Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  Susannah stopped dead, the blood draining slowly from her skin.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know. But he doesn’t, does he? Poor, stupid bastard – he’s still waiting to hear how I nearly had him roasted alive and killed his servant.’ The venomous gaze returned to Gabriel. ‘And so you shall. Since your lumbering, cretinous brain can’t comprehend it without help – so you shall.’ She paused, savouring the moment. ‘Tom overheard your pathetic scheme to free Francis Langley and we worked out how to use it. If Venetia hadn’t come out of her room when she did, you’d have burned to death. But she saw Tom on the stairs so he had to help save you. Don’t you find that ironic?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ said Gabriel. Behind him, Venetia stirred, muttering restlessly but he knew better than to turn and look at her. ‘And the marksman by the river?’

  ‘Tom again. He’s an artist with a crossbow – and he really didn’t like your Mr Larkin very much. He nearly poisoned him once. But the idea that night was that you should drown, looking for him.’

  Out of the tail of his eye and just out of reach, Gabriel could see Venetia’s cloak lying across the foot of the bed. Keeping his eyes fixed on Isabel and making every move carefully casual, he set about edging towards it – aware that, at the same time, the Dowager was inching her way further to Isabel’s right. He said, ‘Then, since your friendship with Mistress Cromwell robs my recent imprisonment of all its mystery, there’s only one question left to be answered. Why? Why do you want me dead? What injury have I ever done you that could excuse you doing this to Venetia?’

  Something changed in the smooth, firmly-fleshed face.

  ‘You exist … and you shouldn’t. So it stands to reason that your child shouldn’t exist either. And now it doesn’t.’

  ‘Stop it, Isabel!’ It was Susannah who spoke, thread-like from the hearth. ‘Put the pistol down and let Colonel Brandon take his wife home. You don’t need them.’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening?’ The bright gaze travelled briefly towards her, giving Gabriel the opportunity to slide a few inches nearer the foot of the bed. ‘Of course I need them! I want to tell him why he’s here. You and I may know – but he doesn’t. And I think it’s time he found out.’ Her eyes returned to Gabriel and, with calm deliberation, she levelled the pistol at his heart. ‘You want to know why I began this? I’ll tell you. It’s because my sanctimonious motherin-law – the virtuous lady who has always viewed me as a common whore – had a child outside her marriage bed. A child born when her husband had been abroad for almost a year.’

  A faint tremor afflicted the hand Gabriel had draped with apparent negligence against the bed-post and, for the only time – save when she had spoken of Wat – he gave Isabel his full attention.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘How stupid are you? I’m saying she’s your mother.’

  There was another eviscerating silence. Then Gabriel said rigidly, ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I went looking for her will and found a bundle of love-letters instead – all locked away in a cedarwood box and charmingly tied with blue ribbon. They were from a Yorkshireman called Robert … and they told of a son hidden away in Shoreditch. A son whose name was Gabriel.’

  Gabriel drew a long unsteady breath. Then he looked across at Susannah and, in a voice that was as impervious as iron discipline could make it, said, ‘Is it true?’

  She had no more colour to lose and she stared down at the earthenware wine-jug, the rim of which lay just beneath her fingers on the table beside her.

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s true.’

  ‘And you knew who I was when we met this evening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ The grey eyes surveyed her for a moment more, before returning to Isabel. ‘And what can the facts of my parentage possibly matter to you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Without damaging her aim, Isabel used her left hand to move the firing mechanism from half to full cock and then clamped her fingers round her right wrist. ‘She has a personal fortune and I mean George to have it. I may despise him but he’s still my husband and what’s his is mine. But, once I’d stumbled across you, I knew that one day she would, too. And that was when I decided to get rid of you.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Gabriel. ‘If all you wanted was the money, there were other ways to make sure of it.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled again, her eyes glittering with anticipation. ‘I could have poisoned her before she changed her will or threatened to expose her secret if she didn’t do as I said. I thought of both – but neither would have hurt the bitch as much as killing you. And now it’s even better … because she can stand there and watch.’

