Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  On Thursday, instead of simply endorsing the Instrument – as the Protector had clearly expected – they began picking it apart clause by clause. Realising that this was likely to take some time, Gabriel resigned himself to several days of tedious, long-winded argument combined with a numb back-side.

  * * *

  Eden, meanwhile, spent a pleasant hour with Jack Morrell while his sword was given a new edge. Then, telling himself he was only doing it because he had nothing more pressing to do, he paid a call on Mistress Neville.

  The door was opened by a muscular fellow with an air of courteous implacability which defied anybody to suppose they might get past him if he didn’t choose to let them. Eden smiled to himself.

  He was made to wait in the hall, then shown into the parlour where he found Lydia sitting, quill in hand, in front of neat columns of figures. He said, ‘You took my advice, then.’

  ‘Henry?’ She rose, alarmed at just how pleased she was to see him and grateful that she’d had a moment’s warning. ‘Yes. He’s remarkable.’

  ‘He’s certainly large.’ He gestured to the ledgers. ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘Thankfully, yes.’ She closed the books and rose. ‘Mr Potter’s record-keeping is meticulous to the point of obsession which makes arriving at the quarterly totals a time-consuming business. But please sit down, Colonel.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed you were to call me Eden?’ He took a seat by the hearth, noticing that the room now boasted a large carved dresser, side-tables and a fire-screen. None of it was new but everything spoke of comfort and quality. Although he tried not to, he also noticed that several locks of hair were drifting tantalisingly round Mistress Neville’s neck and that the décolletage of the dark blue gown was just low enough to tempt him to look. ‘You’re making this room very welcoming.’

  ‘It takes time – but I hope so.’ Lydia moved to the dresser, poured two glasses of wine and set one down beside him. ‘Is this a casual visit – or was there something in particular that you wanted to talk about?’

  ‘I’ve been to Shoreditch where your brother made a fairly decent job of beating the dents out of my back-and-breast. Jack says he learns fast.’ He paused. ‘Jack also says that Annis thinks he’s more than a little attracted to young Verity.’

  ‘He hasn’t said as much – but I think so, too. Unfortunately, Verity only has eyes for Nick and hasn’t yet accepted that nothing will come of it. A problem easily solved if Nick would be honest with the poor girl.’

  ‘Have you told him that?’

  ‘I … hinted at it.’

  ‘Ah. Perhaps – if you think Nick should speak plainly – you ought to do the same.’

  Lydia’s eyes narrowed and she sat up a little straighter.

  ‘Is that another attempt to lure me into argument? Because if so --’

  ‘It isn’t.’ Eden threw up one hand in a gesture of surrender. ‘It isn’t – and I apologise. The truth is that it wouldn’t do any good if you did spell it out. Nick isn’t capable of hurting Verity with open rejection. It’s not that he’s weak. But he has an overpowering instinct to protect the helpless. Children, small animals … that sort of thing.’

  ‘And Verity?’

  ‘And Verity,’ he agreed. ‘When he first met her she was being bullied at home. She needed a little kindness, Nick supplied it and she repaid him by searching for him among the wounded after Worcester. If she hadn’t done that – and persuaded me to help – he’d be dead. So you see …?’

  ‘Yes. She believes herself in love with him and Nicholas believes he owes her something – quite possibly his life.’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ Eden looked at Lydia thoughtfully. ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘What?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘You married Stephen Neville when you were what … twenty-two?’

  She nodded, unsure where this was going.

  ‘Was there no one before that? No young man you might have married had things been different?’

  ‘No.’ She shrugged, trying to look careless. ‘I suppose I never met a man who inspired more than liking.’ But I’ve met one now and it’s tying me in knots.

  ‘I imagine you will re-marry, though?’

  ‘Perhaps. Will you?’

  His face closed up tight in a way she’d never seen before. ‘No.’

  He must have loved his dead wife very much.

