Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  ‘Actually, I believe Sam did suggest that. Fortunately, however, Bryony decided that a line had to be drawn somewhere.’

  * * *

  On the following morning, Eden took his leave of Venetia, Rosie and the twins, then set about preparing his horse for departure. Pulling Lambert’s letter from his saddle-bag, he handed it to Gabriel, saying, ‘Read that before you make your final decision. I imagine it’s pretty much what he told me to tell you.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  ‘That if you believe things are going wrong at Westminster, you won’t put them right by staying in Yorkshire.’

  ‘Profound.’

  ‘But true,’ countered Eden, swinging up into the saddle. ‘I don’t know what to expect in Scotland – whether Monck will want me on strength and, if he does, for how long. But if I’m heading south again by the beginning of August, would it be all right if I made a return visit?’

  ‘To get my answer?’

  ‘Well, there is that. But I was mostly thinking of trying to achieve real uncle status by bringing Rosie and the boys a present or two. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’d be better employed achieving real father status,’ retorted Gabriel sardonically. ‘But, as ever, the choice is yours.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  TWO

  Colonel Maxwell caught up with the supply train at Catterick, just as it was settling down for the night.

  ‘Any problems?’ he asked Major Moulton.

  ‘A wheel broke on one of the gunpowder carts which meant unloading the damned thing while it was repaired. It cost us a little time but nothing untoward. Aside from that, Foster reckons he has a fever and Beckett is complaining of boils on his backside.’ Ned grinned suddenly. ‘The surgeon gave Foster a powder which I think might have been an emetic; as for Beckett, I told him his arse would be less sore if he spent less time sitting on it and ordered him to spend a few days marching with the Foot. He was cured in no time. Miraculous, really.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ agreed Eden, amused. ‘But the surgeon sounds a fellow to avoid.’

  ‘As to that, I may have dropped a word in his ear.’ Ned paused and then said, ‘How was Colonel Brandon? Is he going to stand in the elections?’

  ‘He’s well and happy. For the rest, he says not but I’m hoping he’ll change his mind. Time will tell, I suppose.’

  Through the first days of June, the road to Scotland stretched endlessly ahead of them.

  By starting each day’s march at first light and continuing until an hour before dark, they usually managed an average of thirty miles, barring accidents. After Catterick, they exchanged the Great North Road for the old Roman one which led them eventually to Bowes. Then Eden took them over the Stainmore Pass to Brough … a road he’d once travelled in the other direction during the second war in’48. The weather had been appalling, he recalled; he, Gabriel and the Army had slogged through mud virtually the whole way. This time the sun shone and he was able to appreciate the expanse of sky above a vast, bleak landscape populated only by sheep and the occasional croft.

  From Brough, the column turned towards Appleby, then on to Penrith and finally, Carlisle. By this time, they had been on the road for twelve days and Colonel Maxwell calculated that, even without further delays, it would be another four before they reached Stirling.

  Ecclefechan fell away behind them, then Locherbie and the heights of Beattock Summit. By the time they arrived in Lanark at around noon on June 7th everyone was tired, filthy and inclined to be snappish. Eden conferred briefly with Ned Moulton and then decreed a two day halt in order to rest the men and put a bit of spit and polish on their collective appearance. He had the junior officers find as many billets as possible at inns and private houses, left Major Moulton the task of getting the carts under cover and drawing up the usual roster of guard duty and, after taking a much needed bath, settled down to check the troop lists and inventories. Since the supplies had been guarded night and day throughout the march and couldn’t be ticketed until they arrived at their final destination, he had to trust that nothing had been tampered with and that the original inventories had been correct. As to personnel, he’d got to Lanark without losing any of his forty troopers or their officers or any civilians – which was an achievement in itself.

  Next morning, leaving Ned in charge, he rode to Colonel Lilburne’s nearest lowland garrison at Glasgow in order to discover Monck’s current whereabouts. Lambert had said he’d find the General at Stirling but that had been two weeks ago so it was logical to assume he’d moved on since then.