  Gabriel let his arm drop to his side, hoping the Dowager would have the sense to grab the jug and use it. Then, with all the contempt he could muster, he said, ‘Don’t count on it. It will take more than a mad bitch like you.’ And, snatching up the cloak, sent it furling wildly towards her.

  In the instant of confusion which followed, Gabriel launched himself across the room. Isabel stepped back, trying to deflect the cloak with her free hand and the jug flew past her head. Then there was a sudden deafening report. Red-hot pain seared the upper part of Gabriel’s left arm but he ignored it and continued to close in on her, his expression one of cold, grim purpose.

  ‘Just a scratch,’ he said. ‘Too bad.’

  Her eyes those of a rabid animal, she backed away on to the landing, holding the empty pistol before her like a club. Staring up from the foot of the stairs, his mother holding fast to one of his arms, Tom Harris called sharply to her … but Gabriel was too close for Isabel to risk turning to look. Her mouth sneered and she said, ‘You think I’m finished, you bastard? I’m not!’ And, with all the force at her command, she swung the butt of the pistol hard at the side of his head.

  Gabriel ducked and, borne on by her own momentum, Isabel crashed awkwardly against the landing balustrade. There was an ominous sound of splintering wood and for a moment she teetered helplessly, her hands clawing at the air, her face contorted with a mixture of hatred and surprise. Then, with a final groan, the rotting wood parted beneath her weight and she fell backwards into space … plummeting down into the hall to hit the flagstoned floor with a sickening crack.

  Margery Harris screamed and her son stared disbelievingly down on the twisted body. The smashed head lay in a dark, slowly spreading pool and the vivid blue eyes stared sightlessly upwards to where Susannah stood, frozen with shock, beside Gabriel. Then, lifting his bruised face to the harsh, impenetrable one above him, Harris said unevenly, ‘You’ll regret that. But not for long. Come down.’

  ‘No! No more, I tell you!’ His mother cast herself hysterically upon him. ‘It’s over. Can’t you see? She’s dead and I’m sorry for it – but she brought it on herself. So go now. Save yourself.’

  He pushed her away from him so violently that she cannoned into the wall.

  ‘But for you, I’d have been up there with her. So stay out of it now or it’ll be the worse for you.’ And again to Gabriel, ‘Come down.’

  A white shade bracketing his mouth and breathing rather fast, Gabriel said, ‘I intend to.’ And he ran swiftly down the stairs towards the long, narrow blade glimmering in Harris’s hand.

  Unarmed, Gabriel had only one chance. Without either slackening his pace or giving any indication of his intent, he took a sort of flying dive from the fourth step. The tip of the blade grazed his neck; then he managed to grasp the hand that held it and Harris went down like a log beneath him.

  Their eyes met and Gabriel smiled coldly. Winded by the impact but otherwise unhurt, Harris clung to the knife with both hands and tried to roll over. With a subtle shift of his position, Gabriel jammed one knee hard into the fellow’s groin and started exerting a steady, grinding pressure on his wrist.

  Slowly, very slowly, the knife started to turn. And when at length Gabriel achieved precisely the angle he needed, he joined his left hand to h
is right and said clearly, ‘This is for Wat.’

  Then he drove the thin blade inexorably down into the base of the other man’s throat.

  Harris’s eyes bulged and he made a long, unpleasant gurgling sound before his head fell back, blood pumping from his open mouth.

  Crouched cowering by the wall, his mother relapsed into a series of tearing, hysterical sobs.

  Ignoring her, Gabriel came stiffly to his feet; and finally, with only the merest suggestion of a pause, turned back up the stairs towards the woman he had been told was his mother.

  For a split second he stared at her out bitter, frowning eyes. Then he said gratingly, ‘Messy but effective. And now perhaps we can finally get Venetia out of this hell-hole.’

  Susannah swallowed hard.

  ‘My house is probably closest and it is at your disposal.’

  He hesitated and then nodded curtly. It was not what he wanted but Venetia was in no state to be carried all the way back to Cheapside on horseback.

