by Stella Riley
Tobias slept on, stirring slightly from time to time. At regular intervals, Lydia wiped the sweat from his face and neck with cold, lavender-scented water; and while she watched and tended him, her thoughts scuttled round like mice in a cage, each raising its own unanswerable question.
A little after the bells of St Matthew’s chimed nine, Mistress Wilkes appeared with a tray containing supper and the tincture Deborah Fisher had made for Tobias. Having told Lydia the dosage and that it could be exceeded if necessary, she said, ‘It’s good of you to help and I appreciate it. But don’t hesitate to wake me if you’ve cause. My room is directly above this one.’ For a second, she stared at the pouch resting on Tobias’s chest. Then, as she turned towards the door, she said abruptly, ‘Oh – and you’d best call me Alice.’
Shortly after that, Tobias started shifting restlessly and muttering under his breath. Lydia abandoned her supper, coaxed him into swallowing some of Deborah’s mixture and sat beside him, holding a cool cloth to his brow while she waited for the potion to take effect. He was just beginning to settle when the door opened to admit Colonel Maxwell bearing a glass of wine.
Taking in the scene, Eden said quietly, ‘Finish your meal. I’ll take over there for a while.’
‘There’s no need. He’s quieting again.’ She dipped the cloth to cool it, then wrung it out and replaced it. ‘Thank you for the wine, though. I’ll be glad of it later.’
He sat down in her vacated chair and, realising something, said, ‘I imagine you’ve some experience of sick-rooms.’
‘With Stephen? Yes – though that was different. His heart was failing.’ She shot him a reassuring smile. ‘From the little I’ve seen of him, I doubt your brother has ever ailed a day in his life before.’
‘Not to my knowledge.’ He paused, feeling he ought to say something about Deborah but not knowing quite what. Finally he said, ‘Mistress Fisher’s potion seems to be working.’
‘Yes.’ Lydia touched the mysterious pouch. ‘But what is this?’
‘I don’t know. She did the same thing when Nick lost his arm and seemed likely to die. Medical care after a battle is never good and Worcester was even worse than usual. Miraculously, the amputation hadn’t killed him and there was no infection but he wasn’t getting better. Deborah changed that – though I never knew precisely how. She has … you might say she has some unusual skills. It’s why Nick sent for her.’
‘I see.’ There were at least a dozen other questions she wanted to ask but suspected that – if he actually answered any of them – she’d end up feeling more inferior than she already did. So she said, ‘I’m so sorry about this. I feel … responsible.’
‘Don’t. It isn’t your fault.’ Eden paused and then added abruptly, ‘I’ll continue doing my damnedest to find Quinn though I don’t hold out much hope since I imagine he has numerous bolt-holes.’ He reached for the leather-bound book from where he’d left it on the window-ledge. ‘I took this from his desk but haven’t had the opportunity to examine it properly yet. It appears to be lists of transactions along with money paid or still owing but Quinn’s clients – if that’s what they are – are only referred to by their initials. Look through it and see if anything strikes a chord.’
Lydia accepted the book, surprised that he hadn’t kept this to himself as well but said merely, ‘I will. Now go to bed, Colonel. If I’m worried, I’ll call Alice. And if she’s worried, we’ll call you. But in the meantime, you should sleep.’
He stood up, only too aware that his brain was sluggish with exhaustion. Perhaps it was this that made him say baldly, ‘My name is Eden. Why won’t you use it? God knows I’ve been using yours long enough.’
‘It doesn’t have to be reciprocal.’
‘Yes. I think it does – but I’m too tired to argue with you now. So I’ll bid you goodnight, Mistress Neville.’
And he walked out, leaving Lydia not sure whether she wanted to laugh or kick herself.
Time passed. The intervals when Tobias seemed to be sleeping peacefully grew gradually longer and it seemed to Lydia that he was sweating less. During the times he was quiet, she turned the pages of Quinn’s book, squinting at the cramped writing and learning precisely nothing. By the time dawn had grown into day, her muscles were protesting from the long night’s vigil but she felt a sense of satisfaction. Both Eden and Alice had enjoyed an unbroken night’s rest and young Mr Maxwell was definitely on the mend.
