“Did it?” His question sounded as loud as a whiplash in the quietness of the parlour only broken by the sound of a scrubbing brush.
“Yes, it is informative.”
“May I read it?” He forced himself to speak calmly. “Even a prisoner at the bar is entitled to a defence.”
“What defence can you have?” She fetched the crumpled letter from her bag and then handed it to him.
Conscious of her intent gaze, he perused it. “Do you think that in accordance with The Act of Settlement, it is just for the throne to pass to Sophia of Hanover or, if she dies before Queen Anne, God bless her, to Sophia’s oafish son, George?”
“I would prefer Sophia or her son to a Papist,” Mistress Kemp answered without hesitation. “A Roman Catholic king might join forces with France in an attempt to turn this kingdom into the pope’s vassal. Moreover, a king or queen of that persuasion might sanction persecution of those of other faiths.”
He admired Mistress Kemp for expressing herself so succinctly. Most ladies of his acquaintance took little interest in affairs of the day. “Do you believe the second James conspired to have a male infant smuggled into his queen’s lying-in chamber? Do you believe he falsely declared the babe to be his true-born heir?”
“No, Mister Seymour, and neither did my father believe it. Yet whatever the truth is, no matter how many Roman Catholic claimants there are to the throne, the Test Act excludes them from inheriting it.”
“Pray be seated,” he drawled as though she was his guest.
She sat down, her back as straight as a poker. “Now you understand why you cannot be my friend.”
“No, I do not.”
Her eyes dilated. “Are you a dullard, sir?”
“So said my tutor, one of my father’s lickspittles.” As soon as he spoke, he regretted his words, and even more so when her pretty mouth formed an “O”, and the expression in her eyes softened.
I’faith, he did not seek sympathy. Annoyed with himself for the revealing remark, he turned his face aside. “Do not look so distressed, it was said long ago. Now both the tutor and my father are dead.”
“What of your mother?”
His laughter sounded unpleasant even to his own ears. “My mother busied herself too much at court to be interested in her children. However, our discussion does not concern my childhood. It is about our political persuasions. Mine, I think, are the same as yours. We support the Anglican Church, and are keen to pursue war with France in order to thwart Louis the Sun King’s desire to rule all Europe by force of arms.”
“What of the letter?”
“A man struck down by fever at an inn gave it to me. To oblige him I agreed to deliver it. I never imagined uncovering a viper’s nest.”
The colour fled from her cheeks. “Give it back to me. If William is a traitor, maybe the knowledge will help me to reach the truth concerning another matter. I shall consult Father’s lawyer.”
He ignored her request. “About Lord Kemp’s callous treatment of you?”
“Yes, now please leave. I have much to think of.”
“Why has Lord Kemp repudiated you?”
His breath stilled while he waited for her answer. When they first met she trusted him to bring her safe to London. Would she now entrust him with the truth?
* * * *
Faint with the relief of knowing Mister Seymour was not a Jacobite, Juliana sat motionless while considering her situation. If her half-brother was the traitor, at least she could use the letter to force William’s admission he made a false accusation of illegitimacy. Should she confront him forthwith, or should she first search for proof of her parents’ marriage? In either case, she might be able to force him to make generous provision for Henrietta.
With regard to the will, she must contain her impatience until she consulted the lawyer. Yet if William—
“Tell me the truth.”
Mister Seymour’s voice startled her. The fire crackled. Her cheeks burned, but not from the flame’s fierce heat. “I want to be frank with you, however, I do not want to speak until I am certain of the facts.”
“Your name should be Prudence.” He smiled at her again. “In respect of the letter, you must be careful.”
Obviously puzzled, she frowned.
“There is nothing to which a few people would not stoop to secure the throne for the pretender. Indeed, some Jacobites spy for both England and France. They are the most dangerous of all. Either burn the letter and forget its contents, or be on your guard at all times.”
“I shall be wary, but I can neither destroy it nor forget the information.”
“In that case, please move to my friends’ house, or even better, allow me to remove you to the country.”
“Thank you for your kind offer, but I wish neither to be under an obligation to strangers, nor to be of further inconvenience to you. Besides, I cannot leave London until my business is completed.”
“In the meantime it will be my pleasure to continue to serve you.”
Fear welled up in her. She thought of the rattle. Who was it for? His child? She regretted her lack of knowledge. Did gentlemen purchase such things for their love children? How would she bear it if time proved him to be a philanderer? She ran her tongue round her dry mouth. “You are kind, but I do not need to take up more of your time. For the moment I will do no more than consult my lawyer about another matter, and invest the money from the sale of my pearls.”
“Remember I am always at your command.” He put his hand in his pocket, and withdrew a card. “My address. I shall wait on you tomorrow. In the meantime, send for me if you require assistance.”
She looked at his face which was devoid of all sentiment. “Why are you so good to me?”
A smile hovered at the corners of his lips. “I like you.”
Never had she met a more pleasant man. Again, she thought of the baby’s rattle. Dare she ask more? She could not ask him if he was married, or had some other relationship involving children, for fear she could not bear an affirmative answer.
