The Goldsmith's Wife (The Woulfes of Loxsbeare Book 2)

by Anita Seymour

  Helena stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge what everyone thought, that he must be dead.

  “I’m going to get it back, Ellie.”

  “What?” Although she knew what he meant.

  “Loxsbeare will be ours again. I promise.”

  “I believe you.” Though the prospect of returning to Loxsbeare did not hold the excitement it once had. Without her mother or their Uncle Edmund, and with no idea of their Father’s fate, the manor would never be the same. Not for her.

  “I’ve already spoken to the prince.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Well, myself and a hundred others. When he and Princess Mary are on the throne, he has promised to review my position.”

  “He intends to take the throne then?” A shiver of foreboding crept up Helena’s spine. This talk of thrones was all too reminiscent of the Rebellion.

  “Why not? James Stuart has fled to France like the Papist cur he is. The crown has been offered to Mary, his daughter and heir.”

  Helena wondered who was highly enough placed to hold out such a prize, but forbore to mention it. Aaron seemed able to see only one thing, that their father’s dreams of a Protestant monarchy were coming true.

  “I know my master, Ellie. He would never accept a rank lower than his wife’s. Nor would the princess expect to outrank him. There will be no alternative but a joint reign.”

  “That’s what Henry said. But what if King James agrees to the demands of Parliament? There would be no need for a new king.”

  “It won’t happen.” Aaron was adamant. “If James Stuart wants his throne back, he’ll have to take it by force. If he could not do so with his army and navy at his command, he will never gather enough support abroad to dislodge Prince William.”

  Helena chewed the base of her thumb. She still bore some sympathy for the man driven from his kingdom. She had to force the image of her uncle’s lifeless body into her head to remind herself he had brought his fate on himself.

  “You still do that?” Aaron asked.

  “Do what?”

  He grasped her hand gently, lifting her thumb away from her mouth. “That.”

  “Apparently, yes.”

  Aaron nodded toward the cradles that sat beside the bed. “Does an uncle ever get to pick one of those up?”

  Helena laughed. “Both of them at the same time, if you wish.”

  He started, horrified.

  Chapter Nine

  January 1689, Lambtons Inn, London – Helena

  Helena introduced her husband to her elder brother when the former arrived at Lambtons that evening, where they dined privately in Helena’s room. The cradles had been removed and a dinner laid out at a table in the window bay, served by Lubbock, who beamed when introduced to Helena’s elder brother.

  “I never knew I lived among so many advocates of Prince William,” Helena said when Lubbock had withdrawn backwards, bowing all the way.

  “Makes me feel we should have come before,” Aaron said.

  Guy’s mouth twitched into a parody of a smile as he took his place beside Helena.

  The two men regarded each other across the table with stiff formality, while Helena watched with growing trepidation.

  “I paid a call on Henry this afternoon,” Aaron said, surveying the steaming dishes set out on the table in front of them. “I was afraid I would not recognize him, but the moment he walked through the door I knew him for my little brother.”

  “I hope you didn’t call him thus,” Helena warned. “He’s very conscious of being a gentleman with a successful career ahead of him.”

  “I gathered as much myself.” Aaron laughed. “Whenever I displayed ignorance of an aspect of London life, he was quick to correct me. I’m also keen to meet with Elias and hear all about the expansion of the business in London. Samuel Ffoyle has done well for us.” He referred to the fact his allowance had grown exponentially while he was in The Hague.

  “I wish my own business thrived as yours has done, Master Woulfe,” Guy said, his voice laced with vitriol. “Perhaps I should have followed your example and left it to another’s skill for three years.”

  “Guy, please,” Helena murmured under her breath. Then more loudly. “The Woulfes and Ffoyles have worked closely for a good many years. Samuel had gained as much as we have.”

  “There’s no need for you to defend me, Ellie.” Aaron fixed Guy with an uncompromising stare. “My answer to you, sir, is that my concerns have been for the religious safety of England rather than my own concerns.”

  “Where does that leave your family?” Guy asked, his jaw set. “To fend for themselves apparently.”