  ‘Stirling?’ said Lilburne with a sort of weary irritability. ‘No. He’s settled at Perth. You’ll do it in a couple of days.’ He paused and then, as if unable to help himself, ‘I suppose you’ve brought him all the things I’ve been demanding for the last year?’

  ‘I would think so.’

  ‘Including money to pay the men?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘God damn,’ breathed Lilburne bitterly. ‘They left me with nothing yet still expected me to crush a rebellion in the north whilst keeping the lowlands secure. But Monck gets the whole weight of Westminster thrown behind him as soon as he lifts a finger.’

  ‘I understood that the General was appointed at your suggestion,’ said Eden mildly.

  ‘He was.’ The Colonel gave a brief, unamused laugh. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll just be glad to get the hell out of this benighted country. That is, assuming they’ll let me.’

  * * *

  The final leg of their journey was accomplished on June 12th in driving rain. A few miles from their destination, Major Moulton paused to shake the drips from his hat and said, ‘You know Monck, don’t you?’

  ‘I met him at Dunbar,’ agreed Eden. ‘It was after you were shipped out. But there was a lot going on at the time, so I doubt he’ll remember me.’

  ‘He’s got a sound reputation. Deserved, do you think?’

  ‘Yes. He got a wealth of experience abroad and stayed loyal to the King right through the first war even though it put him in the Tower. Then he came over to us and served in Ireland – which as we all know, is the graveyard of reputations. He fought with distinction through the Worcester campaign, then at sea against the Dutch. There can’t be many officers with that kind of career history.’ Eden grinned suddenly. ‘Do you know what the Navy boys say of him?’ And when Ned shook his head, ‘They say that, in moments of crisis, he’s likely to shout Wheel right! instead of Hard to starboard! In a way, that’s rather endearing.’

  When Colonel Maxwell finally stood before the General to make his report, the word ‘endearing’ seemed a lot less appropriate. In his mid-forties, Monck had a brusque, slightly gruff manner and plainly had little time for the usual courtesies. Eden didn’t object to this. He was more than happy to discharge his mission with the least possible fuss. He did, however, take the time to speak his mind on the subject of Foster, Beckett and the rest.

  Monck grunted an acknowledgement and then said, ‘I’ll send them to Colonel Morgan. If he can’t do something with them, no one can. Meantime, what were Major-General Lambert’s orders with regard to yourself and the men you’ve brought with you?’

  ‘The troopers are to be added to your strength, sir. Major Moulton and I have discretionary leave and will also be happy to serve if you have a use for us.’

  ‘I’ve a use for every man I can scrounge. Lord Glencairn is trying to gain ground in the western highlands and I’ve to rely on Argyll keeping him out; and General Middleton’s somewhere near Loch Duich with between three and four thousand men. I’ve sent one of my officers to bring reinforcements from Ireland but I’ve no notion when they’ll arrive. As to yourself … aren’t you the fellow who led the advance across the Brox Burn at Dunbar?’

  Eden inclined his head. ‘Yes, sir. I’m surprised you remember.’

  ‘I remember it being a bastard of a job and Lambert singing your praises afterwards – so I’ll be happy to have you on my staff, Colonel �
�� even temporarily.’

  * * *

  Having sent Major Moulton to engage whatever lodgings he could find, Colonel Maxwell introduced himself to the other staff officers and listened while they explained their current problems. These, since Eden had fought in Scotland before, were by no means unfamiliar. The geography of the north, being almost solely composed of mountains, glens and lochs, made it ideal terrain for a small force of highlanders to make a lightning strike, vanish into the mist and then re-appear in the place least expected.

  ‘For the moment, Glencairn’s stuck near Dumbarton,’ said someone gloomily, ‘but Middleton’s got Colonel Morgan running hither and yon like a chicken without its head. And when the General moves north, I reckon we’ll all be doing the same.’

  Eden relayed all this to Ned Moulton over supper in a noisy tavern on the High Street. They were just about to leave when a young officer strode in and, having sent a searching glance around the taproom, descended on their table saying, ‘I’m looking for a Colonel Maxwell. Would that be you, sir?’

