Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  Jack placed his hand silently over hers, his expression profoundly grim. For a moment or two, no one spoke. Then Venetia said, ‘Will the City rise, do you think?’

  ‘I doubt it. The general feeling is still that this rebellion can only depress trade even further. On the other hand, the Common Council is equally unlikely to help the Parliament fight against the King because most people would be happier with him back on the throne.’

  ‘One sees their dilemma. But it’s a pity they can’t decide where they stand,’ she remarked aridly. And then, quoting one of the latest Royalist pamphlets, ‘If Mammon be God, serve him; if the Lord be God, serve him. If Fairfax be King, serve him; if Charles be King, restore him.’

  ‘Easier said than done. If His Majesty hadn’t signed this thrice-blasted Engagement with the Scots, the merchants and aldermen might have had sufficient faith in his word to commit to his cause,’ returned Jack. ‘As things stand, however, the balance of power lies north of the Tweed. For if Hamilton’s army crosses the border while Fairfax is tied up here and Cromwell’s still fighting in Wales, I doubt if Lambert has enough men to stop them marching all the way to London. And that’s not a prospect which I imagine any of us wish to contemplate. Not even you.’

  *

  In the event, the Lord General prevented the Blackheath rendezvous by the timely expedient of occupying the place first. Then he sent a force to relieve Dover, left another to hold Croydon and set off with eight thousand men to reduce Rochester. Finding the opposite bank of the Medway fortified against him, he pressed on to Maidstone. He took it in a hard-fought action during the night of June 1st and without being challenged by the bulk of Lord Holland’s Royalist army – which was apparently lurking on nearby Pendenden Heath under the command of the Earl of Norwich.

  It wasn’t until Isabel Molyneux arrived in Shoreditch, full of airy apologies for having stayed away so long that Venetia learned the latter and, when she did, her expression became one of sheer exasperation.

  ‘Lord Norwich? He must be sixty-five if he’s a day and he knows about as much of warfare as I do! Less, probably.’

  ‘My dear, I entirely agree with you. If it had been his son, now … well, things would be very different.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ grumbled Venetia. ‘George Goring spent the last year of the war in a drunken stupor. At least his father’s mistakes will be made out of ignorance rather than the bottle.’ She drew an impatient breath ‘My God. Norwich and Holland. What a perfectly matched pair. Francis must be tearing his hair out.’

  ‘Francis?’ Isabel yawned delicately.

  ‘Francis Langley. Lord Wroxton’s son? I believe he may be serving under —’

  ‘Of course! Celia’s brother.’ The too-vivid eyes exhibited mild interest. ‘She and Hugo Verney went to Paris after the war, didn’t they? I wonder if he ever married her? Or no. He couldn’t, could he? His wife is still alive. And, as I recall, Celia was married to Kate Maxwell’s brother. Did you ever meet him?’

  Sighing, Venetia bowed to the inevitable.

  ‘Yes. He was the man you saw with my sister, that night in King Street.’

  ‘Really? Not the red-haired fellow with the romantic scar?’

  ‘Yes. He – he’s my husband’s Major.’

  ‘Is he? Heavens! How incestuous is all sounds.’

  Venetia gave way to unwilling laughter.

  ‘And how like you to think so.’

  ‘I know. Dreadful, isn’t it?’ Isabel settled into her seat with the air of one preparing to enjoy a cosy gossip. ‘But do tell! How is your husband after his misadventures? I must say, under the circumstances, it was very noble of you to tend his cuts and bruises. Then again … he is extremely attractive. And a man who knows how to please one in bed can be forgiven almost anything.’

  Utterly disconcerted, Venetia opened her mouth without thinking.

  ‘I daresay. But I know nothing of Gabriel’s talents in that direction.’ And immediately could have bitten her tongue out.

  Isabel’s brows soared.

  ‘Really? But how clever of you!’

  Venetia stared warily back. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course! If the King gets his throne back and everything returns to normal, you’ll be able to have your marriage dissolved on the grounds of non-consummation. It’s quite, quite brilliant!’ The plucked brows rose. ‘Surely you must have thought of it?’

