“In her chamber,” he said. “Allow me,” he added, as she grabbed his arm for support. He took her in, laying her down on the bed beside her mistress, then left them and closed the door.
When he reached the street outside, he had the taste of sugar on his tongue and Lady d’Aubigny’s floral perfume lingering in his nostrils. After his enjoyable hour with her, he felt full of energy. He walked the short distance to Merton, where a yawning porter admitted him.
Seward, as usual, had not yet gone to bed, and greeted him with a hug as he entered. “Look at me, home at last – as is Pusskins, too!” The cat was padding in circles around Laurence’s feet, emitting loud purrs. “He is thanking you,” Seward explained, “for your gallant conduct in Oxford Castle. Sit down, Beaumont, and give me an account of your exploits since then.”
“Well,” he began with a smile, throwing himself into a chair, “I can now confirm without a doubt that Pembroke is our chief conspirator.”
Seward listened avidly as he described his sojourn at Blackman Street and the gift he had arranged to be delivered to the earl’s house. “Eros and Harpocrates!” Seward crowed with glee. “Not only will he be in a frenzy of suspicion against Radcliff, but he may think that the entire Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross is after him, bent on revenge for the misuse of their symbols. Have you told Falkland about the painting?”
“No, though I nearly did. He wants me to sort out his problems with Colonel Hoare before we make any move on the regicides. I urged him to arrest Radcliff and hinted as broadly as I could that Pembroke was involved, but he insisted that we wait. He’s afraid of prejudicing the next round of negotiations with Parliament.”
“I think you made a mistake in not disclosing all that you knew! Surely if he were aware that Radcliff had been staying with Pembroke, he would be convinced they were both guilty as sin.”
“Perhaps. But I agree with him that it would be best to have Hoare out of the way before we question Radcliff. Radcliff will keep silent for as long as he can, just like Harpocrates, and I don’t want Hoare butchering him before we can make him talk.” Laurence paused, then added, “When I was at the house of Ingram’s aunt, just before I came to Oxford last time, she happened to mention that Radcliff had stored a small coffer with her. His correspondence might be in there.”
“Can you invent some excuse to go back and conduct a search?”
“If you can think of a good one, I’ll use it – once I’ve fulfilled a prior commitment. My sister Elizabeth is getting married the day after tomorrow, and if I don’t attend, my mother will disown me.”
“It amazes me that she did not do so years ago,” Seward said, laughing.
VII.
Ingram was playing backgammon with Elizabeth and Anne in the parlour, a fire warming his back, his leg propped up on cushions, a glass of sack and a plate of cracknels beside him on the table. He felt at the same time happy and a little sad, because it was his last day with them, although that might be for the best: he had grown too fond of Anne during his convalescence. He would also miss Elizabeth’s teasing, so like her oldest brother’s, and the charming, learned conversation of Lord Beaumont.
Chipping Campden seemed to Ingram a world of its own. He was still surprised to wake up every morning in such a magnificent bed, his clothes freshly laid out for him, and to descend to a breakfast of gargantuan proportions, given the numbers at table. For excluding the legions of servants, butlers, maids, grooms, and so forth, the Beaumont household was curiously empty, and his lordship received few visitors. Apart from Tom’s wife, Mary, there were no other relatives living there, and no gentlewomen attending her ladyship, of whom everyone clearly stood in awe, including her husband. The two daughters led a remarkably untrammelled existence, reading whatever they wanted from their father’s library and discoursing with self-assertion on topics that Ingram considered more suitable for an Oxford scholar than a pair of young, nobly born females. They also spoiled him with an affection that he had never enjoyed at home. Towards Mary they were less affectionate and occasionally even mean, though Ingram understood their impatience with her: she lacked their wit and spontaneity, and her habit of weeping at the least excuse had become more pronounced of late, now that she was with child. Today morning sickness had kept her in bed, and neither he nor the girls felt her absence.
