by Stella Riley
The answer arrived even more reluctantly.
‘Because of what I said afterwards.’
The misplaced amusement spiralled up a couple of notches. Richard said, ‘Let me guess. You told her why you’d done it and implied you wouldn’t otherwise have dreamed of kissing her.’
‘Something like that.’
Richard held his tongue as long as he could and then said, ‘Bloody hell, Luciano – don’t you know anything about women? Of course she slapped you. Any girl worth her salt would have done the same. You’re just fortunate she didn’t have any sharp implements to hand.’
Frowning blue-black eyes met mildly hilarious grey ones. Luciano said stiffly, ‘I’m aware that I deserved it. I hurt her. I didn’t mean to – but I did. Why aren’t you angry?’
‘Since you’re plainly furious with yourself, it seems superfluous. But I’m willing to throw a couple of punches if it will make you feel better.’
The tension eased a little. ‘It wouldn’t – but thank you all the same.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Richard paused to consider the interesting fact that Luciano could speak dispassionately of Ferrars’ suicide yet be squirming with guilt about upsetting Kate. Suppressing a satisfied smile, he said, ‘On a serious note, I’m extremely glad to see an end to this entanglement with Clifford. As for the rest, Kate will get over it – or if she doesn’t, you’ll find a way of making it right. From what I’ve seen of it, that’s how your relationship usually works, isn’t it?’
‘We don’t have a relationship.’ Luciano left his seat and moved restlessly away in search of more wine. ‘As for making it right, I’ve already made an attempt – though I’ve no idea how successful it’s likely to be. Can we talk about something else?’
‘By all means. How about the degree of trouble Dolly tells me you put yourself to October to save Thorne Ash from capture?’ asked Richard equably. And, when no answer was forthcoming, ‘All right. Try unlocking your jaw and to tell me whether or not Giacomo has come back yet.’
‘He has. He arrived late this afternoon, having deposited Tobias safely at home.’ Luciano returned to the table to fill two glasses and then sat down again. ‘There’s no chance of your going there yourself, I suppose?’
‘Aside from the fact that being here occasionally gives me the chance to see Eden, I only wish there was. But with the House already seriously depleted and unrest all around us, I’ve no choice but to stay. I suppose you’ve heard of the recent unpleasantness at the Guildhall?’
‘Trained Bands dispersing petitioning merchants? Yes. But what did they expect? Food prices are rising, the blockade of Newcastle is making coal scarce and, due to the absence of the Court, trade has come to a virtual standstill. So when you add an obligatory fast-day each month, a rapidly growing black-list of so-called Malignants and His Majesty’s exquisitely-timed and wonderfully ironic denunciation of Parliament’s illegal taxes and arbitrary arrests, you can’t wonder at the all-pervading atmosphere of dreariness and suspicion.’ Luciano paused and smiled a little. ‘The only thing likely to put fresh heart into the waverers is a victory – preferably a big one over Rupert.’
‘Peace,’ responded Richard flatly, ‘would be better. Denzil Holles and a few of the rest of us have been pressing for more negotiations but I don’t know if anything will come of it. What with the Peace Party, the War Party and the Let’s Copy the Scots Covenanters Party, there’s more division inside the House than outside it these days.’
‘And Pym?’
‘Pym’s so bloody subtle I sometimes wonder if his right hand knows what his left is doing. But he’s still the only man with enough influence to unify the factions.’ Richard rolled a walnut idly between his fingers. ‘For what it’s worth, I think he’s steering a middle course in order to pacify the nervous. But I doubt very much that he wants a peace treaty just yet.’
‘In which,’ said Luciano sardonically, ‘he is almost certainly not alone. For I doubt very much if the King wants one either.’
* * *
The old year of 1642 became the new one of 1643. Giacomo reappeared to escort Toby back to London, while Gianetta took the opportunity to embark on what was to become a regular correspondence with her brother.
It soon became apparent that she was not the only one taking up her pen for, in no time at all, the entire country was knee-deep in propaganda. It began with the advent of the Royalist news-sheet Mercurius Aulicus – which in its turn begat an unofficial parliamentary reply entitled Mercurius Britanicus and caused Kate to observe sourly that someone couldn’t spell. And then every week saw fresh ballads and pamphlets rolling hot from the presses and selling in their hundreds for a penny or less – with the result that everyone, whatever their allegiance, was able to enjoy the Parliament’s efforts to substitute Soundhead for Roundhead or, failing that, drag the Cavaliers down with them under names like Rattlepate or Shagamuffin.
