by Stella Riley
‘My sister. In three weeks’ time, I leave for Genoa. I go there every year in April to acquit a financial obligation to my uncle. I can’t take Gianetta with me – and I can’t leave her here because Giacomo can’t cope with her and Selim travels with me. So I wondered if you might possibly be good enough …’ He stopped, plainly finding it hard to ask.
‘To take her off your hands and place her in safe-keeping at Thorne Ash?’ finished Richard obligingly.
‘Yes. It’s not a small thing, I know … but there’s no one else I can ask. And at least she’s stopped throwing things.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Dorothy will want a written guarantee against damages.’
‘She shall have it.’
‘In triplicate. Very well. How soon would you care to deliver Mistress Gianetta? Or are you hoping that I’ll do it for you?’
‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead. First, there are other things I ought to tell you – because if I don’t, certain things Gianetta may say will puzzle you.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite. To begin with, she wants to force me into returning her to my uncle so that she can marry his youngest son. I’ve no intention of doing so – nor would my uncle wish it. Like me, he’s fully conscious that – he and my father having married a pair of sisters – the relationship between their children is too close to admit marriage. Gianetta, however, can’t accept that, having indulged her every wish since she was six years old and taught her to look upon me as part of the hired help, our uncle can’t be brought round her thumb this time. Consequently, I’m the villain of the piece – and destined to remain so.’ He paused and sipped his wine. ‘And that’s why I have to tell you a long and not particularly edifying tale about the ability of English law to do a man to death on the strength of little more than his nationality and religion.’
The room seemed suddenly airless and Richard set down his glass, aware that the turning point was upon him and that he wasn’t sure he wanted it. He said, ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’
‘Yes.’ A faint frown entered the Italian’s eyes and he gazed down into the ruby liquid in his glass. ‘After so long, it’s hard to know where to start – or how to make you believe me. But in the end I suppose the most I can hope for is that you’ll listen.’
‘I’ll listen. Where does your story start?’
‘It starts here in London in the spring of 1615 when a young man left Genoa with his bride to set himself up as a goldsmith and money-lender in Foster Lane.’ A crooked smile dawned. ‘His name was Alessandro Falcieri … and he was, of course, my father.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
THREE
James Butler, twelfth Earl of Ormonde, was not made Lord-Deputy of Ireland. Instead, the King hedged his bets by leaving the post vacant and appointing two sexagenarian Lord Justices with the task of governing in his name. Meanwhile, the trial of Strafford moved into its second week and the wider affairs of the nation waited on its outcome. His lordship continued to cast doubt on the validity of the prosecution – thus tickling public fancy for the first time in his career and forcing Pym to resort to the questionable evidence contained in the Privy Council notes. Secretary Vane was no help and the other councillors flatly denied any treasonable implication; so that at the end of ten hours, Pym left the hall with his stomach in disorder and black rage in his heart.
In between attending the trial every day, the King wooed his critics in the Upper House – with the result that my lords Essex, Bristol, Mandeville and Saye all gained places on the Privy Council. Meanwhile, ostensibly behind His Majesty’s back, Harry Jermyn encouraged William Davenant, John Suckling and Francis Langley to consider more tangible forms of action.
Combining under the leadership of George Goring, the quartet enjoyed a number of secret meetings where they swore oaths of secrecy and plotted to seize the Tower of London. For several weeks they scuttled about Whitehall, exchanging significant glances and almost bursting with cloak-and-dagger excitement until Goring realised that their doings had not passed unnoticed and decided to disassociate himself from the plot. He mentioned it casually to Lord Newport – who passed it on to Lord Mandeville – who quietly informed John Pym. Goring then left Francis and the rest to their own devices and slipped unobtrusively back to his post as Governor of Portsmouth.
Pym filed the information away at the back of his mind and let it lie. Still intent on proving Strafford a traitor, he reluctantly produced the copy he’d made of Secretary Vane’s notes and handed it to the lawyer, John Glyn.
