by Stella Riley
The lightermen – who had been bellowing at him for some minutes as they rowed swiftly towards him from the Custom House – hauled him roughly aboard and threw him face-down in the bottom of their craft. Gabriel tried to speak – tried to tell them they must look for Wat – and collapsed retching. One of the men said something but he didn’t hear what it was … or, in fact, anything at all until he had been lifted from the boat and dumped ashore. Then, propping himself on one elbow, he managed to croak, ‘My friend. I was looking for my friend.’
The lightermen exchanged glances and the one who had spoken before said uncomfortably, ‘You won’t find him now, Captain. If there’d been something out there to see, we’d have seen it – same as we saw you. Sorry.’
Although it was no more than he already knew, the sense of it seemed to take a long time to reach it. When it did, pain ripped through him like a knife. Incapable of withstanding it, Gabriel drew his knees up hard against his chest and dissolved into violent, uncontrollable shuddering.
~ ~ ~
THIRTEEN
Wat’s body washed up at Wapping on Christmas Eve and was buried at St Mary-le-bow two days later. Gabriel made the necessary arrangements, attended the funeral and remained locked in some frozen wasteland. Jack brought a new sword to replace the lost one but learned nothing of what had happened on the river; Annis came with pies and potions which went untouched; and Bryony and Samuel arrived handfast and glowing, only to be summarily shown the door. Finally, Major Maxwell decided to take a hand.
He found Gabriel in the parlour, staring unseeingly into the fire. He wasn’t drinking – but that was no surprise. As far as Eden was aware, he hadn’t touched a drop since the night he’d come home soaked to the skin, half-dressed and with a look in his eyes nobody recognised.
Frowning a little, Eden poured two glasses of brandy and set one down at the Colonel’s elbow. Then he said, ‘The King has refused to receive Denbigh.’
Gabriel did not reply.
‘Did you hear what I said? Denbigh’s mission was the final attempt to present terms. Cromwell spent Christmas Day persuading all but six officers to stop howling for a trial and the King has slammed the door in our faces.’ Eden paused and then, when Gabriel still said nothing, added trenchantly, ‘I hope His Majesty’s satisfied. He’s wiped out every vestige of goodwill in both Council and Commons – and will wake up to find his household has been reduced and that he’s no longer being served on bended knee.’
Stirring slightly, Gabriel said, ‘That will teach him, won’t it?’
‘Don’t you care?’
‘Not particularly.’
Eden sighed and gave up. He said, ‘It’s been nearly a week, Gabriel … and you haven’t said a word to any of us how it happened. You can’t go on like this.’
The empty grey eyes turned slowly to encompass him.
‘I’m leaving for Brandon Lacey in the morning.’
Eden stared at him.
‘Just like that? Without formally applying for leave of absence? You can’t.’
‘Why not?’ Gabriel rose from his seat and walked to the door. Then, turning, he said distantly, ‘As far as I’m concerned, this Army is no place for soldiers any more – so you can tell Ireton what the hell you like. I really don’t mind. And you won’t find him sorry to lose me. Indeed, if you’re lucky, he’ll promote you into my place. Goodnight.’
On the following morning, he left Cheapside early and made his way to a narrow house near the sign of the Lion in Blackfriars. The fellow who peered at him through a crack in the door seemed disinclined to let him in so Gabriel rammed his shoulder against it, slammed it behind him and pinned its guardian with a bruising grip to the throat. Then, establishing that there was no one else there, he dragged his captive from room to room until he found what he was looking for.
Dies, presses, vats and a small furnace; all the equipment necessary to make counterfeit coin. Gabriel took a good look at it, a slow unpleasant smile bracketing his mouth. And finally he said coldly, ‘Where is Ellis Brandon?’
Ashen with fright and convinced he’d fallen into the hands of the authorities, the man simply stared at him, gibbering. Gabriel shook him like a rat and repeated the question.
‘Where is Ellis Brandon?’
‘I – I don’t know. He t-travels about.’
