by Stella Riley
‘Seventeen years old and scared. I doubt he wanted to spill his guts – but presumably someone put the fear of God into him until he did,’ shrugged Samuel. ‘He’s in the Tower now, along with a handful of others. But Cromwell wants to send a clear warning … so Fox and Vowell will hang and Gerard has been granted permission to die by the axe. His execution is to take place on July 10th.’
‘It isn’t right,’ muttered Aubrey looking a little sick. ‘None of us fired a shot.’
‘But you meant to – and that’s all Cromwell cares about,’ remarked Nicholas. ‘So just be grateful Eden got you out of the way or you might be sharing their fate.’
It was perhaps fortunate that Annis Morrell chose that moment to put her head around the door to say, ‘If the four of you have finished putting the world to rights, we’d like to serve supper.’
Jack grinned at her. ‘Excellent.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it isn’t. Johnny is likely to put somebody’s eye out with that dratted wooden sword you made him and Bryony can’t get the baby to settle because he wants his father. As for you two …’ She eyed Nicholas and Aubrey with mock severity. ‘If you expect to eat, you can go and help Verity with the table.’
All four gentlemen rose as one. Despite being softly spoken and perpetually unruffled, when Annis gave an order, everyone obeyed instantly. Jack walked off to part his son from the favourite toy which he’d repeatedly been told not to brandish inside the house and Samuel went to relieve his wife of their nine-month-old baby – who instantly giggled and grabbed at his father’s nose. Nicholas let Aubrey precede him and thus reach Verity first; and, not for the first time, Aubrey saw the girl’s eyes slide over him to land on the other man.
But later that night when Aubrey found he couldn’t sleep it wasn’t Verity’s glossy curls and heart-shaped face that kept him awake – nor even the depressing knowledge that she wanted Nicholas, not him. It was the notion that he’d let his friends down … that he was as big a rat as Henshaw. And when nothing he told himself by way of comfort made him feel any better, he decided that – since he’d escaped with his own life – the least he could do was to bear witness to John Gerard losing his.
* * *
When she learned that Gerard and the others had been condemned to death, Lydia was thankful that Aubrey seemed content to remain in Shoreditch. From his rare scribbled notes, she got the impression that he was perfectly happy there. Mr Morell was educating him in the basic rudiments of sword-making, his wife kept a very good table and, despite being a Leveller, the editor of The Moderate was surprisingly good company. But if Aubrey was also enjoying a flirtation with Mistress Verity, he made no mention of it.
Aside from a few rude words being daubed on the gate, all remained quiet in Duck Lane and no more whores sought work in Strand Alley. But at home, Lydia found herself under hot pursuit from Ellis Brandon – which had the effect of forcing Cousin Geoffrey to compete. At times, this was funny; at others, it was just downright irritating. Margaret, of course, took Sir Ellis in profound dislike and tried, as Geoffrey had done, to make Lydia forbid him to visit.
‘He’s a Godless fribble,’ she snapped. ‘And he’s only after your money.’
‘Is he?’ said Lydia, as if she didn’t know. ‘But then, so is Geoffrey. And even you’d have to agree that Sir Ellis is much better looking.’
Margaret turned scarlet and flounced off without a word.
* * *
Another week drifted by. From time to time and more often than was sensible, Lydia found herself wondering where Colonel Maxwell was and what he was doing. Nicholas said he and Tobias had heard nothing and didn’t expect to.
‘Quite apart from the Scottish rising, he’s calling on his former Colonel in Yorkshire. And then, on the way back, Toby hopes he’ll visit the family in Oxfordshire. He hasn’t seen his children for months.’
‘Children?’ echoed Lydia weakly. ‘Oh. I didn’t realise. That is – you told me that his wife was dead but I didn’t think …’ She stopped and managed a careless shrug. ‘Stupid of me, I suppose. But if the Colonel is at home so rarely, who takes care of the children?’
