Marigold Chain

by Riley, Stella

  ‘There is always that possibility.’

  She drew a long breath. ‘Let’s hope not. Meanwhile, perhaps you’d care to wait?’

  He bowed slightly. ‘If it would be no trouble, I’d be glad to do so. But it seems you are busy.’ He indicated the mound of linen.

  ‘Yes – and very tedious it is when you’ve no one to talk to.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d sit down – I feel at a terrible disadvantage.’

  The wide mouth curled attractively.

  ‘It doesn’t show – but thank you.’ And swinging the silk-lined cloak from his shoulders with a panache worthy of imitation, he tossed it over a chair-back and sat down, placing a flat leather box on his knee. ‘My sister Sophy says that when I’m on my feet, it’s like talking to a bean-pole.’

  Chloë glanced up from her mending.

  ‘And does she often talk to bean-poles?’ Then coloured right down to her collar, unable to understand what it was in him that had caused her wits to wander twice in ten minutes. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t usually make inane remarks – but it’s been a peculiar morning.’

  The Duke did not seem to mind. He said, ‘It’s some time since I saw your husband. Have you been married long?’

  ‘Three months.’ Her colour receded a little and she hoped it was not the start of a second inquisition. ‘Do – do you know Mr Deveril well?’

  The dark eyes rested on her enigmatically.

  ‘Moderately so. A difficult young man of more than usual ability. And a good soldier.’

  Chloë looked up again, needle poised. ‘You’ve fought with him? Under Prince Rupert, perhaps?’

  His teeth gleamed in a faintly wolfish grin. ‘What do you know about Rupert?’

  ‘Not a great deal. Only that Matt says he’s the best cavalry leader in the world and that he must be an exceptional person if Mr Deveril respects him. I wish - - ‘

  ‘Yes?’

  She bent her head and continued to sew, aware of a need to be careful.

  ‘I wish I could meet him,’ she finished lightly.

  There was a brief silence, then his Grace said, ‘You might be disappointed. Or is it to control Alexander’s excesses that you want him?’

  The needle stopped again. Plainly, she hadn’t been careful enough.

  ‘No! No – it’s just that we think, Matt and I, that he needs an occupation and I thought that His Highness might perhaps be able to help.’ She stitched on, thrusting away a ridiculous impulse to confide in this sharp-witted stranger.

  The Duke opened his box then closed it again, laying a sheaf of papers on the lid. He produced a narrow piece of charcoal and turned it in his fingers.

  ‘Rupert deals in warfare. Do you think Alex would be willing to leave you after so short a time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chloë baldly without looking up.

  The charcoal made contact with the paper. ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘No.’ She thought and then added, ‘I don’t like waste.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ the Duke replied, his eyes on his work. ‘But there are many different kinds – and it’s sometimes difficult to distinguish the temporary from the permanent.’

  Chloë stared at him, frowning, and caught a darkly studious gaze before it dropped back to the paper.

  ‘You mean,’ she said, struggling to understand, ‘that Mr Deveril is wasting more than his talents?’

  She received a small, abstracted nod.

  ‘What, for example?’

  ‘That’s a question you had best ask yourself.’ The charcoal made a number of bold, sweeping movements.

  ‘I am asking it,’ returned Chloë, ‘but you are the one who seems to have the answers.’ She pushed her needle jerkily through the material. ‘I just wish you’d share them with me.’

  ‘Very well.’ The Duke stopped what he was doing and fixed her with a disconcertingly piercing stare. ‘It seems to me that if his three-month bride is still thinking of him as Mr Deveril, he’s also wasting his opportunities. D’accord?’

  Chloë’s hand slipped and the needle jabbed her finger. She sucked it, shook her head and said, ‘Au contraire. Mais c’est une bien idée.’

  His Grace raised one ironic brow and shrugged faintly before returning to his paper. There was a long silence broken only by the sound of charcoal on paper, then he said bluntly, ‘There’s no need to look so uneasy. I’m not going to pry. And I’ll even manage to give Alex a little something to occupy his mind – as it happens, that’s why I’m here. But he won’t be able to discuss it with you so you’ll need to accept that fact.’