  Venetia hadn’t – and for one very good reason. A dissolution such as Isabel described naturally relied on medical evidence … evidence that Venetia could not provide. But since, on top of what she’d already said, she wasn’t about to admit having slept with Ellis, she said lightly, ‘Of course I’ve thought of it. Who wouldn’t? But it isn’t something I care to discuss.’

  ‘Naturally. Most people would throw up their hands in horror. I, however, am beyond that.’ Her ladyship paused and then, her voice growing curiously smooth, ‘We all have our secrets, my dear. Mine, for example, is that my noble husband takes his pleasure with other men. But you may possibly have suspected that.’

  Venetia’s breath leaked away. ‘No.’

  ‘No? But you must have been aware that I had lovers?’

  ‘Well – yes. But —’

  ‘But you thought it was just in my nature.’ For the first time, something shifted behind the empty cornflower eyes. ‘I wanted a child, you know. I still do. But, for that, I need a man capable of giving me one.’

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Venetia said reluctantly, ‘I don’t wish to pry … but surely George’s preferences needn’t stand in the way of – of —’

  ‘They shouldn’t – but they do. He’s incapable with me. He always has been.’ A hint of indefinable emotion entered the level tones. ‘Can you imagine how that feels when one is seventeen years old and beautiful? Because I was beautiful, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Very,’ agreed Venetia feebly. ‘You still are.’

  ‘No. Not any more. Not since I started getting fat. I eat like a bird, you know – but still I put on weight. And men don’t look at me any more.’

  ‘Have you consulted a doctor?’

  ‘I’ve seen dozens of them – not one of whom could help and all of them costing a fortune. Which brings us back to George again. If he didn’t squander so much money on his bel-amis, we might have some chance of paying our composition fines and then I wouldn’t have to associate with the likes of Betty Cromwell.’ Isabel shrugged, her eyes once more completely expressionless and her voice at distinct variance with her words. ‘Of course, if my motherin-law wasn’t such a miser, we could secure the estate anyway. God knows, she’s got the money. She’s just too niggardly to part with it. She hates me, you know – always has. She blames me for not giving her a grandchild.’

  ‘But that’s monstrous!’ said Venetia.

  ‘Isn’t it? Everything is my fault and none of it her darling George’s. Sometimes I wonder how I’ve stood it all these years. Do you know, the old witch even spies on me and cross-questions my friends? That’s why I’ve never suggested you should visit me in Covent Garden. I’ve no one left whom I can trust and I didn’t want Susannah to get her claws into you as well.’ The flow of words stopped abruptly and Isabel drew a sharp, unsteady breath. ‘I’m talking too much. But you can’t imagine the relief of being able to speak openly without fear of being judged.’

  Venetia smiled bleakly.

  ‘Oh – I think I can.’

  ‘But surely you have your sister?’

  ‘Not really. Phoebe’s political principles are of the flexible variety and she’s too young to understand the other dilemmas brewing in my life – so I keep them to myself.’

  For a moment, there was silence. Then Isabel reached out to lay her hand over Venetia’s own and said simply, ‘You don’t need to do that any longer. And I can promise total discretion.’

  Venetia kept her face carefully blank while she thought it over. Silence was golden and secrecy had become a hard habit to break
but the prospect of pouring her increasingly muddled thoughts into a sympathetic ear was suddenly very tempting indeed.

  She said cautiously, ‘Thank you. I appreciate the offer and will bear it in mind.’

  ‘But you don’t entirely trust me.’

  ‘It isn’t that.’ A wry smile crept into the violet eyes. ‘The trouble is that I don’t know where to begin.’

  Isabel sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘The usual place is at the beginning.’

  There was another small silence.

  ‘I’m not even sure where that is,’ admitted Venetia. ‘But I suppose it’s Ellis. Someone once described him as one complication too many … and they were probably right. He’s back in England, you see and I don’t really know why. Worse still, I’m afraid to find out.’