“Laurence once said that there are thirty-six different throws possible with two dice,” Elizabeth observed, as she waited for her turn at the board. “If you know every combination, you can tell where to leave a blot with the least chance of being hit.”
“Good Lord,” Ingram exclaimed. “Who could remember them all?”
“He can, which is why we don’t like playing with him any more,” Anne said.
At this moment, there came the clink of spurs outside and Beaumont himself walked in. Both girls rose immediately to greet him.
“We were speaking of you – and here you are!” Elizabeth remarked delightedly.
“How’s the leg, Ingram?” he inquired, once they had all sat down again.
“The surgeon thinks it will heal a bit shorter than before,” Ingram said, “but that’s a small price to pay.” He smiled at his friend. “You look very well. I gather you survived the first campaign of the war unscathed?”
“Yes, by some miracle,” Beaumont replied, lounging back in his chair.
“Laurence, you must persuade Ingram to stay for my wedding,” begged Elizabeth. “He claims he has to leave for Newbury tomorrow, for Christmastide.”
Beaumont stole a sip from Elizabeth’s glass, earning a slap on his wrist. “You can’t go when I’ve only just arrived,” he said to Ingram. “I’ll take it as a personal affront.”
“I’m sorry, truly I am, but Richard is expecting me.” Beaumont rolled his eyes. “And Kate and Aunt Musgrave have come from Faringdon. Radcliff is joining us, too, once he’s paid off the troop.”
“You mean to say their company is more stimulating than ours?”
“You will miss a wonderful feast,” Elizabeth put in. “All the local gentry are to attend, including the Secretary of State!”
“Yet Kate must be longing to see you and her husband again,” Anne said. “You never told us, Mr. Ingram, was it you who first introduced them?”
“It was, yes,” he said, recollecting. “I brought him to Richard’s house some time ago. He was so struck with Kate that he wanted to press his suit immediately, but he’d accepted a commission to fight abroad. In the end he was away for three years. He couldn’t free himself from the Dutch service until early last spring.”
“And when did you first meet him?” Beaumont asked, toying with one of the dice, flipping it over and over deftly between his fingers.
“After you left England, in thirty-seven. I was in a bad way, at the time.” Ingram became suddenly conscious of Anne beside him. “I’d wanted to marry again,” he went on, “but as I delayed my proposal, afraid of being rejected, someone else made a better offer. I was crushed, and drowning my woes – and that’s when it happened.”
“How, exactly?” Anne said.
He paused, to choose his words. “I was taking a walk about Southwark very late one night, when I heard shouts and the sound of blows coming from an alley. So I went to see what the trouble was. A poor costermonger had been set upon by thieves – he might have been murdered, had Radcliff not appeared and chased them away.”
“Thieves are as plentiful as rats in that neighbourhood,” Beaumont said, a little smile curling the edges of his mouth. “I wonder what Radcliff was doing there, at such an hour.”
“He was on business.”
“A most important business – as was yours, I’d guess,” Beaumont added, winking at Ingram, who glared back.
“He was delivering a contract, a deed of sale that his lawyer had drawn up. He told me afterwards that he would never visit Southwark again if he could help it. He wasn’t often in London and barely knew the city.”
“So he didn’t sit for Parliament?�
�
“No. He hasn’t much interest in affairs of state.”
“No friends in high places?”
“He hasn’t told me of any,” Ingram said, bemused. “Why do you ask?”
Beaumont shrugged, still fiddling with the dice. “What about his estate, is it a good piece of property?”
“I’ve only been there once, before he had a chance to begin his improvements. It wasn’t much then,” Ingram admitted. “But he said he’s bought more land and drained the parts that were swampy. And he refurbished the whole of his house.”
“That must have cost him a lot,” Beaumont said, now looking surreptitiously at his friend through his eyelashes, in a way that Ingram recognised from years ago. He was trawling for information. But why? Had he not found out enough about Radcliff when he gave him the sword?
“Laurence,” interrupted Elizabeth, “you are to be presented to Alice Morecombe at my wedding.” She squinted at her brother naughtily. “We might have another betrothal in the family.”
