at the door.’