  The instant conclusion clenched painfully in her chest … while the tone of his voice and every line of his body shouted that this was a thing best left alone. On the other hand, he’d been prying into her life in one way or another since the day she’d first met him, so perhaps she was entitled to just a little prying of her own.

  ‘You seem very sure.’

  ‘Yes.’ Another monosyllabic warning.

  ‘You have children, I believe?’

  Eden drew an explosive breath and, when he spoke, his voice was like splinters of ice.

  ‘My son is fourteen and his sister is ten. They have an aunt, an uncle and a grandmother – and I visit when I can. Was there anything else you wanted to know?’

  Yes. Why this is such dangerous ground … and why you referred to your daughter as your son’s sister? However, I can see that I’d better not ask.

  ‘Yes. Now who’s snarling? And please don’t say you’re not. You look furious.’

  Eden clenched his hand hard on the arm of the chair and took a moment to force the worst of his tension away. Then he said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry. It’s not a comfortable subject.’

  ‘I gathered that.’

  He reached for his wine but, instead of drinking, merely stared into the glass.

  Without warning and without looking up, he said rapidly, ‘I’ll say this now so that you’ll never enquire further. My late wife eloped with her lover in 1644. Jude was four years old and Mary, just a few months. No doubt you can draw the obvious conclusion from that. As for Celia … I never saw her again. I trust that makes the position plain?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oh God. Why did I start this? No wonder he won’t speak of it. ‘Yes. Perfectly plain. I – I’m sorry. I had no idea or I wouldn’t have …’ She hesitated, spreading her hands. ‘And now I don’t know what to say to you.’

  ‘No one ever does.’ Eden set the glass aside and stood up. ‘You might, however, have some inkling as to why I don’t plan to re-marry. And now – having snarled at you – I should probably go.’

  ‘No – please don’t.’ Lydia shot to her feet, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. ‘If you leave now, you’ll feel awkward about coming here again. And – and I’d regret that even if you wouldn’t.’ She stopped, appalled not just at what she’d said but at what she’d nearly said.

  He looked at her oddly for a moment. Then that lethally attractive smiled dawned and he said ruefully, ‘I would, actually. Regret it, that is. I enjoy our conversations.’

  She swallowed hard. It wasn’t much but it was more than she’d expected.

  ‘As do I. So you’ll stay and drink your wine?’

  ‘Yes. And I thank you for asking.’

  * * *

  Later, when he had gone, Lydia sat for a long time in contemplation of what he’d told her. Try as she would, she couldn’t begin to understand how any woman lucky enough to be Eden Maxwell’s wife could look elsewhere even for a moment. It certainly wasn’t because he hadn’t loved her. That was as clear as day. If he hadn’t given her every bit of his heart, there wouldn’t be a part of it that, even after ten years, still hadn’t healed.

  Then there was the not-insignificant fact of her having left him with a child he suspected – or perhaps even knew for certain – wasn’t his. That was betrayal of the worst kind. No man deserved that. And what kind of woman could do it?

  She realised after a time that her cheeks were wet. And that was when she knew.

  She’d fallen stupidly, ridiculously in love with a beautiful, intelligent, honourable man who had no intention of every re-marryi
ng …but who enjoyed her conversation.

  * * *

  Unaware of what he’d left behind him, Eden sat down to supper with Nicholas, half-inclined to broach the subject of Verity Marriott. He was just working up to a subtle enquiry when the door opened and Gabriel walked in.

  Tossing his hat and coat aside, Colonel Brandon dropped into a chair and said, ‘Tell me that some of this food is still hot.’

  ‘More or less.’ Eden pushed various dishes and platters towards him, then went to pour some ale. ‘Or I can ask Mistress Wilkes if she’ll --’

  ‘No. Don’t get that woman up here, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I find myself staring. It’s embarrassing.’ He stopped putting food on his plate and looked up. ‘It’s all very well for you to laugh. You’re both used to it.’

