by Michael Ward
He re-entered the salon, squeezing and pushing his way past guests, leaving a trail of protest in his wake. He emerged, red-faced and flustered into the reception room at the front of the house, and ran into Elizabeth talking to Ellen.
‘Hello Tom. Goodness you look a little red-faced. Is it too warm in the salon?’
Ellen’s sisterly concern was well meant but was not what Tom had in mind as an opening conversational gambit with Elizabeth.
‘No, I am fine, dear sister.’
Tom turned to Elizabeth but she had already moved away towards a tray of drinks. She chose a glass of white Rhenish and gazed vacantly around the room. Tom and Ellen looked at each other. Ellen gave Tom a little shrug.
‘How are…’ Tom stopped to clear his throat. ‘Err, how are you Miss Seymour? I trust I find you well?’
Elizabeth continued to stare around the room. There was a long pause.
‘You did not answer my question about the nutmeg trees,’ Elizabeth said, still looking away. Her voice was slurred.
Tom was nonplussed. ‘Nutmeg trees?’
Wine was dripping from the tilted glass in her left hand while she tapped the side of her leg with a closed fan in her right.
‘Oh, no matter. Ellen, are you bored? I am bored.’
Tom was struggling. Was this the same Elizabeth Seymour he had met in the warehouse, captivating and exceptional, the woman who had rarely left his thoughts since?
Ellen pointed to Elizabeth’s neck.
‘Oh Elizabeth, you have come out undressed! You have no decoration aroound your neck. Weren’t you going to wear that lovely sapphire necklace?’
Elizabeth’s face flushed and her small body became ramrod straight.
‘Ellen Tallant. You are such a bloody fool,’ she shouted, loud enough for all nearby to hear above the noise.
Elizabeth threw the fan on the floor and stormed out of the room. Tom was too shocked to move as Ellen dissolved into tears. Marjorie Burgoyne was standing nearby and, for once in her life, acted wisely.
‘Ellen, come with me to the powder room where you can compose yourself.’
Tom mouthed his thanks to Marjorie as she led Ellen away. The silence dissolved into the hubbub of renewed conversation but Tom could see people were looking and pointing. What on earth had happened to Elizabeth?
‘I see you look a little shaken, sir.’
Tom looked around to see a squat man wearing a thick white wig standing next to him.
‘I hope the lady is not too upset?’
‘Who? Ellen?’ Tom replied, still dazed by Elizabeth’s explosive outburst. ‘No, my sister has a strong constitution, sir. She will soon recover from the shock. But I thank you for your concern.’
‘If I may venture a little advice, sir. I would steer well clear of Elizabeth Seymour. She’s a dangerous sort and could be a very bad influence on your sister. Only this evening she was confronted by men seeking payment of a large gambling debt. They would not leave her until she settled the matter. I hear previous promises of payment had not been honoured. She had no choice but to surrender her sapphire necklace, there and then, in front of other guests. The shame of it. Her father, James Seymour, works in the Privy Council office. He would have been mortified to witness this tonight. Mind you, she can expect no better if she chooses to swim in such deep waters with members of Henry Jermyn’s set.’
Tom could not keep the incredulity from his voice. ‘Elizabeth Seymour plays cards for money with Henry Jermyn?’
‘I doubt it. She is of insufficient influence for Jermyn to waste his time on. No, I hear she lost her money to a group of his camp followers. Not the first time either. Such a beauty will always be welcome at their table, particularly if she is also a reckless gambler and profligate loser.’
So that’s what Elizabeth was doing when I saw her in the salon. Paying off her gambling debts. No wonder she was upset when Ellen drew attention to her missing necklace. Oh dear, poor Ellen.
‘Why is Henry Jermyn here tonight?’
‘He wanted to pay public tribute to Sir Hugh’s generosity, on behalf of their Majesties. He also gave a small speech of thanks to the players, Sir William D’avenant and Mr Inigo Jones. Sir Hugh looked well satisfied.’
‘So this party, all this expense, is so Sir Hugh can receive royal approval in public?’
‘Partly, but also because Sir Hugh, a plain man of… of commerce’—here the man could not hide his distaste —‘wants to become popular among the playwrights and actors. He finds their world exciting.’
