Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  ‘Why, of course, if you wish,’ replied Venetia, startled but not altogether displeased.

  ‘Good. We can tell each other our troubles and talk about old times,’ smiled Isabel. ‘Shall we say the day after tomorrow?’

  ~ ~ ~

  EIGHT

  At Headquarters, Colonel Brandon burned the midnight oil over administrative details another officer might have left to chance and devoted the rest of his time to the Council of War. On the morning following Cromwell’s supper party, the Agitators were hauled in to receive a stern reprimand for their activities at St Albans; and, on the day after that, senior officers and Agitators alike spent far longer than Gabriel thought necessary beseeching the Lord to guide them in their deliberations and hold them fast to their duty.

  It was the second such prayer meeting to be held at Windsor. At the time of the first one, Gabriel had been in Yorkshire on the eve of his wedding but he’d heard that, by the end of it, leaders of both the Commons and the Army had drunk toasts and sworn to live and die for each other. The second, of course, was opening under rather more trying circumstances. Royalist riots, widespread calls for the restoration of the King and the temporary suspension of the Vote of No Addresses; hostile action in Wales, a Scots army lurking somewhere north of the Tweed and continued demands for the disbandment of the New Model. Conviviality therefore seemed unlikely. But if there was any possibility of Henry Ireton falling on Edward Sexby’s neck, Gabriel was not averse to seeing it.

  It did not happen. The day passed in an orgy of self-recrimination and exhortation and the next morning continued in much the same vein. The Lieutenant-General, wallowing in emotion and with tears in his eyes, besought everyone present to consider their actions both as an Army and as Christians to determine if any iniquity on their parts was the cause of their present troubles. This resulted in a good deal of public soul-searching, during which Gabriel assumed a sardonic expression and let his chin sink on to his chest.

  Looming over his shoulder from the bench behind, Hugh Peter hissed, ‘You should be ashamed, sir. Sit up and show some respect. Your blatant lack of interest is an insult to every God-fearing man present.’

  Without moving or even turning his head, Gabriel retorted, ‘No insult is intended. I’ve no objection to anyone speaking as the spirit moves them. I just wish they’d be a little less long-winded about it.’

  This wish was granted on the following morning. It was May 1st and, before the meeting had been in session an hour, news arrived that Adjutant-General Fleming – the gallant, popular officer who’d been sent to replace Colonel Poyer and been left fighting him ever since – had been killed in a skirmish near Carmarthen. All South Wales was in revolt and, in time-honoured fashion, the Welsh had taken to the hills lock, stock and barrel, leaving the New Model without so much as a crust. Gabriel swore quietly to himself. Time, it seemed, had finally run out … and the second war they’d all been trying so hard to prevent was now upon them.

  For a while the Council looked set to dissolve into angry chaos and then, in one of his rare moments of ascendancy, the Lord-General took charge. Fairfax might be no great orator and deeply disturbed by the growing political role of his Army, but he knew how to deal with a military crisis. Without waiting to consult Parliament, he immediately ordered Cromwell into Wales with two regiments of Horse and three of Foot. Then he brought the meeting to an abrupt end.

  Gabriel rose to leave but was detained by John Lambert.

  ‘A word,’ said the Major-General grimly. ‘Since you’re not destined for Wales with Oliver, you’ll almost certainly be sent North with me. In fact, I intend to make sure you are. And I’d guess that we’ll get our marching orders very soon now.’

  ‘You’re asking if my boys are ready?’

  ‘Hardly. Knowing you, they’ve been ready for the last month. No. I was merely giving you prior warning – in case you’ve personal arrangements to make or wish to spend a few hours with your wife before we leave.’

  ‘Ah.’ His expression remaining perfectly neutral, Gabriel said, ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ shrugged Lambert. And then, frowning a little, ‘What the devil is going on over there?’

  Gabriel looked. A goodly proportion of officers and every one of the Agitators were gathered together, discussing the treacherous way in which the King had brought about a new war. They were already reaching the conclusion that it was their duty, if ever the Lord brought them back in peace again, to call Charles Stuart, that man of blood, to an account for the lives he had cost.