  The Dowager watched him wrap Venetia as gently and warmly as he could, and carry her down the stairs, past the bodies of Isabel and Harris as though they didn’t exist. Then she helped him with the difficult business of getting up into the saddle and rose mutely beside him back to the piazza.

  By the time they got there, Venetia was burning with fever and muttering incoherently. Opening his mouth for the first time since leaving the Axe Yard, Gabriel demanded that a doctor be sent for and then reluctantly allowed himself to be banished while the Dowager and her maid stripped away Venetia’s blood-stained clothing and cleansed her body before putting her to bed.

  As yet incapable of proper thought but dimly aware that Sophia must be beside herself with worry, Gabriel scribbled a brief note and told her ladyship’s major-domo to have it conveyed to Cheapside. Then he prowled back and forth outside Venetia’s door until he was allowed back into the room.

  She was tossing restlessly to and fro, her skin hot and dry and her eyes glowing with unnatural brilliance. Summoning the shreds of self-control which were all the last mind-numbing hours had left him with, Gabriel held her hand between his own and tried to recall her with his voice. He had known that he loved her but not, until now, how much. Fear was tearing at his insides with vicious claws and he couldn’t seem to make his brain function beyond a constant litany of, No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

  The physician came, confirmed that Mistress Brandon had suffered a miscarriage, shook his head over her present condition and prepared to bleed her. Promptly losing his temper, Gabriel consigned both him and his remedies to perdition and threw him out. Then, slamming the door shut, he leaned against it for a moment and, in a curiously muffled voice, said, ‘Was I right or wrong? Tell me.’

  ‘You were right,’ said Susannah flatly. ‘She’s already weak enough. And if you’re willing to let me try, I think we can do better than purges, blisters and leeches.’

  He turned slowly to look at her. There were shadows around her eyes that had not been there earlier and her face was white and pinched. Drawing a long, steadying breath, he said, ‘I … would be grateful.’

  ‘Don’t be. I owe you that much at least.’ And without waiting for his response, she walked quickly from the room.

  She returned presently with a mixture of cowslip, sage and tormentil and, having sought Gabriel’s help in persuading Venetia to swallow it, said prosaically, ‘There will be no change for some time yet, so I’ll sit with her while you go downstairs and let my maid see to your arm. It may be just a flesh wound but it ought to be cleaned. And I’m sure you’d prefer to be ministered to by someone other than myself – just as I’d prefer you not to argue.’

  Gabriel stood up. Every bone and muscle in his body felt as though it had been savagely beaten.

  ‘Argue?’ he said dryly. ‘I haven’t the strength.’

  Below in the parlour, someone had laid out food and wine and the Dowager’s maid hovered beside bowl, cloths and salve. Feeling suddenly rather sick, Gabriel told her to go away and take the food with her. Then he pulled off his coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeve and proceeded to deal with the powder-blackened gash in his arm.

  Somewhere close by, a church clock struck eleven. The animal in his chest screamed and tore. Gabriel kept his mind carefully empty and worked fast. Then, having completed his handiwork, he shrugged his coat back on and was just about to go back upstairs when there was a sudden, thunderous knocking at the front door, immediately followed by Mr Morrell’s voice curtly demanding his whereabouts. Swearing under his breath, Gabriel strode out into the hall intending to send his foster-brother the same way as the doctor – only to discover that Jack wasn’t alone. Sophia was with him. And the mere sight of her brought such indescribable relief that Gabriel heard himself saying involuntarily, ‘Oh God, Sophy! I’m so glad you’ve come.’

  ‘Mr Morrell was with me when your note came, so naturally we set out right away,’ she responded, crossing towards him. And then stopped, paralysed by the pallor of his face and the shock lingering behind his eyes.

  Jack said, ‘You look bloody awful. What the hell happened? And how is Venetia?’

  Gabriel frowned down at his hands.

  ‘She … lost the baby. And now she has a fever.’

  ‘Can I see her?’ asked Sophia.