‘Their grandmother – together with Toby’s twin sister and her husband.’ As when they’d spoken of Celia, a knowing glint appeared in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘The boy is fourteen and the girl, some four years younger I think. Of course, I’ve never met them but Toby visits pretty regularly.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘You’d be wise not to ask Eden about them, though. If you catch him at the wrong moment, he won’t respond well to it.’
‘Really?’ She stared at him, nonplussed. ‘Why not?’
‘There are … reasons. And although Eden is one of the best fellows I ever met, he has depths that are best left undisturbed.’
* * *
On a day at the end of the month, Lydia returned home from an afternoon spent in Strand Alley to find Nancy lying in wait for her in the hall.
‘There’s a fellow here to see you, Miss Lydia,’ she whispered. ‘Not that Sir Ellis – another one. And he’s gorgeous. Tall and dark-haired, with beautiful clothes and lovely manners.’
Lydia grinned but said merely, ‘His name?’
‘Mr Wakefield.’
‘Wakefield?’ She thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘He said you wouldn’t. But Janet and Kitty were here when he arrived and now they’ve got him trapped in the parlour.’
‘Oh God. I’d better go in, then.’
Nancy looked disapproving.
‘Yes. But don’t you think you should change your gown first?’
‘Not if the gorgeous Mr Wakefield isn’t to run screaming from the house before I get to meet him.’
And she walked in to the parlour.
The gentleman who immediately rose to greet her was everything Nancy had said. Tall and perfectly proportioned with long dark hair and impossibly blue eyes, he made a graceful bow and said, ‘Mistress Neville? I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the liberty of calling on you despite the fact that we’ve never previously met. But my father was a long-standing friend of your late husband and I know he would have wished me to pay my respects and offer our family’s condolences on your sad loss.’
‘That is most civil of you … Mr Wakefield, I believe?’
He inclined his head but before he could speak, Janet said, ‘Mr Wakefield’s brother is a viscount, Lydia – not a paltry baronet, like your brother.’
‘Thank you for pointing that out, Janet.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ she insisted. ‘A viscount is proper nobility.’
‘I don’t see why you’re getting so fussy all of a sudden’ objected Kitty. ‘You’d be happy enough if Aubrey looked your way – not that he’s ever likely to.’
‘Nor yours, either,’ retorted Janet heatedly. ‘And anyway, I --’
‘That’s enough,’ interposed Lydia quietly. ‘I believe we can dispense with your presence. Both of you.’
‘Why?’ demanded Kitty. ‘We can stay if we want to.’
‘And continue making an exhibition of yourselves? I don’t think so. I doubt if Mr Wakefield wants to listen to your squabbles any more than I do. And since your manners belong in the nursery, I suggest you take them there.’
Mr Wakefield looked down at his hands, a small smile curling his mouth.
Her face rather red, Janet said, ‘You can’t talk to us like that.’
‘Actually,’ replied Lydia, ‘I can. Now please remove yourselves and leave the adults in peace.’
Just for a second, she thought they were going to defy her. Then, in a manner reminiscent of their mother, both girls stormed from the room, slamming the door behind them.
Lydia looked across at her guest and, inviting him to sit with a small gesture of one hand, said, ‘I’d like to say they don’t always behave like that – but I’d be lying.’
The gentleman waited until she was seated before taking the chair she’d indicated.
&nb
sp; ‘I imagine that is extremely wearing.’
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ she agreed. ‘Moreover, if their mother had been here we’d never have got rid of them. But now that we have … you said that Stephen knew your father?’
‘Actually, he knew both my parents. I believe he had business dealings with my father from time to time – though I’m not entirely sure about the nature of them. And recently I discovered that he knew my mother when she was a young woman, more than thirty years ago.’ He paused briefly and added, ‘Ah. I should perhaps have mentioned that, like your husband, both of my parents are also deceased. Father passed away almost two years ago and Mother followed him just before Christmas.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lydia automatically. A small frown creased her brow. ‘Forgive me but I’m a little confused. Stephen died last July. So why --?’
