by Stella Riley
She continued wearing black until the items of furniture she had purchased started to arrive in Bishopsgate and the house was virtually ready for occupation. Then, on the first evening she went down in a gown of lavender damask trimmed with violet ribbons, everything came to a head when she entered the parlour to find it occupied only by Cousin Geoffrey.
For a few seconds, he stared at her. Then he surged across the room, grasped her hands and said enthusiastically, ‘Lydia, my dear! You look delightful. Exactly the right note of discretion, if I may say so.’
‘You can’t imagine how relieved I am that you think so, Cousin,’ she replied sardonically, trying without success to tug her hands from his slightly clammy grip.
‘I do. I do indeed. The sincerity with which you have mourned Stephen is a great credit to you. A very great credit, when one considers your youth. But it is an enormous pleasure to see you finally feeling ready to face life again.’
She yanked her hands free and nobly refrained from remarking that she’d been facing life quite successfully for the last year. Instead, she said, ‘I have been considering the future and made certain decisions. This,’ she gestured to her gown, ‘is just one of them.’
‘And a very good place to start.’ Then, his tone growing decidedly arch, ‘But decisions, Cousin? How can that be? Is it possible you have been unaware that I have only been waiting for your mourning period to end before offering you my hand?’
Lydia’s heart sank. She’d been hoping that this might be avoided but, since it couldn’t, her best course was to speak very plainly so that there could be no misunderstanding.
‘No. Your intentions have been clear enough but I have never given you any encouragement. Quite the reverse, in fact.’
Geoffrey brushed this airily to one side.
‘I can assure you that I did not heed that, Cousin. I understood your position completely and admired both your modesty and your dedication to Stephen’s memory. But now … surely now I may speak?’
‘Well, I can hardly stop you,’ sighed Lydia, ‘but I would very much rather you didn’t.’
His expression grew a little less assured.
‘What you mean is that you would prefer I didn’t pay my addresses just yet?’
‘No. I mean that I’d prefer you didn’t pay them at all.’ She drew a bracing breath and said, ‘I’m sorry, Geoffrey. I don’t wish to be rude or to wound your feelings. But I’m afraid that I have absolutely no intention of marrying you – either now or at any time in the future. And, to be honest, I can’t imagine why you ever thought I would.’
‘But we … we had an understanding,’ he spluttered.
‘No. We didn’t. You had an understanding with Margaret and Joseph that was less to do with me personally than about keeping Stephen’s money in the family. Somehow, the three of you persuaded yourselves that I’d meekly do as you wished. It was a mistake.’ Softening her tone a little and managing something vaguely akin to a smile, she said, ‘I’m sorry if you are disappointed. But there’s no point in continuing this conversation because my mind is quite made up. So perhaps --’
She stopped speaking as Margaret sailed into the room, closely followed by Joseph.
‘My goodness, Lydia – colours at last. And not before time, in my opinion.’
‘Earning your good opinion is naturally one of my foremost priorities, Margaret,’ came the dulcet reply. ‘But now we are all here … perhaps this would be a good time to tell you of my future plans and to clear away any misconceptions.’
Joseph blinked. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Two things. Firstly, Cousin Geoffrey has made me an offer of marriage which I have refused. And secondly --’
‘Refused?’ gasped Margaret incredulously. ‘What do you mean – you refused?’
‘I said no. How much clearer must I make it?’
‘But you can’t say no. You have a – a duty to the family and --’
‘I don’t know what gives you that idea, Margaret. You are my step-daughter-in-law – not my mother and neither you nor Joseph is related to me by blood. I shall not marry Geoffrey and no amount of blustering or arguing the point is ever going to make me. Furthermore, I have taken a lease on another house and --’
‘What?’
‘And will be moving there next week,’ continued Lydia calmly ignoring the interruption. ‘Nancy and Tam will be coming with me – also little Madge from the kitchen. Since you never wanted me to employ them, I feel sure you’ll be happier choosing their replacements yourself.’ She smiled, aware that she’d finally deprived them all of words. ‘And now I think it might be best if I took supper in my room so that the three of you can damn my intransigence to your hearts’ content.’
