Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  ‘And that’s what you want?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘I see.’ The short-sighted gaze grew oddly speculative. ‘Then perhaps Ellis wasn’t such an ill-wind after all.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Because, in addition to teaching you that Gabriel is everything he is not – he’s also given you the chance to learn something even more interesting.’

  Venetia stared at her blankly. ‘Has he?’

  ‘Of course. After all – for a reasonable, well-balanced man – Gabriel’s reaction to Ellis’s presence here was somewhat extreme. One wonders why.’

  ‘No, Sophy. One doesn’t. He felt he’d been made a fool of.’

  ‘Yes, dear. I’m sure he did. But I doubt very much if that was all.’ Sophia drifted towards the door and then turned with a vague smile. ‘Think about it. And, in the meantime, I suppose I ought to mention that your Uncle James will very likely be here for the noonday meal tomorrow.’

  Venetia blinked. ‘He will? Why?’

  ‘No particular reason,’ replied Sophia. And was gone before Venetia could decide whether or not she was blushing.

  *

  Although the corn harvest had been a near-disaster, Gabriel discovered that Dick Carter had not only managed to save most of the flax but also turned the wet weather to good account by having the pulled crop laid out to rett naturally in the rain, rather than transporting it all to the retting pond in Stavely. Then, after it had been brought inside to dry, he’d sent it down to Scar Croft to be dressed – with the result that, by the time Gabriel arrived, the process was already well-advanced. The stalks had been crushed to separate the fibres from the outer bark and the scutching was well under way. Gabriel watched a group of men beating the flax over and over against slatted boards to remove any fragments of broken straw and recognised that, when he’d started this, knowing the theory of what must be done had in no way prepared him for the reality of it. Dressing flax was a lengthy and labour-intensive business – which was presumably why so many landowners steered clear of it. Now, however, with demand for linen increasing and prices rising as result, Gabriel rather suspected that by next year or the one after, he’d be facing more competition.

  Watching the Colonel’s intense interest, Dick Carter smiled a little and remarked that they’d probably be ready to start the hackling by the following week. Gabriel grinned back and asked if he’d be allowed to do a bit of it himself.

  He was. In between making a comprehensive tour of the estate, he spent some hours helping the men passing the long, greyish fibres through a series of combs to remove the shorter strands which were no use for weaving into linen. He learned that this apparent by-product was called tow … and the women gathered it up to make into a coarse fabric known as harden.

  With the hackling finished and the yarn soaking in a potash solution to bleach it, Gabriel shut himself in the bookroom with his ledgers and tried to work out some means of meeting the next quarter’s taxes - which were going to fall due before the linen money came in. He rarely saw his wife before supper and was rarely alone with her but was nevertheless conscious of two things. The first was how much he enjoyed telling her about his day and hearing about hers; and the second was that his physical desire for her was becoming a constant presence. He could, of course, continue to subdue it; or he could simply let it loose. He was fairly sure Venetia would welcome him to her bed. His problem was that something inside him wanted to know why.

  Unaware of her husband’s dilemma, Venetia worked out and then set aside Sophia’s theory concerning him. After all, there was no point in letting her hopes build up only to have them shattered … and if Gabriel did care for her, there was little sign of it. So she filled her days with mundane activity and lived for those precious hours after supper when they discussed everything from the progress down at Scar Croft to the contents of the latest news-sheets; and she concentrated on hiding the fact that the enemy soldier she had not wanted to marry was now the core of her being.

  She visited Ford Edge, was given her mother’s cheek to kiss and then subjected to a lengthy catalogue of her ladyship’s complaints. Phoebe, on the other hand, was plainly delighted to see her and bombarded her with questions about Gabriel and Shoreditch and Bryony and Mr Radford. Venetia answered these as best she could until Lady Clifford unwittingly helped her out by saying peevishly, ‘Must we talk of these vulgar people?’

  Phoebe sighed. ‘The Morrells aren’t vulgar, Mother.’

