The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  Her admirer smiled, pushed himself away from the wall and joined her at the balustrade. Even though she was wearing heeled shoes, he was taller; an agreeable quality in any man. Handsome too, with a face that possessed a strong symmetry and penetrating brown eyes beneath well-shaped brows. The set of his shoulders and his steady gaze that scrutinised her with easy confidence gave the impression he did not hope for attention, but commanded it.

  “Actually,” he responded in a soft, measured voice that sent ripples of pleasure running along Helena’s spine. “The bridegroom performed that ritual earlier.” The gaze he fixed on hers held reproach.

  “Sir, I do not recall…” she stammered. How could she have forgotten having met this attractive man? She studied his face, coming to halt on a tiny dimple in the centre of his clean-shaven chin.

  His raised brows made her start, her face grew warm and she turned away.

  “I have accepted the slight.” He gave a mock sigh “Which I’ll have to learn to live with.”

  “Forgive my defective memory, sir, but I have had duties to perform today. However, as there is no one present to do so for a second time.” She glanced round at the deserted landing. “I am…”

  “I know who you are. It is I who has been overlooked, remember? Guy Palmer, at your service.” He made her a slow and elegant bow that would have done justice to any courtier. “I’m a goldsmith banker, like my friend Ralf; although he has the advantage of a late, great uncle to accelerate his way in the world. I’ll have to work a little harder, in a less salubrious part of Hatton Garden, to catch up.”

  “Do you resent the circumstances that separate you and Master Maurice?” Helena asked, detecting a hard edge to his voice

  “Not at all, one could never resent Ralf. He’s a dear fellow.”

  “I’m sure you will do admirably,” Helena said. “Even without the uncle.”

  “I intend to.” His lips curved but there was no smile in his eyes. “And I do in fact have an uncle, but he is still very much alive.”

  Helena inclined her head and pretended to study the closed doors of the ground floor salon, from where muffled sounds of noisy revels drifted out.

  “Ralf deserves happiness,” Master Palmer went on. “The acquisition of a presentable wife and companion will, I am sure, enhance his life in every way.”

  “You know the bride well, sir?”

  “Truthfully, I have spoken to the lady but once. However, today I have had the opportunity to observe her physical attributes for myself, and like to count myself among the confirmed admirers of Mistress Maurice.”

  “You make her sound like a horse instead of an ideal wife.” Helena laughed, throwing back her head.

  “Both should be assessed carefully, and with an eye to the long term,” he looking deep into her eyes.

  “Indeed? Like a financial investment?”

  “Ah, I see you understand me perfectly.” He met Helena’s indignant surprise with a broad smile. “Finance is a subject in which I am particularly adroit. Now,” he cocked his arm and half bowed toward her. “Will you allow me to escort you back to the party?”

  “Master Palmer,” Helena began, “When you said before you knew who I was…”

  “You are Mistress Helena Woulfe, the daughter of Sir Jonathan Woulfe, a fugitive Rebel wanted by the Crown.” Helena turned a hard gaze on him, halting on the staircase so that he almost overbalanced on a step. “I know what it is to have embarrassing relatives,” he added.

  “Embarrassing?” Helena drew the word out in enquiry.

  He winced. “A bad choice of words, do forgive me. I was trying to reassure you that we are none of us untouched by the precarious times in which we live.”

  “I appreciate your diplomacy, Master Palmer, if that was your intention,” she bridled, unsure whether she was being insulted or seduced. “However, I have never regarded my family as an embarrassment. High principled, courageous, even misguided,” she loosened her grip on his arm, “but never embarrassing.”

  “Your loyalty does you credit, Mistress Woulfe.” He covered her hand on his forearm with her own, and held it there “It is an admirable quality to disagree with someone’s actions, and yet remain their champion.”

  “What makes you think I don’t agree with their actions?” She tapped her fan against her lips.

  The pupils of his eyes expanded into black circles as he appeared to search for the appropriate response, and failed.