  Her ladyship smiled invitingly.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  ~ ~ ~

  TEN

  After its first rush of successes, the Royalist cause seemed to fall into a sharp decline. Lord Byron took Anglesey for the King but Tenby and Chepstow surrendered before the end of May, leaving only Pembroke to withstand Cromwell’s siege. Sir Hardress Waller defeated the Cornish Cavaliers, risings in Northamptonshire and Leicestershire were crushed with scarcely a murmur … and Parliament kept the loyalty of the City by announcing its intention to open yet more new negotiations with the King and also pardoning Denzil Holles and the other expelled Presbyterian MPs.

  Consequently, by the time the remnants of the Royalist army reached Blackheath on June 3rd, Francis Langley had begun to wonder if the situation was not already beyond redemption. The truth, of course, was that the rising in Kent had begun much too soon. It had been planned to coincide with the invasion of the Scots – thus forcing Fairfax to divide his forces. Instead, it had flared up overnight in response to rumours that the County Committee intended to bring in the Army to burn and plunder and that the Prince of Wales had landed at Sandwich. The first was mere scare-mongering gossip and the second turned out to be an imposter. But by the time this was discovered, the die had already been cast.

  Nevertheless, things had gone well at first. Dover, Rochester and Canterbury had fallen to their grasp and that part of the Fleet lying in the Downs had supported them. Francis and his friend Sir William Compton, had experienced a faint stirring of optimism. And then had come Maidstone.

  Since seven thousand of Lord Norwich’s eleven-thousand-strong army were nothing more than an armed mob of untrained countrymen, he had elected to hold them in reserve and leave the task of fighting the Lord General to his more seasoned troops. And fight they had, reflected Francis bitterly. They’d defended each barricade and made Fairfax take every street by inches, until it was obvious that all was lost and a quarter of them lay dead or badly wounded. Then and only then had they abandoned Maidstone to the New Model and rejoined Lord Norwich – whose so-called reserves were already melting away like a handful of butter on a hot day. And then, of course, his lordship had been seized by the inexplicable conviction that, if they moved nearer to London, the City would declare for the King; which was why the three thousand men he had left were now encamped on Blackheath in the rain – with the City gates shut fast in front of them and four troops of New Model Horse under Colonel Whalley approaching from the rear.

  Then, as if things were not quite bad enough, word started to filter through the assembled ranks that Lord Norwich had deserted them all and disappeared. As soon as Francis heard it he stormed off to investigate – and collided with Major-General Sir William Compton, returning from the same errand.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Where the devil is he? Not that he’s the least use when he is here – but it would be nice to be kept abreast of his whereabouts.’

  ‘Chelmsford,’ replied Will despairingly. ‘He seems to have heard that thousands have risen in Essex and thought he’d ride over there to see for himself.’

  ‘Alone and without bothering to consider how his absence would look to the men?’

  ‘He probably didn’t think anyone would miss him. Are your fellows getting nervous?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘So are mine,’ grunted Will. ‘If we’re not careful, there are going to be yet more desertions.’

  ‘Then I suppose it behoves you and I to see what we can do to promote confidence,’ sighed Francis. ‘How fortunate it is that you’re a man of vast experience.’

  The twenty-three year old brother of the Earl of Northampton, who had spent the first war holding Banbury for the King, grinned suddenly.

  ‘And how fortunate that you’ve the cachet of having served under Rupert,’ he retorted. ‘Come on. Let’s get started before there’s nothing left to save.’

  They did their best. They went from troop to troop explaining, cajoling and exhorting until they were hoarse but many of the men were too frightened to listen. Panic spread amongst them like wildfire and they started to slip away – at first in handfuls and then in droves.

  When, at length, it became plain that they must salvage something rather than lose all, Will Compton took the desperate step of proposing that they cross the river. This, he pointed out, would have the dual effect of distancing them from Whalley – who, now their numbers were so reduced, could pick them off any time he chose – and also place them on the Essex side of the Thames where they would have more freedom of movement and hopefully also be able to re-unite themselves with their roving Commander-in-Chief.

