by Stella Riley
If they did, the garbled and fragmentary news did not reflect it. Rumour said that one of the young princesses was to marry the twelve-year-old Prince of Orange; Pym’s friend, Oliver St John, was the new Solicitor-General; bishops had been or would be or might be abolished; and the Commons, having brought in the glaziers to make Westminster Hall less draughty, was now debating something called the Triennial Bill which meant that the House must sit every three years.
All of this provoked much discussion at Thorne Ash but no change in routine. Frost hardened the roads but Danny, having developed a fortuitous ague, did not take advantage of it to ride to London with the letters he was supposed to deliver to the Earl of Tyrone’s nephew. He remained, instead, to recover his strength and resume his clandestine meetings with Amy. He sometimes wondered what would happen if they were caught; but his nature was too sanguine for this to cause undue concern … and anyway, it passed the time something wonderful.
Amy felt that it was a pity Danny was Irish – for who wanted to bury oneself amongst the peat-bogs? But while she waited for the kind of husband who could provide her with sable muffs and ruby rings, there seemed no reason why she shouldn’t amuse herself in a manner as exciting as it was instructive.
It was her misfortune that she couldn’t help assuming an air of smugness which Kate interpreted without any difficulty and which eventually, after listening to Mr Cresswell and Goodwife Flossing, brought her to say, ‘Amy. Flirt with Mr O’Flaherty, by all means – but stay out of the linen-cupboard.’
Amy’s jaw dropped. ‘Wh-what?’
‘You heard. It’s vulgar and it annoys Flossie - and she’s bound to catch you sooner or later. Or Nathan will. And do you want that young man to take you for a wanton?’
‘He doesn’t. He won’t.’
‘I hope you’re sure.’ Kate sighed. ‘You’re playing with fire, you know.’
‘No, I’m not. I know exactly what I’m doing. I shan’t let him make love to me and I shan’t elope with him either.’
‘I know that. He hasn’t enough money, has he? But you might try remembering that he works for Uncle Ivo and could lose his position over this. And if you really don’t want to marry Danny, you’d better stop lurking in closets – or anywhere else, for that matter. Otherwise, I’ll tell Mother.’
‘Don’t do that!’ begged Amy, alarmed. ‘I won’t do it again. I promise. There. Are you happy now?’
‘Not particularly,’ said Kate. ‘But it’s a start, I suppose.’
* * *
Still inwardly railing against the inescapable fact of her pregnancy, Celia started to carp gently about the amount of time Eden spent overseeing the estate.
‘I don’t know why you have to do so much,’ she said fretfully. ‘That tedious Cresswell person seems to know about everything – so why can’t you let him to more? He’s always offering.’
‘I know.’ Eden frowned slightly. ‘But he spends too much time in Banbury consorting with dyed-in-the-wool Puritans for my liking … and then he comes back to spread zeal amongst our tenants and harangue Parson Fletcher about purifying the chapel.’
‘So?’ Celia finished braiding her hair for the night and subjected her face to careful scrutiny. ‘What harm can that do?’
‘A lot. By and large, the older people hold by the traditional values; but a surprising number of the younger men are beginning to absorb Nathan’s outlandish ideas – and I could name at least three families who’ve stopped attending church in order to worship in what they call a less idolatrous fashion. I’ve even a suspicion that it’s Nathan who leads their services.’
Yawning a little, Celia forsook her mirror and slid into bed.
‘Then forbid him.’
‘It’s not that easy. I’ve tried discouraging him – but he merely says that a man must keep his own conscience and do the Lord’s work as best he can. And I can’t really argue with that. Goodness knows, I’ve no particular aversion to Puritans in general but some of them are fanatics – and I don’t want that kind of thing rearing its head here. That’s why I’m restricting Nathan’s activities about the estate and doing things myself. Do you understand?’
‘Mm.’ No longer really listening, Celia continued to investigate the contours of her abdomen. ‘The baby doesn’t show at all yet, does it? I believe I’ll be able to ride for two or three months longer. When we get a fine day, will you take me to visit the Drydens? I’d like to pay a few calls before I start to look dreadful.’