  ‘Of course they are! They’re in trade,’ responded her ladyship as if that settled the matter. Then, to Venetia, ‘And never – never did I think any daughter of mine would so much as set foot in a usurer’s establishment.’

  ‘Dreadful, isn’t it?’ sympathised Venetia. ‘But look in the bright side. If we ever need a loan, we’ll know who to approach. And Ruth Knightley needn’t know how seriously I’ve demeaned myself unless you tell her.’

  There was a tiny frozen silence before, in a timely attempt to divert her mother’s attention, Phoebe said swiftly, ‘Good heavens! We haven’t told you about Bess yet, have we? Tom rode over yesterday with the news.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Her ladyship’s annoyance disappeared beneath a complacent smile. ‘My sweetest Elizabeth is expecting a happy event in the spring. Of course, I always assumed you would provide me with my first grandchild. But that was when you were betrothed to dear Ellis. Everything is changed now.’

  ‘Changed in what way?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Yes. But I’d like to hear you say it.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t!’ Rising from her seat, Phoebe looked from one to the other of them. ‘There’s no point to this – and, if you must argue, I can think of better topics.’

  ‘Such as what?’ asked Venetia.

  ‘Such as the fact that I’ll be eighteen next week and Lawyer Crisp will be bringing me the deeds to Ford Edge.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘What I want to know is whether or not you still want him to do so – because there’s no need and never was.’

  Venetia smiled faintly. ‘I know.’

  Phoebe sat down again with a bump. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. In contrast to dear Ellis, Gabriel wouldn’t touch Ford Edge if he was down to his last groat.’

  Lady Clifford stiffened.

  ‘You can’t possibly know that. And I don’t know what you’re implying about Ellis, but —’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact,’ sighed Venetia. ‘Ellis would sell the roof over your head without a second thought – and if he owned Brandon Lacey, he’d probably sell that, too. But we’re straying from the point. Since Ford Edge needs no protection from Gabriel, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t retain ownership myself. But —’

  ‘You can’t!’ Lady Clifford’s voice lost much of its customary languor. ‘It wouldn’t do at all. And besides, you promised Phoebe. You know you did.’

  ‘Yes. But if I don’t mind – I can’t see why you should,’ argued Phoebe reasonably. ‘You never wanted me to have Ford Edge anyway. You were happy enough for Venetia to own it before – so why not now?’

  ‘Because of Gabriel, of course.’ Venetia’s expression was grimly sardonic. ‘Until I suggested making Ford Edge over to you, Mother hadn’t given a thought to the fact that, as my husband, he could still lay claim to it. But now she has and naturally she’d rather it belonged to you than to me. Isn’t that so, Mother?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the pettish reply. ‘It is. And it’s not so long since you thought the same thing yourself.’

  ‘Quite. But I’ve already admitted that I was wrong. Gabriel is as honourable as any man I ever met – and more so than most of them. He doesn’t want Ford Edge. He never did. And since marrying me was the only way he could get rid of it, he did so – even though he didn’t want to.’

  ‘So you say. I, however, find it difficult to place my trust in a – a baseborn rebel.’

  This time the silence re
ached epic proportions and Phoebe held her breath. Then, in a voice like splintering glass, Venetia said, ‘And one, moreover, whom you consider totally unfit to father your grandchildren.’

  Her ladyship flushed. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No – but you might as well have done.’ Venetia rose and shook out her skirts. ‘However. You will be glad to know there is no question of me keeping Ford Edge. Since Phoebe is the one left to care for it, Phoebe is the one it should belong to. And my place is at Brandon Lacey. But there is something you need to recognise. Gabriel is my husband and I respect him. Consequently, from now on I shan’t visit you until you are prepared to accord him the courtesy he deserves.’ She held her mother’s gaze for a moment. Then, when no reply was forthcoming, she made a small, formal curtsy and walked from the room.

  Phoebe caught up with her in the hall. She said uncertainly, ‘You didn’t mean that, did you?’

  ‘Every word – and not before time. But don’t worry. You know you’ll always be welcome at Brandon Lacey. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t ridden over with Uncle James. He all but lives with us these days.’

