CHAPTER NINETEEN
Matt went into the stallion-box at Twelvetrees with a diffidence that would better have suited a servant than the Master of Morland Place, and stood for a moment unobserved, watching the man groom the younger of the stud-stallions, Prince Hal. The big red-gold horse was so soothed by the rhythmic brushing that he was dozing, his lower lip hanging loose and his ears flopping, so that for the moment he looked more like a docile old farm-gelding than a Barbary racehorse stud. Davey was hissing through his teeth as he wielded the brush, moving nimbly despite his dragging foot. He had told Matt that he had broken his leg in a fall from a horse when he had been working as a groom on a stud near Newmarket. He had been reticent about his travels since running away from Morland Place, and Matt felt a certain delicacy about bringing up the past. But whatever had happened in between, it had marked Davey - not just by leaving him with a limp. The lines were deep in his face, and his hair and beard were grizzled. Well, Matt thought, he was not the only one. They were both thirty-one years old, but looked older.
Davey became aware of his presence and looked up quickly, and when he saw who it was, he stopped brushing and straightened up, waiting for Matt to speak. There was no hostility in his silence, only uncertainty. It was three weeks since Davey had come back and Matt had asked him to stay, and they were still unused to each other. It was like the shyness of children, but harder to overcome. It would be a long time, Matt thought, before they regained their ease with each other. But the most important thing was that they were together again. Davey had soon seen where he was most needed, and had offered to take over the running of the stud. Matt guessed that he did not want to be at Morland Place too often just at first, and the stud manager had quarters at Twelvetrees; he had agreed willingly.
‘How is he?' Matt asked at last. Davey ran a hand down the hard neck of the stallion, who turned his head and blew gently into Davey's ear.
‘Coming to his best,' Davey replied briefly. 'He'll do. He only wanted more exercise.'
‘He can't replace Landscape,' Matt said mournfully, and Davey nodded. 'There have been more messengers this morning,' he went on. Davey waited. Messengers meant news of the rebellion. 'The Earl of Chelmsford is being taken from Edinburgh to London, to the Tower. They have decided that since he is English he is to stand trial at Westminster with the other English lords - Derwentwater and Nithsdale and the rest. The Countess wants to go to London. She thinks she might persuade the King - the Elector, I mean - to let him off.'
‘Let's hope she does,' Davey said briefly. Matt had hoped for more of an answer - it was difficult to converse when one of you spoke so tersely. He fell back on the reason for his call.
‘I want you to find a suitable horse for my cousin Sabina. I think it will do her a great deal of good to get out. Exercise and fresh air will help her recover.'
‘How is she?'
‘Her health is much better, but she grieves terribly.' 'Of course she does, poor lady. It must have been terrible,' Davey said.
‘She mourns her husband and her other son,' Matt went on, encouraged.
‘Poor lady. But at least she has the baby. Small enough comfort, but better than nothing.'
‘But I can't help feeling that it was all such a waste,' Matt said. 'Here's Sabina, terribly shocked and grieved, her family all killed, her home burned down. And my cousin Frances - her husband, killed at Preston, though her father managed to get away, and now Arthur - Lord Ballincrea - has managed to get most of her men freed, those that survived. And Lord Chelmsford to be tried for treason at Westminster - was it all worth it?'
‘Was?' Davey said. 'It is still going on. The Chevalier is on his way to Scotland at this very moment. The army is still in Perth -'
‘Growing smaller all the time, so we hear. The Highlanders are just drifting away. By the time the Chevalier gets to Scotland, there'll be nothing left. So many dead.’
Davey looked into his eyes. 'Death comes to us all sooner or later,' he said simply. 'One has no choice about that. And what can any man do but fight for his king?'
‘That's what the Countess says,' Matt said. 'But I begin to wonder. Well, you will find a suitable horse for Sabina?'
‘Yes, of course. When do you want it?'
‘If you have something ready, bring it up to the house after dinner, and we'll shew it to her. It may arouse her interest. Oh, and have you seen Jemmy this morning?'