  Lambert and Gabriel exchanged mutually distasteful glances. Then, with one accord and in complete understanding, they turned on their heels and left.

  *

  The Major-General was soon proved right in his prognostication. On May 2nd, while the Parliament was busy ordaining the death penalty for blasphemy and heresy, word arrived that Sir Marmaduke Langdale’s Cavaliers had taken Berwick and that Carlisle had also fallen. Within an hour, Colonel Brandon had his orders. He was to take his regiment North with Lambert in two days’ time.

  Leaving a plethora of small details in the capable hands of his Major and promising Wat that he would be back by midnight, Gabriel swung himself into the saddle and set off for Shoreditch. He didn’t particularly want to go – and wouldn’t have done except that basic courtesy demanded it. He couldn’t very well leave without a word to Jack and Annis and the only thing left was to hope that Venetia would restrain her glee. If she exulted in the discovery that the King had successfully begun another war, Gabriel thought he might very well slap her.

  An elaborate chair with a crest on its panels stood in the middle of the Morrells’ yard, attended by two liveried chair-men and a runner. Gabriel sighed faintly, stabled his horse and established the fact that Jack was at a guild-meeting. Then, without much enthusiasm, he went inside.

  Annis sat on one side of the hearth with the baby in her lap and, in the window-seat, her flaming head bent close to Venetia’s fair one, was the Countess of Gillingham. All three looked up as he entered. Only one of them smiled.

  ‘Thank heavens!’ said Annis. ‘We were beginning to think you were already half-way to Wales.’

  ‘Without saying goodbye?’ he grinned. ‘Perish the thought. No … my talents are being directed elsewhere.’

  ‘And soon – which is why you’re here now.’ Venetia rose and faced him with a calm she did not quite feel.

  ‘Of course.’ The slate-grey gaze was cool. ‘I depart for the North the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Leaving Phoebe and me here, I suppose?’

  ‘That rather depends on Jack and Annis.’

  ‘You know you needn’t ask.’ Annis laid the baby back in his cot. ‘But you can’t go without seeing Jack and he won’t be back much before seven – so you’d better stay to supper.’

  ‘Since it may be the last decent meal I get for a while, I’d be delighted,’ he replied. And, with the merest hint of a bow for the Countess, ‘But I’m interrupting. Forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ The cerulean gaze seemed to look, not just at, but through him. ‘I should be leaving anyway.’

  Gabriel surveyed her with the double-edged smile that was so peculiarly his own.

  ‘Not, I hope, on my account?’

  ‘No, no. I only called to bring Venetia a copy of Herrick’s Hesperides and have already stayed far longer than I meant to.’ Her ladyship rose in a rustle of sapphire taffeta and enveloped Venetia in a brief, scented embrace. ‘Goodbye, my dear. I’ve so enjoyed our little talk and I’ll call again in a few days to see how you liked the book.’ She cast a vague, impartial smile in the direction of Gabriel and Annis. ‘I’m happy to have met you again, Colonel. Who knows? Perhaps our next encounter will have a little more substance to it. Mistress Morrell – a thousand thanks for your hospitality and please don’t trouble to show me out. I can easily find my own way and my chair is waiting in the yard. Goodbye.’ And she sailed from the room
on a tide of heliotrope.

  For a moment after she had gone, there was a sudden, acute silence. Then the Colonel said gently, ‘Can anyone tell me why that woman looks at me as if I had two heads?’

  ‘She doesn’t,’ said Venetia defensively.

  ‘Actually, she does,’ said Annis. And then, on a tiny choke of laughter, ‘But I wouldn’t worry about it, Gabriel. She’s probably just ensnared by your outstanding good-looks and manifold charms.’

  ‘My what?’ He tossed his hat and gloves on the table and sat down. ‘The last female to succumb to my so-called charms was Bryony. It’s hardly an impressive record, is it?’ He paused, ignoring Venetia’s stare. ‘Where is she, by the way? Roaming the City with Sam Radford?’