  Clinking glasses fell silent and knives hovered in mid-air. Helena clamped her lips together and choked back a sharp retort, torn between taking her husband’s side against her brothers, and remained silent.

  “Tell us about your new master.” Guy dipped his fingertips into the bowl of water beside his plate. “I hear Prince William is considered a dull fellow.” He wiped them fastidiously on his napkin then slung it over one shoulder.

  “His Majesty prefers the quieter pursuits of life, it’s true.” Aaron avoided Guy’s sardonic glare. “He’s exceptionally well educated and speaks several languages, including Latin.”

  “As I said, dull,” murmured Guy, helping himself to buttered cabbage and onions.

  “He’ll be in better spirits when Princess Mary arrives,” Aaron said. “He’s quite lost without her.”

  “Tell us of the queen,” Helena interrupted quickly. “Is she as beautiful as they say?”

  “I heard she was a simpering thing, who cried all the way through their wedding.” Guy cut a tiny slice of beef with careful precision and transferred it to his mouth on the tip of his knife.

  “Guy!” Helena’s patience was growing thin. “I’m surprised you would say such a thing. Everyone knows the queen is devoted to Prince William now.”

  “My apologies,” Guy muttered unconvincingly.

  Helena fidgeted. It had never occurred to her before that dinner conversations tended to be disparagement of and gossip about the Stuarts. When she caught her brother’s eyes, he smiled back with ease, and she relaxed. He would get used to it. Guy was his family now.

  “Is the prince really a hunchback?” Guy asked. Helena groaned and Aaron’s glass clinked harshly against his plate as he returned it to the table.

  “He suffers from a weakness of the spine, which gives him an unfortunate physical appearance.”

  Helena did not see the distinction, but did not interrupt him.

  “He does, however, have a passion for architecture and gardens. This afternoon I told Henry that the Prince has a fancy for a country home. He offered the Earl of Nottingham eighteen thousand guineas for his house in Kensington.”

  “He does not intend to live at White Hall Palace?” Helena asked.

  “He thinks the old palace is rambling, noisy, totally unmanageable and lacking in privacy.” Aaron shrugged as if he was in agreement.

  “I see.” Helena threw Guy a sympathetic look. As a born Londonder, her husband regarded the rabbit warren of apartments, private dwelling houses, and state halls all linked together by gardens and walkways down by the river, the ultimate in royal residences.

  “Your sister and I,” Guy began carefully. “Reside close by the palace quite comfortably, Master Woulfe.” His voice carried low and menacing across the table.

  “But then you are hale and hearty, sir,” Aaron laughed. “Prince William is asthmatic, and the filth-laden city air is too harsh on his lungs.”

  Guy’s face took on a, “why-doesn’t-that-surprise-me?” expression.

  Ignoring him, Aaron went on, “He intends to build apartments at Nottingham House suitable for royal occupation. Mention was also made of a clock tower, which I have mentioned to Henry.”

  “Has the Royal Master of Works position become vacant, then?” Guy gazed round the table in mock innocence.

  Helena glared at him, but surprisingly, Aaron appeared to
appreciate the joke and smiled. “He is ambitious, my brother, so maybe it is only a matter of time.”

  Helena looked from her husband to her brother across the width of the polished table. Guy had always been a little jealous of Henry, but it appeared Aaron also brought out his worst qualities.

  When he caught her looking at him, Guy smiled the intimate smile he used for her alone. However this time, it only served to irritate her. Why did he have to goad Aaron? Couldn’t he be more light-hearted?

  Dismayed, she stared at her plate. She had longed for them to be together, yet somehow it still seemed wrong. Why wasn’t she content? She had everything she had ever wanted.

  “I cannot help thinking that King James tried hard during these last months to put things right.” To her mind, allowing other religions to flourish legally was an enlightened move, though she decided not to say so in front of Aaron.

  “The actions of a desperate man,” Guy said.

  “Maybe, but I feel sorry for the little Prince of Wales.” Helena picked at the rest of her meal, her appetite gone.