‘He was here very early. He generally comes over early on,' Davey said. 'He loves the horses.' Davey sounded defensive, and Matt knew he was worrying that he ought to have discouraged the boy, so he hastened to reassure him.
‘I'm glad. Love of horses is a good thing in a man. I think he has grown a little quieter since he came back.'
‘He's growing up,' Davey said. 'He's not here now, however. I should think he has gone over to Shawes.'
‘Yes, he spends a lot of time there, too,' Matt said. 'I'll see you this afternoon, then?' He met Davey's eyes, and though Davey did not precisely smile, his nod was the next best thing. Matt went away more happily. Things were turning out better than he could have hoped: Davey was back, Jemmy was safe, and looking like growing into a very satisfactory son and heir, Sabina was on the mend, and with Matt's sovereign cure, riding, and the house to oversee, should be well at last. If the Countess could win a pardon for her son, everything would be all right.
*
Annunciata found Chelmsford House in a poor state to receive her. Maurice kept the minimum of servants, and those he had seemed a surly, cheating lot, who skimped their work and took advantage of their master's absence of mind. Though she had sent Maurice an express warning him of her intention to come to London, she was not expected, and one of the servants on being questioned said that Maurice had received the message but had pushed it into his sleeve to read later.
‘And there, I daresay, it lies still,' Annunciata said grimly, 'unless he has dropped it somewhere in the street without noticing. Where is he, anyway?'
‘He is gone over to Master Haendel's, madam - your ladyship,' the servant said. 'I don't know when he will be coming back. Sometimes he stays there several days.'
‘And where are the children?' Annunciata wanted to know.
‘Upstairs, my lady.'
‘Send them to me. And I shall want a boy to take a message to Master Haendel's. And I want something to eat, and some hot water to wash in.'
‘Something to eat, your ladyship?' the servant said doubtfully. 'I don't think there's anything in the house.' ‘Then send out for some fresh bread, and cheese, and cold cooked beef. And whatever fruit is best on the stalls. And chocolate - no, forget the chocolate. I'll send my own man for that. Get on with it at once. And send my man Daniel to me.’
When Daniel came, she said to him, 'Go to the Cocoa Tree Chocolate House - you know where that is?' ‘Yes, my lady.'
‘Bring me back a quart of the best chocolate, and whatever handbills are the most recent. Make haste on your way there and your way back, but in the chocolate house you may dawdle as much as you like. Get talking with the proprietor, or the waiter - whoever is the most eager to chat. Don't say who you are, or who you work for, but find out as much as you can. Do you understand?'
‘Yes, my lady,' Daniel said, and Annunciata blessed him silently. It was good to have to deal with her own, well-trained, intelligent servants after battling with Maurice's frowsts.
‘Good. Here's eighteenpence. That should be plenty.’
While she waited, Annunciata amused herself in talking to her grandchildren. The girls did not seem to have made much progress with English, and Annunciata had continually to revert to Italian to make herself understood. Alessandra was sixteen now, very dark, with an olive skin and rather plain features, but a pleasant smile and good teeth. Giulia was almost thirteen, and growing very pretty, as dark in her hair and eyes as her half-sister, but with a white skin and delicate features. She was livelier than Alessandra, who worshipped her younger sister and took care of her in a man
ner half protective and half adoring. They were both very shy with the Countess at first, but when she used their own language they gradually thawed towards her and began to talk more freely. She discovered that they were being taught at a private Catholic school for girls, where the master was a former Jesuit priest. All the lessons were conducted in French, which accounted for their poor English. It may also have accounted for their slowness, for Annunciata could not discover that either of them had learned anything at the school other than embroidery and singing.
The mention of singing brought their minds very naturally to the thing that absorbed and excited them most, which was the presence in London of Diane di Francescini, whose nickname of The Divine Diane was beginning to be used all over London. She had sung at the Opera House before the Duke of Hanover himself, they told Annunciata, and he had received her at Court with great courtesy. Annunciata listened with amusement, partly at their obvious infatuation with the young woman to whom they had acted as willing slaves all their childhood, and partly at the careful way someone, either Maurice or the Jesuit schoolmaster, had taught them to talk respectfully of the Elector without actually calling him King.