  The colour seeped back into Chloë’s face and she gazed at him eagerly.

  ‘You have work for him?’

  ‘Yes … well, the truth of the matter,’ said the Duke, looking suddenly discomfited, ‘is that I’m not - - ‘ And stopped as sounds of disturbance reached them from the hall; crisp footfalls approaching the door and the clear, unmistakable tones of Mr Deveril. His Grace gave a rueful grin. ‘Too late,’ he sighed and, laying aside his box and papers, rose from his seat.

  The door opened and, still speaking, Alex walked in followed by Giles.

  ‘ … and taking it all in all, he was damned lucky not to be sucked up into the pumping mechanism and sent to Trinity House in a pipe! The day Danny - - ‘ He came to an abrupt halt and stood staring at Chloë’s visitor, light eyes wide with shock.

  ‘Sir!’ He saluted smartly. ‘I had no idea - - ‘

  ‘Obviously,’ said Duke easily and achieved instant silence. ‘Don’t disturb yourself. I could have sent word – but I preferred not to.’

  An unpleasant, sinking sensation gripped the pit of Chloë’s stomach and she eyed her guest with foreboding as he greeted Mr Beckwith with a slow, infectious smile. Giles bowed deeply and said, ‘As always, it is a pleasure to see Your Highness.’

  That did it. Chloë stood up, drawing three pairs of eyes. She looked directly at her new acquaintance. ‘You said,’ she observed accusingly, ‘that you were the Duke of Cumberland. You did say that?’

  ‘I did – and I am,’ he replied placatingly. ‘It’s just not a title I find much use for except as a jest to old friends which was all I intended today. Unfortunately, it misfired somewhat – due completely to Alex’s ill-timed absence - but having announced myself as Cumberland, it seemed a bit difficult to tell you that I’m also Rupert Palatine.’

  Chloë was not noticeably comforted. ‘My sister, Sophy,’ she thought dismally. Sophia, Electress of Hanover, of course. And what had she said? Something stupid about bean-poles.

  ‘But I talked about you … and, what’s more, you encouraged me to do it!’

  Rupert grinned. ‘Yes. I enjoyed that. You were very complimentary.’

  Chloë glanced at her husband and saw that laughter wasn’t very far away. It was too much. She restored her attention to the King’s first cousin and lost her head.

  ‘Yes,’ she said indignantly, ‘I was. But I’ll know better next time.’ And watched in disgust as all three gentlemen dissolved into mirth.

  Giles was the first to recover and, moving towards her with the warmest expression she had seen in his face for a long time, said evenly, ‘I think it would help if you began again. Sir, I have the pleasure to present Mistress Chloë Deveril. Chloë – allow me to introduce His Royal Highness, Prince Rupert of the Rhine and Bohemia, Count Palatine, Duke of Cumberland, Earl of Holderness and joint commander of His Majesty’s Navy.’

  Chloë curtsied. ‘It is an honour to meet you, sir,’ she said. And resolutely bit back one final piece of levity.

  Prince Rupert, nobody’s fool, bowed and supplied it for her.

  ‘And we are delighted, Mistress Deveril. All of us. I hope I’m forgiven,’ he continued pleasantly, ‘but in case there is any lingering doubt, perhaps you’ll accept this as a small peace-offering.’

  Chloë took the paper from his outstretched hand and stared down at it in silence, the smile dying on her lips. The stillne
ss dragged on until, torn by curiosity, Giles and Alex crossed to see that it was she held; and then they too looked without speaking.

  It was a sketch, a mere line-drawing, but exquisitely and intuitively executed. The face was Chloë’s and yet not. Hers was the long, smooth hair, backswept on one side of her face and falling straight as a curtain on the other and hers the delicate profile etched clear as a cameo against it. The high tapering brow, the short aquiline nose and the pure line of cheek and jaw were hers; but to the portrait as a whole, Rupert had added qualities from within that perhaps only Giles recognised.

  The face, gracefully tilted on the slender curve of the throat, looked with downcast eye at something which the beholder could not see. Long, curling lashes shadowed the cheek with an illusion of serene purity and though the nose and chin retained their strength and character, the mouth had acquired a warmth and sweetness that made Giles look away. It was only Mr Deveril who understood, as Rupert had perhaps intended, that in style and composition, it was the face of a virgin saint.