“I’m not marrying her,” said Beaumont, and threw an arm round his friend’s shoulder. “I’d rather marry Ingram.”
“No thank you,” said Ingram, shoving him off and pretending to laugh along with the rest of them, though he was a bit cross with Beaumont, and embarrassed at himself.
Of course, it was Beaumont who had introduced him to the house in Blackman Street, otherwise he would not have dreamt of setting foot in such an expensive place. Beaumont was friendly with Mistress Edwards and with the whores, and would call on them solely to talk or play at cards; there were always plenty of women who needed no financial inducement to share his bed. Yet how utterly wrong Beaumont was to assume that Radcliff might also have patronized the brothels of Southwark! When the two of them were better acquainted, Ingram thought, Beaumont would understand his mistake.
VIII.
After the family had all bade Walter Ingram a fond goodbye, Lord Beaumont stole off to his library to avoid the manic scenes taking place everywhere else, as the household prepared for Elizabeth’s wedding. When he descended some hours later, he was surprised to find her all alone by the fire, roasting chestnuts.
“I hope you have spared a few of those for me,” he said, settling in his armchair and stretching out his feet towards the hearth.
“There aren’t many left,” Elizabeth told him. “I sent for more but all the servants are so busy they have forgotten us. Laurence went to the kitchen, instead.”
“Ah, Laurence!” Lord Beaumont repeated contentedly. “He seems in higher spirits than he was this past summer. Military service must suit him, although I would not have imagined it from what he told us.”
“It is so wonderful to have him home again,” said Elizabeth. “Our family was not the same without him. I have been thinking,” she went on, “as I am about to become part of another family, that I know almost nothing at all about my own mother’s. Ormiston finds this most peculiar.”
“I suppose it is,” Lord Beaumont agreed. “But my parents bore such ill will towards us when she first arrived in England, that she must have chosen to break completely with her past in order to appease them – not that they ever accepted her,” he finished sadly.
“Did her sisters resemble her?”
Lord Beaumont tried to recall. “They were fairer in complexion, though they were younger than she and might have grown to look more similar in later life. But there was one member of her family who was her spitting image: her cousin Antonio.”
“What was he like?”
“Proud as a peacock – a common Spanish failing!” Lord Beaumont chuckled. “And he was excessively vain of his handsome looks and fashionable attire. Your mother and her sisters all adored him, as girls are wont to be impressed by swaggering young fellows. Though I trust that I managed to eclipse him, in the end,” he added, smiling, “for she has not once mentioned him over the course of our married years.”
“He sounds like a proper fool,” Elizabeth declared, with the certainty of youth.
“Nevertheless, he acted kindly towards me when there were others in her family who opposed our union. I was considered a heretic, you see.”
“Because you were a Protestant?” she exclaimed, her eyes now wide with interest.
“Oh yes. They were scandalised that she should consign herself to the fires of hell by converting from the true faith. Although your mother’s line was not entirely free of scandal in the past. It seems that an ancestor of hers was suspected of having Moorish blood, which was at the time, and still is, a terrible slur upon the honour of a noble Castilian household.”
“It must have been far worse for someone in her family to marry an infidel than a heretic.”
“There would have been no marriage as such,” Lord Beaumont confided, lowering his voice. “I believe it was the result of some slip on the distaff side. Quite a pleasing fancy, in my opinion. I do admire the Moors! They excel both as scholars and soldiers, and their architecture in Spain awed me with its magnificence.”
“How I should like to travel there,” Elizabeth sighed, as she peeled a chestnut for him. “Sometimes I wish I were a man, so that I could go wherever I chose. Why could I not have had a tour of the continent, as Laurence did?”
Lord Beaumont was phrasing a reply to this but had no chance to deliver it, for Thomas marched in, his cloak dusted with snow, followed by Adam. As they were exchanging greetings, Laurence returned carrying a basket of chestnuts; and Lord Beaumont was sorry to notice his sons nod at each other with evident reserve.