Upon which note, she walked out – for once to the sound of nothing but her own footsteps.
Upstairs, Nancy took one look at her face and said, ‘Oh my! You told ’em, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. I’d hoped to put it off for another day or two but events overtook me. Basically, the Reverend Neville proposed, I said no and Margaret embarked on one of her tirades. So I decided to get everything over in one go and told them I was leaving.’ She grinned. ‘I imagine they’re still trying to work out a way of stopping me.’
‘Can they?’ asked Nancy.
‘No. Ah – I told them that you would be coming with me, so you needn’t take any nonsense from Margaret. In fact, it might not be such a bad idea to install Tam and Madge in the new house right away … and you can begin packing.’
‘I’ve already started.’ Nancy hesitated and then said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve done wrong, Miss Lydia but I reckon Mistress Pyke must’ve over-heard something I said to Tam. She asked if you might have a place for her as well.’
Lydia’s eyes widened and then she burst out laughing.
‘Cook wants to come too? My God. Margaret will have an apoplexy.’
* * *
Two days later, Lydia had just left the house when Mr Wakefield hailed her from across the street. Winnowing swiftly through a press of carts and drays, to catch up with her, he said, ‘This is fortunate. I was just about to call on you.’
You don’t know how fortunate, thought Lydia.
Since she’d made her Grand Announcement, Margaret had taken to lying in wait in the hall to continue haranguing her about her decision to live elsewhere and her refusal of Cousin Geoffrey’s proposal. Needless to say, it had taken no time at all for Margaret to blame the latter on Sir Ellis Brandon and Mr Wakefield and the secret hopes she was convinced Lydia cherished about one or both of these gentlemen.
‘You’ve abandoned your widow’s weeds,’ remarked Gilbert, eyeing her forest green gown with approval. And, offering his arm, ‘May I escort you to wherever it is you’re going?’
‘If you don’t mind braving Duck Lane.’
‘Duck Lane?’ he repeated. And wrinkling his brow slightly, ‘I can’t say I know it.’
‘No. You wouldn’t. It’s off St Martin’s, just north of Newgate Market. Not, I am sure, an area you’d normally frequent.’
‘But you do?’
She nodded. ‘I have business premises there.’
‘Really?’ He looked surprised. ‘I had no idea. What sort of business?’
‘A lorinery,’ said Lydia. And briefly explained, adding, ‘I go there most days for an hour or so – mostly, I admit, to escape Margaret.’
Mr Wakefield laughed.
‘For which no one could blame you. But your lorinery sounds interesting. Can I see it?’
‘If you wish.’ Having reached the end of John Street to cross Long Lane, Lydia lifted her skirts well clear of the ground as they prepared to circumnavigate the meat market at Smithfield where the gutters were always full of accumulated filth. ‘You should understand that I employ men from both sides in the recent conflicts – so if you have any strong political views, I would be glad if you kept them to yourself.’
‘Of course.’ He grasped her arm when her foot slipped on something resemb
ling rotting offal. ‘Forgive me … but do you usually walk through this area alone? It isn’t very pleasant – or even safe, I would have thought.’
‘It’s safe enough. Most of the meat traders know who I am. But I agree that the smell takes some getting used to.’
Leaving the worst of the stench behind them at the turning to Duck Lane, they arrived at the lorinery to find Nicholas helping to load an order on to the cart. Lydia smiled a greeting and said, ‘Isn’t that Jem Buxton’s job?’
‘He’s finishing the packing so I thought I’d make a start.’
Nicholas looked at Mr Wakefield and then back to Lydia with an air of mild enquiry.
Lydia made the necessary introductions, gave the two gentlemen a moment to acknowledge each other and then promptly ushered her guest inside.
Gilbert said, ‘Sir Nicholas? He can’t work for you, surely?’
