Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  Inigo Jones’s splendid piazza was looking a good deal less elegant than when she had seen it last – having been turned into a sort of makeshift stable where soldiers tethered their horses to the door-knockers. Ignoring the appreciative whistles and good-humoured ribaldry around her, Venetia trod purposefully up to Gillingham House and demanded to see the Countess.

  Plumper than ever and extravagantly gowned, Isabel received her with rather less surprise than might have been expected; and when Venetia remarked upon it, she drawled, ‘Well, of course, my dear. It’s the trial, isn’t it? All the world and his wife will want to be there.’

  ‘I daresay,’ replied Venetia tersely. Then, coming directly to the point, ‘I’m in trouble, Isabel. Gabriel is in the Tower and I need to speak with Cromwell. But —’

  ‘In the Tower?’ echoed her ladyship. ‘Good heavens! How has that come about?’

  ‘Mostly through Gabriel’s opposition to Ireton during the course of the Whitehall debates and over the Purge. But there are other things as well – and it’s vital that I talk to Cromwell before matters get any worse. The only problem is finding the opportunity. This isn’t the kind of thing that can be discussed on the steps outside the Commons or scuttling between the Painted Chamber and Whitehall – and his wife doesn’t like me. So I was hoping you could persuade her to name a time when I might call in King Street.’

  ‘I see.’ The vivid blue gaze rested on her in silence for a moment. Then Isabel said regretfully, ‘I’d like to oblige you, dearest. I really would. But to be absolutely frank, I let my friendship with Betty dwindle a little as soon as the Lieutenant-General had looked into the matter of our composition fines – and it would be a trifle awkward to revive it now purely in order to ask another favour. I’m truly sorry. But if there’s anything else I can do, anything at all – I’d be more than happy.’

  A lead weight settled in Venetia’s chest. She said tonelessly, ‘Thank you, but there’s nothing. The only person who can help is Cromwell himself – if he chooses to.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that if you get to see him he’ll do his best. But the Colonel can’t be in any real danger, surely? A senior officer who’s served throughout both wars – doubtless with some distinction? It would take more than a little brush with Henry Ireton to cancel that out.’

  ‘They’ve got more. And there are other, even greater dangers that I can’t talk about.’

  ‘It’s really as bad as that?’ asked Isabel, shocked.

  ‘It’s damnable,’ responded Venetia. And then, as though unable to stop herself, ‘You see – despite all my brave words to the contrary, I love him. And he loves me. And if … if anything happens to him, I don’t know how I shall bear it.’

  *

  While Venetia was in Covent Garden, the High Court of Justice finished drafting the King’s indictment and the Council of Officers – no longer working with the Levellers – put the final touches to the Agreement of the People. The combined result, according to Major Maxwell, was that Venetia ought to find it easier to catch up with the Lieutenant-General … and, after three seemingly endless days, he was finally proved right.

  She achieved her goal by the simple but risky expedient of waylaying Cromwell outside his own front door and, without giving him time to open his mouth, saying rapidly, ‘Sir – I know how busy you are and I apologise for my intrusion. But I beg you to give me just five minutes of your time on a matter of the utmost urgency. Please?’

  For a moment he looked at her out of narrowed eyes and without a trace of the geniality she had seen last time they had met. Then he said brusquely, ‘Very well, Mistress Brandon. Five minutes – and only on the understanding that you will henceforth stop dogging my every step. I trust I make myself clear?’

  ‘Very clear,’ agreed Venetia readily, following him first into the house and then to a small room. ‘If you have spoken to Commissary-General Ireton, you will know what I want.’

  ‘I know precisely what you want. But first I’d like to hear why you want it.’

  She gripped her hands together, suddenly aware how cold she was and praying her teeth wouldn’t start to chatter.

  ‘Someone is trying to harm my husband but I don’t know who it is. So far, this person has attacked him twice in the street and once on the river. They’ve killed his oldest friend, plunging him into grief and causing him to temporarily absent himself from duty. And now they have laid wicked accusations which have resulted in his imprisonment.’ She paused briefly, trying to gauge his expression; and, failing, continued simply, ‘I haven’t come to plead his innocence or assure you of his loyalty – or even to beg you to intervene in his case personally. I am here purely to ask you to help me save his life by furnishing me with the name of his accuser.’

