Marigold Chain

by Riley, Stella

  ‘Indeed,’ nodded Charles placidly. ‘That is – I presume that you want news of your husband? Or perhaps I’m mistaken and some other fortunate gentleman is the cause of this pallor?’

  The pallor vanished beneath a deep flush.

  ‘No,’ said Chloë baldly. ‘There isn’t – he isn’t – that is, I – ‘

  ‘Quite.’ His Majesty was laughing. ‘You know, there is a question I should dearly love to ask you. And I imagine that you can guess what it is.’

  ‘I - I think so, Your Majesty.’

  ‘But since it isn’t my business,’ he went on, ‘it would be churlish of me to inflict upon you the embarrassment of answering it. So I shall strive to content myself with telling you that, to the best of my knowledge, Mr Deveril is both alive and well and aboard the Royal James with my cousin.’

  The sense of it took a moment to sink in and behind her black satin bodice, Chloë experienced a number of conflicting sensations. At length, she looked up and her mouth curled into a wide, irresistible smile.

  ‘Thank you, sire.’ She thought for a moment. ‘How do you know?’

  Charles raised one mocking brow.

  ‘My dear – is it possible that Alex could take part in any campaign and not be mentioned in a despatch? As I understand it, when de Ruyter went into retreat there was insufficient wind to enable our fleet to overtake him – so your husband asked for, and was given, command of Rupert’s small sloop, the Fan Fan. He took it up behind the Seven Provinces under oar and, with only two guns and good deal of impudence, proceeded to harry our Dutch friends for almost an hour. Much, I might add, to the delight of our own seamen.’

  ‘And without getting himself blown out of the water?’

  ‘And without getting blown out of the water,’ agreed the King gravely. ‘Not that they didn’t try, you understand. But Alex has the luck of the devil.’

  *

  Five days later they were all back in London and Chloë, leaving the Queen to be settled in by her usual attendants, obtained her release and scuttled home to Southwark where she was received by Naomi with rapturous relief and the intelligence that Mr Deveril was still at sea. An enquiry as to the whereabouts of Mr Lewis produced a faintly disapproving sniff and the information that he was out and, as usual, no one knew where.

  Matt returned just as Chloë was sitting down to supper and it immediately struck her that his normally imperturbable face wore signs of distinct harassment.

  ‘I think,’ she said conversationally, ‘that you should tell me why Mr Deveril suddenly decided to join the fleet.’

  Matthew took his time over a mouthful of beef and then said, ‘Maybe I should – but Mr Alex’ll gut me if I do.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s to do with his work for Prince Rupert?’

  ‘Aye.’

  The food turned to ashes in Chloë’s mouth and she laid down her knife.

  ‘Was Danny involved in it?’

  There was a long silence before Matt said, ‘No. Only Mr Alex and Mr Giles – and me.’

  The pause had given him away and her eyes widened with tired shock.

  ‘But someone thought he was – is that it? And they – ‘ She stopped, pressing her fingers over her mouth, her stomach cold and every sense revolted by the smell of the food.

  Matthew pushed his plate away with a jerk.

  ‘Come on.’ He rose and drew her out of her seat. ‘You can’t stay in here with this lot. Come away to the parlour.’ Then, when he had her settled beside the empty fireplace, he sat down facing her and said roughly, ‘As for Mr Alex’s work for the Prince, you know I can’t discuss it. It’s not that I don’t think you can keep your mouth shut … but the less folk that know, the safer we’ll all be.’

  Chloë looked across at him and for once didn’t trouble to school her expression.

  ‘I’m frightened, Matt. I wish he’d come home.’

  And Matt, who felt much the same, scowled direfully.

  ‘That’s no way to go on, lass. Mr Alex can take care of himself well enough.’

  ‘I know. I know … but it’s hard just waiting and doing nothing.’

  The sharp black eyes rested on her with sudden thoughtfulness.

  ‘Well, worrying yourself silly is no help. But what you could do is keep your ears open at Court and tell me what you hear. Not the bedchamber gossip – but other things you’ll hear a lot quicker on the inside than I will on the out.’

