Intrigued

by Bertrice Small

  “Do not tell them what you intend to do with the children,” Autumn said. “They will want their daughter’s offspring, but they must not have them, Charlie. They must not be allowed to make Brie and Freddie and wee Willie into joyless, condemning psalm-singers.”

  He nodded. “I shall tell them only the truth—that Bess was murdered by a Roundhead trooper in defense of one of her servants. It will be enough,” the duke said with a grim smile.

  On the following day the duke sent one of his own servants off to Dorset to inform his in-laws of their daughter’s demise. The messenger was instructed to return at his leisure with the Earl of Welk’s response. Becket would then write to the Earl of Welk, explaining that his master and his children had departed Queen’s Malvern; that they would be traveling; and that the duke had not said when he would return. Charlie knew that when he explained his plan to his mother and brother Henry, they would understand and not betray either his whereabouts or that of the children to Johnathan Lightbody.

  The day after the messenger had been dispatched to Dorset, the Duke of Lundy, his youngest sister, his children, and several servants departed Queen’s Malvern. Gazing back at the beautiful house with its ivy-covered and ancient brick walls, they all wondered if they would ever see it again. To protect their destination, the servants would not be dismissed until December, when they would be given their two-years’ stipend and the assurance of their places when the duke returned home to Queen’s Malvern one day.

  “The east wing doesn’t look too bad,” Autumn said softly.

  The duke stared at the blackened walls and smashed lead-paned windows. “The servants rescued most of the paintings,” he said bleakly. Then he turned his horse toward his brother’s estate, a twoday ride across the countryside.

  Cadby, home to the Marquis of Westleigh, was a fine old brick house set above the banks of the river Avon, its green lawns running down to the water. Henry Lindley greeted his brother warmly and hugged his sister, exclaiming over her beauty effusively.

  “We’ll have to find you a fine husband,” he teased her.

  “Where?” Autumn demanded. “Certainly not in the England of today, unless, Henry, you expect me to wed a sober-sided Puritan.”

  “Heaven forfend!” her eldest brother exclaimed.

  “Is mama here yet?” Charlie asked his sibling.

  “She arrived two days ago and is already well ensconced in the dower house,” Henry answered. “God’s blood, Charlie! I have never seen her so despondent. When you sent word you were coming, I rejoiced. Perhaps your presence, and that of Autumn, can cheer her up.” Then, suddenly, the Marquis of Westleigh looked about, saying, “Where is Bess?”

  “That is why we are here,” the duke told his elder brother. “Freddie and I were in Worcester. Roundheads, led by that devil, Sir Simon Bates, invaded Queen’s Malvern one morning. Bess, and my majordomo, Smythe, were killed in cold blood. Autumn shot the trooper who did it.” Then he continued to tell Henry in detail what had transpired that terrible day.

  “Sabrina and William?”

  “Saw nothing, thank God! I am taking them all to Patrick, and then I shall join the king,” Charlie said quietly.

  Henry nodded. “I understand,” he said. “You have no choice now in the matter. Ahh, Charlie, I am so sorry!”

  “Sorry for what?” Their mother, Jasmine Leslie, entered the room, and immediately her daughter flew into her mother’s embrace.

  “Mama!” Autumn burst into tears.

  “What is this? What is this?” Jasmine demanded, first hugging her child and then setting her back to look into her face. The now Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk was as beautiful at sixty as she had been at forty, but the look in her eyes was bleak.

  “Come into the Great Hall,” Henry said, “and Charlie will tell us everything, Mama.” He quickly instructed his servants to see the children to the nurseries with his own brood, and bring wine and biscuits for his family. His wife, he explained, was not home, being out tending to some sick tenants, but even as they settled themselves in the Great Hall of Cadby, Rosamund Wyndham Lindley hurried in with a smile, greeting her guests and fussing at her servants to bring the refreshments in a more timely fashion.

  “They do take advantage of Henry,” she said with a twinkle. Rosamund was Henry’s second wife, and the mother of his children. The marquess’s first wife, his beautiful cousin, Cecily Burke, had died six months after their wedding, when she fell from her horse as she took a particularly high jump, breaking her neck. Cecily had died instantly, and Henry had gone into shock, refusing to leave Cadby, seeing only his brother, Charlie, and his older sister, India, as he mourned his young wife.