  There was a long silence when she had finished speaking and the echo of her words seemed to hang on the air. Finally, Cromwell said, ‘The Lord has given Colonel Brandon a great gift and your sentiments do you credit. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you what you want to know – nor would it help you if I did. For the person who informed me that your husband went out of his way to free the Royalist officer responsible for the loss of Pontefract is most certainly not in any way connected with these attempts on his life.’

  Venetia’s nails dug into her palms. Swallowing hard, she said, ‘Excuse me for asking – but how can you be so sure?’

  ‘It is simply not possible. But you’ll have to take my word for that.’ His tone was utterly final and his expression forbade further questions. Then, entirely without warning, he said, ‘Tell me … what are your feelings on the projected trial of the King?’

  Just now, this was the very last thing she wished to discuss but she said coolly, ‘I am opposed to it, sir.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘On the grounds that, according to law, the King can be tried by no court at all – let alone one virtually bereft of the judiciary. And because, irrespective of his faults, I was reared to respect the Lord’s Anointed.’

  He nodded slowly.

  ‘But this King’s faults have been many and the Lord has witnessed against him … that much is clear. God revealed his judgement on Charles Stuart when He allowed his armies to be defeated in the field.’

  ‘Perhaps. But at what stage did He appoint the Army to be his executioner?’

  A burning gleam entered the Lieutenant-General’s eyes and he said, ‘If any man whatsoever had carried on the design of deposing the King and disinheriting his posterity, he would be the greatest traitor and rebel in the world. But since the Providence of God has cast this upon us, I cannot but submit to it. In short, Madam, I and my colleagues are doing the Lord’s work.’

  She tried to curb her tongue but the temptation was too great.

  ‘Certainly you are serving the Lord’s purpose. But since God knows how to use His enemies as well as His friends, the same could equally be said of Nebuchadnezzar.’

  Cromwell’s nose glowed and there was a brief, chilly silence. Then he said, ‘You are a brave woman but not very wise. Or have you forgotten you’re seeking a favour?’

  ‘Not at all. But since you asked, I presumed you wanted my honest opinion,’ replied Venetia. ‘Also – though I may utterly oppose what you’re doing – I believe you to be a man of strong, personal integrity. And I don’t think you would stoop to punish Gabriel for my faults.’

  This time the pause was longer and, at the end of it, the Lieutenant-General said dryly, ‘My mistake, Madam. You’re cleverer than I thought.’ Crossing to his writing-table, he pulled a piece of paper before him, scrawled a few lines and sealed it. Then, offering it to Venetia, he said, ‘Give that to Major Maxwell. It’s not what you came for – but it’s the best you’ll get. And now go home. The weather’s too raw for the kind of antics you’ve been up to – and I want my supper.’

  *

  Arriving back in Cheapside to discover that Eden had sent word saying he’d be late, Venetia ground her teeth and placed the Lieutenant-General
’s missive, unopened, on the dresser. Then Sophia appeared to ask about her day so Venetia sat down and told her. At the end, she said, ‘I’ve no idea what he wrote but I doubt it will be much use. As far as I can see, Oliver Cromwell is the sort who only functions in response to divine inspiration – with the result that he doesn’t know what he’ll do from one minute to the next. And bad as that is for Gabriel, it’s worse still for the nation as a whole.’

  Sophia stared dreamily into the heart of the fire.

  ‘Then perhaps it’s time to approach someone with greater authority and a more sympathetic attitude,’ she remarked gently. ‘The Lord General, for example.’

  ‘Fairfax?’ Venetia wrinkled her brow. ‘That’s not such a bad idea, I suppose. He certainly ought to be able to do something if he chose … and though I’ve never met him, he is a Yorkshireman. Then again, getting to see him will probably be as difficult as getting to see Cromwell.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Sophia. ‘You see, I knew his wife when she was a girl. Anne is much younger than I am, of course … but her father and mine were very friendly at one time.’

