Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  ‘So what were you thinking of?’

  ‘Trouble amongst the crowd perhaps?’

  ‘I’m told there wasn’t any.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that’s relief.’ She lifted her glass and smiled at him. ‘On a day as black as this, having you home again is the best tonic we could have. To your liberty, my dear – and a speedy return to Brandon Lacey for all of us.’

  Gabriel made no move to drink. He said, ‘Sophy … what’s really bothering you?’

  The smile lingered but her eyes focused on a point some two feet in front of his face.

  ‘Why, nothing. Now you are free, what could possibly —?’

  ‘This isn’t to do with me,’ he said crisply. ‘It’s to do with Venetia, isn’t it? And you can take that look off your face. I know it for what it is.’

  Sophia’s expression changed to one of irritable resignation.

  ‘All right. I’m worried. I admit it. It’s dark and she should have been home over an hour ago – and watching the King die must have been devastating for her. There. Are you satisfied now?’

  ‘No.’ Gabriel set his glass down untouched and surveyed her with an air of mild foreboding. ‘You aren’t prone to needless anxiety and you know that Venetia can take care of herself more than adequately. So there’s something else, isn’t there?’

  He was driving her into a corner and, had it not been for the fact that she was becoming increasingly convinced that something was very wrong, she would have damned his astuteness. As it was, she stared into her glass and said slowly, ‘I wondered if the execution proved too much for her. She could be feeling unwell and have stayed in Covent Garden with her friend, Isabel. Perhaps you should go and see.’

  ‘I should – and I will,’ agreed Gabriel, folding his arms. ‘But not until you’ve told me the rest.’

  Sighing, Sophia looked up at him and admitted defeat.

  ‘It’s not my place to tell you … and if Venetia walks in safe and sound, she’ll cut my tongue out and fry it. But the truth is that she’s almost three months pregnant.’

  His breath leaked away and it was a moment before he was able to speak. Then, in a voice not quite his own, he said, ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why … why didn’t she tell me?’

  ‘She thought you already had enough to worry about,’ returned Sophia. Then, briskly, but still with underlying unease, ‘Now are you going to Covent Garden or not? You … you’ll need to ask for Gillingham House.’

  ‘Yes.’ Shock had been replaced by elation and a hint of rare colour stained his cheekbones. ‘Yes. I’ll go immediately.’

  ‘Good. Then there’s something else you ought to —’

  ‘Let me guess,’ grinned Gabriel, sweeping up his hat. ‘You don’t want Venetia to know that you told me.’

  ‘No. There is that, of course. But —’

  ‘Consider it done.’ He strode to the door, threw it open and directed a gleaming glance over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Sophy. Now I’m free, I think you’ll find Venetia will have better things to do than fillet and bread you.’ And he was gone.

  Sophia sat down in the nearest chair and listened to the echo of his feet on the stairs. Then, gazing deep into the fire, she tried to tell herself that the only thing she should be worrying about was Venetia. The other nagging thought existed purely in her imagination.

  *

  By the time Gabriel arrived in the piazza and found the right house, it was well after six and extremely cold. He gave his name to the maidservant who admitted him, demanded to see the Countess and prowled restlessly around the hall until he was shown into the lavishly-furnished salon. Then, finding himself facing a complete stranger, he came to an abrupt halt and said uncertainly, ‘My apologies, Madam. There seems to have been some mistake. I asked for Lady Gillingham.’

  Dressed all in black, the dark-haired woman by the hearth stared motionlessly at him for what seemed a very long time. But finally she expelled a long breath and said, ‘My daughter-in-law isn’t here. I am Susannah Molyneux – the Dowager Countess. No one … mentioned me to you?’

  Gabriel shook his head and advanced a few steps.

  ‘My acquaintance with your daughter-in-law is very slight. She is actually a friend of —’

  ‘Your wife. Yes. I know. I met her once.’

  Now that he was closer, Gabriel could see how very pale she was but was still baffled by the intensity of her expression. He also had a sudden peculiar sensation of familiarity … as though she reminded him of someone. Since neither mattered in the slightest however, he pushed both thoughts to one side and said, ‘Then perhaps you can help me. My wife attended the King’s execution with her ladyship and has so far failed to come home. I hoped I might find her here – mistakenly, it seems.’