  As they reached the bottom of the stairs, their reflections in a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall opposite showed what an attractive couple they made. Helena slowed her steps to drag out the moment, just as something occurred to her. “Palmer. That name sounds familiar.”

  “Barbara Palmer is my aunt.” At Helena’s frown he went on, “the Countess of Southampton, Duchess of Cleveland, mistress of the late Charles II and mother of six of his children,” he recited. “It may have been less, due to there being considerable doubt about two of them.”

  “Are you - close?” Helena asked, intrigued.

  He shrugged. “Hardly at all, I’m afraid; we are related by marriage. Her husband, Roger Palmer is an uncle, but their marriage was not a success.”

  “How could it be?” Helena knew she sounded cynical. “With a King for a rival?”

  He inclined his head in agreement. “Besides, the lady - and I use the term purely in respect of her title - lives in Paris, and has done for the last ten years, since the King sent her away.”

  “Was it true she converted to Catholicism to keep the King when his interest waned?”

  “If that was her intent, it proved ineffective. King Charles used the Test Act as an excuse to have her removed from court.”

  “And you, sir? Are you are a Catholic, Master Palmer?” Helena asked, unaccountably relieved when he said he was not.

  When they reached the door to the party, Helena found herself reluctant to cut short their conversation. “Lady Castlemaine was reputed to be very beautiful.”

  “She was. Once. However, her youth and beauty are both behind her now, and she has always had a vast appetite for money and a venal way of life.”

  Helena did not know whether to look shocked or impressed, so chose the latter; their bold conversation was an exhilarating change from the small talk to which she was usually subjected to by male acquaintances.

  William’s first instinct when he passed a looking glass was to stare at himself. During her entire talk with Mr Palmer, where Helena had sneaked quick glances in the hall mirror, her companion had been looking only at her.

  They entered the dining hall amidst a wave of high-pitched female laughter, together with the oppressive heat and odours emanating from sixty warm, confined bodies. A group of young men clamored around Master Palmer, while Phebe dragged Helena in the direction of the supper table.

  When Helena scanned the faces around her a little later, he was nowhere in sight.

  “He’s quite attractive isn’t he?” Phebe whispered.

  Helena started. “Who is?”

  “Master Palmer. I saw you talking to him in the hall.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Ralf has spoken of him on occasion. He’s another goldsmith.” She shrugged, as if dismissing them as a species. “Handsome enough, but rather serious.” Then her eyes flashed. “He has a notorious aunt though, try to guess who she is!”

  “I couldn’t possibly!” Helena pretended to be affronted, watching as Phoebe’s smile slumped in disappointment. She smiled to herself, somehow confident theirs would not be an isolated encounter.

  * * *

  Helena tried not to feel the loss of Celia too much in the weeks after her wedding, and instead attempted to share in her friend’s happiness as a new bride. Phebe also appeared to miss her sister, and sought out Helena’s company far more often than before. Helena also had Guy Palmer’s visits to lighten her days, for that young man had lived up to all her expectations and called at Lambtons requesting to see her, at least th
ree times a week.

  One stifling evening, the family gathered in the summer salon that overlooked the walled garden. Despite Alice’s hatred of fresh air, the rear doors stood open to encourage a cool breeze into the room, bringing with it the scent of roses and honeysuckle overlaid with a tang of the city.

  Robert looked set for a relaxed evening, resembling an eastern Pasha in his saffron silk banyan, his periwig replaced with a cotton cap. He found the city unbearable in summer, and looked forward to a quiet evening, away from the stifling clatter of the public rooms. Alyce offered wine, but feeling the heat, Helena declined in favour of lemonade.

  “It seems that due to the unseasonable cold and wet last month, the King’s troops packed up their tents and retired to quarters.” Robert flicked a finger at his copy of the London Gazette, muttering, “Standing army, indeed.”

  He plucked a clay pipe and taper from the box on the hearth, then intercepted a disapproving glare from Alyce. Instead, he caressed the bowl in his hand, as if drawing comfort from its smooth feel.