Eden placed his hand between hers.
‘Which you never will. How many times must I tell you?’
‘Twice a day and thrice on Sundays.’ She turned to twine satiny arms about his neck. ‘Do you love me?’
‘It’s marginal,’ replied Eden, his breath faintly ragged. ‘But I believe you might say so.’
‘And you’ll take me to Canon’s Ashby?’
‘Yes.’ His mouth hovered over hers. ‘To the moon, if you like.’
* * *
Nathan Cresswell had always viewed the world with subconscious disapproval. It came from being born into a family whose declining finances were in direct proportion to its increasing number of offspring. The Cresswells had once been comfortably-off and well-respected; but by the time Nathan was twenty, he had four brothers and three sisters and could recite the catalogue of his father’s unlucky investments to music. He had also come to dislike his father’s partiality for the bottle, his mother’s addiction to bright colours and the noisy cheerfulness of his siblings. In short, he found them feckless, Godless and vulgar and was at odds with them, one and all.
Then he had come to Thorne Ash and life had taken a turn for the better. Richard Maxwell, who was his second cousin once removed, had never treated him like a poor relation and Dorothy was never less than courteous. He’d enjoyed his brief moments of power managing the estate in Richard’s absence; he’d made friends in the town; and, for the first time in his life, he’d known the comfort of being among men who saw the evil in the world with a clearer eye even than his. And through them, Nathan discovered that the disapproval he had always striven to hide was not at all odd. It was right.
He learned to channel it and found that, by doing so, he earned a position of influence among his new friends. He spoke against bishops, against lewdness, idolatry and Sunday football. And he was just beginning to see the fruits of his labours when Eden Maxwell stepped in to stem his progress.
Nathan took his frustrations to his friends in Banbury and returned with renewed resolution. There was corruption in the house and it was up to him to drive it out. Eden’s wife was wholly eaten up with vanity, Amy was becoming immodest as any whore and an accursed Papist lay nightly beneath the roof. Of them all, only Kate seemed truly worth saving for there was an austerity in her that appealed to him. He determined to do his best.
Returning one evening from the home of his friend Jonas Radford, Nathan found himself forced to stable his horse himself. This was not unusual for the servants had a habit of misconstruing his orders or eluding them altogether. But one day, decided Nathan as he set about unsaddling his mare, one day they shall attend to me and I will not be mocked.
A sound caught his ear. The soft, unmistakeable sound of feminine laughter. Nathan laid down his cloth and turned his head to listen. It came again from somewhere above him and, silently, he moved towards the ladder. Cousin Richard’s servants were not only impertinent – they were lascivious. He climbed quietly, hoping that one of the miscreants was Tom Tripp. He would enjoy seeing that young oaf discomfited – or, better still, dismissed.
It was not Tom Tripp. It was even better. Nathan remained poised on the ladder, his head just above the level of the loft floor, taking in Amy’s tumbled hair and the Irishman’s hand at her half-unlaced bodice. They were quite unaware of his presence and he took his time, absorbing the languor of Amy’s expression and the way her hands slid knowingly between the fastenings of her Papist lover’s shirt.
Then he pounced.
* * *
‘It’s my fault,’ said Kate when the shouting had stopped and a sobbing Amy had been taken upstairs by Celia. ‘I should have known she wouldn’t keep her word. It’s my fault and I’m sorry. I should have told you.’
Wearily, Dorothy shook her head and then regretted it. Her temples were pounding.
‘You did what you thought was best. If anyone is to blame, it is I. She hasn’t had a thought outside her body since she was twelve and we’ve always known we’d have to find her a husband before any harm was done. But she’s not seventeen for another six months. How can she have been so stupid?’
‘Easily,’ said Eden dryly. ‘And how fortunate it is that you caught her, Nathan. It’s just a pity you couldn’t have been a bit more discreet about it.’
‘I am but an instrument of the Lord,’ returned Nathan. ‘He guides my footsteps and directs my ears so that I may do His work and offer His counsel.’