‘Why wait till now? You might call it a coincidence. My brother, Edmund – the Viscount, you know?’ He paused to give her a swift, mischievous grin. ‘Well, having little interest in such things, he left me to sort through our parents’ letters and papers – of which there are a great many. Stephen Neville’s name appeared often enough for me to realise that he must, at one time, have been a close family friend. I decided I’d like to meet him – only then, on making enquiries, I learned of his death.’ He looked across at her, his deep blue eyes somewhat anxious. ‘I hope I haven’t caused any offence or distress. If you’d rather I hadn’t come, you have only to say and I’ll leave immediately.’
‘Please don’t. It was a kind thought and I appreciate you taking the trouble. It’s just that I don’t recall the name Wakefield featuring in any of Stephen’s paperwork and I thought I’d been through all of it quite carefully.’
He shook his head.
‘Your husband would have referred to my father by his title.’
‘Which was what?’
‘I’m sorry. Didn’t I say? He was Lord Northcote. As for my mother, it’s possible that – having known her for so long – Mr Neville might have used her given name. Arabella.’
‘I see.’ Lydia thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘No. I can’t say I recall those names either.’
‘Oh. That’s disappointing. I’d thought perhaps … but it’s of no consequence.’
‘You hoped I might be able help you with something in particular?’
‘It was a wild idea I had,’ he returned wryly. ‘Unlikely as it may seem, I began to wonder if our two families might be related in some way but could find nothing that confirmed it. You’ll think me foolish … but the handful of blood-kin that Edmund and I have left are scattered across Europe, so the possibility that we had relatives we knew nothing about was an attractive one.’
Lydia experienced a sudden wave of sympathy. She said, ‘I don’t think you foolish at all, Mr Wakefield. Indeed, since my brother and I are similarly bereft, I understand completely.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But I should warn you that the members of the Neville family you haven’t met aren’t much better than the ones you have – and that consequently, you might want to think twice about claiming kinship.’
He returned her smile with a very charming one of his own.
‘And so I might have done, Mistress Neville … except that I’d be delighted to acquire you as a cousin – however distant the connection might be.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
FOUR
Despite the difficulties in finding General Middleton’s will-of-the-wisp army and the fact that, after an abnormally dry spring, the highland weather was now composed of either mist or drizzle, Eden decided that he enjoyed staff-work. Being largely a matter of relaying orders and information between Monck and the senior officers, it didn’t compare with commanding a regiment … but it was a damned sight more fun than being at Secretary Thurloe’s beck and call in Westminster. And the scenery, even in the rain, was outstanding.
Deciding that the grass was now sufficiently long, General Monck advanced into the highlands during the second week in June and set about securing the line of the Tay. Having overcome garrisons at Weem Castle and Balloch, he settled briefly at Ruthven Castle until word came that General Middleton’s four thousand-strong army was at Kintail – and then they were on the march again towards the southern end of Loch Ness.
There, Colonel Maxwell got the task of liaising with Colonel Brayne and the newly-arrived reinforcements he’d brought from Ireland; and General Monck received the Marquis of Argyll’s repeated assurances that he was keeping the Royalists out of his domain – despite the fact that his eldest son had been fighting with them for the best part of a year.
Leaving Colonel Brayne at Inverlochy, Monck despatched Colonel Morgan to the head of Loch Ness in the hope of trapping Middleton between them. It didn’t happen. Somehow, Middleton winnowed through which, given a terrain bereft of roads and broken up by lochs, Eden didn’t find particularly surprising. Monck had blocked the south-bound passes and thus prevented the Royalists from descending into the lowlands; but keeping watch over the myriad of tracks snaking their way through the mountains was a sheer impossibility.
Having lost Middleton in the mist and thoroughly displeased as a result, General Monck led the remainder of his force to Inverness and, during the course of a Council of War, said bluntly, ‘We need provisions. If we’re going to end up playing grandmother’s footsteps up hill and down dale for any length of time, we’ll need as many basic supplies as we can carry. Meanwhile, I want an accurate picture of Middleton’s movements. I want to know, not just where he is now but where the hell he’ll go next. Major Chard, Colonel Maxwell; take a dozen men and find out. You have three days.’