  The dark gaze narrowed slightly.

  ‘I’m afraid so. As far as I’m aware, Isabel left the house this morning with your wife and neither of them have been seen since.’ She paused. ‘You are anxious about her?’

  ‘I am now,’ replied Gabriel tersely. ‘It’s dark outside and freezing hard – and I don’t know where else to look. Also, I’m becoming increasingly afraid that what she experienced at Whitehall this afternoon may have proved too much for her.’

  ‘It was brave of her to go,’ murmured Susannah. ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘There is no shame in that,’ he said. ‘Venetia wouldn’t have been there either, had I been in a position to prevent her.’

  For a moment, the Dowager looked as if she’d like to ask why he hadn’t been. But she said merely, ‘I’m sure your concern is needless. Your wife struck me as a very resilient woman.’

  ‘She is,’ he agreed. And, in response to his growing unease, ‘She is. But she’s also pregnant.’

  The fine-boned face altered subtly and there was another long, enervating silence before she said remotely, ‘Does Isabel know?’

  It seemed a strange question; but then, since entering this room, a good many things had seemed strange – particularly the way the Dowager’s eyes never left his face.

  Gabriel shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so – but I can’t be sure. Why? Does it matter?’

  ‘It might.’ Very slowly, she sat down, gesturing for him to join her. When, with ill-concealed reluctance, he had done so, she said colourlessly, ‘My daughter-in-law is ruled by a number of obsessions, Colonel. Amongst the more acceptable of them are a fixation with her dwindling looks and the desire to have a child.’

  His brows contracted. ‘So?’

  ‘So she may be jealous of one who is both exceptionally beautiful and soon to become a mother.’

  ‘I daresay she may. But I don’t see —’ He stopped on a sharply indrawn breath. ‘You’re saying she may wish to harm Venetia? Out of nothing more than simple jealousy?’

  ‘Nothing is simple with Isabel. She takes everything to extremes.’

  Gabriel waited and, when she did not continue, said flatly, ‘I think you’d better explain.’

  ‘Yes.’ Susannah sighed. ‘Her marriage, for example, has been an endless series of affairs. To begin with, she was reasonably discreet; then she stopped caring – both with whom she slept and how many people knew about it. At that point, my … my son refused to continue living with her. He’s spent the last two years either on our estates in Norfolk or, as now, abroad. Isabel has remained with me. And I’ve had to watch her persuading everyone she knows that George is a spineless spendthrift with a penchant for his own sex.’ She paused, looking directly into his eyes. ‘I am telling you this so you will understand that normal rules of behaviour to not apply to Isabel. She is fanatical, unpredictable and a very good liar. And there have been times when … when I’ve wondered if she is always wholly sane.’

  Gabriel stared at her, his face grim. Although he didn’t doubt that she was telling him the truth as she saw it, he still wasn’t convinced that Venetia could be in any danger from that fat, vapid-seeming woman. On the other hand, he
wasn’t prepared to take the risk and had, in any case, no other avenues to follow.

  He said, ‘All right. Let us assume that Isabel is jealous and that Venetia is still with her. Have you any idea where they might be?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘there is one possibility.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I may be quite wrong – but Isabel’s latest lover is the son of her old nursemaid. His name is Harris. Your wife employed him for a short time. Isabel suggested it. I don’t know why. But I do know that she often visits his mother in the Axe Yard.’

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. Then, once more dismissing the things which didn’t make sense, he stood up and said, ‘Which house?’

  She rose to face him.

  ‘I’ll take you there.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. You’ve been very helpful and I’m grateful. But if you’ll just give me the direction, I’ll —’

  The Dowager shook her head and moved gracefully past him towards the door.

  ‘If your wife is in that house and anything … untoward … is happening there, you will need me. Allow me a few minutes, Colonel - no longer than it takes to saddle a horse. Please wait.’

  Irritably, since he plainly had little choice in the matter, Gabriel did as she asked. He spent the time pacing the hall, trying to make sense of the whole situation – and failing.

  Ten minutes later, he and the Dowager were riding side by side along the Strand. She spoke only twice.

