by Stella Riley
‘What I think has little to do with it,’ came the prosaic reply. ‘But if you’re seriously interested, I’d be tempted to say that Colonel Poyer’s activities probably have less to do with a sudden surge of Royalist feeling than enforced disbandment on only two months back-pay.’
A murmur of angry unease filled the room and Venetia felt alarm feather her spine.
Sir William Ingilby muttered, ‘The fellow sounds like a blasted sectary to me.’
‘Far from it.’ With complete assurance, Gabriel detached himself unhurriedly from the hearth and strolled forward to confront his accusers. ‘I’m afraid I’m just a common mercenary who entered the service of the Parliament believing its cause was just, but who now sees it dealing less than fairly with his men. As for the King – I’ve no more wish to see him deposed than you. But if anyone here thinks he can be restored to the throne unconditionally, they are living in a soap-bubble.’
Several people spoke at once in a confused medley of dissent, over which Sir Charles Haslam was heard to remark that no one could dictate terms to the Lord’s Anointed.
‘If everyone believed that this country could have been spared four years of civil war,’ responded the Colonel aridly. ‘I’ll be blunt, gentlemen. As I see it, nothing will satisfy you except turning back the clock. But the only way you can do so is by force of arms – and you have already failed in that once. Do you seriously expect to do better a second time?’
‘Yes!’ cried Will Haslam. ‘And a third, if necessary!’
The grey eyes impaled him derisively.
‘Have you ever visited the German states?’
‘No. But —’
‘You should. The wars there have lasted thirty years so far and left the country devastated. Do you want that here? And to what end? So that Charles Stuart may dispense with Parliament altogether and order the Kingdom as he sees fit?’
There was a moment of perfectly appalled silence. Then the unexpected happened. Tom’s sister, Frances, began to sing … and, after the first few words, voice upon voice joined in with her.
What booker can prognosticate
Concerning King or Kingdom’s fate?
I think myself to be as wise
As he that gazeth on the skies.
My skill goes beyond the depths of a pond
Or rivers of the greatest rain;
Whereby I can tell all things will be well
When the King enjoys his own again.
Gabriel remained motionless while the chorus gathered strength about him. Only a handful of people stayed out of it. Phoebe – who, together with Sophia, looked utterly stricken; Tom Knightley – plainly uncomfortable about the whole business; and, oddly enough, Venetia. The rest, so far as he could see, were all singing fit to burst.
It ought to have been intimidating. It was certainly meant to be. The unfortunate truth, however, was that the only feeling it produced in him was a strong impulse to laugh … and that would probably provoke them to violence.
There was only one sensible thing to do and, deliberately avoiding Venetia’s eye, Gabriel did it. He moved without haste through the chorus, now embarking somewhat less confidently on the third verse, and walked out of the house, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
For who better may the sceptre sway
Than he that hath such a right to reign?
Then let’s hope for a peace for the wars will not cease
Till the King enjoys his own again.
~ ~ ~
SIX
Venetia drove home with Sophia, gloomily wondering what she was going to say to her husband when she got there. She hadn’t joined in the singing because she hadn’t liked the mood which had prompted it and was also reluctant to renew hostilities with Gabriel when she’d only just finished apologising to him. But if she said nothing at all, he was bound to see it as some sign of weakness; and that would never do – because the truth was that she was as encouraged by the news as the others had been. She merely felt that there were better and more discreet ways of showing it.
When she arrived at Brandon Lacey, however, it was to discover that Gabriel had more important things on his mind than probing hers. He had returned to find a summons awaiting him from Major-General Lambert and was wasting no time at all in obeying it.
‘You’re leaving now?’ asked Venetia blankly. ‘Why?’
‘Why not?’ Once more dressed in his uniform, Colonel Brandon finished adjusting his sash and turned to pick up his wide-brimmed hat. ‘Lambert wants me to spend a couple of weeks helping to organise the two new Yorkshire regiments before I report back for duty. And the sooner I leave, the sooner I can start doing it.’
‘But where are you going?’
He lifted one faintly amused brow.
‘I think I’d be ill-advised to tell you that. After all, I’d hate you to be put in a position of choosing between your wifely duty and your friends. And now, I really must go. Explain matters to Dick Carter for me – and try not to miss me too much. Goodbye.’
Then, leaving Venetia unsure whether she wanted to laugh or throw something at his head, Gabriel sketched a mocking bow and strode off into the hall, shouting cheerfully for Wat.
*
By the following morning, Venetia had reached the conclusion that it was only sensible to put her temporary freedom to instant use. She therefore rode purposefully into Knaresborough to consult with the Widow Jessop and then set about putting herself discreetly back in circulation.
The result was that days started to fly by in a frenzy of activity. In between renewing all her former Royalist contacts and assuring them of her continued commitment to the Cause, Venetia spent hours at Ford Edge passing on every scrap of knowledge and experience she possessed to Phoebe; she conferred with Dick Carter about the shearing, went out to the fields after the flax had been sown and was present at Scar Croft when the first of the wool was scoured, dried, oiled and carded. She failed to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday, saw almost nothing of Sophia, noticed but stopped caring that the house was once more full of assorted animals and fell into bed each night in a state of total exhaustion.