  ‘I know. At first he only did it to escape from Aunt Margaret but then he carried on going after she left. Do you think he’s courting Sophy?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell. Sophy sits there picking fleas off whichever animal comes to hand and Uncle James reads The Canterbury Tales with all the voices.’ Venetia grinned suddenly. ‘And if you don’t believe me, you can ask Gabriel. He walked in on them the other day and came out laughing himself silly.’

  Phoebe thought for a moment and then cast caution to the winds.

  ‘You seem to like Gabriel a lot more than you ever thought you would.’

  The grin turned into a wry smile.

  ‘I do. I’ve seen what he is. And wish, very much, that I’d done it sooner.’

  *

  While in Europe, the Thirty Years War finally ended in the Treaty of Westphalia, England lay under a strange pall of domestic expectancy. And at Brandon Lacey, the days of October drifted by in a barely-ruffled rhythm punctuated by news from only two sources.

  In Scotland, the Covenanting Duke of Argyll – who had disliked both the Engagement and the recent war only marginally less than he disliked the Duke of Hamilton – had spent September struggling to regain his lost power; and when a multitude of Presbyterians peasants rejoicing under the name of Whiggamores seized Edinburgh and threw out the Committee of Estates at pitch-fork point, he finally achieved it. The result was that Lieutenant-General Cromwell, having crossed the Tweed on September 21st, was given peaceful re-possession of Berwick and Carlisle by the end of the month; and by October 5th, he was conferring amicably with Argyll in Edinburgh about how best to remove the Engagers from public office. Then, leaving Major-General Lambert behind to prop up Argyll’s regime, he turned south again to the only two remaining Royalist strongholds; Scarborough and Pontefract.

  On the Isle of Wight, meanwhile, the forty days of negotiation trickled slowly away like sand in a glass. The Parliament proposed that thirty-seven leading Royalists and all Catholics who had taken up arms for the King be exempted from pardon. His Majesty refused to consider it. The King replied with renewed proposals concerning Church government and the episcopacy. Parliament rejected them. And so it went on. Proposal and counter-proposal; rebuttal and refusal. Parliament was working against the clock to effect a settlement before Ireton, still lurking in apparent semi-retirement at Windsor, managed to put a spoke in its wheel; and the King continued playing for time in the hope that the Earl of Ormonde would unite the Irish in his favour and totally unaware that a growing ide of suspicion and ill-feeling was rising against him.

  This manifested itself not only in the number of petitions being delivered to Westminster but in the various pamphlets delivered to Brandon Lacey. Then, on the last day of the month, Gabriel returned from Knaresborough with the news that the Royalists at Pontefract had tried to kidnap Thomas Rainsborough from his quarters in Doncaster – and, when things went awry, had managed to kill him instead.

  Sophia tutted disapprovingly and continued stroking the cat.

  Venetia absorbed the grimness in her husband’s face and said slowly, ‘Why do I get the feeling that that’s more significant than it appears?’

  ‘Because it is.’ Tossing his hat and gloves on the dresser, Gabriel poured himself a glass of wine and turned back to face her. ‘Rainsborough may have had his problems as Vice-Admiral; he may even have been partly responsible for the executions of Lucas and Lisle at Colchester and he was certainly a thorn in the side of the Army Council - but none of that will matter now. The man was enormously popular in a variety of quarters - so the Independents will see his murder as one Royalist atrocity too many. And they’ll unite behind Ireton in his desire for what he calls justice without respect of persons.’

  Venetia swallowed. ‘Meaning the King?’

  ‘Meaning the King.’ He paused to half-drain his glass. ‘The way I see it, His Majesty needs to make terms fast and stick by them. But since he appears to be hoping that next spring will bring the Irish down on us just as last spring brought the Scots, it doesn’t look as if he will.’

  ‘No.’ She met his eyes gravely. ‘You once told me that you’d little personal respect for the King. So why does the thought of putting him on trial worry you?’