Tom smiled at the description of one of the richest merchants in the City as a ‘plain man of commerce’. He would welcome such a description but Sir Hugh would be apoplectic to be so called.
At this moment Ellen reappeared, her former composure restored. Tom excused himself from the conversation with the bewigged man and strode towards her.
‘Are you all right, sister? I do not—’
‘Sir! Yes you, sir! How dare you enter my house uninvited.’ The voice rang through the room, stilling all conversation.
Tom turned slowly to be confronted by a stocky, red-faced man with a black wig slightly askew, pointing a trembling finger at his face.
‘I have heard about your doings, your involvement in Sir Joseph’s death. And you have the effrontery to walk into my home, bold as brass, and stand there quaffing my wine and laughing up your sleeve.’
There was an embarrassed titter around the room. It was clear Sir Hugh Swofford had been drinking large quantities of his own wine.
‘I have a good mind to summon the magistrate Franklin and have you dragged to Newgate.’
‘Oh Tom, what is this man talking about?’
Ellen looked like she couldn’t stand another fright and might faint at any moment.
Sir Hugh leveled his bleary gaze on her face.
‘We all heard that little flibbertigibbet Seymour calling you out,’ pointing at a terrified Ellen. “Ellen Tallant” she said, which, I am told, sir, makes you her brother Thomas. I have my informants!’
Sir Hugh swept his arm triumphantly around the room and almost lost his balance.
‘I won’t have any Tallants under this roof, not while the killer of my business partner roams free.’
Tom watched this nightmare unfold before his eyes, rooted to the spot and unable to say a word. First, his encounter with Henry Jermyn. Now this. He looked around for help and saw Edmund moving towards him.
Edmund approached Sir Hugh. He spoke with a firm, but quiet voice.
‘Sire, I beg you. Thomas Tallant is a man whose honour I would defend before all others. You have no reason to berate and accuse him so.’
Sir Hugh stood swaying, breathing heavily like an angry bull. He pointed at Edmund and cleared his throat to speak.
‘Enough, sir,’ Edmund cut in. ‘We will listen to this no more. Thomas and Ellen—come, let us take our leave.’
Edmund took Ellen’s arm and guided her to the front door. Tom followed and they didn’t stop until they reached the road. Tom stopped and breathed deep lungfuls of the cold evening air. He could feel his face burning red with anger and shame for his sister.
‘Tom. What on earth happened?’ Edmund asked. ‘I was in the back room and heard Sir Hugh bellowing. Not unknown when he is in his cups, but then I heard the name Tallant.’
He turned to Ellen. Her shoulders were heaving as tears ran down her face.
‘Oh my dear Ellen, has that stupid old goat upset you? It really is unforgivable. Here, take my cloak.’
And he has upset me, Tom thought, a quiet fury welling up inside. This has gone far enough.
Chapter 6
A week later
On the road to Clerkenwell
Night was approaching as Meg picked her way carefully through the ruts in the broken road. That part of a safe passage could be left to her. Tom’s job was to be on the alert for any trouble. As he rode through the gathering gloom, Tom knew he was carrying an open invitation to robbery
on his saddle: a wooden box tied to the pommel and swaying gently on Meg’s left flank. It had attracted unwelcome attention as he left London, figures emerging from the shadows to take a closer look then retreating at the glint of steel from his sword.
A thin, ragged fox loped silently across the road in front of Meg who did not break stride. Not for the first time Tom thanked his old horse for her steadfast nature. The sky above would soon be black but Meg knew this road from her frequent journeys to his parents’ house, north of Clerkenwell.
Tom recognised the entrance to the village emerging through the semi-darkness. A noise made him freeze. Meg sensed his tension and stopped. Tom raised himself in the saddle and peered down the road. Two shapes approached. He quietly moved Meg into the deep shadow of an overhanging roof and placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword. Slowly the shapes turned into two burly men, one carrying a long knife. Tom swallowed hard. It had been a stupid idea to come out this late in the evening carrying a package. Inch by inch he silently drew his sword, his heart pounding as he calculated the odds in the impending fight. On horseback he had the advantage of height and speed of escape over the two men. But this would be lost if one of them grabbed Meg’s reins while the other went for him, or the box. He didn’t like the look of that knife. It could do terrible damage to him or Meg.