‘Papa is writing some more songs for Diane,' Alessandra said proudly at the end of a long description of the gown the Divine Diane had worn for the recital before the Elector, 'and she is to sing them at Court for Princess Caroline. Papa says that I may go, though Giulia is still too young.' She looked sorrowfully at her younger sister. 'I wish it could be you, Giulia, really I do. You're so much prettier than I.'
‘I shall have my chance later,' Giulia said cheerfully. ‘You may have some nice lord fall in love with you at Court, and get a good offer of marriage.’
Annunciata soon tired of their chatter and sent them away. She had a great deal to think about: the following day she would see the Elector to plead for a pardon for Karellie. She had no great hopes of the man's clemency, but she hoped she might be able to stir up his sense of justice.
*
The Elector, she found, had changed little since she had met him last. She remembered the first time she had seen George Lewis, at Windsor, when as a young man he had come over to inspect Princess Anne as a possible bride. She had not thought much of him then, a short, stocky man, with a pink, plump face, pinkish-blond hair, dull codlike eyes and a loose mouth like a frog's. The plump face was now fat, the eyes more dull and codlike than ever, the jowls making the loose mouth look looser. He wore a chestnut periwig, which made his cheeks look redder, and a brown velvet coat over yellow waistcoat and breeches which Annunciata thought hideous.
They eyed each other cautiously: George Lewis could not have been unaware of why she was there. He looked her up and down as if inspecting her clothes, but gave no indication of what he thought of them. Annunciata's gown was of midnight-blue satin over a ruched and embroidered petticoat of a shade lighter, with silver lace at bodice and sleeves - she had thought a display of solid wealth and respectability would be the best way to impress him and win his support. Her hair was still black enough to wear piled up on the top of her head, dressed with pearls, a loose tail curling down her back - she hated headdresses, though to many her bare head looked not only old-fashioned but vaguely indecent.
‘Well, Lady Chelmsford, what is it you want?' George Lewis asked her. His face was devoid of expression, but Annunciata soon learned that it always was, unless he frowned in real anger. She began in English, but he soon interrupted her in German to say that he did not understand her. She did not know whether or not this was true, and it put her at a disadvantage. She began again, but her German was not good, and she had often, stumbling, to search for a circumlocution, or seek an Italian or French word that he might know. He listened impassively, and the only moment when he reacted in any way was when she called him 'cousin' - then he frowned, and she did not know if it was in disapproval of her claiming such a relationship, or in disapproval of her not giving him the title he had taken.
At all events, she came finally to a halt, without knowing how much, if any, of her speech he had understood, or even listened to.
He remained silent for a long time, staring at her, and then said, 'I can do nothing before the trials. He must stand trial with the others,' and turned away from her, not even waiting for her curtsey. Annunciata watched him go in painful uncertainty. Was he implying that he would help, if necessary, after the trial? She left the Palace, pushing away as she climbed into her coach the memories that clamoured like lonely ghosts for her attention, memories of other times at the Courts of Whitehall and St James, when King Charles had ruled and she had been young. She directed the coachman to take her to the Tower, and settled back in the stuffiness of the leather seat, pulling her cloak about her and pushing her hands deep into her muff for the warmth, glad of Kithra's body across her feet. The ghosts tugged importunately at her mind, and she tried hard to ignore them. She had never been able to imagine growing old, and King Charles's Court was still fresh and vivid in her mind: but here she was, an old woman of seventy, feeling the cold this year as never before, on her way to see her son, a son of forty-four, who was very likely going to be beheaded for treason. King Death, she thought, hath asses' ears; but life made fools of them all, just as much as death.
