The Best of Men

by Claire Letemendia

  Their interview ended, and Seward was shown into the library, where Lord Beaumont greeted him kindly, asking if he would mind an absence from the College.

  “I shall be more than happy to forego my duties there for a while,” Seward answered.

  “Then it is settled. We are grateful, Dr. Seward. I know that Laurence is very fond of you.”

  “As I am of him.”

  “Between us two,” Lord Beaumont said, almost apologetically, “I am not in the least concerned if he sows a few wild oats. I just wish he would venture outside the confines of his own household so that his mother would not have to know. Though I’d prefer that he have a good clean country girl, rather than lie with town prostitutes,” he added, smiling. Seward cleared his throat; Beaumont had evidently done both. “And now, Dr. Seward, permit me to introduce you to my younger son, Thomas. In five years he shall follow Laurence to Merton College, God willing.”

  A child was playing at the far end of the room, swinging a toy sword about in combat with some invisible assailant. On Lord Beaumont’s request he came to them obediently. He was blond and fair-skinned, his blue eyes round and widely set, his nose and plump cheeks spattered with freckles, and he bowed solemnly to Seward. Like a miniature gentleman twice his age, Seward thought, and the picture of Lord Beaumont. Then, as though the secret had been whispered in Seward’s ear, he understood why he had awoken such fear in the irreproachable Lady Beaumont.

  The call of a nightjar brought him back to the present, and he wondered, as he had so many times, who Beaumont’s true father could have been. A Spaniard, most likely. Beaumont had no clue to this day, and he so loved the man he considered as his father that Seward would never disabuse him.

  About to give up and empty the silver bowl, Seward caught an image reflected in the water. It was the face of a man he had once known. His gut contracted painfully, and he stumbled back in shock. This was a sign: he must tell Beaumont the truth about the coded letters. He should not have kept silent so long, deceiving a dear friend, but he had been afraid for himself. Rumours had dogged him for years. He had endured the whisperings of jealous academics, suffered the confiscation of his books and alchemical equipment, and faced accusations of sorcery. He had even feared for his life. In his waning years, all that he desired was peace and obscurity in which to pursue his journey towards spiritual enlightenment. His past had surfaced, however, to threaten not just his life but that of the King. He had been cowardly, he realised, as only the old can be.

  Now another image came to him unbidden, not in the bowl but in his head, of the pattern on the Toledo sword that he had left with Isaac Clarke for safekeeping. “Oh, what have I wrought?” he exclaimed to himself, and inked his quill to compose a note to Beaumont. Then, as swiftly, he reconsidered. He could not trust such information to paper. He would have to tell Beaumont in person.

  VI.

  Diana was sitting with Margaret in the parlour, both of them trying not to laugh while her eldest boy recited lessons from his hornbook to the nurse; the poor woman, being illiterate, could detect none of his mistakes. On Diana’s lap, her younger child babbled away happily, playing with a coral-and-silver rattle.

  “Sir Robert is home early today, madam,” said Margaret, as they heard the sound of hooves in the courtyard.

  Diana thought of that other day when her husband had arrived back early, nearly a month ago. Out of tact, or perhaps a reluctance to know more, Robert had not once mentioned Beaumont again. She was grateful for this and had been especially solicitous towards him ever since.

  Quickly she handed the child to the nurse and rose to look out of the open window; Robert was dismounting from his horse, and as he marched towards the house, she saw his face. “Something is the matter,” she murmured, and hurried to greet him.

  She reached the foot of the stairs just as Robert walked in. “Oxford has surrendered to Parliament,” he said, tearing off his cloak with unwonted violence.

  “Oh my God!” she cried. “But Sir John Byron had command of our defences –”

  “He left a few days ago. The King is short of men, and I assume Byron’s regiment could not be spared, so the rebels had an easy time of it. The common townsfolk have always favoured them, and you should have seen them lording it about the streets, burning books and aiming shots at every statue of the Virgin that they could find. What’s worse, we merchants must now do business with this occupying force at prices it has set to its own advantage, or else have our goods confiscated. We have been given until the end of the week to decide.”