  Two years after Cecily’s death, the Marquess of Westleigh was invited to the wedding of the Earl of Langford’s heir. Charlie, who had also been invited, prevailed upon his elder sibling to go.

  “You can’t mourn forever,” he said bluntly. “Mama certainly never did.”

  So Henry Lindley had gone to the wedding at RiversEdge and, to his astonishment, met the girl who was to be the love of his life. Rosamund Wyndham was, at almost sixteen, not ready to consider marriage, but the Marquess of Westleigh knew what he wanted. God rest his sweet Cecily, but he was finally ready to get on with his life. He courted Rosamund with a mixture of charm, humor, and determination. Unable to resist him, Rosamund wed Henry Lindley shortly after her seventeenth birthday. She had ruled his heart and his house ever after.

  They were barely settled about the roaring fire when the dowager duchess, mentally counting heads, said, “Where is Bess?”

  “She is dead,” Charlie told his mother, and then proceeded to relate the entire tale.

  When he had finished Jasmine Leslie looked at her youngest child, amazed. “You shot a Roundhead trooper?” she said.

  Autumn nodded.

  “God’s blood!” the dowager duchess exclaimed. “I remember a time when my grandmother did a similar deed to save my life, and that of my children. ’Twas a brave act, as was yours. I am proud of you!”

  “Surely, Mama, you do not condone murder,” the Marquis of Westleigh said, shocked at what his sister had done. This fact his brother had omitted when telling him the tragic tale earlier.

  “The man was scum and had murdered both Bess and a trusted servant,” the dowager duchess said. “Autumn was protecting herself, for who knows what this Sir Simon Bates would have done otherwise. The fact that he accepted responsibility for the trooper’s death shows my daughter proved to this villain that she is a strong girl, and not to be taken advantage of by any!”

  “Sir Simon Bates is known to be totally ruthless. What if he holds the death of this man over Autumn, over the family?” Henry said in worried tones.

  “How can he?” Autumn spoke up. “The only people in the hallway of the house were the trooper, Sir Simon, and myself. What proof could he possibly offer for my act? I am but an innocent and unmarried maiden, and certainly incapable of such a terrible deed. If we should ever see Sir Simon again, and he accused me, I should believe he was attempting to extort moneys from us, as we are known to be a wealthy family. Or perhaps the threat of such a tale would be an attempt to force me into marriage with him. A wealthy, well-connected wife could not harm Sir Simon’s future when the king is restored to his kingdom. Particularly a wife whose brother is the king’s first cousin.” Autumn smiled sweetly at her astounded relatives, but her mother laughed.

  “You are quick, my child,” she said with a chuckle. She turned to Henry. “You fret too much, my dear. Autumn is perfectly correct. There is no proof that she killed that trooper, and no other witnesses than herself and this Sir Simon Bates. I expect he is still in a bit of a shock that a slip of a girl could be so brave, and remember, he did give her his weapon and encourage her to dispatch Bess’s murderer. He’ll say nothing, I assure you all. And now, Charlie”—she looked directly at her second son—“what are you about?”

  “I have closed Queen’s Malvern up and I am taking my children t
o Glenkirk. Then I will declare for the king, Mama.” He stood before the fireplace, legs apart, his hands upon his hips in a gesture of defiance.

  Jasmine sighed deeply. “Of course you will, Charlie. You are Henry Stuart’s son, and but for an accident of birth would have been England’s king. You have attempted to remain neutral in this strife. But you can no longer be undecided, and Cromwell’s ilk has forced your hand. I understand, my son. I am not happy about this turn of events, but I do understand. You can do nothing else now. But why take the children to Scotland?”

  “Because left here, they would endanger Henry and his family. Cromwell’s people have not hesitated to use children as pawns. We cannot forget poor little Princess Elizabeth, imprisoned in Carisbrooke Castle, who has only recently died because these godly Puritans did not properly care for the poor girl. Nay, Charlie’s children will be safer, and more than likely forgotten, at Glenkirk.”