‘His – or yours?’
‘Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall,’ observed Mr Cresswell reprovingly. ‘The Lord God’s displeasure is on this land and the time is coming when those who have wilfully turned their eyes from the Light shall be winnowed out.’ He turned his burning gaze on Kate. ‘There has been evil idolatry in this house for many months now. You must shun it as you would the plague.’
‘If you’re talking about Amy, I can’t possibly shun her,’ said Kate prosaically. ‘And if you mean Mr O’Flaherty’s religion, it’s harmed none of us and has nothing to do with the present problem.’
‘It is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord! He that toucheth pitch shall be defiled therewith.’
‘Oh that’s enough!’ said Eden, a spark of temper lighting his eyes. ‘You found Amy doing what she’d no business to be doing and have brought it to our attention. For the rest, you may reserve your sermons for your sectarian friends. In short, from this point on, I believe we can dispense with your presence. Good night.’
An unpleasant gleam showed briefly in the pale eyes and was gone.
‘As you wish, Cousin. But I shall pray that you may comprehend the damage you do with your misguided notions of what is proper.’
The door closed behind him but it was several seconds before anyone spoke. Then Eden looked across to the furthest corner of the room where Danny still sat, white-faced and shaking, and said, ‘It’s time, I suppose, that we asked you how far this has gone. We’ve heard – indeed, the whole house has heard – what Amy says. The unfortunate part is that, being Amy, we don’t know whether we can believe her.’
Mr O’Flaherty rose and tried to assemble the remnants of his dignity. Then he said earnestly, ‘You can. It’s true enough that I’ve been a great daft fool – but I’ve not seduced your sister. And I’ll swear to that on the holy cross or anything else you like.’
There was a long silence while Kate, Dorothy and Eden all eyed him thoughtfully. Finally, Dorothy said, ‘I think I believe you. But why did you do it? You must have known the trouble it would cause.’
Daniel bent his head and stared penitently at the floor.
‘You heard him,’ said Eden. ‘He’s a great daft fool – and he couldn’t resist the opportunity. If he’d had any sense, he’d have been off to Dan O’Neill while the going was good.’
The Irishman met his gaze slowly.
‘You’re right. And Mr Ivo will fillet and bread me, so he will.’
‘If,’ said Kate slowly, ‘he’s told.’
‘Quite.’ Dorothy caught and held the stunned gaze of her brother’s messenger. ‘But I think it would be best for all concerned if you left here. Quickly.’
* * *
February became March and, in London Richard watched the Triennial Bill become law while the House continued to prepare for the opening of Strafford’s trial on the 22nd. It compiled the twenty-eight articles of impeachment – sixteen of which were aimed at the Earl’s Irish policies – and then allowed the entire indictment to be printed so it could be read by the public at large. Meanwhile, crushed by the responsibility of trying to deal with the rising Irish opposition, acting Lord-Deputy Wandesford, succumbed to a chill and died.
It was this, when he heard of it, that caused Richard Maxwell to spend a little time pondering the Irish question and eventually, towards the end of the month, to discuss the matter over dinner with Luciano del Santi.
‘I suspect,’ he said at length, ‘that there’s going to be trouble. The Irish supported Strafford because he offered the best hope of curtailing the sale of land to English profiteers. So the burning question now, I suppose, is what line his successor will take.’
‘Quite. The word in the City is that the Earl of Ormonde has been suggested but that he’ll be rejected in favour of someone less likely to provoke Lord Cork and his merry band of speculators.’ The Italian’s deep cobalt eyes met Richard’s grey ones. ‘Do you understand Irish politics?’
‘Does anyone? What little I know comes from the infrequent bulletins Dorothy’s brother sends us. He’s served under Strafford for the last couple of years – and has presumably stayed on in Ireland to try and hold things together.’
‘Yes? Then I hope, for his sake, that he is well-paid,’ came the arid response. Then, ‘We spoke some time ago of Strafford and you declined to comment. What is your opinion now?’