  ‘I don’t think,’ remarked Nicholas, ‘that it’s something a man ever gets used to. So much natural bounty in one place.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Gabriel cut a slice of pie. ‘I can think of others.’

  ‘I see what it is,’ said Eden. ‘You’re missing your conjugal pleasures. We --’

  ‘If you are wise, you’ll stop right there.’

  ‘-- don’t have that problem,’ finished Eden. ‘Nick … when was the last time you had a --’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ said Nicholas firmly, ‘and we are not having this conversation.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Gabriel, refusing to laugh. ‘We are not.’

  A little later, having given Colonel Brandon time to eat, Eden said, ‘So … another scintillating day in the House?’

  ‘Oh yes. The excitement is crippling.’

  ‘Share it, then,’ invited Nicholas. ‘As Eden has just kindly pointed out, I could do with a little excitement – no matter how vicarious.’

  ‘You can’t be that desperate – though we did receive word that the Earl of Glencairn has finally surrendered to General Monck. A relief to our fellows in Scotland, no doubt.’

  ‘Most certainly,’ agreed Eden. ‘What else?’

  ‘Cromwell has presented the House with a list of no less than eighty-two ordinances he wants ratified; everything from financial and legal reform to highway repair and traffic laws. Meanwhile, my esteemed colleagues have voted to nominate an Assembly of Divines, aimed at creating a single religion and suppressing all minority sects.’

  Amusement vanished from his listeners’ faces and Eden said tightly, ‘Cromwell’s been trying for toleration. It’s about the only thing he’s got right. So whose idea was that?’

  ‘Arthur Haselrig’s. But it might not have passed if Harrison hadn’t threatened to deliver an Anabaptist petition calling on Parliament to rise up against tyranny – and boasted that he’d have twenty thousand men at his back to support it. I daresay you see the trend. For the rest, we’ve spent the last three days battling back and forth over the same ground. Oliver’s friends – now becoming known as the Court Party – want the Instrument accepted as it stands. The Opposition wants changes restricting the Protector’s power to act independently – mainly to avert summary dissolution; words suggesting that the office of Protector be ‘limited and restrained as the Parliament should think fit’ are being bandied about. The problem with that, of course, is that the elections were based on Clause One of the Instrument – which makes changing it now a legal and electoral nightmare. They also want members of the Council of State to face re-election every three years … and they’re asking Cromwell to surrender command of the Army to another officer.’

  ‘Lambert?’ guessed Eden.

  ‘His name has been mentioned.’ Gabriel paused. ‘Naturally enough, Cromwell isn’t about to simply give way so, much to everybody’s surprise and backed by the Council, he’s offered a compromise. He’ll allow some alterations to the Instrument if the House will guarantee three key points. That the ‘single person’ – in this case Oliver himself – has the authority to prevent Parliament sitting till Doomsday; that control of the Militia be shared between Protector and Parliament; and that religious freedom be maintained.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too unreasonable,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Will they do it?’

  ‘Ask me tomorrow,’ replied Gabriel. ‘That’s when we vote.’

  * * *

  In the event, there was no vote because the Protector had decided not to risk it going against him. Arriving at the entrance to the House, Gabriel and his fellow members found the doors barred and guarded by soldiers who directed them again to the Painted Chamber.

  There, after speaking at some considerable length, Cromwell informed them that he required only one thing. Their signatures on what he called the Recognition.

  It was brief and, though coercive, not unreasonable.

  I do hereby freely promise and engage to be true and faithful to the Lord Protector and the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland and shall not, according to the tenor of the indentures whereby I am returned to serve in this present Parliament, propose or give my consent to alter the Government as it is settled in a single person and Parliament.

  The terms that accompanied this were also brief – and very straightforward.

  Only those members who signed would be permitted to resume their seats in the House.

  Gabriel was one of the first hundred or so who put their hands to it. Bradshaw and Haselrig, he was pleased to discover, led the exodus of those who wouldn’t.