Glyn did his best. It wasn’t his fault that, as soon as he announced new evidence, Strafford instantly obtained leave to call new witnesses. Anxious to stick to the point, Glyn offered to abandon his new evidence if Strafford would do likewise with his witnesses. This was a mistake. The hall erupted into a tumult of cat-calls and the session had to be adjourned before the prosecution could be made to look any more ridiculous than it already did. Even the King was seen to be laughing.
Without lingering to speak to any of his colleagues, Richard Maxwell fought his way through the crush and into the blessedly clean air above Westminster Stairs. Then he hailed a waterman and, a short time later, was facing Luciano del Santi across the width of his parlour.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ve had enough and I’m taking a few days’ leave of absence. I’ll make an early start in the morning and, if Mistress Gianetta can be ready by then, I’ll take her with me.’
The Italian’s eyes remained characteristically impassive.
‘She’ll be ready. Do you want to take Tobias as well?’
‘Will he want to come?’
‘I doubt it – though you can ask him. He’s determined to master basic engraving before his birthday because he thinks that, if he does, I’ll be guaranteed to accept his indentures.’
‘I hadn’t realised you were still undecided.’
‘I’m not. But there’s no need for Tobias to know that just yet.’
‘Can’t anything be straightforward with you?’ sighed Richard. ‘Very well. Toby stays here with his engraving. I’ll collect your sister an hour after it’s light. In fact, it would look better if you came too – not to mention the need we have to come up with a convincing story.’
‘For whom?’
‘Eden and Kate, mostly. Unless you’re prepared to trust them with the truth as well?’
‘No.’ The word was soft but implacable.
‘I thought not. Of course, you may be lucky. Your sister may not say anything untoward. But I wouldn’t care to rely on it.’
‘Neither would I.’
‘So you’ll come?’
‘Have I a choice?’ asked Luciano with faint acidity. And then, ‘You’re very abrasive today. The impeachment?’
‘What else?’ said Richard. ‘I can put up with failure. What I don’t like is a bloody shambles.’
‘So you’re going home.’
‘Yes. And if you’ve any opinions on the subject, I’d be glad if you’d keep them to yourself. Right now, there’s only one matter on which we’re likely to agree.’
‘And that is?’
‘The court-room. It stinks.’
* * *
They reached Thorne Ash before dark on Monday evening; Gianetta, her maid and a mountain of luggage in the carriage and her brother attended by Selim, together with Richard and his groom on horseback. It was Kate, sitting at the window, who saw them first and, rising swiftly, said, ‘My goodness – it’s Father!’
Only Amy was stricken silent. Everyone else exclaimed with pleased astonishment.
‘Richard?’ Dorothy was already on her feet. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ Still hovering by the window, Kate’s hand suddenly clenched hard on the latch. ‘And he’s brought Luciano del Santi with him.’ She turned slowly to look at Eden. ‘And Luciano del Santi’s sister – and the private assassin.’
Eden grinned.
‘Then we’d better lock up the maids
ervants. Perhaps Mother ought to --’
But Dorothy was no longer there. She was already out through the hall and running across the courtyard to throw herself into her husband’s arms.
It was much later, when the travellers had been fed and a distinctly prickly Gianetta settled into the best spare bedchamber, that Richard lay with his fingers twined in his wife’s hair and said, ‘Out of the thousand or so things I have to tell you, only one seems important.’
She smiled at him. ‘I know. And I love you too.’
‘Then you’ll know what I’m going to ask.’
‘Yes. You want me to come to London.’ She searched his eyes for the trouble that had been there earlier and found that it had lessened. ‘Is it just the trial?’
‘Just the trial? No, my darling – it’s not just the trial. It’s spending five months of the year away from you and everything here and being still without any prospect of release. My esteemed colleagues are preparing a bill stating that Parliament can only be dissolved by its own consent. If it gets through, the House will sit forever.’
‘You could resign your seat,’ she said, knowing that he would not.