  ‘No. In Westminster with Phoebe, visiting a friend,’ said Annis. And then, moving towards the kitchen, ‘I’d better see what Joan’s doing to the meat. There’s wine on the dresser, if you want it.’

  The door closed behind her and Gabriel was left looking at Venetia. She said, ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’

  ‘To send me North? Yes. Your Royalist friends have taken Berwick and Carlisle.’

  She drew a tiny, ragged breath.

  ‘It’s war, then?’

  ‘Obviously. What else did you expect? What else did you want?’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’ She paused, meeting his gaze. ‘You thought I’d be glad? So did I.’

  ‘And aren’t you?’

  ‘Do I look it?’

  Turning abruptly away, she went to the dresser and set about pouring wine. Gabriel watched her, a frown at the back of his eyes and, when she handed him the cup, he said warily, ‘Your views have changed?’

  ‘On the King’s rights and the necessity of restoring him to the throne? No. Not at all,’ she relied flatly. ‘But you can’t walk around London these days without seeing the effects of the last war … and so there comes a point when you have to count the cost.’

  ‘Those of us whose job it is to fight, have been doing that for some time.’

  ‘Yes. I’m beginning to realise that.’

  This was not what he had expected. He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Tell me something. Precisely what do you see in His Majesty that continues to command your loyalty?’

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes. So far I’ve merely made assumptions.’

  ‘Then let me either confirm or dispel them for you.’ She moved gracefully to the other side of the hearth and sat down facing him. ‘I’m aware that the King has failings and I know what they are. But I also know how seriously he takes his responsibilities and how impossible it is for him to fail in what he sees as his duty.’

  ‘So your loyalty is a personal one.’

  ‘To a degree, yes. But it’s also about the very nature of kingship and everything it stands for. Order and stability in church and state – protection from that useless, quarrelsome brood in Westminster. Tradition, if you like.’

  Gabriel looked up from the ruby liquid in his cup, his face carefully blank.

  ‘And divine right?’

  Venetia gave a tiny, rueful laugh.

  ‘Like a lot of other things, it did no harm so long as it wasn’t discussed. It only really became an issue when His Majesty started using it as a platform. As for the rest … Charles isn’t a bad man or even a particularly bad King. He’s made mistakes, yes – and he’s often stubborn. But he never oppressed the people or wanted anything except to do his best for them, according to his lights. And the simple truth, at the end of the day, is that he’s just been unlucky.’

  ‘You make him sound tragic.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to.’ The amethyst eyes grew suddenly stark. ‘But it may be true. For good or ill, his conscience rules him. He only ever went against it once that I know of and that was when he let them execute Strafford.’

  ‘As I understand it, he had little choice in that.’

  ‘But that’s the whole point – don’t you see? He let Pym and the rest of them browbeat him into doing as they wanted. And he’s never forgiven himself for it.’

  There was a long silence during which, amongst other things, Gabriel reflected that this was the nearest they had ever come to having a civilised conversation and wondered if she knew it too. Before he could ask, however, the door opened and Bryony and Phoebe walked in with Samuel Radford.

  Phoebe greeted Gabriel with unaffected pleasure, Bryony with studied nonchalance and Sam with all his usual, half-veiled humour. Then, while Bryony plunged recklessly into a series of questions concerning the cauldron of rumours currently simmering in the City, Phoebe drew her sister away to the window and said baldly, ‘I think I’ve seen Ellis.’

  Venetia’s heart lurched but she kept her wits about her and lied.

  ‘You can’t have done. He’s in France.’

  ‘Not any more. He was in Westminster an hour ago. I only saw him for a minute and the beard almost fooled me. But no one else strides along swishing his cloak quite as Ellis does. And that’s what I recognised most.’

  Venetia thought of and discarded a number of smart ploys.

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you mentioned this to Bryony or Mr Radford?’

  ‘No – and I won’t.’ Phoebe eyed her sister anxiously. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do? Nothing. With luck, you were mistaken. And, even if you weren’t, I can hardly comb London looking for Ellis, can I?’ Then, changing tack with a vengeance, ‘Now tell me where you’ve been all afternoon and how you happened to come back with Samuel Radford in tow.’