“Adam, tell the butler to bring us all a cup of my finest claret,” he commanded hastily. “We shall drink a health, in thanks that we are reunited at last.”
Yet to his dismay, as soon as they were served Thomas launched into a passionate tirade. “I must say, I fail to understand why His Majesty is still receiving Parliament’s Commissioners! What a waste of time.”
“War is a great evil – an utter waste of life, Thomas, as he is aware,” Lord Beaumont admonished. “Members of his own family fell at Edgehill. I count myself lucky that you are both with me now, when other families are mourning their lost ones.”
“But the war’s nearly won.”
“Not quite,” Laurence said, “or he wouldn’t be so desperate for foreign aid.”
“Are you referring to the Queen’s message about help from abroad?” asked Lord Beaumont.
“Yes, I am. It did seem somewhat ill-advised that His Majesty should be trying to secure military assistance during the negotiations,” Laurence replied, with marked irony.
“Why should he not?” Thomas shot back.
“Because he could completely undermine them, of course. If you were on Parliament’s side, would you trust him in the same circumstances?”
“Why should he trust them, when they’ve taken up arms against him! They’re traitors.”
“You can’t brand them all as traitors, Tom. Many of them fought with the greatest reluctance. Many of us, too, for that matter.”
“So you support Lord Falkland’s party?”
“I doubt he’ll achieve his aim, but he has a lot of courage to keep trying.”
“For a peace at any cost?”
“I’m sure he has his limits. He chose to side with the King.”
Tom seemed pensive; then he said, “How far would you go to placate the enemy?”
“If I were Falkland?”
“No. I’m asking you.”
Laurence shrugged. “I think neither side can be placated, especially after His Majesty’s flirtations abroad.”
“And there is too much inflexibility on those issues that brought us to war in the first place,” said Lord Beaumont. “Come,” he went on, “let’s drink to a cessation of hostilities, however temporary, and the beginning of the festive season.”
Thomas raised his glass, a strange light in his eyes, as though he had reached a conclusion to some internal debate; and he was very quiet until the other women joined them and they were call
ed to supper.
IX.
The next morning, Laurence hoped to speak with Tom alone, to warn him in more convincing terms about Colonel Hoare. He was even prepared to tell Tom part of the truth regarding Hoare’s scheming against Falkland. But he missed his opportunity: some of Tom’s friends from the troop, John Ormiston amongst them, had ridden over early, and all day they were engrossed in boisterous discussion of the recent campaign.
Everywhere Laurence went in the house there was confusion: his sisters in frantic chatter over their gowns; his mother snipping at the servants; and more guests pouring in, the courtyard choked with coaches, and the stables teeming with grooms currying and feeding travel-weary horses. As he skulked back to his chamber, he pondered what he would tell Falkland the next day. He now wished that he had tried to find Isabella Savage in Oxford to see what progress she was making with Captain Milne.
Before the supper to fete the arrival of the wedding party, Laurence submitted to a series of tedious introductions while being steered about by his father, all under his mother’s scrutiny. Eventually Lord Beaumont presented Robert Stratton to him. “Our cousin’s wife is not in attendance,” Lord Beaumont explained, “though for a happy reason. She is expecting a third child.” Laurence bowed to Stratton, who was regarding him balefully. “I shall leave you two to become reacquainted,” Lord Beaumont said, oblivious to Stratton’s hostile attitude, and wandered off to hail some other guests.
Stratton looked about, then faced Laurence squarely and hissed at him, “What happened between you and my wife when you visited my house this past summer?”
Laurence was lost for an answer. How much had Diana told her husband? And why would she confess to an affair now, when it was a thing of the past?
He must have taken too long to respond, for Stratton’s face was turning purple. “I see my worst fears have been confirmed! Mr. Beaumont, it is my belief that you importuned her that day. To preserve her dignity, I have not asked her to speak of it, but if I catch you near her again, I’ll have more than words for you. You are a menace to all decent women!”
The Best of Men Page 38