‘He doesn’t. He … I suppose you might call him a volunteer.’ Lydia saw no need to explain exactly how and why Nicholas had somehow become a permanent member of the lorinery team. ‘I have a few things to discuss with my foreman. But you are welcome to look around and the men will answer any questions you may have. However, please don’t wait for me. I have other calls to make and Nicholas will probably accompany me as I need to speak with him anyway.’ She smiled and offered her hand. ‘But thank you for this morning.’
He bowed over her fingers. ‘It was my pleasure.’
* * *
A little later, walking beside Nicholas to Strand Alley, Lydia said, ‘How long did Mr Wakefield stay?’
‘Quite a while. He wandered around the workshop – even went upstairs – and spoke to a few of the fellows, though he didn’t seem that interested in them. Who is he?’
‘A relatively recent acquaintance. His late parents seem to have known Stephen and he’s convinced there is some family connection.’
Nicholas shot her a curious glance. ‘And is there?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Lydia paused and then said, ‘Since I revealed my plans, Margaret has become even more objectionable than usual. I didn’t intend to move to Bishopsgate until next Friday but I don’t think I can stand much more of her. Could you spare the time to help transfer my things on Tuesday, do you think?’
‘Tomorrow if you like,’ he replied readily. ‘Since you’re hardly taking any furniture – which, by the way, doesn’t seem right to me – one cart-load should be sufficient.’
‘I’m not prepared to fight over every cupboard or chair,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s not worth the effort. I’ve bought enough to make the house habitable and can purchase anything else I need later.’ She gave a tiny gurgle of laughter. ‘Did I tell you that, as well as my own servants, Margaret’s cook wants to work for me? You can’t imagine the furore that caused. I honestly thought Margaret would explode.’
‘You mean,’ he grinned, ‘that you hoped she would.’
They strolled on in companionable silence for a few minutes until Lydia said casually, ‘Have you had any word from Colonel Maxwell?’
‘Oh. Didn’t I say?’ Nicholas’s artless tone was at variance with the gleam of laughter in his eyes. ‘He got back last night.’
The unexpectedness of it caused Lydia’s breath to hitch. She took a moment to ensure that her voice was level and that she didn’t blurt out anything stupid. Then she said, ‘Safe and sound, I trust?’
‘Aside from a nasty bruise on his jaw that Toby and I reckon he probably got some time in the last week – yes. If an extra pair of hands is needed on Tuesday, I daresay he’d help. He’s reporting to Major-General Lambert today but is trying to avoid coming to Secretary Thurloe’s attention.’
‘He doesn’t want to resume his previous duties?’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ responded Nicholas cheerfully. ‘Another is to say he’d sooner have some lingering disease with boils.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
SEVEN
‘My congratulations,’ said Major-General Lambert. ‘Naturally, I hoped you would succeed where I failed … but knowing Colonel Brandon, I didn’t dare count on it.’
‘The credit isn’t all mine, sir,’ replied Eden. ‘Gabriel’s change of heart had more to do with the manner in which Gerard and the others were tried for treason than anything I said.’
‘Yes. And one sees his point, of course.’
‘But you’re pleased it had at least one positive outcome.’
‘Quite.’ Lambert toyed idly with a quill, running it back and forth through his fingers. ‘The outcome in Scotland is equally pleasing. General Monck did well.’
‘He did. But if Colonel Morgan hadn’t got lucky at Dalnaspidal, General Monck would still be chasing Middleton from Perth to Caithness and back,’ observed Eden bluntly. Then, ‘However … I know some of what has been happening here during my absence, but by no means all of it. With Parliament due to open in less than a fortnight, is there anything I ought to be aware of?’
‘Nothing particularly significant. The treaty with Portugal was signed on the same day Dom Pantaleon was executed. But the French ambassador, was implicated in an Anabaptist plot to murder Oliver and immediately ordered to leave the country.’
‘That’s unfortunate. Are we still speaking to France?’
‘We are. Thanks to the muddled and seemingly endless negotiations between ourselves and both Spain and France, the Protector indicated his willingness to continue talking to King Louis with the result that a new ambassador has been sent.’ Lambert leaned back in his chair, his expression enigmatic as ever. ‘In a nutshell, Oliver has continued playing the game from both ends. He asked Spain to give him Dunkirk until it could be exchanged for Calais. Then, before he received Spain’s reply, he asked France to cede Brest until Dunkirk could be wrested from Spain. Unsurprisingly, France said no. More recently, Oliver has decided on a commercial treaty with the French rather than a military alliance and he’s currently preparing to attack Spanish colonies in the West Indies.’