‘The words needle and haystack come to mind,’ remarked Harry Chard to Eden. ‘Any suggestions as to where we should start? With a map, perhaps?’
‘The maps are less than useless,’ replied Eden. ‘The big lochs are marked but the smaller ones aren’t and neither are the majority of the passes. A map gives you the idea that you can march from Balgowan to Invergarry in a day. You can’t.’ He paused and looked doubtfully at the other man. ‘If you’ve been relying on maps --’
‘I haven’t. I’ve two troopers who act as guides. One is from Loch Tummel and the other hails from Newbigging. Between the two of them, we generally manage to stay on the right path.’ He grinned. ‘I know the maps are useless. I just wanted to know if you did.’
While Major Chard hunted the area between Loch Lochy and Loch Druich, Colonel Maxwell – assisted by a highlander whose accent he could barely understand – scoured eastern Lochaber.
At some point on the second day, Major Moulton said, ‘Since everybody seems to spend all their time chasing Middleton, I’ve been wondering what’s happened to Lord Glencairn. You know … it being him who started this whole thing in the first place.’
Eden shrugged.
‘Presumably somebody knows where he is – though at the moment nobody particularly cares. But if Monck manages to defeat Middleton, no doubt the Earl’s turn will come.’
The rest of that day and all of the next was spent riding up and down narrow tracks in the mountains. It was exhausting and largely unrewarding. Eden caught not a whiff of their quarry; Chard missed them by half a day in Glen Urquart, then lost their trail altogether.
General Monck was less than impressed.
‘Very well,’ he snapped in the ensuing Council of War. ‘If we can’t even find the enemy – let alone overtake him – we’ll make damned sure the land won’t sustain his Horse. I’ll burn every seed, stalk and croft between here and Dunkeld, if I have to. Get ready to march, gentlemen. We’re heading for Locheil and Glenmoriston at first light.’
* * *
As June became July, Eden’s pleasure in his new-found freedom dimmed. They stormed through the lands of the Camerons, the Macdonalds and the Mackenzies, burning as they went. Although he understood Monck’s determination not to let the campaign drag on into a second winter, he wasn’t comfortable with wholesale destruction. Th
e ordinary clansmen who lived in these remote reaches of the kingdom weren’t rich. They scraped a living from an inhospitable landscape and owned little more than the roof over their heads … so the sight of blazing thatches wasn’t something he thought anyone could rejoice in. Indeed, the only good thing about those weeks was the fact that every single croft and cottage was deserted. During the whole nasty business they never found a man, woman or child … all having taken whatever livestock they owned and fled to even more inaccessible regions.
News from England became a thing of the past and even letters from the lowland garrisons took days to find them. And throughout it all, they never once caught a glimpse of General Middleton’s army – though at Loch Alsh they found all the powder, shot and supplies that the Cavaliers had abandoned in the course of a hasty retreat. It began to feel, remarked Eden moodily to Ned Moulton, that they were chasing a will-o’-the-wisp.
After they’d been running fruitlessly around the highlands for a month, a report came in that Middleton had ferried his infantry over to the Isle of Skye but that his cavalry, now severely reduced in number, were still on the move. His expression even blacker than ever, General Monck sent a rider ordering Colonel Morgan to move to Caithness and take possession of all the food and gunpowder stored there. Then he led his own weary force back to Inverness for a brief rest while they re-provisioned.
Three days later and once more back on the road, the Governor of Blair Atholl brought them the first positive news of Middleton’s whereabouts that they’d had for some time.
‘Damn it!’ snarled General Monck. ‘He’s not heading north at all. He’s turned south towards Dunkeld and the lowlands. Colonel Maxwell – take yourself off to Caithness. Tell Tom Morgan what’s happening and that he’s to get to Braemar with all possible speed in case Middleton tries to get through that way. And you might as well stay with him because I’ll need to force Middleton to double back – and don’t know where the hell that will take us.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ murmured Eden. And thought, Does he know how many miles it is to Caithness from here and how many more from there to Braemar? Or does he just think I’ve got wings?