  Alex looked slowly across at the man whose brain and military skill he admired above all others and silver-blue eyes met black in mutual speculation. Then, almost imperceptibly the Prince shrugged, causing a tremor of unwilling amusement to tug at Alex’s mouth.

  It was left to Chloë to break the silence.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said shakily. ‘But it’s not me.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ said Giles shortly, then walked away to the window, a faint flush staining his cheeks.

  Rupert cast a swift, appraising glance at his back and then smiled at Chloë. ‘Not as you see yourself, perhaps. But you must allow the artist a little licence.’

  She knew that her nose was pink but for once didn’t really care and pulling out a handkerchief, she blew it defiantly. ‘Yes. Well. Would the artist be good enough to sign it?’

  The black brows soared and he laughed.

  ‘I’d be delighted! Our family doesn’t usually get to sign its masterpieces,’ he said, as he scrawled his name at the foot of the picture. ‘In the old days, my sister Louise used to have Honthurst sign her work because his name fetched a better price.’

  Chloë received the paper carefully and smiled at him.

  ‘Thank you. It – it’s the greatest compliment anyone ever paid me and I shall treasure it always.’

  The Prince flashed a sardonically enquiring look at the silent Mr Deveril and, seeing it, she said quickly, ‘I’ll leave you to complete your business – but perhaps Your Highness would join us for dinner?’ And, waiting only for His Highness to signify his acceptance, she fled.

  Giles turned back from the window and looked at his former chief.

  ‘Shall I go too?’

  ‘No.’ The easiness which had characterised Rupert for the last hour fell away like a sheared fleece, leaving him crisp and commanding.

  ‘Sit down, gentlemen. I have a task which I hope won’t prove beyond you. Indeed, I selected you in view of your past experience and your ability to keep your mouths shut. The matter we’re about to discuss is both grave and secret – which is why I have come here in person and without, I hope, anyone being aware of it. It’s vital, both for the success of your mission and for your personal safety, that no one suspects what you are doing. I don’t offer you payment – only a challenge and an element of risk. Do I have your support?’

  There was no doubt in the faces of either of his listeners.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Giles.

  ‘As always,’ said Alex, ‘you need not have asked. What do you want us to do?’

  The Prince reached out, dropped the pile of papers on the table between them and laid his outspread fingers on them.

  ‘Unless I’m greatly mistaken, the Navy is at the mercy of a dangerous and high-skilled enemy agent. I want you to catch him.’

  Mr Deveril’s eyes opened guilelessly wide. ‘On the premise that it takes one to know one? Yes. Well, we’ll try not to disappoint you.’ And to Mr Beckwith, ‘You’ll have to buy a new knife to hide beneath your cloak, Giles. You can’t enter the best spying circles with outmoded accoutrements.’

  Rupert was not amused.

  ‘Stop trying to be funny and listen. You know – or you should do – how serious the political situation has become and how crucial is it that we seal the course of the war this summer. We are no longer at war merely with Holland but also with the French. The French fleet is small but its locations along the coast make it a force to be reckoned with. Their main base is Toulon but there are detachments at Brest and La Rochelle. If Holland and France mounted a simultaneous attack, England could find herself facing the Dutch to the north-east with the French nipping her backside from the south. Holland also has an alliance with Denmark and I have just heard that she made peace with Munster on the eighth. In addition, I’m told that – despite rumours to the contrary – Sweden has concluded an agreement with France. You have only to add that, as usual, we’re critically short of money and the Navy is in debt to the tune of more than a million pounds and you’ll perhaps appreciate why the last thing we can afford at this stage is a network of spies and saboteurs.’

  Giles stirred thoughtfully. ‘You said … unless you were mistaken. I gather that means the evidence is negligible?’

