Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  Tobias grunted, swallowed and said, ‘Yes. It started about two hours ago or at least that’s when I woke up. I don’t know how long I’ll be away – maybe no more than four or five days. Turner will keep the shop open. Try not to get beaten up or locked in any more flooding cellars will you, there’s a good fellow?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. Just go and hold Tab’s hand and tell Ralph he’s not supposed to break out the brandy until after the birth.’

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’ Tobias strode across the room to sling his bags over one broad shoulder. ‘You’re looking remarkably cheerful this morning. Is that Lydia’s doing – or have you finally found the key to catching Quinn?’

  ‘Neither. I spent a large part of yesterday nailing down floorboards, if you must know. And now I need to show my face at the Tower before I’m cashiered for dereliction of duty.’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ said Tobias over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. ‘How on earth would Old Noll and the rest of them manage without you?’

  And was gone before Eden could summon up a retort.

  * * *

  At the Tower, he explained his absence of the previous day by giving Ned Moulton a brief account of his and Lydia’s recent brush with Quinn.

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever catch him?’ asked the Major, after he’d been assured of Lydia’s well-being. ‘Slippery as an eel, isn’t he?’

  ‘Very – but I persevere. Is there anything urgent here?’

  ‘No. Just the usual paperwork. And we’ve got a few new temporary guests.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Thomas Harrison and three of his Fifth Monarchist friends. They stood in front of the Council and said that when the Protector dissolved the Barebones Parliament he took the crown off Christ’s head and put it on his own. They also said that religious matters should be left in the hands of the Saints --’

  ‘Meaning themselves,’ said Eden.

  ‘Meaning themselves,’ agreed Major Moulton. ‘And they accused the government of being, not just anti-Christian, but also a usurped authority against which it was lawful to take up arms.’

  ‘Bloody idiots. Harrison may be one of Cromwell’s pets but he must have known that kind of provocation would land him in here.’ He paused. ‘Temporarily, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. One of them – Nathaniel Rich – has been given liberty to attend his wife’s death-bed but the others are being despatched to separate prisons. Exactly which ones, I haven’t yet been told. But I’ll be glad to speed Harrison on his way. The man gives me gut-ache.’

  ‘He has that effect on a lot of people,’ said Eden. ‘Give me the paperwork. I’ll take it with me and get it done when I can. But first I need to speak to someone at Whitehall.’

  * * *

  Colonel Maxwell found his erstwhile head clerk, Augustus Hollins, privately and without difficulty. He came directly to the point.

  ‘Has anything come in from Paris or Cologne regarding that matter we spoke of?’

  ‘Nothing from Paris. But our man in Cologne reports that Sir Ellis Brandon has been hovering around the periphery of the court-in-exile for the last three months and has recently married a wealthy Flemish widow. Consequently, bundling him on to a boat back to England isn’t viable. I have however,’ finished Mr Hollins primly, ‘taken the liberty of instructing our agent to pay Sir Ellis a visit and obtain, by any means necessary, whatever information he can regarding the provenance of the pistols. I hope I did right, Colonel.’

  ‘You did exactly right, Mr Hollins – and thank you.’

  ‘It is always a pleasure to assist you, sir.’

  ‘Are there any other developments you think I might like to know about?’

  ‘The recent abortive rendezvous in Salisbury resulted in the arrest of a few Royalist gentlemen – none being of any note. But due to the existence of that near-insurrection, there is now to be a new commission to regulate the Militia in defence of the City … and a proclamation banning race meetings for the next six months is currently being prepared.’ The clerk’s mouth curled wryly. ‘Daniel O’Neill has managed to escape from Dover Castle – from which one must suppose him to be blessed with the luck of the Irish. And there is a rumour, as yet unconfirmed, that the Earl of Rochester and Sir Joseph Wagstaffe landed at Margate a few days ago.’