  Chloë looked blank. ‘What sort of things?’

  Mr Lewis gestured vaguely. ‘Anything at all – particularly if it’s to do with the Navy.’ He paused, then added casually, ‘Or the Duke of York’s household.’

  *

  Chloë’s first item of topical excitement came three days later when she passed the Duke and some of his gentlemen in the Stone Gallery and observed that the royal nose and right eye were hidden beneath three separate dressings and around these the skin was covered in bruises and long, angry scratches. He looked, thought Chloë, as if he had been in a fight. Seeing Cousin Simon detach himself from the group and move in her direction, she dutifully slowed her pace to let him overtake her, then smiled encouragingly and tried not to stare at his ornate wig and lavender brocade.

  ‘Is His Grace setting a new fashion in face patches?’ she asked lightly.

  Simon gave a delicate shudder. ‘My dear – pray don’t mention it! He is quite morbidly sensitive about it at present. Scars, you know.’

  Chloë raised her brows. ‘My goodness – has Sir John Denham taken exception to the Duke’s pursuit of his wife? Or was it the Duchess?’

  ‘Not at all – though it does look that way, don’t you think? No. It was a hunting accident. He will ride so recklessly and this is the result. He rode straight into the branch of a tree and they say it almost cost him his eye. Dreadful, isn’t it?’ He waved a scented handkerchief languidly beneath his nostrils. ‘I am so glad I wasn’t there – I really cannot support the sight of blood. But fortunately I never hunt. It is so rough and noisy. And the company, my dear … positively reeking of the stables and so very tedious. All one hears are tales of “Courses I Have Run” and “Tosses I Have Taken.” It really isn’t for me.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Chloë amiably. ‘I quite see that.’

  Simon beamed with innocent pleasure. ‘Do you? How charming!’ He paused. ‘One hears, by the way, that Alex is at sea. I am surprised he could bear to leave you again.’

  Chloë’s expression remained perfectly bland.

  ‘In fact it was the other way about. I was with the Queen, you know – and Alex was restless and in need of some occupation and a change of air. I expect him back any day now.’

  ‘Oh I see. Most understandable,’ he drawled. ‘I need a rest myself – indeed, I leave for Kent at the end of next week. And then, of course, the estates require attention.’ He sighed gently. ‘No peace for the wicked, as they say.’

  Chloë smiled brilliantly upon him. ‘Quite.’

  Later, when she relayed this conversation to Mr Lewis he surprised her by listening with rapt attention and then annoyed her by flatly refusing to explain his interest. She threatened to keep anything else she found out to herself but he would not budge; and two days later she was back again with something much more promising.

  ‘Lords Coventry and Arlington are accused of being in Dutch pay,’ she told Matt briefly, ‘and the King has spent all day looking into it.’

  Mr Lewis fixed her with an unwinking black stare.

  ‘Accused by who?’

  Chloë shook her head regretfully.

  ‘I haven’t heard any names yet. There are four of them, I think; three who have been rather adventurous with Sir William’s reputation and another who’s done the same for Lord Arlington.’ She looked at him eagerly. ‘Is it any help?’

  Matt laughed wryly.

  ‘Oh aye. It’s that all right.’

  And would say nothing more.

  ~ * * * ~

  TEN

  After the success
of the St James day battle, the whole of Holland had been thrown into a state of panic which the English were naturally at some pains to prolong. Rupert and Albemarle ordered a blockade which efficiently sealed up the Dutch fleet and then cruised serenely under their enemies demoralised gaze whilst planning a shore-raid on Vlie Island.

  News of this small splinter action reached London some days later and was the cause of an official day of thanks-giving with gun salutes from the Tower and street celebrations of varying description. Sir Robert Holmes, it appeared, having been prevented by bad weather from landing at Vlieland, had fired one hundred and sixty Dutch East Indiamen at anchor in the Fly and then, with the aid of a renegade Dutch Captain, gone on to make a highly successful raid on Terschelling.

  Early on Tuesday morning Chloë and Matt received a visit from Captain Pierce who, under cover of the blockade, had returned complete with tongue, larynx and lungs to report every imaginable detail of his voyage, his ports of call and his cargo.