  Nearby, in a shadowy corner, a man lifted his head and then sat very still.

  ‘It would. What do you need, Captain?’

  The fellow saluted and held out a sealed note.

  ‘Message for you, Colonel Maxwell, sir. From the General.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Eden took the note and then, when the young man showed no sign of leaving, said, ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘Wondered if you wanted to send a reply, sir.’

  Eden sighed, broke the seal and scanned the brief contents. ‘No reply,’ he murmured. And to Ned, as the messenger took his leave, ‘General Monck has suggested we spend tomorrow familiarising ourselves with the immediate area.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful of him. After nearly three weeks on the road, I was worried we wouldn’t find anything to do once we got here.’

  * * *

  The two of them strolled to their lodgings, engaging in desultory conversation and had been back in their rooms for no longer than it took for Eden to discard his hat, sword and coat when there was a knock at the outer door. A few minutes later, Ned Moulton stuck his head into his Colonel’s chamber and said, ‘There’s a fellow outside who insists on speaking to you. He says he has information that won’t wait.’

  ‘Has he given you a name?’

  ‘No. He’s the shy sort.’

  Yawning, Eden reluctantly pulled his coat back on.

  ‘All right. But if he’s keeping me from my bed to no useful purpose, I may well kick him down the stairs.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay within call?’

  ‘No. If it comes to a fight, you’ll hear it well enough. And if he pulls out a pistol and shoots me, it will be too late anyway. Just let the fellow in so I can get it over with.’

  The man who presently appeared wraith-like on the threshold to close the door silently behind him wore a misshapen hat and was wrapped in an exceedingly shabby cloak. This, aside from his height, was all that could be seen of him.

  For a handful of seconds, he surveyed Eden from beneath the brim of his hat and then said, ‘Colonel Maxwell?’

  ‘Yes. And you are?’

  ‘Forgive me … but I’d like to be sure exactly who I’m speaking to.’ The voice was both beautifully-modulated and cultured. ‘You are Colonel Eden Maxwell, originally from Oxfordshire?’

  ‘Yes! What is this about? And who the hell are you?’

  By way of answer, his visitor removed both hat and cloak to reveal long fair hair and clothes that, though serviceable and not new, were far from shabby. Finally he said, ‘I have some news that may interest you. Your brother-in-law is about to become a father.’

  Not surprisingly, it took Eden a moment to work this out. If Amy was pregnant and wanted him to know – which was unlikely – her husband could walk round to Cheapside and tell him; and this fellow was hardly likely to be bringing him news of this sort from either Ralph Cochrane or Luciano del Santi … which meant that it had to be …

  ‘Francis?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’d have liked you to stand sponsor to the child … but with him in Paris and you here, he’ll probably have to make do with me.’

  This was getting more peculiar by the minute.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Eden again, just as the answer hit him. ‘Oh God. Colonel Peverell?’

  Ashley grinned and strolled forward, hand outstretched.

  ‘Indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. Not something I expected or intended, of course – but when I heard your name mentioned, it seemed a pity to waste the opportunity.’ And when Eden accepted his hand, ‘The information you sent saved the King’s life – and if he’s ever restored to his throne, I’ll ensure that he’s made aware of it. But for now, since Charles is in no position to do it himself, I’d like to thank you on his behalf.’

  Eden was still trying to come to terms with the fact that one of Charles Stuart’s most trusted agents was wandering around loose in Perth, roughly three miles from Monck’s headquarters. He said, ‘Since you aren’t here to break the news of Francis’s impending fatherhood, what exactly are you doing?’

  ‘You don’t honestly expect me to answer that, do you?’ returned Ashley with a glimmer of humour. ‘Unless, of course, you plan to arrest me?’

  ‘If anyone finds you here, I won’t have a choice. Is anyone likely to do that?’

  ‘Perish the thought. I’m better than that.’