Mister Seymour addressed her in a firm tone. “At eleven of the clock tomorrow, I will escort you to your lawyer’s chambers.”
Chapter Six
The Lincoln’s Inn chapel bell chimed eleven of the clock. Its peals reminded Juliana she might have given Mister Seymour the impression she was as staunch an Anglican as Her Majesty. She shrugged. In all honesty, although it would be unthinkable for her to marry outside the Anglican Church, she was too much her father’s daughter to condemn Roman Catholics, Puritans, or Huguenots. She shared her father’s view that everyone should have freedom to worship in accordance with their convictions, provided they did not threaten the welfare of the state. However, like him, she possessed the wit to keep her opinion private.
She looked out of the window. Mister Seymour had kept his promise to arrive on the hour in his town coach.
Within moments, without even a hint of white lace or linen to relieve her mourning, Juliana, followed by Sukey, emerged from the tall house with eaves that overhung the narrow street’s rain-slicked cobbles. A one-legged beggar hobbled toward her, whining for alms. She handed Sukey a farthing. “Give it to him.”
Her maid obeyed before scurrying after her into the coach.
“Good day, Mister Seymour,” she said, admiring his magnificent velvet coat and breeches, the colour of golden amber, and his cream-coloured waistcoat, embroidered with bright gold thread which suited his complexion. She wished her clothes matched his finery. She smoothed her coal black gown, still somewhat creased from being packed in her bag when she fled Riverside House.
“Good day, Mistress Kemp.” He turned his attention to the groom, who was folding the steps. “We are going to a house close by the sign of the Green Dragon in Lincoln’s Field.”
“Very good, sir.”
Juliana positioned herself on the padded seat. “How do you know the address, Mister Seymour?”
“I met your lawyer in the coffeehouse. He gave me
his card.”
“Well, it is kind of you to escort me,” she said politely. After that, she maintained silence for some moments.
The coach rattled across the cobblestones. Within five minutes it drew up outside one of the houses built around the twelve acres of calm—almost like the countryside—which comprised Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
Side by side, with Sukey in attendance behind them, they entered the squat building where a pale-faced clerk conducted them to Mr Yelland’s chambers. Instead of waiting in the crowded reception room, Mister Seymour followed her into a dusty, book-lined closet littered with bundles of legal documents.
“My business is of a private nature,” she whispered to him.
“Pyari, let there be nothing private between us,” he whispered back.
“What did you call me?”
“It is an endearment which means ‘sweet one,’” he mistranslated, for the word meant darling in Hindi, and she was a darling, but he did not want her to misunderstand his use of the term of affection.
Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. Filled with delight, deprived of speech by the thrill of the enchanting endearment, she lowered her eyelashes.
Mr Yelland stood. He came around his large oak desk to make his bow before he addressed Mister Seymour. “We meet again, sir.”
“Mister Seymour has been kind enough to escort me,” Juliana explained, wishing she knew more about the enigmatic gentleman. She also wished she could control her blushes.
The lawyer gestured to some plain wooden chairs facing his desk. “Sit you down. Excuse the disorder. I know where everything I need is, so I don’t allow anyone to disturb my closet.” He sat down behind the desk, scrutinising them as though every nerve in his bulky frame palpitated with curiosity. “Some wine?”
Juliana did not care to drink from glasses which might be as dirty as the closet. “No, thank you,” she said, while Mister Seymour shook his head.
Mr Yelland rested his elbows on his desk. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mistress Kemp.” His fingers formed a steeple. “My father served your grandsire. You could say I grew up in harness to your family.”
Unable to think of an appropriate reply, Juliana inclined her head before she looked around, and then noticed Sukey looking at her inquisitively. She indicated the door. “You may wait outside, Sukey.”
Her maidservant sidled out of the room, her overly long gown sweeping dust in her wake.
“Mr Yelland,” Juliana commenced, uncomfortably aware of Mister Seymour’s presence. “Do you know when and where my parents married?”
The lawyer fumbled with the pink ribbon which secured a roll of documents. After several attempts, he released the knot before he perused a number of scrolls with red seals affixed to them. He cleared his throat before holding one up. “My father drew up this marriage contract in sixteen eighty-two. Your parents, your mother’s father, and two witnesses signed it.”
In her eagerness Juliana leaned forward. “Can it be construed to constitute legal proof of marriage?”
Mr Yelland’s jowls wobbled. The colour of his purplish cheeks deepened. “Now, there’s a question. Your parents declared their intention to marry before witnesses. Their verbal and written agreements were as legally binding as a marriage ceremony.” He paused to lean forward, his dark eyes curious. “Mistress Kemp, I am curious to know why you put such a question to me.”
For the first time, Juliana noticed how the man’s eyes shone above the pouches beneath them. What was he thinking? Where did his loyalty and sympathy lie? She looked at the small windowpanes. The whorls and bubbles in their greenish glass distorted her vision.
Mister Seymour coughed low. “Only if the lady wishes, will she explain why she questioned you.”
Juliana looked into Mr Yelland’s eyes with iron-hard determination to find out the truth. “Where did my parents marry?”
The lawyer rustled a sheaf of parchment. “I don’t know.”