  “And when his in-laws come calling, which they will,” Henry asked, “what the hell are we to say to them?”

  “You will lie, Henry,” his mother instructed him, “and say you do not know where your niece and nephews are. You will admit that Charlie came here, but you will say you know not where he was going, for he refused to tell you, fearing to endanger your family. It is a small lie, and a perfectly plausible explanation. The Earl of Welk has neither power nor the funds to pursue the matter. Common sense will tell him the children are safe in their father’s care. He may bluster and blow, but there is nothing he can do but accept that with his daughter’s murder, his grandchildren are gone until this nonsense is settled,” the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk concluded firmly.

  “He will come,” Henry said gloomily, “and you will deal with him, Mama, for you know I am very bad at lying.”

  She laughed. “So was your father, my dear, but you will have to deal with Welk, for I shall more than likely not be here.”

  “What?” Both the duke and the marquis spoke at once.

  “England is a very dour place right now, my dears. My responsibility as a mother is not done until Autumn is properly wed. We will find no bridegroom here for her, but perhaps in France or Holland we will. Do not argue with me, my lads. Your sister turned nineteen yesterday and is no longer in the first flower of her youth. Her beauty and her wealth will, of course, find us the right man, but there is little time before she will be considered past her prime, and it will be harder to make a brilliant match,” the dowager duchess told them.

  “We are going abroad?” Autumn smiled suddenly. “Oh, yes, Mama! That is the answer! Charlie said you would have the solution to my problem, and you have found it!” She hugged her mother happily.

  “So,” Jasmine Leslie said, “you have been discussing this situation with your sister, Charlie.”

  “Rather, Mama, she has been bemoaning the fact that she was about to turn nineteen, a fact we entirely overlooked, being on the road.”

  “I told you,” Autumn said firmly, “that I would celebrate no more natal days until I was wed.”

  Her family all laughed, but Autumn was adamant and shook her head at them.

  “When will you leave?” Henry asked their mother.

  “In a week or two, when my servants are rested from our flight from Scotland,” the dowager duchess answered. “It was not an easy trip, what with being stopped half-a-dozen times a day by Cromwell’s people and having the coach searched over and over. And remember, my servants are not young any longer.” She arose from the chair in which she had been sitting. “Come with me, Autumn. You look worn from your adventures and should rest before the evening meal.” With her daughter in tow, Jasmine left the Great Hall of Cadby.

  “When her servants are rested,” Henry repeated. “She could barely stand when she got here several days ago. Patrick sent a troop of men-at-arms with her, and a damned good thing too. They managed to skirt around Edinburgh, but in the Borders they had a bit of a run-in with a troop of Roundheads. Her coach outran them, but it was quite a struggle. Her driver took a musketball in the shoulder, but he never faltered. Fergus More-Leslie is a tough bastard,” the marquis said admiringly. “And Adali! My God, Charlie, the man is close to eighty, but he took the reins from Fergus so he could bind up his wound, and he brought the coach through the worst of the attack. None of them are young anymore. Yet here they are, leaving home and hearth for a new adventure.”

  “It has always been said that Mama is more like our great-grandmother than any of her children or other grandchildren,” Charlie noted. “Are the Glenkirk men still here?”

  “Aye,” the marquis replied.

  “Good! They can accompany me and the children to Scotland, then. We’ll take Mama’s coach for the children and their servant. I’ve just brought Biddy. I had to leave Clara and Mavis behind. Both have lads at Queen’s Malvern. Who knows how long my bairns will be at Glenkirk. I couldn’t be burdened with a household under the circumstances,” Charlie explained.

  “Can this Biddy ride a horse?” the marquis asked.

  “Aye. Why?” his brother inquired.

  “Don’t take the coach, Charlie. You’ll make better time and have a better chance of getting through without difficulties a-horse. The coach is cumbersome. One of the Glenkirk men will take William with him, leaving the serving woman free to concentrate on her journey. Brie and Freddie have been riding since they were three. It will be tiring, but they will survive it, I’m certain,” his brother advised.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” the Duke of Lundy replied, nodding thoughtfully. “Brie and Freddie will think it a game.”

  “When will you go?” Henry asked.