Every day brought fresh tidings from outside. The news-sheets said that the Independents had defeated a Republican motion to depose the King – and then that His Majesty had almost succeeded in escaping from captivity on the Isle of Wight. Next came word of the four thousand apprentices who’d stormed Whitehall with cries of ‘Now for King Charles!’ only to be dispersed by a vicious cavalry charge led by Cromwell. And, finally, Venetia heard that the Scots Parliament had apparently demanded that their English counterpart should disband its army of sectaries and re-open negotiations with His Majesty. It was all grist to the Royalist mill and tremendously heartening. Venetia began to hope that the King really might enjoy his own again. And when Captain Peverell sent word that he wished to see her, she was sure of it.
Their rendezvous point was the Dropping Well – a place deep in the shadowy whisperings of Knaresborough Forest, where strange petrifying waters dripped from the overhanging rock-face to form a pool. It was a peaceful spot and one which, in happier days, Venetia had been particularly fond of. Today, however, it seemed suddenly menacing and she rather wished she’d taken the precaution of arriving a little late.
As always, the first she knew of the Captain’s presence was when he spoke from behind her.
‘If you’ve been communing with the prophetess, I hope you thought to ask whether Hamilton will cross the border this year or next.’
Startled, Venetia swung round to face him.
‘Must you do that? You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Guilty conscience,’ he grinned. ‘Unless, of course, you were half-expecting to see horrible apparitions?’
‘Other than yourself, you mean?’
Ashley winced and clapped a hand over his heart.
‘You really know how to wound a fellow, don’t you?’
‘In more ways than one. But, as always
, you survive,’ she retorted. And then, differently, ‘Pleasant as this is, it’s not what we’re here for, is it?’
‘No.’ Laughter evaporated from the dark green eyes and the easy charm dropped away like the mask Venetia had come to suspect it was; a mask worn to disguise a singularly acute brain. ‘You’ve re-entered the network. I wanted some assurance that it was safe for you to do so.’
‘You think I’d have done it otherwise?’ Venetia folded her cloak about her and sat down on a mossy boulder. ‘My husband is away devoting both his energies and his eternal efficiency to drilling the two new northern regiments.’
‘I know that,’ said the Captain calmly. ‘I’ve even spent a bit of time watching him do it. And he’s not just efficient. He’s irritatingly good. But Skipton’s not what I’d call a particularly safe distance – he could be back at any time. I take it you have thought of that?’
She shrugged and took care not to let him see that he’d told her something she didn’t know.
‘Naturally. But he’ll only come back in order to go away again.’
‘He’s returning to his old command?’
‘Yes. If it weren’t for Lambert, he’d probably be there now.’ She paused. ‘Is this all you wanted to talk about? I was rather hoping you had something for me to do.’
‘And so I might have – if the circumstances are right.’ He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment and then, as if at random, said, ‘I heard about the theatricals at your sister’s wedding.’
Venetia sighed. ‘Who told you?’
‘Who didn’t? I’ve never come across such a collection of idiots so eager to be congratulated on their indiscretion. But no one seems able to tell me how the Colonel took it.’
‘I’m not surprised. He isn’t in the habit of giving out reliable clues. In the few seconds before he walked out, for example, I had the ridiculous feeling that he was trying not to laugh. But that can’t be right, can it?’
‘Why not? From where he was standing, the whole affair was probably better than a play. And if he’s made a list of the leading characters, a lot of our friends could find themselves unable to stir a step without finding a damned poke-nose at their elbow. Some people,’ stated Ashley simply, ‘are congenitally unsuited to conspiracy. And that, of course, brings me to the point. Where’s Ellis?’
Her breath caught. ‘In France?’
He remained perfectly still, his tawny hair bathed in greenish light.
‘No, my child. Not in France. Try again.’
For a moment, the silence was pierced only by the incessant dripping of the well while Venetia considered her options and then, seeing the expression on the Captain’s face, discarding most of them.
‘All right. How did you know?’
‘That you’d seen him? Call it an educated guess. With Ellis, it really isn’t very difficult. I suppose he touched you for money? Or no – don’t answer that. Of course he did. The only interesting bit is likely to be the reason he gave for wanting it. Well?’
Not for the first time, Venetia found the speed at which Captain Peverell’s mind worked mildly alarming. But since there was little help for it, she said reluctantly, ‘He’s got a plan to rescue the Duke of York.’
‘Oh my God,’ groaned Ashley. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘What do you mean? The Council of War has just voted to put James on the throne, hasn’t it? So I’d have thought that getting him out of the country would be a priority.’
‘It is.’ He folded his arms, leaned against a tree-trunk and surveyed her with faint exasperation. ‘Which is exactly why it’s not the kind of thing to be left to someone who’s perpetually getting his knife caught up in his cloak.’
Venetia’s back straightened imperceptibly and she frowned.