  “He is not the Prince of Wales,” Aaron snapped.

  Helena rolled her eyes at an argument often debated with Robert. She pushed her plate away and plucked a plumb from a dish and nibbled at it.

  Aaron scowled. “By your gloomy countenances, am I to think you wish Prince William had not rid you of King James after all?”

  “Certainly not!” Helena glanced up at him. The plum had been stored incorrectly and the flesh dry and wrinkled. She discarded it with a grimace.

  “No Popery!” Guy held up his glass, the growing tension in the room immediately dispelled.

  Aaron leapt to his feet, his own glass held aloft. “A toast then, to King William.”

  “To King William, and our own Queen Mary,” Helena and Guy said together.

  Helena sipped her wine, suspecting their relationship was set forever during that first meal together. Aware there was little she could do, she reconciled herself to the fact that despite her dearest wish, these two might never be close. She hoped that if they saw how much they both meant to her, perhaps they might make an effort at civility.

  * * *

  February 1689, London – Aaron

  Aaron made his way down to the river with Hendrick De Groot beneath a cloudless blue sky as they traversed a narrow alley which ran from Thames Street to the river. Before them a glittering sheet of unbroken ice stretched towards the south bank. The blond Dutchman topped him by several inches, and among a populace of medium height, dark haired people, Hendrick was indeed a rare sight.

  Aaron had befriended him at The Hague, fascinated to discover this quiet spoken, modest man was a secretary to Prince William. “We’re almost there.” Aaron’s breath formed a white cloud as he spoke. He flexed his numb fingers in the frigid cold and grinned over his shoulder at Hendrick. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  An entire street of stalls, trestles and tents had sprung up on the ice overnight. The buildings on both sides lay beneath a thick blanket of snow, the less savoury aspects of the city effectively masked. An air of unreality prevailed, with happy shouts and excited children’s’ voices drifting on the frigid air.

  London’s bridge sat above them, silent and white, its tall thin houses like sugar castles in the sunlight. The arches of the bridge jammed the ice floes beneath them on the ebb tide, the severe freeze locking them together for miles.

  Hendrick eased sideways on the river stairs, and tapped the toe of his boot against the surface of the ice. “’Tis thick. Maybe over a foot deep in der middle.”

  Three men in drab workers’ clothes approached them, one with his hand out to Aaron, palm upward. “’Tis twopence to go on the ice, sir.” His craggy face was unthreatening, almost friendly. His eyes, however, offered a challenge.

  Aaron glanced at Hendrick, then back at the man. “You’re a waterman aren’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, we need neither a sculler nor an oar to get across this.” He waved a hand at the frozen river. “Why should we pay you?”

  Hendrick gave a cough, but Aaron ignored him, his hands on his hips, calmly awaiting an explanation.

  “Thames is our river, sir. ’Tis ’ow we make our livin’. Ice or no ice, I’ve babes to feed and bills ta pay. You want to come on my river? It’s twopence.”

  “Aaron, pay de man,” Hendrick clamped a hand down on Aaron’s shoulder, at the same time proffering his own coins to the waterman.

  Aaron dug into his pocket, making a show of reluctance as he handed the money over. The river man inclined his head, tipping his cap in a respectful gesture before he and his companions moved off to accost new arrivals. “I think its damnable impertinence to—”

  Hendrick cut him off. “As the man said, they haf to make a living.” He clapped his gloved hands together and then tucked them beneath his armpits.

  “You sound like my father.” Aaron laughed. “He visited London in ’eighty-three, when they had one of the most famous ice fairs here. The river froze right down to the Temple for over two months.”

  Sleds glided smoothly back and forth, carrying everything from children to foodstuffs and barrels of beer. The home-made carts dodged Aaron and Hendrick easily as they negotiated the ice.

  “Anyone would think Londoners travelled like this every day.” Aaron led the way through the crowd. “Look at that puppet show, and there’s a troupe of jugglers giving a lively performance over there.”

  “It’s like a carnival.” Hendrick cocked his square chin to his left, sniffing appreciatively.

  “Can you smell roast pig?”