  ‘And she’d remember you?’ asked Venetia hopefully.

  ‘She does remember me. I called on her this afternoon and we spent quite a pleasant hour together.’ Turning slightly, she smiled apologetically at Venetia. ‘You’re wondering why I didn’t mention it before; and the answer is that I didn’t want to raise your hopes before I was sure she’d agree to receive you.’

  ‘And has she agreed?’

  ‘Yes. Not tomorrow, unfortunately – but on Saturday. She’s become a woman of character and is quite as opposed to the trial as you are. I think you’ll like her.’

  ‘If she persuades the Lord General to help Gabriel, I’ll love her,’ vowed Venetia. ‘But can she? Sir Thomas hasn’t exactly been conspicuous of late, has he? And if his views coincide with those of his wife, he ought to be standing his ground, not retiring into semi-obscurity and leaving all the running to Cromwell.’

  ‘Doubtless he has his reasons,’ said Sophia cautiously. Then, as the door opened and Eden came in, ‘Ah. At last.’

  He grinned at her.

  ‘You look remarkably pleased to see me. I wonder why I’m not flattered?’

  ‘Guess,’ said Venetia, fetching the note and handing it to him. ‘It’s from Cromwell.’

  Eden shot her a sharp glance, then swiftly broke the seal. He frowned over the Lieutenant-General’s scrawl and, when he’d mastered its contents, read it again to make sure. Then, looking up with an expression of faint bemusement, he said, ‘He’s ordering an immediate investigation into the charges against Gabriel and wants to see all the relevant information personally. He’s also given you permission to visit the Tower for an hour each day.’

  It was more than Venetia had expected and she sat down rather abruptly. Sophia continued gazing myopically at Eden and said, ‘And who is to handle this investigation?’

  The hazel eyes gleamed. ‘Me.’

  Venetia and Sophia stared at one another, first with dawning hope and then sharing another, quite separate thought. Venetia said slowly, ‘You’d better sit down, Eden. There’s something Gabriel hasn’t told you.’

  He remained where he was.

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘The fact that, for nearly a year now, someone has been trying to kill him.’

  ~ ~ ~

  TWO

  By Saturday January 20th, the morning of Venetia’s appointment with Lady Fairfax, all London knew that the trial of the King was to begin later that day in Westminster Hall – and Venetia had every intention of being there. She therefore presented herself at the Lord General’s residence at a little after eleven … and immediately discovered that, having precisely the same resolve as herself, her ladyship had arranged matters accordingly.

  As Sophia had said, Anne Fairfax was a woman of character. She also worked with amazing speed; and, having explained that she had reserved seats for herself and certain friends in one of the galleries at the south end of Westminster Hall, she briskly issued an invitation for Mistress Brandon to join her.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Venetia gratefully. ‘I had half-resigned myself to the thought of the public benches.’

  ‘Most unsuitable – and I doubt you’d have got in anyway. Half of London will be queuing already,’ came the reply. ‘So you are married to Sophy’s illegitimate nephew. I never knew Robert Brandon very well, of course, but I confess I find his lapse surprising. Not that that matters in the least. What concerns us now is how best to help your husband. And, though I’m not sure what Sophy expects of me, I promised her that I would try. I was very fond of her when I was a girl, you know.’

  ‘No.’ Venetia’s brows rose. ‘I didn’t know. She wasn’t even convinced you would remember her.’

  ‘Then she should have been.’ A sudden smile dawned. ‘I suspect very few people ever forget Sophy. She has a sort of magic that is entirely her own. However. Let us address the matter in hand. I understand that Colonel Brandon is a soldier of exemplary record, that he has incurred the enmity of some person or persons unknown and that he has fallen foul of Henry Ireton over the purging of Parliament and the King’s trial. Is that an accurate picture?’

  ‘Yes. The Lieutenant-General has recently ordered an investigation of the charges, but —’

  ‘But you are wondering how prompt he will be, under the present circumstances, to recognise your husband’s innocence and release him. Yes. But there is also, I believe, some matter of counterfeit coin?’