  Eden nearly groaned. Rochester … again. He hoped the bloody man wasn’t careless enough to get himself picked up. Or if he was, that he’d keep what he knew to himself.

  ‘Interesting. If you hear anything further on those last two, let me know.’ He turned towards the door and then, as if it was a vague and not particularly important after-thought, said, ‘Ah. Do you happen to know if any of my former colleagues have been absent in the last week or two?’

  Mr Hollins brows rose in surprise.

  ‘Why, yes. Isaac Scrope – Mr Samuel Morland’s chief assistant. Bad oysters, he said. I believe he was house-bound for three or four days. How did you – ? No. Of course. A foolish question.’

  ‘Not so foolish,’ murmured Eden. ‘Is he in the building now?’

  ‘Indeed, Colonel. Did you want to speak to him?’

  ‘Yes. Discreetly.’

  ‘Naturally. If you will wait here, I’ll send him along to you.’

  ‘Thank you. And Mr Hollins … there will be no need to mention my name.’

  His expression admirably impervious, the clerk nodded and left. Then, in due course, Isaac Scrope entered the room to stop dead and turn deathly white.

  He stammered, ‘C-Colonel Maxwell. I d-don’t understand.’

  ‘You understand perfectly, Mr Scrope,’ said Eden pleasantly. ‘Those bad oysters of yours were actually a few unpleasant days with a fellow named Quinn. I could sympathise with you about that had you not seen fit to gossip about me.’

  ‘I didn’t! It was him – Quinn – who first mentioned you. He knew about you already.’

  ‘I doubt he already knew that you and I had been in the same line of work.’

  The man’s face crumpled.

  ‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry! But he was threatening my wife and daughters. What was I to do? The man is evil and – and powerful enough to do anything he wants. If I hadn’t done what he told me, he said … he said he’d put my girls in a brothel and I’d never see them again. How could I risk that?’

  ‘You couldn’t,’ agreed Eden wearily. ‘You couldn’t, Mr Scrope. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you were dragged into something that had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘That’s – that’s generous of you, Colonel,’ came the faintly startled reply. And then, with a small and very tentative smile, ‘Had the circumstances been different, I might have had some pleasure in the decrypting. They were very good codes.’

  * * *

  In an attempt to stop his mind straying to Lydia – which it was very prone to do – Eden decided to go back to Duck Lane for another look at Old Job. Lydia, he knew, would not be there. When she’d finally been capable of saying anything … and it gave him immense satisfaction to know how completely he could scramble her wits … she had said that she’d be spending most of the day with the women. Since she would have Peter in attendance and had promised not to be out after dark, he reasoned she should be safe enough. And meanwhile he could try to work out just what it was about that bloody cupboard that was pricking at the back of his brain.

  Neville had given it a name. Why? Why would anybody in their right mind do that? Eden could only think that it had some significance that had so far eluded him. Talking to the men who had known Neville might yield some clue. But failing that, he’d risk reducing Buxton to tears by taking the damned thing apart if he had to.

  Normal work had now been largely resumed on the ground floor but Nicholas and two or three others were still restoring order above. Eden spoke to Mr Potter and half a dozen fellows, all of whom had been at the lorinery since its early days and who had therefore known Stephen Neville best. All agreed that Mr Stephen had a soft spot for Ol
d Job; all laughed at the name he’d given it as a joke; none of them knew anything remotely useful.

  Eden thanked them all for their time and went upstairs to stare broodingly at the cupboard over folded arms.

  From his work on the far side of the room, Nicholas said, ‘I take it Lydia’s no worse for her ordeal? No delayed reaction?’

  ‘No. Any other female would have had hysterics at the time and taken to her bed immediately after. But with Lydia, it’s business as usual.’ Eden glanced round. ‘Do you know anything about this cupboard – aside from the ridiculous name?’