  Phoebe assumed an innocent expression and returned an evasive reply. She didn’t expect to get away with it, of course – but it would do until she could think of something better.

  Jack returned from his meeting at a little before seven, in full possession not just of the news about Berwick and Carlisle but also the City’s reaction to it.

  ‘There’s a general feeling that both we and the Parliament are being used as a cat’s paw by the Royalists,’ he observed once they were all sitting down to a substantial supper of beef and oyster pie, roast ham and a fricassee of eels. ‘And much as most of us would like to see the King back on his throne, there are very few who’ll engage in a new war in order to put him there.’

  ‘Well there’s some comfort in that, I suppose,’ remarked Gabriel. ‘We poor soldier boys have enough to do fighting on two fronts, without the possibility of being faced with a third.’ And then, with a slightly wicked gleam, ‘But you can’t be quite as disgruntled as you sound, surely? After all, so much fighting-talk must be good for business.’

  Jack swallowed a mouthful of ham and refused the provocation.

  ‘I could live without it. But it’s an ill-wind, as they say.’ He paused, looking across at Mr Radford. ‘And where did you spring from? Did you turn up here in time for supper or were you also visiting Bryony’s mysterious new friend?’

  ‘Neither. I happened to meet the girls on their way home and offered to escort them,’ shrugged Sam with more ease than he actually felt. He liked Phoebe Clifford but he had been aghast when he’d learned that Bryony had taken her to visit Elizabeth Lilburne. But since all he could do now was to hide his anxieties, he grinned audaciously and said, ‘As for supper – you couldn’t seriously expect me to refuse to stay when I’d been asked, now could you?’

  ‘Not once you smelled the pie, anyway,’ grinned Bryony, pushing a dish of buttered parsnips towards him. ‘And Beth isn’t mysterious, Uncle Jack. She’s a very nice woman with three small children. Isn’t that so, Phoebe?’

  Phoebe nodded vigorously and made haste to change the subject by asking Gabriel about his forthcoming journey. He answered her blandly, watched her without appearing to do so and wondered if – thanks to Bryony – his little sister-in-law wasn’t learning a few devious tricks herself.

  The evening sped by. Sam left shortly befo
re ten and it was a full hour after that before Gabriel finally reached for his hat and said that he, too, must go.

  Jack rose with him, his face becoming suddenly grave.

  ‘How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘To beat the Scots? God knows. It will depend largely on how soon they cross the border. It might be over in a week. Or it could take months.’

  Annis moved to Gabriel’s side and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  ‘You’ll take care, won’t you?’

  ‘I always do.’ He hugged her, then moved on to kiss Phoebe and Bryony in turn. ‘Be good, you two. I don’t know why, but I’ve a vague idea you’re doing something you shouldn’t.’

  Phoebe merely held him rather hard and buried her face in his coat. Bryony sniffed and remarked that some people had nasty, suspicious minds.

  Venetia remained awkwardly to one side.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Gabriel crossed towards her, a sardonic smile touching his mouth. ‘No one expects any great demonstration of emotion between us. The only thing to say, therefore, is that I’d prefer you to remain here for the time being. But this unfortunate business looks as if it’s going to drag on, I’ll engage to send you word.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she replied ambiguously. And then, as if in reluctant response to some impulse she couldn’t quite understand, she added, ‘Go safely.’

  An arrested expression lit the dark grey eyes but he kissed her hand with deliberate formality and turned back to his foster-brother.

  ‘See me off, Jack?’

  Mr Morrell nodded. ‘Don’t I always?’

  ‘Then we’ll go now.’ Gabriel awarded the ladies a smile of rare charm, swept them an extravagant bow – and was gone.

  Outside, the moon peered fitfully between the clouds and there was a light drizzle.

  Jack said moodily, ‘You’ll have an unpleasant ride to Windsor.’

  ‘That,’ replied the Colonel, mounting his horse, ‘is the least of my problems.’

  ‘I know.’ He reached up and grasped Gabriel’s hand. ‘Watch out for yourself. You hear me?’