When St Matthew’s told her it was seven in the morning, the door opened again and a face framed by tousled mahogany hair peered around it.
‘Good morning, Mistress Neville,’ said Jude politely. ‘Is it all right for me to come in?’
‘Of course.’ She watched him cross to take long, serious look at the patient and said, ‘You needn’t worry. Your uncle is a great deal better this morning.’
‘I wasn’t worried really. Uncle Toby is like Father. Pretty hard to kill.’
Lydia heard the note of pride and repressed a smile.
‘True. So what has you up so early?’
‘Uncle Ralph. I’m sharing a room with him and there wasn’t much point trying to sleep once he got up. He’s gone off to the tavern where we stabled the horses to check they’re being cared for properly. But nobody else is up except the girl in the kitchen so I thought you might not mind me sitting with you for a bit.’
‘I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m glad of your company.’ She grinned. ‘As you may imagine, your uncle hasn’t been doing much talking. And I doubt your father will be up for a little while yet. Last night is the first sleep he’s had in the last forty-eight hours.’
‘Yes. He said something about that.’ Jude hesitated briefly. ‘It’s nice of you to help look after Uncle Toby. Is … is he a particular friend of yours?’
‘No. Actually, I don’t know him very well at all but he helped your father rescue my ladies so I’m in his debt. And your father’s too, of course.’
‘Oh.’ He appeared to turn this over in his mind and then said, ‘Why were the women abducted?’
‘We don’t know exactly.’
An expression of resigned impatience crossed his face.
‘You mean you’re not telling me.’
‘No. I mean I really don’t know. We think someone took them in order to make me hand over some papers belonging to my late husband but we don’t know who that person is or what the papers are. Your father is hoping to find out – but it won’t be easy because I’ve searched high and low for something that might give us a clue but haven’t discovered anything remotely useful.’
Jude suddenly grinned at her.
‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘Not treating me like a child too young to understand.’
Lydia laughed.
‘Well, I know how it feels. Most of the time, no one tells me anything either because I’m a poor wilting female. And it’s downright infuriating.’
‘What is?’ asked Colonel Maxwell from the doorway. And, with a yawn, ‘Or is that a silly question?’
‘Yes.’ Lydia and Jude spoke more or less in unison, then exchanged a startled glance and laughed.
Eden’s brows rose and he looked from one to the other of them.
‘I see it behoves me to be careful,’ he said mildly. ‘Jude … see if anything is being done about breakfast while Mistress Neville tells me how your uncle is doing.’
‘His uncle,’ said a raspy, reproachful voice from the bed, ‘wants to know why he’s being starved … and who’s responsible.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
NINE
By the following day, Tobias was sufficiently recovered to insist – against all advice to the contrary – on leaving his bed.
Ralph said, ‘Get up, then. If you can stay on your feet more than ten minutes, I’ll go home and tell Tabitha you’re back to being your usual stubborn self.’
‘Go anyway,’ returned Tobias. ‘Tell her to stop fretting about me and look after herself instead.
I’ll see her at Yule.’
While this conversation was taking place, Jude was in Duck Lane with Nicholas – now able to walk without wanting to swear – and being introduced to the fascinating skill of harness-making. Until Lydia walked in unexpectedly, he was also enjoying previously unheard tales of his father’s military exploits – the comic as well as the heroic. So when he arrived back in Cheapside to learn that Ralph was getting ready to leave on the following morning, he said flatly, ‘Oh. Can’t I stay?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Yes. I could come home with Uncle Toby at Christmas. It’s only another three weeks, after all.’
Ralph shrugged. ‘Well, it’s all right with me. But you’d best ask your father.’
‘Ask me what?’
Eden threw his hat and gloves on a chair and advanced gratefully on the fire. He’d spent the last two hours combing the dockside for any trace of Quinn and, unsurprisingly, had no success whatsoever. The man seemed to have vanished into thin air. Likewise, the book he’d purloined from the locked drawer had so far failed to yield anything useful and Eden had come home hoping for a couple of quiet hours to spend studying it in greater detail.