  ‘Because it can only be done by first getting rid of all those members of Parliament who might stand against it … and, at the very least, it will result in His Majesty being deposed. And that,’ finished Gabriel flatly, ‘leaves nothing in the balance to check the power of the Army.’

  ‘I see.’ Amethyst eyes remained locked with grey. ‘What do you think Cromwell will do?’

  ‘Aside from trying to reduce Pontefract Castle? God knows. I hope he’ll use his influence to restrain Ireton. But if he doesn’t – and the Army starts baying for Charles Stuart’s blood – I’ll be left with little alternative but to resign my commission.’

  ~ ~ ~

  TEN

  On November 3rd, Phoebe celebrated her eighteenth birthday and became mistress of Ford Edge. On the 4th, she rode over to Brandon Lacey to see Uncle James entertaining Mistress Sophia and her menagerie with The Wife of Bath’s Tale. She was not disappointed. Better still, as she was on the point of leaving, she met Gabriel in the stables.

  He responded to her rapturous hug and grinned down at her.

  ‘It’s nice of you to remember us.’

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’ retorted Phoebe. ‘I wanted to come before. But there never seems to be any time.’

  ‘I know the feeling. Are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t expect to – but I am. Odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not particularly. You begin by worrying about your inexperience, only to discover that learning is half the fun. And then day-to-day involvement and the stimulation of meeting the challenge takes over. Simple.’

  She eyed him wonderingly. ‘You too?’

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Gabriel. He waved the stable-lad away and deftly finishing saddling Phoebe’s horse. ‘How is your mother responding to the situation?’

  ‘A lot better since her quarrel with Venetia.’

  His hands stilled and he looked across at her. ‘Quarrel?’

  ‘Didn’t Venetia mention it? Mother said some rather unflattering things about you, so Venetia pointed out that you were more honourable than most men she knew and that she wouldn’t set foot in Ford Edge again until Mother was ready to welcome you politely.’

  ‘I see.’ Gabriel returned to his task.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘What else would you like me so say?’

  ‘Quite a lot of things,’ came the candid reply. ‘But I suspect you’re not open to questions.’

  ‘You suspect rightly.’ He offered his hands and lifted her into the saddle. ‘But don’t lose heart. Your interest is appreciated. And if I ever want to send Venetia a message, I�
��ll certainly bear you in mind.’

  *

  Over the next couple of days, Gabriel devoted a lot of thought to Phoebe’s disclosures. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the kind of thing Lady Clifford might have said about him but that Venetia had chosen to champion him was both surprising and distinctly encouraging. He wondered how she felt about him … and then wondered if she knew the answer to that herself.

  With the flax once more hung up to dry after its bleaching, he returned from Scar Croft early one evening to find Venetia poring over the household accounts.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said resignedly. ‘We can’t afford wine and must start making do with ale.’

  ‘Something like that,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t believe we spend this much on candles. And just look at the figure for coal! It’s almost as high as it was during the war.’

  Gabriel looked down on the ledger over her shoulder.

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately, however, heat and light are two things we can’t well do without.’

  ‘I know – and we already burn as much wood as we can get. So the only other thing is to use more oil lamps.’

  ‘By all means,’ he said calmly. ‘But not in this room, nor your bedchamber or Sophy’s.’

  Venetia turned to look up at him and wished he wouldn’t stand quite so close. It was playing havoc with her nervous system and flooding the pit of her stomach with heat.

  ‘And what about yours? Or are you the only one permitted to suffer in the economic cause?’

  ‘No. I’m just the only one who won’t notice either the dingy light or the smell. And it seems to me that you’re already making a few sacrifices yourself. When, for example, was the last time you had a new gown?’

  ‘I can’t remember – and it’s not important. Or not compared with meeting next month’s taxes.’

  Gabriel stared down into her face and felt the now familiar tightening of his body. He said absently, ‘Don’t worry about that. We’ve got the wool money and the rents. We’ll get paid for the flax by the end of January, I would hope. And then there’s my arrears of pay – if I ever get them.’