He could hear the men talking. By a miracle they must not have seen him yet. Best lie low and hope they pass. Patting Meg’s neck, he slowly moved her still deeper into the shadow and bent forward in the saddle.
‘All right, Meg, nice and quiet now,’ he whispered in her ear. Tom remained completely still as the men approached. They were less than fifteen yards away. His right hand was tensing as he gripped the sword’s hilt, the sweat gathering on his palm. Long seconds elapsed and then the men passed within ten feet. In the weak moonlight, Tom could see the smaller man with the knife more clearly. He had enormous shoulders and walked with a bow-legged gait.
The men were arguing. Thank you, Jesus. Keep talking to each other and ignore me. Meg moved her feet; Tom held his breath. The men headed down the road, back towards the city. Meg started to fidget. Not now, Meg, not now. The taller of the two men looked over in Tom’s direction and stopped talking. Come on, you two, there’s nothing over here. Both men paused. Tom could feel Meg’s body tense and he struggled to control 900 pounds of straining horseflesh.
Meg snorted, whinnied and stamped her feet on the ground. The smaller man wheeled around, knife aloft. Oh hell, there’s nothing else for it, and he tried to charge Meg out of the shadows. He raised his sword and shouted, ‘Stand back you two. Don’t move.’
But it was Tom who did not move. He had rehearsed the next ten seconds while waiting for the men. However, when the moment arrived, it did not go to plan. Meg did not charge out of the shadows. Instead she pranced up and down, whinnying and pawing the ground, then reared up, throwing Tom back in the saddle.
The men did move, fast. Both fell to the ground.
The taller man shouted: ‘Sire, please. We mean no harm. We will go back and move what we left, but please don’t arrest us. We are simple tradesmen struggling to make an honest living.’
The smaller man hissed at his friend to be quiet while Tom struggled to bring Meg to order. What is wrong with her? She’s only like this when near to… pigs. In that moment he saw that the man carried a butcher’s knife, and everything fell into place. Tom laughed with relief but soon checked himself. These men could still be dangerous and he must maintain the upper hand.
As the panic subsided, his senses returned and he noticed both men smelt strongly of offal—pig’s offal he would wager. His legs were starting to shake but he spoke with as much authority as he could muster.
‘Get up. Stop grovelling on the floor. Why are you two abroad at this time of night? Dumping your butcher’s waste, I’ll be bound.’
The two men stood. Both were wearing blood-caked aprons. The taller one looked at the other who shrugged his massive shoulders. Tom carefully watched the long knife in his right hand, its blade covered in gore.
The taller man spoke.
‘Sir. What can we do? We run an honest butchers in Smithfield but have nowhere to dispose our waste. Had a nice spot in the local churchyard until the preacher threatened to get the magistrate on us as he was overrun with rats.’
Tom knew the problem well enough. The demand for fresh meat in London was never-ending, with slaughterhouses opening in side streets and backyards across the city. It was profitable work but there was nowhere to dump the waste. Isaac was constantly on the lookout for butchers loitering outside the warehouse and kept an old halberd in the kitchen to discourage persistent offenders.
‘You are two lazy whoresons,’ Tom said sharply, ‘who are fortunate I am on important business, otherwise you’d now be on your way to the constable. Go and remove your filth. I will check on my return tomorrow and, if you have not, I will have the Smithfield authorities on to you.’
Before the men could protest, Tom turned Meg and trotted away. He waited breathlessly for the sound of a butcher’s knife flying through the air. Instead the men began arguing again, this time with greater vehemence. He heaved a sigh and set his sights for Elizabeth Seymour’s house.
As Meg clip-clopped through Clerkenwell, Tom relaxed and pondered the events of the past week. He didn’t know which bothered him more—Sir Hugh’s accusations or Elizabeth’s rebuff. His mother had been furious when Ellen described Sir Hugh’s outburst at the ball. Sir Ralph had listened in stony-faced silence and simply asked Ellen if she felt recovered. Ellen was stoic as ever and made light of what had happened, but Tom could see she had been badly shaken.