‘If I can stay here with you until Yule,’ Jude replied. ‘I wanted to go to the lorinery again when Mistress Neville isn’t there so Troopers Buxton and Hayes can tell me more about what you did in the war. And I hoped you’d take me to Westminster and Whitehall and the Tower.’ He stopped and added, ‘If you’ve the time, that is. I know you have to work.’
Eden felt a glow that had nothing to do with the cheerful blaze in the hearth.
‘Aside from trying to discover who is persecuting Mistress Neville and keeping my distance from the latest Army petitions, I’m not even remotely busy at present. So stay, by all means and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.’
Jude’s face lit up. ‘Really?’
‘Really. In fact, I’d like it very much.’ He grinned at his son’s evident pleasure. ‘Where do you want to start?’
‘The Tower, I think. Oh – and I’d like to visit the shops and buy gifts for Grandmother and Aunt Tab and Mary. There’s never much choice in Banbury but there are hundreds of shops in London, aren’t there?’
‘Hundreds,’ agreed Eden somewhat hollowly. He’d never understood the fascination for trailing round the Exchange. Then memory of the last time he’d done so brought a cunning notion in its wake and he said, ‘But if you want gifts for the ladies, I suggest you enlist the help of Mistress Neville. She knows more about these things than I do.’
Behind his back, he heard Ralph give a tiny snort of laughter – and ignored it. Eden wasn’t sure precisely where Ralph had come by the idea that he liked Lydia Neville rather more than he wanted to admit but he suspected he had Gabriel to thank for it. What he didn’t want to do was allow the idea to take root elsewhere. Then he caught the thoughtful gleam in his son’s eyes and thought, Oh hell. Too late.
His tone one of limpid innocence, Jude said slowly, ‘That’s a good idea. But perhaps you should ask her. I mean … after you rescuing her women and Uncle Toby getting shot and everything, she’s bound to say yes, isn’t she?’
* * *
In Duck Lane, in Strand Alley and at home in Bishopsgate, Lydia started to feel that life had settled back into its usual rhythm. During those few, terrible days when she’d been cold with fear about the possible fate of her women, she’d given Henry instructions to admit nobody but Colonel Maxwell with the result that Gilbert Wakefield had been turned from the door three times. Now, she relaxed her embargo … and Mr Wakefield arrived more or less within the hour.
Striding across the room to grasp her hands, he said, ‘Lydia – what has been going on? I’ve been so worried about you!’
‘That’s kind of you and I’m sorry to have caused concern.’ She tried to free her hands then gave up and let him continue to hold them. ‘There was a – a crisis involving my sewing women. A couple of them went missing for a time.’
‘Missing?’ His grip on her fingers tightened and something she couldn’t interpret shifted in his face. ‘How? What happened to them?’
Lydia decided she’d already said quite enough and wasn’t about to add to it.
‘In the end, nothing. They’re back safe and sound now and the panic is over.’ She paused. ‘Gilbert … you are crushing my fingers.’
‘Oh. I beg your pardon.’ He released her immediately and managed a smile. ‘But why didn’t you let me help? You know I would have done anything in my power.’
‘Of course. But there really wasn’t anything you could have done.’
‘I might have at least lent you my support – perhaps given you advice. I believed that we were cl-- … that we were good enough friends for that.’
Close was what he had been going to say. She was glad he’d thought better of it.
For perhaps the first time his proprietorial attitude grated just a little. She said carefully, ‘As, indeed, we are. But I am very used to managing my own life, you know.’
Fortunately, he seemed to realise that perhaps he had over-stepped the mark. A rueful expression crossed his face and he said, ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound over-bearing. It’s just … well, it’s just that you mean a great deal to me and I hoped that, by now, you trusted me enough to feel you could turn to me in times of trouble.’
‘And I do. You’re a very good friend, Gilbert. But on this occasion there wasn’t a great deal that you could have --’ She stopped, hearing the pealing of the door-bell and feeling half-thankful for it.