  “Surely you will not treat with the enemy.”

  “As if I had a choice! How much would you have us lose?”

  “Oh, forgive me, sir,” she whispered, embracing him.

  “I should send you and the boys away,” he said, more gently.

  “You may send them. I won’t leave you.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Bless you. Oh, I almost forgot. You will be receiving a visitor shortly. I met Mistress Savage in the High Street.”

  “Isabella Savage? Goodness, it has been years since I last saw her,” Diana said, amazed. “What can she be doing in Oxford?”

  “You will have to ask her yourself. I was sorry for her today – her splendid coach was trapped in an alley, and some drunken soldiers were pelting it with dung. I sent one of my men after them with a whip, and they staggered off. I cannot believe she would risk travelling with only her driver for protection. Very foolish, but then I never had a high opinion of her. I told her to come to my house immediately, before she could be set upon again.”

  “You acted most courteously,” Diana said, knowing Robert’s antipathy for Isabella.

  “My love,” he said, smoothing her hair with his fingers, “let’s be brave and pretend that everything is as it should be. And now I’ll read over my accounts for a while. It is not as though I can conduct any other business under the present circumstances.”

  Diana attempted a smile, and returned to the parlour. “Take the children to play in the kitchen yard,” she ordered the nurse. “I don’t want them disturbing Sir Robert.” To Margaret she confided, “Oxford is lost to the rebel army. Not a word to the servants.”

  “Oh my lady!” gasped Margaret, “what will become of us?”

  “I wish I knew. And I have a guest arriving, Mistress Savage. We must make up the spare chamber for her. Come, it’s best that we keep ourselves busy.”

  Not long after they were finished, a coach drew into the courtyard pulled by four sweating chestnut horses. Diana ran to meet it, watching eagerly as the door swung open and Isabella emerged without the assistance of her driver, who was unloading her baggage. She wore the plainest dress and her hair was dishevelled, yet for all that she had not changed, Diana thought, with a touch of envy.

  “What an ill-mannered bunch those troopers are,” she said, hugging Diana. “Thank heaven Sir Robert chanced by.”

  “I dread to imagine what might have become of you otherwise. You must stay with us, no question of it. We have already prepared your chamber. But do you not have even a maidservant with you?”

  “My last one I let go, she was stealing from me,” Isabella replied. “I did not have time to hire another.”

  “Dear me,” said Diana, scandalised as Robert had been that her friend should travel alone. “You must want to refresh yourself.”

  “Later. Let us talk first. Do you have children now?” Isabella inquired, with an odd, melancholy sweetness to her expression.

  “Two boys, four years old, and eighteen months.”

  “You are lucky.” After a little pause, Isabella smiled in the languid way that Diana remembered well. “And you are as pretty as ever. So many women lose their looks after childbirth.”

  In the parlour, Diana called for Margaret to bring them fruit cordial, while Isabella pinned back her hair.

  “It’s been almost a week since I set out from Nottingham,” she told Diana. “One of the axles broke on the coach, and I had to
spent a couple of nights waiting for it to be repaired. I was sleeping in a veritable outhouse, for there were no inns about. I have flea bites over every inch of me.”

  “You came from Nottingham?” Diana asked, sitting forward. “Then do you know if the King is marching south?”

  “His army will have left yesterday.”

  “To liberate Oxford?”

  “Alas, no. We encountered a scout outside Banbury who said that His Majesty is bound for the west to swell his ranks before engaging with the enemy.”

  “You are better informed than any of us in town.”

  “If this first battle is to decide the war, I dislike our chances. Essex’s army is far superior in size.”

  Diana chose to switch to a lighter subject. “Whose coat of arms is that on your coach, your husband’s?”

  Margaret had entered with a flagon and glasses; she was examining Isabella from the corner of her eye.

  “No, no,” Isabella replied, laughing. “I am still unwed. It is that of Digby’s father, the Earl of Bristol.”