‘Spreading your work around the country so it will attract less attention, presumably. And he’s travelling now? Outside London? You’re sure about that?’ The questions gathered speed, leaving the coiner time only to nod. Then, ‘Where was he a week ago?’
‘I d-don’t know. C-can’t remember.’
Merciless fingers twisted his collar, half-strangling him.
‘Try,’ advised Gabriel.
‘Here,’ came the gasping reply. ‘He was here.’
Something infinitely dangerous flared in the cold eyes before Gabriel finally relaxed his grip and let the fellow collapse into a choking heap. Then, once more looking round the workshop, he said, ‘And doubtless he’ll be back. In which case, given the right incentive, you and he can save me a great deal of trouble.’ And, picking up a small hammer from the workbench, he brought it crashing down on the exquisitely-made currency dies.
He destroyed the presses next and then the neat array of small tools. There was temporary satisfaction in the exercise but no real relief. And when it was done, he said flatly, ‘My name is Gabriel Brandon. If Ellis wants to thank me for saving him from the gallows, he can find me in Yorkshire. I’ll be waiting.’
*
The journey was appalling. Not knowing whether he was running away from something or towards it, Gabriel rode on long after it was dark each day and set out again before it grew light. He forced himself to eat but never managed more than an hour’s sleep without waking drenched in icy sweat. And when, late in the evening, he finally walked through the front door of Brandon Lacey, it was to the paralysing realisation that he shouldn’t have come.
Venetia stared down from the turn of the stair while surprise melted into a maelstrom of delight. Then, afraid to take anything for granted, she continued her descent, saying a little breathlessly, ‘If you wanted the fatted calf, you should have got here by Yule.’
He remained quite still, just inside the door.
‘It wasn’t possible.’
Neither his words nor the flat tone in which they were uttered were what she had expected but worse was to come. As she approached him and he removed his hat, she saw what the shadows had previously concealed; a face white and drawn with fatigue and eyes bleak enough to make hell freeze. Stopping as if she had walked into a wall, Venetia said, ‘You look exhausted. What have you been doing?’
‘Oh – this and that, you know.’ He concentrated on removing his gloves and pulling off his sword. ‘Attending Council meetings; arguing with Henry Ireton; stopping Bryony from throwing her cap over the windmill; burying Wat.’
For a moment, Venetia couldn’t believe she’d heard aright but then the look on his face and the desperate unsteadiness of his hands convinced her that she had.
‘Wat’s dead?’
‘Yes.’ Knowing that if he did not tell her now, straight out, he wouldn’t be able to tell her at all, Gabriel said tonelessly, ‘Someone who wants me dead, killed him instead. He drowned a week last Thursday.’
Venetia’s stomach heaved and she felt suddenly very sick. Clasping her hands over her mouth, she fled to the privacy of the close-stool.
Under the circumstances, the nausea wasn’t especially surprising but, by the time she’d got rid of her supper, Venetia knew that this wasn’t the time to confide her suspicions to Gabriel. The only thing that mattered now was to help him through this … and, judging by what she had seen so far, he wasn’t coping at all well. So she conquered her weakness, pulled herself together and walked slowly back to the parlour.
He was sitting by the fire with his eyes closed. She knew he wasn’t sleeping; what she didn’t know was how best to begin. And, as if aw
are of it, Gabriel filled the silence for her by saying, ‘Forgive me. Subtlety is beyond me just at present. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated helplessly. ‘I am … so very sorry. I know that doesn’t help … but I am.’ He neither replied nor opened his eyes so, with a good deal of uncertainty, she tried again. ‘There is food if you want it. Shall I—?’
‘No. I’ve already eaten.’ Easy to say – and true, if one counted the bread and cheese he had forced down at Leeds.
‘Oh. Wine, then?’
‘Better not.’ His lids lifted slowly, as if in response to some massive effort. ‘If I start drinking, I may not stop. The same is true of talking. And that’s why I can’t tell you about it. Not yet. I’m sorry.’
Her throat ached. ‘It’s all right. Tell me how I can help.’
‘By sparing me the task of explaining to Sophy.’