Mr Wakefield looked less happy. And when the door opened on Colonel Maxwell and his son, he had to banish a frown.
Lydia directed a beaming smile at Jude and said, ‘This is a nice surprise. I thought you might have gone home with Mr Cochrane.’
‘No. I’m staying with Father for a little while.’
‘Oh? That will be enjoyable for both of you, I daresay.’ She turned and said smoothly, ‘Gilbert …you already know Colonel Maxwell and this young man is his son. Jude – my friend, Mr Wakefield.’
Eden watched Jude politely acknowledging the introduction and silently told himself not to be an ass. He hadn’t any right to be annoyed at finding that fellow here yet again. All right. So Wakefield was younger than him, better-looking than him, taller than him and probably a whole lot more charming than him. Why should any of that matter? And as for being annoyed with himself for feeling annoyed … that was downright bloody stupid. Unfortunately, knowing it didn’t help.
Putting both face and voice under strict control, he said, ‘I’m sorry if we’ve arrived at an inconvenient time but Jude wanted to ask a favour. More than one, actually.’
Lydia’s swift, ‘It isn’t inconvenient at all,’ clashed with Gilbert’s rather stiff, ‘Please don’t mind me. I was about to take my leave.’
Recognising that he had meant well and that she hadn’t really been very kind, Lydia said, ‘Perhaps you’d care to join Aubrey and me for supper one evening, Gilbert?’
‘Thank you,’ he bowed, thawing a little. ‘I’d be delighted.’
‘Good. I’ll send a note when I’m sure Aubrey will be at home. He still stays overnight in Shoreditch as often as not – but I’ll arrange something soon. And thank you again for worrying about me.’
When everyone had said the right things and Mr Wakefield had taken his leave, Eden eyed Lydia with the impenetrable expression he usually reserved for interrogating suspects and said, ‘So. He worries about you, does he?’
‘Apparently.’
‘And is he wholly in your confidence?’
She folded her arms and stared back at him.
‘Not entirely, no.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning he doesn’t know a half – or even a quarter of what you know. But if he did … I didn’t realise I needed your permission on what I might say and to whom I might say it.’
‘You don’t.’ Good. She’s as annoyed as I am – just
not for the same reason. ‘But until we know who wishes you ill, you’d be wise to be wary of sharing your troubles with anyone you’re not completely sure of.’
Lydia smiled at him with lethal sweetness.
‘That sounds as if I shouldn’t share them with anyone but you.’
‘Not at all,’ he snapped. ‘I merely meant that you should be careful.’
‘Oh. That refrain again. We really should set it to music.’
Jude, who had said nothing throughout this, suddenly startled them by laughing.
‘What?’ asked his father tetchily.
‘Nothing. It’s just quite funny watching the two of you arguing.’
‘Yes? Well, we’ve had a lot of practice,’ grumbled Eden. And then, bathing Lydia in a slow, reluctant smile, ‘But this time was my fault.’
That smile had its usual effect and Lydia couldn’t help responding to it.
‘I know. On the other hand, a true gentleman would have merely admitted being at fault but missed out the words “this time”.’ And to Jude, ‘What do you think?’
‘It might have been more tactful,’ he agreed gravely.
‘Ignore him,’ said Eden, buffeting the boy’s shoulder. ‘He just wants you to let him loose in the lorinery and help him choose Yuletide gifts for his sister, his aunt, his grandmother and the Lord knows who else. Of course, you can say no to either one.’
‘Why would I do that?’ Lydia grinned at Jude, unable to hide her pleasure. ‘Of course you may visit the lorinery – though if you want more stories like How Colonel Maxwell Crossed the Bridge at Upton or The Day Colonel Maxwell Led the Charge at Dunbar, I’d be grateful if you did it outside the workshop.’
‘Good Lord,’ muttered Eden. ‘Is that the kind of thing you’ve been listening to?’
Jude flushed. ‘Yes. It’s all true, isn’t it?’ And when his father didn’t immediately answer, ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Eden. ‘It just wasn’t as heroic as Buxton and Hayes probably make it sound. It was more to do with mud, sweat and knowing when to duck.’