  ‘No.’ Nicholas walked across to join him. ‘As far as I can see it’s a perfectly ordinary example of its type – built into the wall along with the house. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘To begin with, why would Stephen Neville – who, as far as I’m aware, wasn’t any more eccentric than you or I – give the thing a name? Then there’s the fact that the lorinery has been at the heart of this business with Quinn right from the beginning; as if he, or perhaps the man who’s paying him, knew the thing he wanted would be here. And finally, I have the aggravating feeling that my eyes have seen something my brain hasn’t understood.’ He shook his head. ‘I went all over this thing yesterday, looking for hidden compartments and the like – and if it is holding a secret, I couldn’t find it. But I still can’t shake off the feeling that I’m missing something.’

  ‘If you are and if there is more to Old Job than meets the eye,’ said Nicholas musingly, ‘the chances are Quinn missed it as well.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes. I had realised that – and don’t find it comforting.’

  ‘No. So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Go over it again. Then rip it out, if necessary.’ Eden sighed. ‘Just leave me to it. You might as well. If and when I need help, I’ll let you know.’

  He started at the top, doing all the same things he’d done yesterday but approaching the problem more systematically. Inch by laborious inch, he worked his way from top to bottom, then from right to left … and found nothing. The thing was as solid as it looked. There were no places where it sounded hollow; no double-skinning to the shelves or doors; nothing concealed in the carving. In fact, thought Eden, sitting down to glare at the frustrating thing, the only interesting feature Old Job possessed were those two oddly-shaped and apparently functionless tubular cavities.

  Oddly-shaped and useless? Why?

  The openings of both were wide enough for him to insert two fingers comfortably but too deep for him to touch their backs.

  Assuming, of course, that they have one, he thought suddenly.

  ‘Nick – is there any kind of narrow blade up here? And more light would help.’

  Nicholas handed him and knife and sent Dan Hayes downstairs for a lantern.

  ‘Found something?’

  ‘Probably not. But since my last resort involves demolishing the blasted thing completely and not necessarily to any good purpose …’

  Eden knelt on the floor and slid the knife into the left-hand cavity. It disappeared to a depth of some five inches and then hit a barrier. He moved over to the right and did the same thing again. This time the entire blade – a good eight inches of it – disappeared before it found resistance. He gently rotated the blade in the cavity and, feeling what might be an uneven surface, withdrew the knife to try again with his fingers. Yes. At the furthest point of his reach was some kind of groove or channel. Eden sat back on his heels and started scraping at the rim of it. He’d originally taken it for wood – the same nearly black oak that the rest of the cupboard was made of – but some unreasoning instinct told him he’d been wrong. Flakes of something dropped to the floor and he detected a hint of shine.

  ‘Where’s the bloody lantern?’ he demanded.

  ‘Here.’ Trooper Hayes materialised at his shoulder and, seeing what the Colonel was doing, held the lantern where it would shed most light. ‘All right, sir?’

  Eden didn’t answer but simply went on scraping until the entire rim was revealed.

  It was brass. Bright, shiny, golden brass.

  An image appeared in Eden’s mind … along with the echo of Toby’s voice that morning.

  And, without warning, the penny finally dropped.

  ‘Christ,’ he breathed. His heart was beating like an urgent drum-roll. ‘Oh my God. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’ asked Nicholas and Trooper Hayes more or less in unison.

  Eden came swiftly to his feet.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’m sure. But for now … Nick. Get some of the men to stay on after their shift and don’t under any circumstances let this place be left unattended even for a second. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘But what --?’ began Nicholas.

  ‘Later,’ snapped Eden. And took off at a run.

  * * *

  There was no real need for haste. But the possibility that, after all their months of searching, he might finally have found Stephen Neville’s hiding-place, sent him hurtling in search of Lydia. Fortunately, he knew where to look.

  Since the day he’d rescued three of their number, Lydia’s women had sighed over him in solo and chorus – a phenomenon which his recent rescue of Lydia herself had only intensified. Consequently his unexpected appearance in their midst caused a flurry of feminine excitement.