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  TEN

  Quite suddenly in the days following the hiatus at Westminster, Lydia found herself beset with a mixture of minor irritations and very real problems. In one sense, this was good as it gave her little time to brood over Eden Maxwell. In another, she started to wonder why troubles never came singly.

  A note reminding her of his invitation to stroll in the Exchange arrived from Sir Ellis Brandon. Lydia replied, saying that unfortunately she was still far too busy and also managing to include a seemingly casual reference to her meeting with Colonel Brandon which she rather suspected would put an end to Sir Ellis’s attempted courtship.

  In Strand Alley, Lily Carter informed her that no less than five destitute widows of the recent Dutch War had applied for places.

  ‘The Navy doesn’t do anything for them at all,’ she said in disgust, ‘and I’d like to take them on but we don’t have room.’

  ‘Then we’ll find it,’ responded Lydia. ‘Actually, it might not be that difficult. The rooms on the floor above these are free at present. I’ll speak to my man-of-law about leasing them. But, in the meantime, give places to the widows and, if necessary, send some of the others to work at my house until I’ve made the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘Your house, Mistress Neville?’ asked Lily, startled. ‘But won’t Sir Aubrey mind?’

  ‘Since he spends all his daylight hours in Shoreditch, I doubt he’ll even notice.’

  * * *

  Lydia went home and wrote a note to Lawyer Hetherington about leasing the entire house in Strand Alley. She was just asking Nancy to pay a boy to deliver it when Henry announced the arrival of a visitor.

  ‘Are you at home to the Reverend Neville, Madam?’

  She groaned. ‘I suppose I’ll have to be.’

  Henry bowed and withdrew to usher Geoffrey in. Lydia noticed with some amusement that he did not quite close the parlour door behind him.

  ‘Cousin!’ The Reverend surged across the room with his usual gushing enthusiasm. ‘What a joy to find you at home – and alone. A rare privilege.’

  ‘And a brief one, I’m afraid because I have an appointment in an hour on Cheapside.’ It wasn’t true. She intended to spend the afternoon finishing the accounts for the lorinery. But the excuse would serve to speed Geoffrey on his way. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Really, Lydia! It’s impossible to rush into what I wish to say. I cannot do it.’

  ‘Try,’ she said. And then, sensing the onset of one of his long, usually pointless speeches, ‘O
r, if you can’t, perhaps I can say it for you.’

  ‘You? No. How could you possibly know --’

  ‘At a guess, you’re here to ask me to reconsider your proposal of marriage.’

  Geoffrey turned rather red and spluttered incoherently.

  ‘I’ll assume that means I’m right.’ Folding her arms, Lydia spoke with slow and deliberate clarity. ‘I will not change my mind. I will never change it. How much clearer can I be? I am not going to marry you, Geoffrey – not ever. And, if you are wise, you will stop asking – before I’m forced to be even more uncivil than I’m being right now.’

  He stared at her, completely at a loss for words.

  ‘Good.’ With a decisive nod, Lydia went to the door and, as she’d expected, found Henry just on the other side of it. She said, ‘Reverend Neville is leaving, Henry. In future, if he wants to see me he can request an appointment.’

  ‘Certainly, Madam.’ Henry bowed. ‘Sir? Allow me to show you out.’

  His complexion turning from red to puce, Geoffrey hesitated for a moment. Then, seeing defeat staring him in the face, he stalked out.

  * * *

  Next day in Duck Lane, she found Dan Hayes – still on light duties due to his weakened arm – slapping whitewash on the front gate and muttering to himself.

  ‘Daniel? Why are you doing that?’

  Trooper Hayes spun round, an arc of white flying from his brush and missing Lydia’s skirts by a hairsbreadth. ‘Oh Gawd, Miss Lydia! Didn’t know you was there. I’ve not got this dratted stuff on you, have I?’

  ‘No. Just explain why you are painting the gate. It was fine two days ago.’