  “I’ll give the children two days to rest and then we must be on our way. I cannot take the chance that Welk will find us here, and I would be over the border as quickly as possible. The more distance I put between the children and England, the safer I will feel.”

  Henry Lindley agreed, and while he loved his younger brother, he was not sorry to see him depart two days later. He and his wife had five children of their own who must be considered. And there were Cadby and its people to be protected as well. Unlike his father, who had been a charming and swashbuckling gentleman, life had taught Henry Lindley to be cautious, which was not a bad trait in this day and age.

  The Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk bid her second son a tender farewell. “Try not to get yourself killed, Charlie,” she said. “God’s blood! You so resemble your father! Remember, you are all I have left of him, Charles Frederick Stuart. I am not of a mind to give you up yet.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “You can reach me by sending your messages to Belle Fleurs. Even if we are not there, they will know how to get in touch with me.” She kissed him again, and then turned her attention to her three Stuart grandchildren. “You must be in charge of your brothers, Sabrina. Obey your Uncle Patrick when you can, though he’s likely to let you run wild.” Jasmine kissed the little girl.

  “Yes, Grandmama,” Lady Sabrina Stuart said, and she curtsied.

  “And you, Frederick Henry Stuart, remember who you are. Obey your uncle and watch over your sister and baby brother,” she instructed.

  “I will, Grandmama,” Freddie said, kissing her hand.

  “Gracious! That was as elegantly done as any courtier, laddie,” she praised him, and then kissed both his cheeks.

  “And now you, William Charles Stuart, obey your elders and try to be a good lad.”

  “Yeth, Mam,” the little boy lisped.

  Jasmine smiled softly, then bending, she kissed the child. Straightening, she looked at them a final time and said, “God go with you all, my dears.” Then she reentered the house, not wanting to see them ride off.

  “Until the Roundheads came, it was a lovely summer, Charlie,” Autumn said. “I’m sorry it had such a sad end to it.” Then she flung her arms about her brother and kissed him. “I will miss you.”

  “Don’t wed with just any man, little sister,” he advised her. “Marry for love and love alone, Autumn.” Kissing her, he
turned away and mounted his horse, joining his family.

  Autumn had already bid her nephews and niece a fond farewell. Now she stood with Henry as the Duke of Lundy and his children, in the company of the Glenkirk men-at-arms, rode away from Cadby. The brothers had said their good-byes previously.

  “I hate Cromwell and his pocky Roundheads!” she said softly as the riders disappeared around a bend in the road.

  “So you say quite frequently, little sister,” Henry remarked dryly. “Come inside now. The day is chill, and if you and Mama are to leave for France shortly, you must be healthy and well.”

  “Have you ever been to France, Henry?” she asked him.

  “Several times,” he told her. “You will enjoy it. I believe Mama means to spend the winter in the Loire at Belle Fleurs.”

  “Oh,” Autumn said, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping to go to Paris.”

  “Do not fret, sister,” her brother advised. “Mama will want you to acclimate yourself to France, give you time to get used to speaking French instead of English, have a wonderful and most fashionable wardrobe made for you and, like any good general planning a strategy, learn all she can about the current French court. Her wealth, and her grandfather’s French relations, will be invaluable to you, Autumn, which is why she wants you to meet them first. Trust Mama to do what is right, and I will wager a year from now, if not sooner, you will be a happily married young woman,” Henry Lindley assured his sister as, linking his arm in hers, they returned to the house.

  It rained for the next week, and Autumn thought often of her brother Charlie, on the road north with his children. Actually, the weather would be of help to them, provided they didn’t catch an ague. Only someone in a great hurry, or in desperation, would ride in such weather.

  The day before she and her mother were to leave for France, the Earl of Welk arrived, angrily demanding to know what had happened to his daughter’s children, and where they were now.

  The Marquis of Westleigh welcomed the angry man into his Great Hall and then told him, “My mother will discuss the matter with you, my lord. I know little, if anything, but that my sister-in-law was murdered in cold blood by parliamentary forces. My youngest sister, Lady Autumn Leslie, was there and can tell you what happened that day, but you must speak gently to her. The shock of that day still pains her.”