  “So your noble patron is still looking after you,” Diana remarked, feeling envious again.

  “Yes, though in the end I wish I had travelled less ostentatiously. Those drunks would not have pestered me if I had been on horseback.”

  “How could you journey by yourself at a time like this?”

  “As a matter of fact, two gentlemen accompanied me when I started out. Then there was an altercation, and I continued on my own.”

  “Had they been true gentlemen,” Diana observed, as she filled their glasses, “you would not have been left unescorted.”

  “How right you are, my dear. I shall chastise Mr. Beaumont at the next opportunity.”

  “Did you say Beaumont?” exclaimed Diana, almost dropping the flagon.

  “Yes. They were brothers. Laurence and Thomas Beaumont.”

  “Why – they are – they are kinsmen to Sir Robert. Distant cousins.”

  “Ah!” Isabella paused again, as if to absorb the information. “Do you see much of them?”

  “Oh no, very little.” Diana took a sip from her glass, now wishing Isabella would speak of something else.

  “They are both wed, I assume.”

  “Only the younger brother, Thomas. The eldest was to be married some years ago. Then he … he went abroad, to fight.”

  “Is that so! They are both remarkably good-looking, are they not, though in such a different manner. Which do you find the most handsome?” Diana hesitated, uncomfortable at the idea of Beaumont and her friend together. “I am certain that you have devoted some thought to the issue, or it would not provoke such colour in your cheeks,” Isabella teased. “Let me see if I can guess.” Yet she got no further, for Margaret suddenly jumped up and ran to the window.

  “Soldiers, my lady,” she cried.

  Diana hurried over. Horsemen were trotting into the courtyard; they had the orange sashes of Parliament about their waists, with cockades of the same colour in their hats. They dismounted, and an officer wearing a polished steel breastplate approached the house while the others stood at ease, inspecting their surroundings.

  “Margaret, fetch Sir Robert,” she said. “We should go down.”

  “No,” said Isabella, who had remained seated. “Let them come to us.”

  They waited, hearing the clink of spurs below, until a servant arrived with the officer, whom he announced as Colonel Goodwin. “My Lady Stratton,” said the Colonel, as he removed his hat and bowed, “please forgive me for intruding. I come on the authority of Lord Say, Lord Lieutenant of the county of Oxford.”

  Robert now burst in upon them. “Colonel Goodwin,” he said, “if you wish to know my decision as to the terms you offered –”

  “No, no, sir. We promised you time to consider how you would dispose of your merchandise, and the word of Parliament may be relied upon. I am here for another reason altogether. I received news of an incident in town this afternoon. A woman was importuned in her coach by some of our troops, who have since been detained and shall be strictly disciplined for their misconduct.” Goodwin eyed Isabella with polite mistrust. “It appears that the coach in which she was travelling bore the Earl of Bristol’s coat of arms. It is, I believe, the same vehicle that I saw just now in your courtyard. Madam, might I ask your name?” he inquired of her.

  “Mistress Isabella Savage, sir,” she said, regarding him demurely.

  “I should like to know whether Lord George Digby accompanied you on your journey and might at present be in this house.”

  “He is not,” Robert said. The Colonel seemed dissatisfied with his response, looking from him to Isabella, who did not speak, to Diana, who was baffled by the whole exchange. “You may inspect every corner,” Robert told him, “if you wish to confirm the fact for yourself.”

  “Madam, do you make a habit of roaming the country alone?” Goodwin asked Isabella.

  “I am used to making journeys by myself when I must,” she said in her low drawl. “I had not anticipated that Parliament’s troops would treat me with anything but respect. Yet I have seen my error, and I shall be sure to correct it in future.”

  “From whence were you travelling?”

  “Nottingham, sir.”

  “I must search whatever baggage you brought with you.”

  “Whose orders are these?” Robert demanded, “and to what end?”

  Goodwin ignored him. “Mistress Savage, are you a courier for Lord Digby?” When she did not reply, he addressed Robert. “Surely you know that Lord Digby stands accused of treachery against the realm. Now, Mistress Savage, would you please answer me?”