Ellen had forgiven Elizabeth’s outburst as soon as Tom explained the gambling debts, her anger turning to shock and worry. Tom said he might be able to help her with her gambling and Ellen readily agreed to arrange a meeting between her brother and her friend. But now that time had arrived, Tom’s doubts returned. Could he really do anything? What had made him think he could? Which of the Elizabeths would he see tonight? And why had she requested they meet after dark?
When Tom eventually reached Bolton Hall, he continued northwards on the road. As he passed, he could see lights in his parents’ house and heard voices. They were entertaining tonight and it was strange not to turn into the drive. Meg also faltered, her mind on food and water in the Tallant’s stable block. She was unfamiliar with the track ahead, so he dismounted and led her on foot the rest of the way.
The Seymour manor house was a welcome sight when it finally came into view. A servant showed him into the great hall where a wood fire was crackling in the grate. Tom was surprised to see Ellen sitting by the fire. He put the box on the floor and embraced his sister. There was no sign of Elizabeth.
‘Brother, Elizabeth asked me to be here to receive you as she is not in the house.’
Tom’s face fell.
‘No, no… she is here, but not in the house.’
Tom frowned. Was anything about Elizabeth Seymour straightforward?
‘Her parents are in the city overnight, and so I assumed Elizabeth wished me to accompany her when she met you, but apparently not.’
Ellen sniffed. She clearly was not comfortable with this arrangement.
‘Tom, I know you to be entirely honourable but Elizabeth must protect her virtue and reputation. I told her this but she laughed and waved me away.’
‘Her parents are at their wits’ end. They say Elizabeth’s reckless gambling will ruin them. It’s the only reason I agreed to help with such an unsuitable rendezvous. Do you think you can do anything for her?’
‘I will try. But where is she?’
‘In the garden, in the dark, of course,’ Ellen said without a trace of a smile. ‘It is most unseemly, but you had better go. She is expecting you.’
Tom picked up the wooden box and, feeling slightly ridiculous, followed a servant who had appeared with a lantern. They left the house and, after twenty paces down a sid
e path, reached a door set in a high wall. The servant handed his lantern to Tom and pointed to the door.
‘You will find Miss Elizabeth in there, sir.’
Before Tom could answer, the servant bowed, turned towards the house and disappeared into the dark.
Tom didn’t move, his thoughts racing. What would he find beyond the door? Was she locked into the garden for her own safety—or everyone else’s? Clearly not, as he had not been given a key. Had something happened to her? Why did she only want to be seen in the dark? Perhaps she’d had an accident? The lantern cast its pale light on the trees and bushes. A bat swooped in front of Tom’s face, making him start. Perhaps Elizabeth Seymour was a phantasm that captured men’s hearts with one look. She had certainly mesmerised him.
What had he been thinking? She would laugh at the gift he had brought. He wasn’t even sure he liked her after her outburst at Swofford’s. But he knew he must see her again.
Transferring the lantern to his left hand, with the box jammed under his left arm, he carefully lifted the iron latch and stepped into the gloom beyond the door. To his right, he could see the outline of a formal knot garden in the light from the house; to his left, an expanse of grass, leading to a tall hedge with a dark structure on its left. The garden was silent except for the occasional screech of a distant owl. The sky was blue-black with more stars appearing with each passing minute.
He set off left towards the hedge, the wooden box clutched tight against his chest. As he approached, the structure on the left became a six-sided platform with trellis on four sides, each panel three feet high and covered in rose plants. He raised his lantern for a better view and saw movement in the pale lamplight. It was smoke, he was sure of it, coming from behind the rose panel in front of him. He moved carefully to his right and peered around the trellis onto the platform.
Elizabeth was sitting on a low bench, pipe stem clenched between her teeth, studying a large shape by the light of a small lamp. The bowl of her pipe glowed in the dark as she drew in the tobacco smoke before releasing it gently into the night sky. She was humming softly. For a reason he could not explain, Tom pulled his head out of sight and hid behind the panel. He stood silently in the dark, unable to take a step forward. He had the strangest—and strongest—feeling that if he walked onto the platform his life would change forever. He considered fleeing, finding Meg in her stable and galloping back to the familiarity of the warehouse. But he knew he would arrive home and wish immediately he was here in this garden with Elizabeth.