  ‘Modest too, I see.’ Eden gave a sudden choke of laughter. ‘This is one hell of a situation. Still, since we are both here you may as well sit down and take some ale.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d be delighted.’ Ashley took a chair near the empty hearth and said, ‘If it helps, I’m willing to admit that I’m not doing anything that need concern you. His Majesty wants first-hand intelligence on Middleton’s progress and evaluation of his chances of success. I’m here to provide it and deliver a few letters. That’s all.’

  ‘Really.’ Eden handed his visitor a tankard of ale. ‘So you’re not passing information to General Middleton about Monck’s numbers and movements?’

  ‘No. He doesn’t need me. The highlanders have spies in places that might surprise you.’

  ‘Have they indeed? And how do you rate their chance of success?’

  ‘The same as you, I imagine,’ came the suddenly impatient reply. ‘It’s only a matter of time, after all.’

  ‘That would be my view.’ Eden sat down on the other side of the hearth and said gently, ‘Where is Middleton?’

  And, equally gently, Ashley said, ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Clearly that isn’t true.’

  ‘On the contrary, it’s perfectly true.’ Amusement gleamed in the green eyes. ‘I know where he was three days ago. But that wouldn’t help you – even if I was prepared to tell you.’

  ‘Which, of course, you’re not.’

  ‘No.’ Colonel Peverell surveyed him reflectively for a moment and then said, ‘Perhaps we should confine ourselves to less fraught topics. Francis is well, happy and his work continues to be successful. The baby is due in August and though Pauline is still capable of scaring the hell out of any sane man, Francis adores her for it. And now it’s your turn. How is Nicholas?’

  ‘Developing an interest in a widow who’s making it her mission to provide work for disabled ex-soldiers,’ replied Eden tersely.

  The tone caused Ashley to shoot him an interested look but he said merely, ‘Yes. That would appeal to Nick. He’s always had a penchant for defending the weak. And presumably this is keeping him out of other sorts of trouble?’

  ‘Yes – though I had concerns on that front for a time. Speaking of which – I take it you know about this recent plot to murder Cromwell?’

  Colonel Peverell’s mouth tightened.

  ‘Yes. And in case you’ve been wondering, Charles flatly refused to sanction it and both he and Hyde are bloody furious that the Gerard faction went ahead anyway. The whole affair caused a massive ar
gument between Charles and the Queen Dowager as well as deepening the rift between him and Rupert.’

  ‘And the proclamation offering a reward to any who’d do the deed?’

  ‘Edward Herbert. The man’s an idiot. But he’s shot his last bolt. Charles demanded that he render up the Great Seal and then told him to pack his bags.’

  ‘Oh? Well, better late than never I suppose. He and the Gerards have certainly conjured up a storm. By the time I left London, we had at least a hundred men in custody and more still being arrested.’

  ‘Including Richard Wyllis and Ned Villiers,’ nodded Ashley. ‘Yes. I heard.’

  Eden said slowly, ‘They wouldn’t have had anything to do with the Gerard conspiracy?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘They’re in Hyde’s camp, not the Queen’s. And Villiers isn’t stupid.’

  To give himself time, Eden reached for the ale and re-filled both their tankards.

  ‘There are rumours of a highly secret elite committee having been formed by Hyde to oversee future conspiracies.’

  ‘Really?’ Ashley lounged easily in his chair. ‘But there are rumours on every street corner.’

  ‘So there are. But Villiers’s name came up in connection with this one.’

  ‘Hence his arrest?’

  ‘That would be my guess.’

  There was a long silence as each waited for the other to speak. Finally, Ashley said, ‘This elite group wouldn’t be very secret if every Tom, Dick and Harry knew of it, now would it?’

  ‘No. But you aren’t every Tom, Dick or Harry, are you?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ The lash-shaded eyes narrowed slightly. ‘What is it you want, Colonel? You know better than to expect me to give you privileged information – even supposing that I had it. So are you by any chance delivering a warning?’

  ‘Now why on earth should you think that?’ asked Eden smoothly. ‘Indeed, if you’ll pardon me for quoting your own words – perish the thought.’

  Without any warning at all, Ashley suddenly grinned at him.