  ‘I’ll take you up.’ He glanced vaguely at Jack. ‘The parlour’s in there, if you want to wait. But since I don’t know how long I’ll be —’

  ‘I’ll wait anyway,’ cut in Jack curtly.

  ‘As you wish. Just don’t count on hearing the full story. It would choke me.’

  And he led Sophia away upstairs.

  The Dowager looked up from bathing Venetia’s brow with lavender water … and slowly froze.

  ‘Sophy?’ she said faintly.

  Sophia looked back unsmilingly. ‘Hello, Susannah.’

  Staring blankly from one to the other of them, Gabriel said oddly, ‘You know each other?’

  ‘We’ve … met,’ responded the Dowager. And still looking at Sophia, ‘You – you never told him. Why?’

  ‘He never asked,’ came the cool reply. ‘And truth to tell, until this moment I was never completely sure.’

  Shock slammed through Gabriel and seconds ticked by, punctuated only by the sound of Venetia’s restless murmurings. Feeling as though he was sinking deeper and deeper into some kind of evil quagmire, he gazed rather desperately down at her; and then, realising that he could either get out or throw up where he stood, he spun on his heel and left the room without a word.

  Sophia shivered slightly and, seeing it, the Dowager said remotely, ‘He will forgive you. I envy you that.’

  ‘Why?’ Sophia’s gaze was focused solely on Venetia. ‘You don’t know him.’

  ‘No. And after tonight, it’s unlikely that I ever will.’ A strange tremor passed over the once-beautiful face. ‘He can scarcely bring himself to look at me. And who can blame him?’

  Sophia reached out to clasp Venetia’s hand.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested reflectively, ‘it might help if you told me what has happened.’

  *

  With his stomach once more under control, Gabriel went back downstairs to Jack. He found him staring broodingly into an untouched glass of wine and, without giving him a chance to speak, said rapidly, ‘Listen carefully – for I can neither repeat nor discuss this. My would-be assassin was Isabel Molyneux, now happily deceased. It’s thanks to her that Wat is dead, my child will never be born and my wife is desperately ill upstairs. The so-called reason for this whole nightmare is that the Dowager Countess of Gillingham is apparently my anonymous, long-lost mother.’ He paused, a pulse hammering erratically in his jaw. ‘And if you ask a single question or attempt to uncover the details, I will very probably hit you.’

  Incredulity warring with concern, Jack said simply, ‘Christ, Gabriel – if it will make you feel better, you’re welcome.’

  For a long moment, Gabriel remained perfectly still. Then,
dropping into the nearest chair, he drove his face into his hands and said, ‘These last hours have been the worst of my life. At least – I hope they have. Because I’m not sure … I’m not sure I can take much more. And if anything happens to Venetia, I don’t know how I’ll bear it.’

  Jack dropped a hand on his foster-brother’s shoulder but wisely refrained from attempting to offer verbal comfort. Instead, he said, ‘Is there anything – anything at all – that I can do for you?’

  Gabriel groped through the fog blanketing his brain and eventually said, ‘There are two corpses inside a house in the Axe Yard. If you need help, get Eden.’

  Swallowing the obvious question, Jack nodded. ‘We’ll see to it.’ Then, promising to return in the morning, he left.

  Sophia, however, refused to go home and, insisting that the Dowager get some sleep, shared the night’s vigil with Gabriel. They spoke very little and only when necessary. Then, just as dawn was breaking, Gabriel said tonelessly, ‘She’s no better, is she?’

  ‘No.’ Across the bed, Sophia’s eyes met his and held them. ‘No. But I don’t think she’s any worse either, so there’s no need to despair. She’s young and strong – and there are other remedies we might try.’

  ‘You’re saying it’s a matter of luck? Forgive me if I’m not comforted,’ he snapped, wheeling away to the window. And then, wearily, ‘Oh hell. That was unfair. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. I understand.’

  Gabriel continued staring blindly into the deserted square.

  ‘The Dowager told you what happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophia. And waited.

  It was a long time before he spoke again and, when he did, his voice was raw with strain.