  ‘Does your wife love you as much as you obviously love her?’

  He glanced round sharply but saw only the pale blur of her face in the darkness.

  ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I imagine that your union cannot always have been easy. And I wondered if you … if you are happy.’

  His brows rose and he said dryly, ‘I’ll be happy when I find Venetia. For the rest – I can only assume you’re referring to my illegitimacy. And the answer is that it has very little significance to my life in general and none at all within my marriage. Satisfied?’

  She did not reply and Gabriel, having more important matters on his mind, was glad of it. Then, when at length they turned into the Axe Yard, she pointed to a tall, narrow house on their left and said, ‘There.’

  Nodding curtly, Gabriel dropped from the saddle, lifted his unwanted companion to the ground and secured both horses. Light showed at the upper windows and, without wasting time, he rapped smartly on the door. Silence. He waited and knocked again, this time more loudly. For a few moments, there was still no response and then bolts were drawn back, the door opened a crack and Tom Harris’s face peered out at them. Suspicion sharpened in Gabriel’s brain and he said crisply, ‘I’m looking for Lady Gillingham and my wife. Where are they?’

  ‘Not here,’ muttered Harris and tried to close the door.

  Gabriel jammed his foot in the aperture and braced his arm against the oak planks.

  ‘No? Then you won’t mind if I come in and take a look, will you?’

  ‘Yes I bloody will!’ Harris paused briefly as his gaze took in the Dowager and then, recovering himself, said, ‘They’re not here, I tell you. And you can’t —’

  The words ended on a grunt as the door was rammed violently back on him, with Colonel Brandon surging over the threshold in its wake. As Harris struggled to regain his balance, a fist like a battering ram smashed into his stomach and sent him sprawling against the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Where is my wife?’ demanded Gabriel.

  ‘How should I know?’ Harris heaved himself up and managed a sly smile. ‘Maybe she’s got a lover.’ And he aimed a savage swipe at Gabriel’s head.

  Gabriel sidestepped it and brought his linked hands down hard on the back of the other man’s neck. Harris bounced off the wall, collided with a crashing blow to the jaw and went down, semi-conscious.

  Gabriel seized his collar in a vice-like grip and hauled him upright again.

  ‘Mind your tongue when you speak of my wife – or I’ll really hurt you!’ he snapped. And delivered one final, annihilating punch.

  Harris dropped like a stone and Gabriel turned to meet the Dowager’s eyes.

  She said calmly, ‘He was lying.’

  ‘I know,’ returned Gabriel. And, without stopping to see if she was following, stepped over Harris’s recumbent form and took the narrow, worm-eaten stairs two at a time.

  When he reached the turn, he found himself staring up into the shadowed, angular face of a woman who clung to the rickety bannister above him and hissed, ‘Get out! How dare you burst into my home and attack my son? You’ve no business here.’

  A cold smile curled Gabriel’s mouth and he ran swiftly up to join her on the landing.

  ‘Convince me,’ he said.

  She backed away in front of him and then froze, her eyes moving past his shoulder.

  ‘M-my lady! I didn’t expect —’

  ‘Obviously not.’ Susannah’s voice was hard and cold. ‘And if harm has been done, I’ll see both you and your son behind bars for it. Where are Isabel and Mistress Brandon?’

  The woman’s face crumpled.

  ‘I only did what Mistress Isabel said, my lady! I never —’

  ‘I don’t care. Get downstairs and, when your son wakes, keep him there.’

  ‘But my lady —’

  His patience suddenly snapping, Gabriel lifted the woman bodily from his path and bore down upon the only door with light showing beneath it. He flung it wide … and stopped as if he had walked into a wall.

  The room reeked of sweat and blood and vomit. Isabel Molyneux stood by the hearth, her teeth clenched on her under-lip and her eyes full of feral excitement. And before her, curled in a ball amidst the wreckage of the bed, lay Venetia. Her breath was coming in tiny, shallow sobs and beneath the wild tangle of her hair, her eyes were closed and her face paper-white. A sharply-etched line of pain creased her brow and her fingers clawed at the bedcover. She was drenched in perspiration and there was blood soaking through her skirts and on to the quilt.