  Diana expected her friend to quake with fear, yet Isabella seemed unconcerned. “I am no one’s courier,” she said, “but by all means search my things. I would ask, however, that your men do no damage to the Earl of Bristol’s property.”

  “We must impound the coach and horses,” said Goodwin, less politely. “Have your belongings brought in here. And I must trouble you with further questions, while the search is conducted.”

  “I shall complain to Lord Say,” shouted Robert.

  “It is upon his order that I act.” Goodwin produced a sealed roll of parchment and offered it to Robert, who did not open it.

  “Sir Robert,” said Isabella, “I thank you for defending me, but we must let the Colonel do his duty.”

  Once her belongings had been carried in by his soldiers, Goodwin motioned for Diana and Robert to leave, and closed the door.

  “If they find what they are looking for, we shall be undone,” Robert said, drawing Diana into the garden. “Goodwin could impound not just the coach and horses but everything we own!”

  They paced up and down in terrified silence. Then at last a soldier arrived to summon them back to the courtyard. Goodwin had completed his search.

  “Please see that Mistress Savage does not leave the house,” he said to them. “We shall post a guard around it, just in case. And tell her to send out no messages.”

  “Have you any evidence to support the accusations you levied against her?” Robert asked.

  “No, but I may well find it hidden somewhere in Lord Digby’s coach. And if so, I shall have to take her into my custody. Good day to you both.”

  The soldiers mounted and followed the coach as it rolled away; and only when all was quiet did Robert and Diana go back indoors. In the parlour, they found Isabella examining the floor, which was strewn with her garments. A jewellery box also lay there, without its lid, its silk lining ripped to shreds, disgorging a tangle of necklaces and earrings.

  “Such boors,” she commented disdainfully.

  “Is it true?” Robert exploded. “Are you Lord Digby’s courier?”

  Diana saw her friend’s face alter, as though she had been asked to indulge some immodest query. “Since when has it been a crime to offer assistance to one of His Majesty’s most favoured counsellors? But as I am in your debt, Sir Robert, and have brought this grief upon you, I shall
tell you: Colonel Goodwin will find nothing to compromise you when he searches that coach.”

  “Will you swear on your honour?” he said, with open sarcasm.

  “On my honour,” Isabella said, her tone frigid.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I.

  Slipping on the wet flagstones and splashing through puddles, Laurence hurried across the dark quadrangle and banged on Dr. Clarke’s door.

  “Mr. Beaumont,” Clarke said, opening for him, “you look like a drowned rat. Were you questioned by the soldiers at the gatehouse?”

  “No. I waited for them to go off duty.”

  “Why are they here at all?” groaned Clarke. “As if a bunch of old men and boys would pose any threat to Parliament! Those who wanted to fight have already enlisted. Enter, sir, and pray dry yourself by the fire.”

  “Thank you,” Laurence said, stripping off his cloak, and then his soaked boots and doublet. Clarke was surveying him with evident distaste as he left pools of water on the floor.

  “Might I borrow a cover of some sort?” he asked courteously, determined not to quarrel with the man this time.

  After his reluctant host disappeared into the bedchamber, he looked around. The main room, unlike Seward’s, was free of academic clutter. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, chairs were sociably positioned about the blazing fireplace, and on a table napped by a Turkey rug stood a chessboard with pieces disarranged. “I interrupted you in the middle of a game,” he remarked, as Clarke came out and tossed him a blanket.

  “Against myself. For the most part I have no trouble winning, with one side or the other. Tonight I arrived at a stalemate. Do you play?”

  “I do, yes.” Laurence peeled off his shirt and wrapped himself in the blanket; Clarke was still inspecting him as though he had just made some shameless display of himself. “Dr. Clarke, I have to see Seward. You must tell me where your house is.”

  “Near Witney, in a village called Asthall, about thirteen or fourteen miles’ ride from Oxford,” Clarke said, grudgingly.