  On the other side of the room, William bent over the bureau, a quill in his hand.

  When Phebe approached and stared over his shoulder, William shielded his writing with a well-placed arm, simultaneously taking a sip from a nearby wine glass.

  “I declare, Will, why cannot I see?” Phebe demanded, sulkily. “I’ll wager you are composing poetry to some lady you saw across the “Change and liked the look of.”

  “Go away, wench. I’m busy.” William snarled, though at the same time a flush crept up his neck.

  A stray fly droned lazily somewhere in the room, and as William swatted it away, his eyes swiveled to Helena, who pretended she did not notice.

  Helena’s muslin clung stickily to her back, strands of hair escaped the pins and curled damply on her neck. The weather was too hot and heavy to read, and her hands too clammy for sewing. Restless, Helena crossed the room and perched on a stool beside Robert, wondering whether she could excuse herself and go to her room this early, without appearing rude.

  “Ah, Helena, my dear. How opportune.” Robert removed the stem of the unlit pipe from his mouth. “I was wondering, my dear. With my elder daughter settled, and my youngest baulking me at every turn if I so much as mention the subject.” He shot Phebe a hard look across the room. “What, may I ask, are your feelings on taking a husband?”

  Helena brought her fan up to her face to hide an impending blush. “Under certain circumstances I believe it to be an agreeable institution.”

  “An oblique answer if ever I heard one.” Robert’s brow rose, and he inserted the pipe stem into the corner of his mouth. “Do you have a young man in mind?”

  “Why, I had not thought of anyone, sir.” She smiled at him.

  “Nonsense. Young Guy Palmer has been hanging around for weeks now. Surely he has declared himself by now?”

  Helena did not turn her head, keenly aware of William’s hand having stilled on his quill as he stared at the wall. Searching for inspiration or listening? She couldn’t be sure.

  “My dear,” Robert leaned in close to whisper, “despite Master Palmer’s grasp of financial matters, which is admirable, he does not call to see me.”

  Helena stopped smiling, the time for evasiveness over. “I would value your opinion of him, sir.”

  “He’s from a respectable family, and he has an excellent head for business.”

  “Respectable? Even his aunt by marriage?”

  “Oh, my dear. Especially her.”

  Helena burst into spontaneous laughter, which Robert joined. William turned slowly from the desk, an elbow on the chair back behind him. Alyce and Phebe exhibited identical frowns, their expressions demanding explanation.

  Robert waved them away with his pipe. “Guy has a thriving business of his own,” Robert said. “Which I am well positioned to promote. Although to his credit, he has given no hint to that effect during our association.”

  “It is almost as if you had chosen him for me yourself, sir.” Helena said, though a tremor of apprehension made her voice shaky. Accepting the young man’s attentions was one thing. Marrying him quite another.

  Just then, William looked up and caught her eye; his intense look apparently not lost on Robert, who swiveled his head slowly toward her with a look of enquiry.

  Helena looked away, aware that it would not do to let Robert believe she toyed with his son’s affections while treating Guy as a serious suitor.

  Robert leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Had I taken against Master Palmer, my dear, he would not still be calling. I thought to see how things were with you on the subject, so I may know how to respond when he offers for you.”

  “When? Not if?”

  “Assuredly when. Helena, my dear. I do believe you’ve become quite the coquette.”

  “Master Devereux?” she began. “If - when - Master Palmer offers for me, would it be necessary for you to ask my brother’s permission?”

  “I take it you mean Aaron, for you surely do not refer to young Henry!” His laugh ceased in the face of her stony expression. “Um, well. I don’t profess to understand your reasons, my dear, but it’s quite unnecessary. I am your guardian until he returns to England.”

  “I would prefer it.” She kept her voice low but firm.

  He removed his pipe from his mouth, head tilted as if about to request she explain herself.

  “Thank you, Master Devereux.” Helena said, forestalling him, and returned to her seat on the chaise next to Alyce.