‘Of course.’ Venetia paused. Then, ‘You look as though you haven’t slept since … since it happened. If I brought you something that might help, would you take it?’
Distantly recognising both her concern and her distress but incapable, as yet, of responding to either, Gabriel shrugged slightly.
‘Why not? If you can drug me as efficiently as you drugged Baxter and Willis, I’ll be in your debt.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Like him, Venetia found even the mildest attempt at a normal tone impossible. ‘I’ll go and get it, then. But you should go to bed.’
‘Presently.’ The strain of choosing his words was beginning to show. ‘Perhaps you could leave it in my room?’
He was telling her he wanted to be left alone – and it hurt. But she said merely, ‘As you wish.’ And left him without a backward glance.
Later, she lay awake grieving silently for the odd little man whose friendship she had earned too late and grappling with the terrifying knowledge that someone wanted Gabriel dead. Tonight, for the first time since she had started to suspect she might be pregnant, there were no thoughts of the unborn child and no rehearsals of how she was going to tell Gabriel. All that must wait. There were other tasks to perform.
She arose early and discovered that Gabriel had already gone down to Scar Croft to see Dick Carter. Worried but not surprised, she pummelled a piece of bread into a shapeless lump and waited for Sophia to appear. Then, without wasting words, she told her the little she knew.
Sophia’s short-sighted eyes filled with tears and she pushed her plate away.
‘Poor man,’ she said. ‘Poor man. We’ll miss him. And Gabriel … I can’t imagine how hard this is for him.’
‘Yes. But he’s not ready to talk yet. Truth to tell, I don’t think he can bear it. So you mustn’t ask, Sophy. Even though … even though —’ Venetia stopped, closing one hand hard over the other.
‘Even though the matter isn’t ended,’ supplied Sophia, wisely avoiding the words that stuck in Venetia’s throat. ‘Yes. But he should be safe enough here with us.’
‘I don’t see how you can be sure of that.’
‘I’m not. But since all the other incidents you mention took place in London, it seems a reasonable assumption.’
Not for the first time, Venetia found herself taken aback by one of Sophia’s lightning bursts of logic. She said abruptly, ‘Why do you pretend to appear so vague?’
‘Habit. I started doing it when Robert’s wife was trying to marry me off and it sort of stuck. Also, when one is no longer young and has never been pretty, eccentricity is all that’s left.’ She stood up, grabbing automatically at her shawl and, without altering her tone, said, ‘You love him very much, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘No. I haven’t known how … or whether he’d welcome it,’ responded Venetia truthfully. ‘And now isn’t the time.’
‘No?’ Sophia meandered to the door. ‘I’d have thought now was exactly the time. You should think about it.’
Gabriel reappeared just in time for supper, wearing an expression of rigid control and apparently intent on talking of everything except Wat. He described the proceedings in the Officers’ Council and the Army’s dealings with the Levellers, Pride’s Purge and Cromwell’s recent efforts to moderate the extremists; and finally he spoke of the King’s refusal to receive Lord Denbigh and the resulting hardening of attitudes in both Council and Commons. Then, meeting his wife’s troubled eyes, he said bluntly, ‘Everything that can be done has been done but His Majesty seems hell-bent on digging his own pit. And I doubt that anyone can save him from standing trial now. Not even Cromwell.’
‘But no court can try him. It isn’t legal.’
‘My objections precisely. Amongst other things, Parliament fought the King because he was bending the law to his will. Then, when the war was over, it instantly did the same thing itself. And now the Army is throwing law out of the window to rule by the sword. Personally, I suspect that Lilburne has it right. We’ve exchanged one tyrant for another. And, if that’s so, I consider myself well out of it.’
Venetia’s breath caught and, seeing it, Sophia asked the obvious question for her.
‘You’re not going back?’
‘To the Army? Not unless circumstances change.’ Gabriel paused and continued pushing food aimlessly around his plate. Then he said, ‘But I may well have to return to London. It all depends on Ellis.’
‘Ellis?’ echoed Venetia sharply.
The heavy grey gaze rose to meet hers.