  His Highness nodded. ‘With the exception of two minor incidents which I’ll come to presently, the evidence – if you can call it that – is just a collection of costly organisational blunders. You’ll find reports on each of them here.’ He tapped the pile of papers. ‘I suggest you both read them thoroughly at a later date. But if you want an example of the type of thing I’m referring to, let’s consider the battle of Lowestoft last June. Having put the Dutch to flight, our fleet gave chase with the Duke of York’s ship, the Royal Charles, leading. Like myself, James had been on deck for some eighteen hours so when the worst was past, he gave orders for the pursuit to continue and retired to his cabin. His flag-captain did the same and the ship sailed on under the command of John Harman. During the night, Harman received orders via Henry Brouncker that he was to slacken sail and abandon the chase – which he did, followed by the whole fleet. Next morning, with the enemy well past our reach, it turned out that the Duke had given no such order. It had been a fabrication of Brouncker’s own and, not surprisingly, it cost him his position in the Duke’s household.’

  ‘Just that?’ said Alex dryly. ‘No further reprimand?’

  ‘No. The matter was raised in Parliament but Brouncker was never brought to trial.’ Rupert paused and then went on, ‘For the rest, we come to a staggeringly large amount of trivia. The kind of thing one puts down to mismanagement, coincidence, poor workmanship, accident, carelessness or even plain, old-fashioned bad luck. It’s only when you add it all up that it starts to look as if we’re either jinxed or the target of sabotage. When you read the reports you’ll see how many messages are delayed or incorrectly delivered; how many of our supplies are misdirected, damaged or lost in transit – or even never sent at all; and how many time-consuming accidents appear to occur in our dockyards. But what convinced me that all these incidents were part of an organised campaign were the two events I mentioned earlier.’

  He flicked through the heap and extracted two sheets of paper.

  ‘Three weeks ago a fire broke out in the store-house at Harwich. Fortunately, Silas Taylor and his lads quenched it before it did much damage and I filed a report of it in my collection. After all, fires do break out from time to time – and especially when the weather is as dry as it’s been recently. So I thought little of it until last week when another fire broke out at John Longrack’s timber-yard … and this time our arsonist friend wasn’t so clever.’ Rupert leaned back in his chair. ‘It was the day after that little shower last week and he must have had trouble getting the wood to take so he crossed the yard and fetched some pitch. That was when he was seen by someone who thought he was pilfering. When it became plain what he actually was doing, our ham-fisted friend set up a hue and c
ry instead of quietly knocking him on the head. The result was a mad chase three times round the timber-store before somebody stopped it by releasing a loaded platform of logs.’ He paused and added triumphantly, ‘The fire-raiser was one Joseph Cotterell – and he’d been employed at Harwich at the time of their fire.’

  Alex rested his fingertips together and regarded the Prince over them.

  ‘I was about to say that we could start with him … but something tells me that we can’t.’

  ‘You can’t,’ agreed Rupert. ‘When the logs came down he was rolled out like pastry. Sadly, you’re going to have to start on a much wider field.’

  ‘How wide?’ asked Giles.

  ‘If all our troubles are connected, there must be one man in charge of operations and, from the diversity of his activities, he has access to a fairly extensive range of Naval matters. There are a number of people of whom this is true and it’s possible to identify them.’ Rupert pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘To the best of my knowledge, all of their names are on that list. I hope so anyway.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Alex, his eyes skimming down a column of some twenty names.

  Rupert grinned and stood up, stretching.

  ‘So there you have it. If I’m wrong, I’ll be grateful if you prove it. If not, I want a name backed by indisputable evidence. And most of all, I want the man.’

  ‘When do you join the fleet?’ asked Giles.

  ‘A week today. Albemarle and I are taking up our command at the Nore – though I doubt we’ll put to sea for a while. Any further information of the kind you have there will come to you by way of Hayes, my secretary – you can trust him absolutely. And when I’ve gone, if you need official backing, you’d best go to Lord Arlington. But don’t let him override your judgement.’

  Mr Deveril looked up from the list, his eyes perfectly guileless.

  ‘This list of Naval know-alls is incomplete,’ he said gently. ‘One hesitates to mention it – but Your Highness does not appear to be on it.’

  Rupert looked back, irritation mingling with amusement.

  ‘My Highness is thirsty,’ he said. ‘So why don’t you apply your scintillating wit to something useful - and go and open a bottle.’