  At the end of two hours, Matt claimed a pressing engagement and fled, leaving Chloë to listen patiently to a glowing description of Genoa and Bizerta and then, over dinner, to a laborious account of the return trip. It was a quarter after two before she was able to bring the worthy Captain down to the mundane requirements of business and half past four by the time they had worked through The Black Boy’s bill of lading and made all the necessary arrangements.

  By the time Captain Pierce finally left the house, Chloë felt as though she’d been squeezed through a wringer and when Matthew came in with a conciliatory glass of wine, she didn’t even have the energy to berate him for his perfidy. Instead, she sipped the wine and then leaned back with closed eyes before saying weakly, ‘They’re to begin unloading tomorrow – and I’m in attendance on the Queen. Thank God.’

  Matt regarded her darkly. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

  The brown eyes opened and looked back at him with malicious enjoyment.

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow, dearest Matt, Captain Pierce will be all yours while you check his surprisingly large cargo. Item: thirty bolts Genoese velvet, various. Item: four cases Neapolitan tortoiseshell, also various. Item: twenty bolts Bizertan silk - - ‘

  ‘Various,’ finished Matthew dourly. ‘I think I get your drift. It’ll likely take all day.’

  ‘And that,’ grinned Chloë, ‘is only if you’re lucky.’

  It did, in fact, take all that day and half of the next one but by Thursday afternoon Matt was able to report that the bill of lading tallied perfectly with the goods stacked neatly in the Vintry and also to present Chloë with the various samples she had requested. Despite his undeniable irritations, Captain Pierce undoubtedly had a good eye for quality and Chloë, stroking a fragment of sapphire velvet, was unable to resist sending a length of it to a tailor to be made up for Mr Deveril.

  The next day she concentrated on finding buyers for all the perishable goods – oranges, figs and almonds – and was surprised at how easily it was done. And on Saturday, having spent the morning at the palace, she returned to find Mr Lewis in possession of a pamphlet catchily entitled A True and Perfect Narrative of the Great and Signal Success of a Part of His Majesty’s Fleet which related the events of what was now popularly known as ‘Holmes’ Bonfire’. Eagerly, the two of them settled down to peruse it – which was how Mr Deveril found them when, without a word of warning, he strolled calmly into the house some half an hour later. Indeed, the first they knew of his presence was when a cool, pleasant voice said, ‘Happy the wanderer who, like Ulysses, is come joyfully home at last.’

  They looked up then and came swiftly to their feet, the pamphlet falling unheeded to the floor, as brown eyes and black fastened themselves on his face.

  Alex raised a mocking brow. ‘Isn’t anyone going to say “Welcome back”? You don’t have to mean it – but the silence is making me nervous.’

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Chloë dutifully. Her voice split on the words and her eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘Excuse me. I have to see Mistress Jackson about a fatted calf.’ And she fled.

  Faintly bewildered, Mr Deveril watched her go and then turned to Matt.

  ‘Has something upset her?’

  ‘Aye. You have,’ snorted Matthew. ‘You beef-witted idiot, she’d been going daft with worry over you!’

  ‘Has she?’ If Alex found this either surprising or significant, he hid it well, merely saying casually, ‘Yes, I suppose she would be. It’s a habit with her.’

  Matt bit back a hasty reply. ‘You look thin.’

  ‘The whole Navy looks thin. It’s been on short rations since the beginning of the month.’ Alex sat down and picked up the pamphlet. ‘And then, of course, some of us have been rather busy. Too busy, for example, to read adventure stories. But perhaps you’ve been enjoying a little holiday?’ He smiled enquiringly.

  ‘What else?’ snapped Matthew sarcastically. ‘You know I never do a tap if I’m not watched.’

  A hint of colour stained the lightly tanned skin.

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Matt. You know I didn’t mean it.’

  Mr Lewis grunted, not visibly mollified.

  ‘Aye. Well, if you’re ready to listen, I’ll tell you what’s been happening here while you were playing with fire in Holland. I suppose you were with Holmes?’

  ‘Yes. You know I can’t resist a little rape and pillage.’