  “Henry called this morning,” Alyce said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “He is still upset about Compton’s suspension. He thinks it will hold up the building of the cathedral again if Compton is punished.”

  Helena smiled, aware her brother’s focus was on the new St Paul’s, and not any religious question.

  “I hear Compton refused to discipline one of his clergy for preaching anti-papist sermons. This had so enraged the King, he suspended him.”

  “That won’t make King James any more popular,” William said, his head bent to his correspondence.

  “Compton will be back in favor again soon.” Alyce sounded confident. “The King himself wants the cathedral finished.”

  Helena accepted a glass of the cold lemonade from Alyce, her gaze on William, who slid his writing into a drawer of the bureau and locked it, taking the key out of the lock. He rose from his chair and strolled around the room, his hands held loosely behind his back. “He wants to allow Catholics as dons and undergraduates at Oxford and Cambridge.”

  “Where did you hear that, Will?” Alice’s tone held skepticism.

  “At The Grecian.” William picked fluff from his sleeve. “He argues that the colleges were founded when England was a Catholic country, and should therefore be available to them.”

  “Sir Edward Hales has been acquitted for holding office in the Army.” Robert pointed his pipe stem at his Gazette. “Blasted man’s a Papist!”

  William smiled. “What did you expect when the king packed the court with his tame judges? The verdict was a foregone conclusion.”

  “Have you read this news-sheet before me?” Robert glared at his son, accusing. “The King is making Parliament irrelevant.”

  He clamped his teeth down on his pipe so hard, the stem broke off in his mouth. He spat the pieces out and hurled them into the hearth.

  “I think you’ll find Parliament will hold out against the King’s attempts to repeal the Test Act.” Alyce said, revealing an intellect as a rule she kept well hidden.

  “What? Oh yes, I suppose you are right,” Robert mumbled, though Helena doubted he was convinced.

  Helena allowed their chatter to pass over her head, her thoughts still on Robert’s endorsement of Guy Palmer as a potential husband.

  Guy had become such a familiar face at Lambtons, Helena discovered that to avoid him successfully would have meant her virtual exile from her own home. Yet strangely, when he did not call, she missed him.
>
  Respectful and engaging, he had the ability to correctly judge her mood, so when she felt uncommunicative, he happily chatted to others, bestowing gentle smiles on her from a distance. She had to acknowledge Robert was right; he would make an excellent life companion.

  William had resumed his seat and was twisting one hand back and forth, studying the way the light caught his emerald ring. With a sigh, Helena consigned him to the back of her mind. A pity he was such a fop.

  “Have you heard from your brother lately, Helena?” Robert asked.

  “Yes, Master Devereux. I fear he is still plotting with the Prince of Orange, although he appears to be living well in The Hague.”

  “He does? Do tell us.” Phebe slid along the settle toward her, her face eager.

  “He has purchased a house which he has thrown open to other fugitives, so they may spend their days in scheming and leisure.”

  “I almost envy him.” William laughed.

  Helena stayed silent on the subject of Aaron’s decisions. The fact both her brothers had left her to fend for herself in a world where men made all the decisions still aroused her anger.

  That her future would depend on the good nature of whomever she married, remained a truth she found difficult to reconcile. That she was fond of Guy, enjoyed his company and looked forward to his visits, was a reason to view an offer of marriage with favour.

  Guy was not rich, but he was capable, ambitious and according to Robert, extremely hardworking. Therefore, if marriage was the only way she could regain her status in life, then marry she would.

  If Robert’s prediction came true, when Guy declared himself, she would accept him and put herself out of the influence of both Aaron and Henry. Even if her father should return, he could not overrule the wishes of a husband. As time passed, everyone told her Sir Jonathan Woulfe must surely be dead. She refused to believe it. Not yet.

  She glanced at William, who had resumed his seat at the bureau and his writing. Let him write all the silly verses he wants; he would regret it when she was married.

  Chapter 22