She bent her head for a moment, and then looked up at him. “Mr Yelland, is it really true that you don’t know where they married?”
The colour in his cheeks deepened to an even richer shade of purple. He toyed with a quill, and sighed. “My lady, rightly or wrongly, I answered your other questions because I have known you since you were a child, and out of respect for your late father—although it is improper of you to consult me.”
“Why?”
“Because I am your half-brother’s lawyer, and your interests may be in conflict with his. Please forgive me for being reluctant to answer any more questions. If you have no further business, Mistress Kemp, I have clients waiting to consult me.”
“My business is not finished. I want the names of the witnesses to my parents’ verbal agreement to marry, a copy of the marriage contract, and a copy of my father’s will.”
Mr Yelland sucked in his cheeks. He put the untidy pile of documents aside. “Engage a lawyer. I shall be pleased to furnish him with everything you require, including a copy of your father’s will, which I drew up.”
Mister Seymour frowned. “Is there another will which you did not draw up?”
“Yes, it is in Lord Kemp’s possession.”
“Which one was made first?”
“The one Lord Kemp has was drawn up after the one I composed according to your father’s instructions.”
“You knew nothing of the second will?” Juliana asked.
“Indeed I did not. Had I known your esteemed father wished to change his last will and testament, I would have been pleased to wait on him and draw up another one. Now, as I have said, you must ask me no more because I am Lord Kemp’s lawyer.”
Juliana frowned. She remembered what Smythe, her father’s valet, had told her. A few days before Father died, her half-brother forced himself into the bedchamber followed by three men, one of whom was the handsome, sinister Ravenstock who William wanted her to marry. According to Smythe, they remained with Father for an hour or more. At one point, he thought his master shouted an imprecation, however, he could not be certain.
Juliana clenched her fists to prevent either of them noticing her trembling hands. She would retain another lawyer to act on her behalf. “Thank you Mr Yelland, you have been most helpful.”
Mr Yelland stood. He bowed before escorting them to the door.
Followed by Sukey, Juliana went outside with Mister Seymour, who told Sukey to sit next to the coachman.
Before Juliana could protest, he propelled her up the steps and into the coach. Indignant, she opened her mouth to remonstrate but the vehicle lurched forward, depriving her of breath for a moment.
The jolt did not inconvenience Mister Seymour, who sat down beside her with his feet braced against the base of the opposite seat. “Mistress Kemp, I know it is improper for us to be alone together, however, I did not wish to speak out in front of your maid. Please tell me why you want to know where your parents married?”
Her cheeks burned. “M-my half-brother claims my sister and I are bastards.”
“Do you believe him?”
She shook her head, glad he did not appear shocked by the assertion.
Mr Seymour looked at her quizzically. “It is plain you need help, Mistress Kemp. I shall be pleased to assist you. Where do you think your parents married?”
“I don’t know. Someone tore the page on which the marriage was recorded out of the family Bible.” She paused for a moment before she continued. “Although my mother was a Huguenot, they might have married either in the chapel at Riverside or in a private ceremony at the village church. Unfortunately, for fear of my half-brother, I dare not go there.”
“For fear!”
She nodded. “On the other hand, my parents might have been married in London by a Huguenot minister because there is no French Protestant Church near Riverside.”
“Ah, if they married in London, where do you think the ceremony took place?”
“My mother mentioned that when she and her family, the de Hautvilles, lived in London,
they worshipped at the French Protestant Church in Westminster.”
“If the marriage is not registered there, I suggest you ask your mother’s relatives where she married.”
“It is a puzzle. My mother’s sister and her husband do not receive me. Father said my aunt was furious because my grandfather settled Riverside House on Mother. He also said they despised Mother for becoming an Anglican so I suppose she married in that faith. Indeed, I think Father would have insisted on it.”
* * * *
Gervaise Seymour pressed his lips together. Although his family received him, they did not exert themselves to make him welcome. Mistress Kemp commanded his sympathy because they shared the pain of rejection.
The corners of his mouth turned down while he thought of the past. After the wrangle with The East India Company over his treasure, a message had arrived from England demanding his prompt return.
He had obeyed the summons with the scarcely acknowledged hope of receiving more warmth than he experienced when, as an untried boy, he left his father’s ancestral estate. However, upon being reunited with his family, he soon realised his mother and older brother remained as cold as they were twelve years earlier when he went to India at the age of sixteen. After visiting them, disappointed because everything stayed as he remembered, he did not mention his fortune, and came to London. Now, while he waited for news which would determine his future, he imagined, with grim amusement, how some of his relations’ attitude would change when they heard of his wealth.
The coach halted. Juliana gathered her skirts, preparing to alight.
“Please grant me a moment more in private,” Mister Seymour said after he handed her out of the coach. “I suggest we approach your aunt. In the meantime, I shall make inquiries at the French Protestant Churches. I will report to you when I have some information.”
Juliana looked him full in the face. “Why are you so good to me?”
“Dear soul, are you not pyari?” he teased. To conceal the depth of his emotion, he changed tack. “Recently I have not thought much of my own soul, yet in India my Bengali tutor, a Brahmin—”
Far Beyond Rubies Page 7