  Lydia watched them clustering round him and watched him reply with his usual courtesy and that slow, dazzling smile. He looked windswept, purposeful and to her eyes, even more attractive than usual.

  ‘Gawd, Miss Lydia,’ sighed young Betsy beside her. ‘He’s lovely. You ain’t ’arf lucky.’

  Oh. Not just to her eyes, then.

  As he forged a path towards her through the admiring throng, he said, ‘I’m so sorry, ladies. I’d be delighted to sit with you all for a time and taste Mistress Carter’s cake – but I’m afraid it will have to wait for another day. Just now I’m in something of a hurry and have urgent need of Mistress Neville.’

  Lydia stood up. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He made her a small but perfectly correct bow. ‘But something has arisen that I believe you may be able to help me with.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get my cloak.’ Feeling her colour rising and hoping to hide it from him, she turned to the senior seamstress. ‘Lily … I’ll call on Mistress Howell in the morning and attempt to reach an agreement about price on such a large quantity of lace. If I can’t get back here myself, Nancy will come and let you know what’s been decided.’

  Lily Carter curtsied. ‘Thank you, Mistress Neville. That’d be a help.’

  Once out in the street with her hand on Eden’s arm, Lydia shot a brief sideways glance up at him and said, ‘What is it? Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to your house,’ he replied, a note of suppressed excitement filtering into his tone. ‘I want that brass thing Stephen told you to look after; the thing you thought was a key.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a second, she felt stupidly deflated. Of course he hadn’t swooped in to carry her off to an assignation. What on earth had she been thinking? ‘What do you want it for?’

  ‘It’s a theory I have. I’ll explain if and when I’m sure it’s correct.’ And swiftly changing the subject before she could enquire further, ‘Your women are a touch overwhelming, you know. Do they swarm on every man who strays through the door?’

  ‘No. Just you.’

  ‘Me?’ He turned to stare down at her. ‘Why?’

  He sounded so genuinely baffled that Lydia couldn’t help laughing even though she knew she was being side-tracked.

  ‘Why do you think? You’re the daring rescuer of distressed maidens. You’re their hero; their real-life knight in shining armour; their flesh-and-blood, dragon-slaying Saint George. And as if that wasn’t enough, you charm them and treat them like ladies and make shameless use of that smile of yours – so
of course most of them are half besotted with you.’

  A faint tinge of colour that had nothing to do with the biting wind touched his face.

  He said, ‘What do you mean – that smile of mine? I smile the same as anyone else.’

  ‘No,’ said Lydia patiently. ‘You don’t. You do it in a way that is dangerous to any female within ten paces.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have any effect on you,’ he observed.

  It does. Every time. It always has.

  ‘Ah but I have the advantage of knowing you better,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘I’m wise to your underhand ways. I know, for example, when I’m being offered a red herring. Tell me why you want the brass thing.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’ Then, when he merely shook his head and said nothing, ‘Is it a key?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘To what?’ Again he didn’t answer but merely smiled. ‘Eden. Tell me.’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’m sure. For now, I merely want to borrow it for an hour or so.’

  ‘And take it where?’

  Eden looked at her with amused exasperation.

  ‘Will you stop? You’ll know everything in due course. Just give me a little lee-way.’

  Lydia muttered something under her breath and, much to Eden’s relief, fell silent for the rest of the way. As soon as they arrived in her hall, he realised he should have known better.

  ‘Thank you, Henry – but I won’t need you to take my cloak. I’ll be going out again shortly.’ Then, turning a bright determined smile on Eden, she said, ‘You want the brass key. Tell me why and you may have it.’

  The hazel eyes narrowed. ‘Lydia --’

  ‘No. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them. Well?’

  He bundled her into the parlour away from Henry’s eyes and ears and trapped her between his body and the closed door.

  ‘Now listen to me, you maddeningly stubborn woman! I’m not --’

  And there he stopped, losing his thread completely when she laughed up at him.