‘In the end, I may have to.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes I wonder where it’s all leading. The Scots army is still in the north; there’s unrest in Ireland over the distribution of land – and discontent here over everything from trade to football. And what are we doing about it? We’re putting all our efforts into the removal of Strafford and the increase of our own power. But what it if can’t be achieved gradually and with dignity inside the House? What if, in chasing this one dream, we bring down the order of generations like a pack of cards? Will we still have been right?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dorothy slowly. ‘I only know that you will follow your conscience – and that, if a thing is worth having, it must be worth fighting for. You can’t give up now because the path is thorny – for if you and the others like you withdraw, who will there be to moderate the extremists and speak for the ordinary folk? Who will care for the man to whom acts of Parliament are nothing so long as his family is fed and his roof secure?’
Turning, Richard propped his head on his hand, the better to look at her. Then, lightly touching her cheek, he said, ‘Wise Dolly. What would I do without you? And who else, after so long an absence, would put up with a husband who brings politics to bed? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Not for that, anyway.’ A tiny laugh rippled through her voice. ‘But you might apologise for saddling me with the signor’s spoiled and overly decorated sister without so much as a word. What on earth do you expect me to do with her?’
‘Hand her over to Kate,’ he grinned. ‘You don’t really mind, do you?’
‘Mind? Me? Now whatever makes you think I might mind? I’ve got a Genoese maidservant who barely speaks English and a fellow with a nasty-looking dagger running loose in the house; I’ve a daughter in law who’s pregnant, a tutor-cum-steward who’s turned Puritan; and I’ve to play hostess to a sulky Italian child and a diabolically beautiful young man whose cleverness and icy restraint I find frankly terrifying. But it could be worse, I suppose. At least we’re rid of Ivo’s Irishman.’ She stopped and drew a long breath. ‘Which brings me to the thing I’ve been putting off telling you about Amy.’
‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ said Richard. ‘As it happens, I’ve something to tell you about your diabolical young man, too. But, at the moment, my mind is on other things.’
‘Again?’ murmured Dorothy wickedly.
‘Again,’ he agreed, against her mouth. ‘It’s amazing what a five-month separation can do – even at my age.’
* * *
By noon next day, however, with Eden’s worries about Nathan Cresswell and the tale of Amy’s misconduct ringing in his ears, Richard began to wonder if he might not have done better to remain in Westminster.
‘You’re sure,’ he asked wearily of Dorothy after sending a sobbing Amy once more back to her room, ‘that no real harm was done?’
‘As sure as I can be, yes. That’s why I sent the foolish boy packing.’
‘Mm. Well, you could hardly keep him chained in the cellar. But the trouble is that we can’t let some unsuspecting family take Amy to their bosom if she’s --’
‘I know. But she isn’t. Yet.’
Richard looked at the ceiling and swore quietly.
‘Then we’d better find her a husband – after which, it’s just a question of hoping for the best.’
‘Quite. So who do we know? Someone kind and sensible who prefers looks to brains and won’t mind waiting a few months would be nice.’
Richard grinned ruefully. ‘You don’t want much, do you?’
‘Well, she may be a troublesome baggage but she’s still our daughter,’ she sighed. ‘Otherwise I’d ask if your alarming friend might be interested.’
‘Luciano?’ He gave an involuntary choke of laughter. ‘God, no!’
‘No. Of course, Amy is so impressed by the signorina’s jewels that she’d probably be willing to overlook the fact that she finds that shoulder of his repellent … but then she doesn’t know what we know, does she?’
Richard eyed her thoughtfully. He’d given her a skeletal version of the story Luciano had told him and watched her making the obvious deductions. Now, feeling that it was time to bring it into the open, he said, ‘What is it that’s worrying you? Toby?’
‘Well, of course. You can’t believe any more than I do that the signor has set himself up under a name that isn’t exactly his own purely in order to earn a simple crust.’
‘I don’t.’ He drew a long breath and said, ‘Dolly – when Luciano was younger than Toby is now, his life was torn apart in the worst possible way and he was left with the responsibility of getting his ailing mother and six-year-old sister to unknown relatives in another country. He didn’t tell me how hard that was – and, if he had, I doubt I could fully comprehend it. What I do understand, however, is that he needs to know why and how it became necessary.’
‘You’re saying he’s just looking for answers?’ She shook her head. ‘I doubt that. Another man might do so – but not him. He’s too clever for his own good. And I don’t want Toby mixed up in any little games he might be playing.’