Richard’s expression grew grave and, folding his arms, he let his chin sink on to his chest.
‘I don’t know. I think he may have been sincere according to his lights ... and he certainly doesn’t look like Black Tom Tyrant any more.’
‘No. He looks like a sick old man.’
‘You’ve been to the trial?’
‘Yesterday. I shan’t go again. I’ve seen what I wished to see … and not even for the pleasure of hearing more of Strafford’s quite masterly defence will I spend another hour on the public benches, squashed between red-faced fellows swilling ale, eating onions and relieving themselves on the floor.’
Richard nodded slowly but it was a long time before he spoke. Finally, he said, ‘You admire Strafford?’
‘I like precision and the ability to eschew rodomontade and stick to the facts. I respect the fair-mindedness he seems to have applied to his role in Ireland. Yes. I think it’s fair to say that I admire him. Certainly, I wish him well.’ Luciano paused, smiling sardonically. ‘I rather enjoyed seeing the credibility of the prosecution witnesses being reduced to pulp. But it can’t last. I’m sure Pym has something better up his sleeve.’
‘He has.’ Richard stared carefully into space. ‘Secretary Vane has been a mite careless with his papers.’
There was another silence.
‘Let me guess,’ said the Italian with heavy irony. ‘Harry Vane the younger – that well-known, fire-breathing Puritan – has been rifling through his father’s drawers. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And, according to the notes of a Privy Council meeting held in May of last year, Strafford suggested raising ‘an army in Ireland you may employ here to reduce this kingdom’.’
Luciano del Santi appeared supremely unimpressed.
‘Which kingdom?’ he asked calmly.
‘Well that is what you might call the crux of the matter. We all knew about the army Strafford was raising to fight the Scots. But what if there had also been some idea of using it here. What then?’
‘Are you seriously asking me that question?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then either Pym’s a cleverer man than I took him for – or you are a bigger fool,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘Do you really suppose that if the King was planning to unleash an Irish army on the undutiful English there would be a record of it in Council? And any dozen words quoted out of context can be made to sound incriminating. You know that. But your problem is that you also know what will happen if Strafford is allowed to resume his position at the King’s side. However … if you’re going to help destroy the man, at least acknowled
ge why – and for God’s sake don’t try placating your conscience with sanctimonious clap-trap. It’s not worthy of you.’
For a long time, Richard stared back without speaking. Then he said gently, ‘How old are you?’
Amusement and perfect comprehension touched the sculpted face.
‘Twenty-five.’
‘God help us, then, when you’re thirty,’ remarked Richard feelingly. ‘All right. The truth is that Strafford needs to be removed but I don’t like the way it’s being done. On the other hand, because I put my country before the life of any one man, I’m unlikely to lift a finger to save him. Is that better?’
‘It is, at least, honest.’
‘You set great store by that, don’t you?’
The dark brows rose. ‘It surprises you?’
‘No – not exactly. It makes me wonder why.’
The Italian laughed with an odd mixture of mockery and reluctance and reached out to pick up his glass. Green fire flared from the great emerald on his hand and, idly watching it, Richard wondered how much he had drunk – how much they had both drunk. He himself felt pleasantly mellow and, though the shadowed eyes held a gleam of something he could not quite name, del Santi did not look cup-shot either. But at the back of his mind lurked the suspicion that they had somehow or other arrived at a sort of crossroads; one from which there would be no going back. He refilled his glass and waited.
‘You wonder why?’ came the eventual response. ‘Of course you do. There’s a reason for everything, isn’t there? And a reason why – against every sensible tenet I’ve ever held – I’m now obliged to take you a little way into my confidence.’ He smiled wryly. ‘There’s a compliment in that. I always swore I’d never trust an Englishman. And, to be frank, I don’t trust many people at all. Next to love, trust is probably the most dangerous condition known to man – and as such, best restricted. So I trust Giacomo who has known me since I was sixteen and Selim to whom I owe my life; and now you … of whom, unfortunately, I must ask a favour.’
‘I see,’ said Richard neutrally. ‘Regarding what?’