‘What are you saying? That Ellis is inept?’
‘My dear girl – he’s the world’s worst. He’s reckless, impulsive and too fond of the bottle; his schemes inevitably go off at half-cock because he hasn’t planned them properly; and he’s got an infuriating habit of abandoning one project in order to throw himself headfirst into another. In short, the only thing he’s any good at is not getting caught.’
It was a long time before Venetia spoke and when she did her voice was curiously remote.
‘Is that why you tried to stop him getting in touch with me?’
‘Partly.’ In spite of everything he’d just said, Captain Peverell still found himself reluctant to tell her all the other things he knew about her former fiancé. ‘You don’t believe a word I’ve said, do you?’
‘I … I think you exaggerate.’
‘I wish I did. But try this for size. If you want to go on doing your bit for the King, despite being married to one of Cromwell’s Colonels, your life is complicated enough. You don’t need Ellis as well.’
‘Perhaps not. But you’re suggesting that I turn him away … and what was once between us makes that difficult.’
‘I understand that. But will the Colonel?’
‘He won’t know anything about it.’
‘For how long? This is Ellis we’re talking about.’ Ashley ran a distracted hand through his hair and some of the characteristic humour reappeared in his face. ‘You like living dangerously, don’t you?’
‘Pot calling kettle, Captain.’ She rose to face him. ‘It’s going to rain again. If you’ve a job for me, name it. If not, say so and let me go home.’
‘Just like that?’
‘No. Not just like that. But if you don’t trust me —’
‘Have I said I don’t?’
‘Not in so many words. But why else have we been having this conversation?’
‘If you don’t know that, you can’t have been paying attention,’ he sighed. ‘It’s Ellis I don’t trust. And so long as you can assure me that your activities on each of our behalves will remain quite separate, I shan’t have anything to worry about.’
Venetia rolled her eyes.
‘Consider yourself duly assured. Now will you tell me what you want me to do?’
‘Willingly.’ Captain Peverell gave her the blithely enticing smile that frequently heralded his less welcome assignments. ‘It’s the usual problem. We’re short of funds and I’d like you to go round with the begging-bowl.’
*
Asking for contributions to the Cause had never been one of Venetia’s favourite occupations. It was always the same people one had to approach; families already crippled with taxes and composition fines; men under house-arrest who couldn’t afford to be caught helping the King a second time; houses long-since stripped of their valuables and equally bereft of sons, husbands or fathers. Venetia knew the position only too well. Her own jewels, for example, had gone to the King years ago. On the other hand, as she well knew, money had to be raised somehow and there was no other way of doing it. So she put on her best riding-dress, exhumed her most persuasive manner and set out to do her best.
The results were neither better nor worse than she had expected. Most families gave what they could, a handful listened politely before showing her the door and the rest could offer nothing but goodwill and promises. At the end of four far from enjoyable days, Venetia handed a little over two hundred pounds to the Widow Jessop for collection by Captain Peverell and told her to tell him that the well was running dry. Then she rode thankfully back through the blustering wind to see how things were going at Scar Croft.
Due, she had to admit, to the Colonel’s passion for organisation, the whole enterprise was running like clockwork. The various tasks were evenly distributed amongst those willing and able to do them; wages were scrupulously paid at the end of each week by Dick Carter; and the general mood was one of elation – as if each man and woman considered the success of the venture to be their own personal achievement. No matter when Venetia called at the cottages, it was always the same. And each time she left, she seemed to take a bit of their enthusiasm with her.
On this particular day, however, the sensation was destined to be s
hort-lived. She had barely rounded the bend in the track when a horseman appeared from the clump of trees ahead and caused her heart to plummet. Ellis.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ she hissed, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder. ‘Broad daylight – and here, of all places? Anyone could see you!’
‘Then come share my undergrowth, sweeting,’ he invited carelessly. ‘But you know … I wish that, just for once, you could look pleased to see me.’
‘And I wish you would use a modicum of common-sense,’ she snapped back, turning Dulcie off the road and into the meagre shelter beside it. ‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in London, arranging Prince James’s escape.’
‘It’s done – or as good as.’ Ellis slid from the saddle and held his hands out to her. ‘Come down and I’ll tell you about it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! There are a dozen people less than two hundred yards away, any one of whom could recognise you. If you want to talk, do it quickly – because I’m certainly not staying.’
‘You worry too much. The bastard’s away, isn’t he?’
She stared. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I overhead it somewhere,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Yes - but he could be back any day now. And if you’re seen, he’ll hear of it,’ said Venetia flatly. ‘Now, come to the point. Have you got James out or haven’t you?’
‘Not yet – but it’s all arranged,’ came the airy reply. ‘At the moment he’s getting his gaolers used to the idea of him moving freely about St James by playing hide-and-seek with his brother and sister every evening. Then, when the time is right, he’ll be smuggled out of the palace and away to Gravesend before anyone even knows he’s gone. It’s so exquisitely simple, it can’t fail.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right. But if it’s still to be carried through, why have you left London?’