  Any action being better than none, the idea found universal favour. The five hundred or so men who were all that was left immediately set about crossing the river in a flotilla of small boats with their horses swimming beside them. Then, once the evacuation was complete, they proceeded to surprise the districts of Stratford and Bow and establish themselves therein. By evening, Captain Langley was wet and tired and uncharacteristically short-tempered. And when Lord Norwich finally deigned to reappear with the news that the Essex rising was but a myth, Francis had to commit the social sacrilege of shoving his hands in his pockets to keep himself from giving his lordship a severe shaking.

  They took Bow Bridge, thus effectively severing communications between Essex and London; but the only support they received from the City were the sightseers who came by day and the little gaggles of watermen and apprentices who crept out by night to swell their miserably depleted ranks.

  Colonel Whalley, meanwhile, marched his men across London Bridge and settled at Mile End to assist the Trained Bands in blocking the Royalist advance; and in Chelmsford, the rising Lord Norwich had been unable to detect began with a bang when the local Militia seized and imprisoned their anti-Royalist County Committee.

  The first forty-eight hours at Bow were therefore naturally fraught with tension and Francis divided his time between wondering why Whalley didn’t attack and trying to help Will Compton keep the men’s spirits up. Then, whilst making a routine check on his sentries, he found himself face to face with Sir Ellis Brandon.

  His brows soared and he said sharply, ‘Where in Hades did you spring from? I wasn’t aware you’d joined our small and far-from-merry band.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ replied Ellis carelessly. ‘I merely slipped along to let his lordship know that the Parliament has rushed through an Indemnity Ordinance for all the Essex men – in the hope that it will tempt them to release the Committee members and go peacefully home again.’

  ‘Thus leaving us without visible means of support. Wonderful. That’s all we need.’

  ‘I know. So Lord Norwich has ridden to Chelmsford —’

  ‘Not again!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh never mind.’ Francis fully understood the need to prevent the Essex rising from crumbling. He just hoped that this time his lordship had seen fit to make his intentions known – and also taken the precaution of leaving someone in command. He thought for a moment and then said abruptly, ‘Your former fiancée was looking for you. Did you know?’

  ‘Venetia?’
said Ellis vaguely. ‘No. Is she in London?’

  ‘Yes. Approximately three miles from where we stand, to be precise, at the home of one Jack Morrell in Shoreditch. But it might be better if you sent a message rather than simply calling on her, for the said Mr Morrell is —’

  ‘The bastard’s foster-brother,’ interposed Ellis, his eyes narrowing suddenly. ‘Yes. From which I gather that dearest Venetia has made you privy to all our tribulations.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say all. Just some of them.’

  ‘And did she also tell you why she wanted to see me?’

  ‘Not a word,’ replied Francis coolly.

  ‘I see.’ The brown gaze regained its usual insouciant gleam. ‘Ah well. No doubt all will be revealed in due course … and I’m naturally agog to know why the bastard brought her south with him. One imagines that he wanted to keep her under his eye. But if she’s managed to meet you, he can’t have been making a very good job of it, can he?’

  Francis found that Ellis’s attitude grated on him. Flicking a speck of mud from his cuff, he said languidly, ‘It’s not a matter to which I’ve devoted much thought. But tell me. If you’re not staying here to pull rude faces at Colonel Whalley, what exactly are you planning to do?’

  ‘Oh …this and that. Actually, I’m awaiting the outcome of certain private business. But I thought I might go to Scotland and join the invasion force.’

  ‘Dear me. How very intrepid of you. And you really think you’ll be able to get that far?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ came the airy reply. ‘Having managed to get to and from the Isle of Wight without being picked up, I really don’t anticipate any problem getting to the Duke of Hamilton.’

  ‘I see. I trust his Grace will be suitably impressed,’ said Francis. ‘And now, I’m afraid you must excuse me. So much time and so little to do, you know. Or should that be the other way about? No matter. Doubtless you can find your way out of our camp without assistance … and if not, I’m sure any of our fellows will be delighted to point you in the direction of Shoreditch. Goodbye.’ And he continued on his way, wondering what Venetia had ever seen in the fellow.