‘Yes. Since I can’t think of anyone else who might want to kill me, I’ve done my best to make him follow me here. If he does, I may get answers.’
‘And, if not, you’ll go looking for him?’
‘Yes.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up, his face like granite. ‘It would be stupid to leave it alone, after all. And I don’t want to. Not now.’
As soon as the meal was over, Sophia drifted tactfully away. Venetia lingered for another hour or so – hoping to find some small fissure in the wall of ice Gabriel had built around himself but discovering only that he had divided his day between watching the linen grow on the looms and riding into Knaresborough to pay the quarter’s taxes. And finally, when it was plain that he still didn’t want to talk, she bade him goodnight and went to her room.
She fell into a restless doze only to wake again shortly after midnight. For a time, she lay wondering what had roused her. Then, without quite knowing why, she got up, pulled on her robe and walked out into the silent corridor.
It was dark as pitch but Venetia did not find that a handicap. She paused briefly at the head of the stairs and then moved on until she arrived at Gabriel’s door. It was shut and no light showed beneath it. Still following her instincts, she set her hand to the latch and went in.
Illuminated only by the dying glow of the fire and still clad in his shirt and breeches, Gabriel sat on the side of the bed, his head bent over his tightly-latticed hands … and although he must have known she was there, he gave no sign of it. For a second or two more, Venetia continued to hesitate. Then she closed the door gently behind her and walked over to stand beside him, saying softly, ‘Gabriel … you can’t go on handling this alone.’
A violent shudder passed through him.
‘Why not? It’s my fault, after all.’
The words were barely audible. Dropping to her knees, Venetia laid her hands around his and looked up into the tightly-shuttered face. ‘No. That’s not so.’
‘It is so. He was only there because of me – and I let him die.’ A pulse hammered in his throat and he was breathing as if it hurt. Then, without warning, the dam burst and the words came tumbling over each other. He told her everything in the exact, devastating detail that he remembered it. And, at the end, he said unevenly, ‘Sixteen years. He’d been with me for sixteen years, since I was an ignorant boy on my first campaign. He patched me up when I was wounded, bolstered me in defeat and told me what he thought of every move I made whether I wanted to hear it or not. He couldn’t have done more f
or me if I’d been his own son – and I let him die.’
‘You didn’t.’ Venetia’s face was wet. ‘Name one thing you could have done and didn’t.’
‘Stopped him taking pot-shots at the archer; grabbed him before he went into the water; dived straight in myself instead of waiting to get clear of the Bridge.’ Gabriel rapidly recited his ten-day old litany. ‘Better still, I could have made sure he stayed at home.’
‘Could you? Do you think he’d have listened?’ She shook him slightly. ‘Look at me. Can you honestly say Wat ever took an order that didn’t suit him?’
He drew a long, ragged breath and focused his eyes on her face.
‘No. Perhaps not. I don’t know.’ And then, dropping his brow against his hands and hers, ‘Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be inflicting this on you. I never meant to. You’d better go. My self-control isn’t working very well.’
‘Then let it go completely,’ said Venetia. ‘You may as well – because I’m not leaving until you’re asleep.’
‘You’ll be here all night, then – because I’m damned if I’m going to start relying on opiates.’
‘No. But there are other things we might try.’ Smiling a little, she stood up and drew him to his feet. Then, throwing back the coverlet, she said, ‘Nightmares are worse when you’re alone. So let’s see what company will do.’
Not convinced that this was what he wanted or that anything could ever mend the great, gaping hole in his chest, Gabriel let her have her way purely because he was too weary to argue. And, when he was lying with her arms about him and his head on her shoulder, he said hazily, ‘This wasn’t in the contract.’
‘Then we’ll add a clause to cover it,’ she responded. And said nothing more.
He fell asleep almost immediately; and when after an hour or so, he started growing restless, she murmured soothingly to him till he was quiet again. Then, because the sound of her voice seemed to help and because she knew he couldn’t hear her, she told him some of the things she had never previously dared say. And, so doing, slid imperceptibly into sleep herself.