  Venetia nodded and explained. Then she said, ‘Major Maxwell is fully aware of all this and I’ve signed the necessary declaration. As for Gabriel’s alleged release of the two Royalist officers, the troopers on guard-duty that night have sworn that the prisoners escaped by their own endeavours, leaving my husband to be burned alive.’

  ‘I see. So what you are saying, I take it, is that it only remains for someone to drop the appropriate word in Cromwell’s ear and you are hoping I may persuade Tom to do it,’ remarked Lady Fairfax crisply. ‘And so I may. But I make no promises. My husband has a lot on his mind these days – such as deciding how far Cromwell means to go in this business of the King and how much damage will be done by openly opposing him in it. Then again, there is the Officers’ Agreement – which is being presented to the Commons even as we speak. But if he can help your husband, I’m sure he will. And now we must go. My friend, Mrs Nelson, will be waiting and someone is likely to occupy our places if we don’t join her.’

  The precincts of Westminster were swarming with people hoping to get into the great Hall and, by the time Lady Fairfax had shepherded her guests to their seats, the public benches were already crowded with spectators, stairways were jammed and a few intrepid persons were even perched crow-like on the window-ledges. Amidst the well-dressed throng in the opposite gallery, Venetia recognised Lady Gillingham … and then, with surprise, her old friend Kate D’Aubigny. So far, neither appeared to have seen her; and, leaning both elbows on the parapet, she forgot all about them as she stared down on the scene directly below her.

  It was empty as yet – like a stage-set waiting for the play to begin. Tiered benches covered in red baize had been erected beneath the huge south window and, in the front row, a large raised chair with a writing-desk set before it waited for the Lord President of the Court. A little way in front of that was another table covered with a rich Turkey carpet; and a few feet away, draped in red velvet and standing with its back to the body of the Hall, was the chair which had been placed for the King. A double-barrier lined with pikemen divided the Court from the public benches – where more troopers lined the walls and guarded the doors. The Army, it seemed, was taking no chances.

  The wait was a long one but eventually, at a little after two o’clock, in the wake of twenty halberdiers and officers carrying the sword and mace, the Commissioners filed into their places. The articles of state were laid on the carpeted table, two Clerks of the Court too
k their seats behind it and a man in a black, steeple-crowned hat ascended to the raised chair.

  Venetia turned to Lady Fairfax.

  ‘Who is presiding?’

  ‘John Bradshaw, the Chief Justice of Chester. Rumour has it that his hat is lined with steel for fear of assassination.’ Anne kept her voice low but disdained to whisper. ‘The Clerks are John Phelps and Andrew Broughton. And the fellow over there in the fur-trimmed robe is John Cook – a barrister of Gray’s Inn and a committed Republican. Scarcely an illustrious collection.’ Her gaze moved to the assembled rows of Commissioners, amongst whom sat Cromwell, Ireton, Lord Grey and a miscellaneous clutch of Colonels. ‘But as you can see, the power is all behind them.’

  Gradually, the Court fell more or less silent and, on a signal from Lord President Bradshaw, John Phelps rose to read the Act of Parliament empowering the Court. Being already aware of its contents, Venetia chose to count the Commissioners. There were sixty-two of them; not, she decided, a particularly brilliant showing when everyone knew that a hundred and thirty-five had been summoned.

  After the Act had been read, Bradshaw commanded that the prisoner be called to the bar and ordered the names of the Commissioners to be called. Lesser Court officials fussed nervously with the exact positioning of the King’s chair and Venetia’s mouth curled derisively. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin as Mr Phelps reached the name of the Lord General and Anne Fairfax shouted, ‘He has more wit than to be here – and you do wrong to name him!’

  Startled faces looked up from below and the soldiers’ hands clenched on their muskets. Then the King appeared under heavy guard … and all else was forgotten.

  Dressed wholly in black and wearing the jewelled Order of the Garter on his cloak, he walked briskly to the velvet-covered chair and sat down without troubling to remove his hat. Venetia’s breath caught in her throat. She had not seen him in four years but he had aged ten. Only his expression was familiar; rigid, impassive and entirely without curiosity.