  ‘I know you can’t resist playing the fool,’ snapped Matt. ‘Did you make your report to His Highness?’

  ‘Yes. And since the victualing service is so hopelessly adrift that he thinks he may be forced to abandon the blockade, he naturally found our efforts less than satisfactory. Which is why he sent me with Holmes.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Subtle and appropriate punishment,’ explained Alex coolly. ‘I was given the troop “allotted to the Dutch Captain to preserve him from violence”. And, as Rupert well knew, my personal preference was for handing the bastard over.’

  Matthew grunted and produced an epithet seldom heard even in infantry regiments. Then he said casually, ‘While you were away, your Cousin Simon went out of town.’

  ‘Where?’ Just one word but it assured Matt of Mr Deveril’s undivided attention.

  ‘Kent. And you needn’t panic. I’ve set a good lad to watch him.’ He paused. ‘And then last week, Coventry and Arlington were accused of spying.’

  The blue eyes narrowed, then widened again with growing satisfaction.

  ‘Now that,’ said Alex, ‘is interesting. Tell me more.’

  *

  A couple of hours later and having shed his dusty riding clothes, Alex tracked his wife to the tiny room she used as an office and went in, closing the door behind him.

  Chloë, who had been staying out of his way because she couldn’t trust herself to be careful – or, at least, not careful enough – looked up from her desk, startled and despairing. She wondered why it was that disadvantages, like troubles, never came singly. Surely it was enough that relief at his safe return had caused her to behave like an hysterical hen without having to face him at inescapably close quarters with her face flushed and shining and her hair hanging untidily around her shoulders?

  He, of course, appeared entirely unaware of the heat. The loose cambric shirt, left open at his throat, was snowy-fresh and the raven’s-wing hair fell lightly curling to his shoulders. He looked cool and alert and diabolically attractive. And if he had sought her out to tease her, Chloë thought she would probably start to howl.

  ‘Hello,’ he said simply. ‘Are you busy – or can I disturb you for a moment?’

  ‘Oh.’ For a second, she almost blurted out that he disturbed her all the time. ‘No. That is – yes. Of course.’

  The merest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Alex perched on the edge of her desk. ‘Matt tells me that your ship is back. Is the cargo all you hoped?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. We expect to make a good profit.’

  ‘I’m glad
. Don’t you want to say “I told you so”?’

  ‘No. But it’s very noble of you to give me the opportunity.’

  ‘Yes. I thought so too. And, having re-established my credit, I hoped you might care to accompany me to the King’s reception tonight.’

  This was unexpected. Chloë allowed her gaze to wander to his hands. They lay loosely clasped on his knee, their usual grace overlaid by the crude marks of five weeks at sea. Inevitably, Mr Deveril had been doing more than give orders.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, with a calm she didn’t feel. ‘If you wish.’

  Abruptly, he rose and turned away and when he spoke it was almost in answer to her thought. ‘It was necessary, Chloë. But if you were worried – then I’m sorry.’

  ‘Worried?’ She managed a brief laugh. ‘My goodness! As if I didn’t know you can take care of yourself.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He looked back at her, obliquely considering. There was a short silence while he leaned against the door and folded his arms. ‘I seem to recall that you have a rather splendid gown of cream shot-silk. I’d like you to wear it tonight.’

  And that, thought Chloë, was so cunning that it nearly worked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To please me?’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ she said flatly. ‘You just want me to stop wearing black.’

  He sighed. ‘No. Wear black because it suits you, by all means. But don’t wear it for Danny.’

  She toyed restlessly with a sheaf of papers.

  ‘Are you asking me to stop mourning him?’

  ‘No. I’m asking that you stop cheapening a very genuine sentiment with the kind of conventional observance he would have laughed at.’

  Chloë discovered that her hands were shaking and gripped them together.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she said slowly. ‘Very well. But will you tell me something in return?’

  ‘If I can.’ His expression was guarded.

  She drew a long breath. ‘Was Danny murdered?’

  Some of the colour drained from his skin.

  ‘Oh God,’ he said wearily. ‘How did you find out?’