When the grey bulk of the Tower came in sight, Annunciata could not prevent a shudder passing through her. It was the royal residence in the city of London, that was all; a castle keep, a fortified palace; the Kings of England slept here before their coronations, every one, and many had lived her for long periods. But she could not help seeing it as a prison. Here she had been imprisoned, within sight of the place where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded, and where she had expected to lose her own head. The horror of that time, when Titus Oates had ruled London, had never truly left her. And here now Karellie was imprisoned. She gestured to the girl she had brought with her to pick up the basket of food she had prepared, told Kithra to lie down, and stepped out into the dark courtyard.
Karellie's quarters were cramped but comfortable, and he had been allowed to keep his servant Sam with him, and so, had it not been for his expectation of death, he would have been in no bad case. He was delighted to see his mother, embraced her, and for a long time simply stood with his arms around her and his face against her hair, while Annunciata felt with distress the thinness of his body through his clothes, and after a while the heat of his tears on her head. At last he straightened up and released her, making an obvious effort to be cheerful.
‘Well, mother, what have you brought me in that basket?' he asked, sitting down on the edge of his cot and leaving the chair for her.
‘I did not know how well they would be feeding you,' she said. 'I have brought a few delicacies, but if you are in greater need I can have other things brought in.'
‘They feed us well,' Karellie said, 'though plainly. These things will be very welcome. They are all very kind to us here - I think they are all sorry for us. For two pins they would open our prison doors and let us free - only they have their jobs to consider.’
Most of all, he wanted news of the rebellion, and Annunciata told him everything she knew. He listened attentively, moving restlessly now and then, but almost as if he did not know he was doing it. Then he gave her his own news.
‘They are going ahead with the trials, without waiting for any further outcome of the rebellion,' he said. 'We are to be impeached some time in January, and tried as soon after that as possible. They want it over and done with, before opinion swings in our favour. There are seven peers apart from me, and we are all to be tried together.'
‘Dispatch seems to be the order of the day,' Annunciata said. 'The poor creatures taken at Preston are to be dealt with in January as well - those that are still alive. The conditions of their imprisonment are terrible.’
Karellie nodded at that, but said nothing. A moment later he was up and pacing and she watched him walk up and down the small room, waiting for him to break through his control. At last he turned to her and cri
ed, 'It is being shut up, mother. I can't endure it. The locked door - the small room. You were imprisoned once - how did you bear it?'
‘I was very ill. I don't remember much about it. But, Karellie, it is only for a little while. I survived, and so will you.'
‘I don't think so,' he said bitterly. 'You, after all, were saved by the King. For us there is no hope. The trials are a matter of form only, the conclusions are foregone. We shall all die on Tower Green, mother.'
‘He is your cousin, your own blood kin. He will not kill you,' Annunciata said desperately. Karellie shook his head.
‘He does not care for that. And it is not he that will kill us, but the Whigs and the Dissenters. They will send us to our death, and he, caring nothing one way or the other, will let the law take its course.' Annunciata said nothing, knowing this was all too likely, and Karellie went on, ‘Nevertheless, it is not death I dread so much. A soldier lives with death close beside him. It is this - being - shut - up!’
And Annunciata could say nothing, do nothing, to comfort him.
*
Annunciata was not allowed to see Karellie again - none of the peers were allowed visitors after the first few days -until the trials began. Derwentwater, Nithsdale, Widdrington, Carnwath, Kenmure, and Nairn were all tried with Karellie in the great hall at Westminster before their peers under Lord Cowper, the Lord High Steward. It was a solemn, and ceremonious occasion, with all the officers of the court in full robes. The sergeant-at-arms read the King's Commission in Latin, the Lord High Steward, with his white rod of office, took his seat, and the Lieutenant of the Tower brought in the accused piers, followed by the masked executioner, his axe turned away from the prisoners. Annunciata, from her discreet seat in the gallery, watched with a renewed shudder, remembering her own procession, with the executioner following behind her too. Karellie looked pale, she thought, but all the prisoners conducted themselves with dignity. They knelt before the Lord High Steward, bowed to their fellow peers, and received bows in return, before they took their places at the bar.
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