  “You have only just eaten!” Aaron laughed, but even he was tempted by the trays of hot, spices pies on stalls all around them. “This fair may be less grand than in ’eighty-three, but it has its attractions.” He cocked his chin at a group of young ladies, their pink cheeks and noses peeking out from beneath fur bonnets. Following behind, their black clad chaperones cast the men surly looks as they passed.

  “Good morrow, ladies.” Aaron executed a clumsy bow which sent his feet off in two directions, and he almost collided with a young woman in a voluminous cloak. She carried an enormous muff, a fur hood pulled down low over her head so only her eyes and the top half of each cheek were visible.

  Righting himself, Aaron offered his profuse apologies, halted by a surprised start.

  “Why, it’s Mistress Devereux, is it not? We met at your father’s inn when I dined with my sister the other night.”

  “Master Woulfe.” Phebe pulled aside the hood with a bright smile. “I had no notion you would be here today. What do you think of the Frost Fair?”

  Aaron surveyed the bundled up crowds, the smiling faces and boisterous children careering round on the ice. “It’s quite a sight, Mistress. I was here with my father in eighty-three, and-” he broke off as a pang of pain at the memory blocked his throat. Hendrick coughed at his side, reminding of his presence. “Forgive me, I am remiss,” Aaron drew him forward. “Have you met my friend, Master Hendrick De Groot?”

  “No, sir, we are not acquainted.” Phebe extended a slender hand toward Hendrick. An unmistakable flash of mutual admiration passed between them as he kissed the air above her glove, murmuring, “your servant.” Their eyes held, but neither made a move to reclaim their hands.

  Aaron gave a cough and clapped his hands together in a muffled slap, breaking the spell. “What say we join forces with you and your chaperone, Mistress Devereux?” he suggested, hoping to save Hendrick from having to make conversation with someone who evidently rendered him speechless. “We can buy some hot chocolate at the stall over there.”

  “What an excellent idea.” Phebe’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed red in the cold. “I am determined, however, to have one of those souvenir cards with my name and the date printed on it.” She pointed to a cart on which a precariously balanced printing press stood.

  Hendrick bowed again, his gaze still fixed on Phebe’
s face. “I would be honoured to assist you in your quest, Mistress Devereux.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Phebe dimpled prettily and beckoned to the maid who accompanied her, a sallow-looking creature whom Aaron mentally dismissed.

  Boat swings and merry-go-rounds creaked around them. A group of ladies played skittles, a group of gentlemen intent on a game of bowls. Crowds of spectators watched teams of apprentices play ball games while warming their hands with baked chestnuts.

  Phebe gave a small cry when someone fell over. “I’m convinced they will crash through the ice into the water below. They fall so heavily.”

  Men and boys skated past at incredible speeds, and sled drivers shrieked at pedestrians to move aside. Those accosted shook their fists or called encouragement, depending on how close they were to being run down.

  “That one looks like a boat.” Phebe pointed at a brightly painted gondola.

  “The one over there is a boat.” Aaron indicated a flat-bottomed vessel pulled by four men, with unfurled sails attached to an upright mast, a group of children in the prow.

  Gallants in fashionable dress promenaded up and down with wigs and swords, while women moved from stall to stall. “They seem intent on buying everything before the thaw sets in,” Hendrick observed, making Phebe smile.

  “There’s a popular credo here.” Aaron insinuated himself between them. “What you can buy for threepence on the shore, will cost you fourpence on the Thames or, more.”

  Phebe giggled, just as a skater bumped into her and she slid sideways. Hendrick leapt forward to steady her and when they moved off again, Aaron noticed their arms remained linked.

  Chapter Ten

  December 1688, Lambtons Inn, London – Helena

  William’s frequent visits to Helena’s chamber at Lambtons left her wondering whether he sought her out from boredom, or because he genuinely enjoyed her company. She hoped the latter, for she anticipated his visits more than she had a right to.

  Henry would sometimes join them, and they would discuss everything from art, literature and the theatre, to gardening and Henry’s favourite subject, architecture.