Eden took a moment to assimilate this barrage of information. Then, frowning a little, he said, ‘Naval warfare? Again?’
‘Just so. They’re calling it the Western Design and I fear it’s going to cost as much – or quite possibly more – than the Dutch War.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought the Treasury could stand it.’
‘It can’t – though the optimists think our ships will return laden with Spanish gold.’
‘Not impossible, I suppose.’ Another moment’s thought, and then, ‘Shouldn’t some of these decisions have waited until Parliament is in session? Or to put it another way, how many of them had anything to do with the Council of State?’
‘I feel sure Colonel Brandon would say not enough. But Oliver has the bit between his teeth, you see.’
‘And you think Parliament can halt that?’
‘I live in hope. For the rest, Charles Fleetwood has been made Lord-Deputy of Ireland and, in his usual immoderate fashion, is pursuing the policy of clearances.’
‘I thought we’d stopped doing that.’
‘We had. Fleetwood doesn’t believe we went far enough and is busily consigning the Irish Catholics to Connaught. I believe Oliver has written asking him to curb his enthusiasm … but, knowing Charles, I doubt it will have much effect.’ Lambert tossed the quill down and eyed Colonel Maxwell meditatively. ‘Would I be right in assuming that you’ve no burning desire to return to Secretary Thurloe’s office?’
‘Do you really need to ask?’
‘Probably not – though I generally prefer not to make assumptions. Do you think you might feel inclined to continue working for me?’
‘Something else you needn’t have asked,’ returned Eden lightly. ‘But doing what?’
‘Officially, commanding some of the guard details at Whitehall. It needn’t take up more than a few hours a week and, when Major Moulton returns to London, you can add him to the strength.’
‘And unofficially?’
‘Something more cover
t. Recently, I’ve been hearing whispers. Doubtless Thurloe has heard them too. We know that, due to an outbreak of smallpox in Spa, Charles Stuart has moved his court to Aachen in the Netherlands. He’s also made Sir Edward Nicholas his Secretary of State – which may or may not be pertinent.’
‘And the whispers?’
‘That an organisation calling itself the Sealed Knot exists – its function being to authorise and control Royalist activity. Yes – I’m aware that Thurloe has been on the trail of this for some time. But now there are rumours of another, more militant group that is seeking support among disaffected Presbyterians and even some radical elements such as the Fifth Monarchists and Levellers.’ Lambert paused. ‘I know Thurloe’s attitude to the Royalists and also his methods. Spies, agents provocateur and multiple arrests – all effective enough, I grant you. Personally, I’d like to try a more subtle and less unforgiving approach but, as you’ll appreciate, I can’t do it openly.’
‘Meaning,’ said Eden slowly, ‘that you want me to do it for you.’
‘Yes. Correct me if I’m mistaken but I sense that you have no more wish to see all the Cavaliers either dead or behind bars than I do myself.’
‘No. You’re not mistaken. We’ll never heal the country that way.’
‘My own opinion precisely. Furthermore, I’ve seen the list of incoming members for the new Parliament. There are more Moderates than anyone anticipated and even a number of known Royalist sympathisers. This, coupled with a reasonable approach to some of the less hot-headed Cavaliers might be turned to good effect.’
‘Who did you have in mind?’
‘Edward Villiers. He’s a sensible man. And he’s both trusted and highly-regarded by the court-in-exile.’
‘He’s also still in the Tower. Or so I thought.’
‘He is – but not for much longer. Both he and Willys have petitioned for their liberty and Thurloe knows he hasn’t any reason to continue holding them. I suspect they’ll be out by the end of the month.’ Lambert’s gaze became speculative. ‘There’s also Sir William Compton. Another level-headed fellow … with whom I thought you might already be acquainted.’