  Gabriel’s stomach turned cold and his heart struggled to regain its accustomed rhythm.

  ‘Oh my God!’ breathed Susannah from behind him.

  ‘Well, well,’ purred Isabel. ‘Not just the bastard – but the bitch as well. Isn’t this a merry meeting?’

  Oblivious to everything except Venetia, Gabriel reinflated his lungs and took a step towards the bed.

  Isabel gave a tinkling laugh.

  ‘She doesn’t look quite so pretty now, does she? She was carrying your brat, you know – but it’s dead. A pity, isn’t it?’

  He halted briefly as sick fear and crippling rage ripped through his body. Then he moved on to Venetia’s side and, smoothing back the damp, matted hair from her brow, said raggedly, ‘Sweetheart … look at me. It’s all right. Venetia? It will be all right. We’ll soon have you safe.’

  Isabel laughed again but he didn’t hear her. Fully dilated and curiously unfocused, Venetia’s eyes flickered open.

  ‘Gabriel?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. I’m here. You’re safe now. Don’t worry any more.’

  Her eyes closed again and tears trickled from beneath her lids. On a sudden spasm of pain, she said, ‘Not real. Nothing’s real. Only Isabel.’

  Susannah advanced with careful restraint upon her daughter-in-law.

  ‘What have you given her?’

  ‘What makes you think I’ve given her anything?’

  ‘Your fondness for nasty little concoctions. So which of them did you use this time?’

  A malicious smile curled Isabel’s mouth and for a moment it seemed that she wouldn’t answer. Then, shrugging, she said, ‘Nothing much. Just a couple of doses of savin.’

  The Dowager made a tiny, inarticulate sound.

  Turning his head, Gabriel said sharply, ‘What the hell’s savin?’

  ‘Juniper,’ came the toneless reply. ‘Beloved of every old crone who makes her living ridding women of their … their m
istakes.’ And to Isabel, ‘But it’s not just savin, is it? What did you mix with it?’

  Isabel took a couple of gliding steps past her motherin-law.

  ‘Why are you in mourning? Not for the King, surely? For we’ll have another one fast enough. King Noll and Queen Betty. It has a nice ring, don’t you think?’

  ‘No. What did you mix with the savin?’

  No longer smiling, Isabel pivoted in a swirl of silk.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, bitch! And you won’t stop me. You can’t. The brat’s dead, I tell you.’

  Gabriel erupted to his feet in a blaze of anger.

  ‘Enough. I don’t know why you’ve done this and I haven’t time to find out. I’m taking Venetia out of here. And I suggest you find somewhere to hide – because if I ever see you again, I’ll —’

  ‘Oh no.’ Isabel’s hand emerged from the folds of glowing bronze silk, holding a pistol. ‘You’re not going anywhere. This time I’m going to do what Tom and those useless fools he found for me failed to do. I’m going to finish you.’

  ~ ~ ~

  SIX

  Gabriel froze, more in response to her words than the barrel of the pistol pointing at his chest. There was a long, cavernous silence and then, as if the words didn’t make sense, he said distantly, ‘It was you? The attacks in Moorfields and Whitehall and on the river? The fire? All you?’

  ‘What’s the matter? Haven’t you worked it out yet? Or no. You still probably think it was Ellis.’

  Forcing himself to concentrate, Gabriel tried to calculate his chances of reaching Isabel before she could fire. She had her back to the door and, though her voice was becoming noticeably unstable, the pistol remained steady in her hand. Shifting his position slightly so as to shield Venetia and deciding to play for time, he said, ‘I know it wasn’t Ellis. But I’m not convinced it was you. So why don’t you let your motherin-law take Venetia to a doctor while you tell me about it? After all, you don’t want her to die too, do you?’

  Her teeth gleamed.

  ‘I don’t care either way. And, since the saintly Susannah is here, I want her to stay. This is even better than I hoped. And her part is still to come. But I don’t mind explaining the other things to you. Why should I? I’m in no hurry. If I’d known how much fun this would be, I’d have done it sooner.’ And then, viciously, as the Dowager took a step towards her, ‘Stay where you are, bitch – or I’ll kill him now. And then he’ll never know what we know, will he?’