‘He won’t be.’
‘Meaning that you’ll see to it that he isn’t?’
‘If necessary. What’s the matter? Don’t you trust my judgement?’
The tawny-green eyes encompassed him and seemed to refocus. She said simply, ‘I’m sorry. I know how rarely you’re wrong about people. But in this case, I just can’t understand why you like him so much.’
‘To be perfectly truthful, neither can I. He has a remarkable brain. His clarity of vision and ability to reason are outstanding. I also appreciate the way he is with Toby. As for the rest, I don’t know.’ He smiled at her. ‘But there’s one thing you may be certain of. Nothing he does will ever hurt anyone in this family because I suspect he places too high a value on his connection with us to let it. Proof of that, if you need it, is in the fact that he’s entrusted his sister to us. And now I suggest that we forget him. He’ll not be with us for long – and the problem of what to do with Amy is undeniably more pressing.’
‘True. But I can’t come up with any possibilities at all,’ she said gloomily. ‘Haven’t any of your colleagues got an eligible son?’
‘I can’t say I’ve ever asked them,’ he began humorously. And then stopped, an arrested expression entering his eyes. ‘Wait a minute. Tall, passably good-looking, roughly twenty-three years old with a good head for business; grandfather a book-binder, father a member of the Commons with an eye to social advancement, a finger in all manner of pies and a sense of humour. How does that sound?’
‘Too good to be true. What’s his name?’
‘The son? Geoffrey Cox. I don’t know him well but he seems a pleasant young man and fairly bright. Of course, he may have too much sense to take Amy – or even have an interes
t elsewhere. But I’ll sound his father out on the matter and, if all goes well, you can bring Amy to London with you.’
Her brows rose. ‘I’m coming, then?’
‘Yes. If you value my sanity.’
* * *
After an evening spent avoiding Luciano del Santi and a morning making stilted conversation with his sister, Kate sent Meg off to have someone saddle her horse and slipped away to change her dress. Luck, however, did not seem to be with her; for though Tom Tripp was in the stable-yard, he had not saddled Willow because Meg had not brought him the order.
‘I’ll do it now,’ he said with unusual curtness. ‘Won’t take a minute.’
Kate followed him, frowning slightly.
‘It’s all right, Tom. It’s not your fault. I just wanted to get away unseen if possible. Goodness knows where Meg can have got to.’
‘I could make a guess,’ muttered Tom.
‘Well?’
‘And I’ll bide my time till I’m sure, if you don’t mind.’ He busied himself over his task. ‘No need for you to bother your head, Miss Kate. No need at all. There now. Shall I come along with you?’
‘No thank you. I just want an hour on my own.’ Accepting his proffered hands, she swung herself up into the saddle. ‘As far as you’re aware, is anyone else out riding just now?’
‘Yes.’ His face seemed to freeze. ‘That foreign friend of the master’s. Took his horse out after breakfast and hasn’t come back yet that I know of.’
Kate grimaced.
‘That’s all I need. Still … he could be anywhere by now so there’s no reason why I should meet him.’
‘No.’ He eyed her shrewdly. ‘Don’t you like him, then?’
‘I can take him,’ shrugged Kate, ‘or leave him.’ And rode out of the yard fervently wishing it were true.
Just exactly what was true, she didn’t know. That was the trouble. Since the moment she’d seen him through the window last night, she’d been terrified of experiencing another aberration. Fortunately, she hadn’t. She was still more conscious of him than she liked – but no more than that, thank God. Logic dictated that the whole business of the wedding and that strange, faceless conversation in the dark, had simply produced a passing fancy – a random attraction, unlikely ever to be repeated. After all, despite the fact that one was supposed to be sexually unaware one minute before being catapulted into bed with someone the next, it was stupid to believe that one stepped innocently off the rainbow on one’s wedding day. And that was the reason that, just for a moment, she’d been physically drawn to Luciano del Santi … who was clever, enigmatic and the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen. But she’d faced up to it now and recognised it for what it was and so there was absolutely no possibility of it happening again. None.