But the news-sheets were informative as well as entertaining. The Maxwells read about the peace deputations scuttling fruitlessly between Westminster and Oxford; about His Majesty giving John Pym renewed support from the City by accusing its Lord Mayor of treason; and about a Royalist victory at a place called Braddock Down. They learned that Rupert had braved the late January snow to take Cirencester; that Richard’s friend, Lord Brooke, had been shot in the head by a sniper at Lichfield just before his old adversary, Lord Northampton had his skull staved in by a halberd at the battle of Hopton Heath; that Ralph Cochrane’s commanding officer had been made major-general of Gloucestershire. And by the end of March, they discovered that the Queen had narrowly escaped shipwreck to land at Bridlington Bay – along, presumably, with Celia’s mother and Venetia Clifford.
To those at Thorne Ash, most of these things had a curious unreality – for though Sir William Compton now held Banbury Castle for the King, his tenancy had so far made little difference outside the town. And then, on an afternoon at the beginning of April, the war swung dizzily back into focus again.
Spring had improved on its unpromising start, causing Dorothy to turn the house upside down by setting every pair of hands to the task of cleaning. Kate, consequently, was perched on a settle taking down curtains while Tabitha, who should have been helping, regaled her with random snippets from the latest edition of Aulicus.
‘Oh – and listen to this,’ she grinned. ‘Sir Jacob Astley, lately slain at Gloucester, desires to know was he slain with a musket or a cannon bullet?’ And, looking up, ‘It’s a great pity that the Cavalier stuff is always so much wittier than ours, isn’t it? After all, there must be somebody on our side with a neat turn of phrase.’
‘No doubt,’ said Kate dryly. ‘But perhaps they have better things to do. I don’t suppose you could put that down and give me a hand, could you?’
‘In a minute. It says the writer understands that Mr Pym is trying to legalise the robbery of the King’s friends by setting up Seques … Sequestration Committees.’ Tabitha’s brow wrinkled over the unfamiliar word. ‘What does that mean, do you suppose?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Neither – just at this moment – do I care,’ snapped Kate, her arms full of heavy damask. ‘For God’s sake come here and hold this stuff.’
Tabitha rose and received the curtain but said, ‘You know, you’ve been moody ever since the day you told Mr Clifford you wouldn’t marry him. If you’ve changed your mind, it would be better for the rest of us if you wrote and told him so.’
Kate fixed her with a blighting stare. ‘But I haven’t.’
‘Then why are you as cross as two sticks?’
‘I’m not. And if I were, it’s none of your business.’
‘It is when you bite my head off every time I open my mouth,’ came the rancourless reply. And then, ‘But if you’re really not pining for Mr Clifford, then I suppose it must be Mr Santi. Did that funny little man of his bring you a letter or something?’
For a brief instant, Kate remained perfectly motionless; and then, eyes blazing with temper, sh
e stepped carefully down to the floor.
‘I don’t know where you get these ideas, Tabitha. But if you can’t stop your mouth by-passing your brain, perhaps you should open it a little less frequently.’
She regretted the words as soon as they were said – and the look in her sister’s eyes made her feel even smaller. But before she could put matters right by apologising, the door burst open and one of the maids was babbling that Sir William Compton had called with another gentleman and there were troopers in the yard.
‘Troopers? How many?’ asked Kate sharply.
‘F-four, I think. What shall we do, Miss Kate?’
‘Show Sir William in and stop worrying. Six men don’t make an invasion party.’ Kate drew a long breath and took a second to think. ‘But get Adam or somebody to watch them just the same. And then go and find Mother.’
White-faced but a little calmer, the girl nodded and left them.
‘Will Compton?’ said Tabitha. ‘In person? Why?’
‘That,’ replied Kate grimly, ‘is what I’m wondering. But I doubt it’s a social call.’
Since the Maxwells had never aspired to the lofty orbit of the Earl of Northampton and his family, neither Kate nor Tabitha had ever met his late lordship’s third son. It therefore came as something of a surprise that he was younger than Kate herself and darkly good-looking. But all this was quickly overshadowed by the even greater surprise entering the room in his wake – for the gentleman he had brought with him was Sir Hugo Verney.
Kate’s brows rose but she adhered to strict formality and offered her hand first to the current lieutenant-governor of Banbury Castle.
‘Sir William? I am Kate Maxwell and this is my sister, Tabitha. My mother will be with us shortly – but, in the meantime, perhaps you would care to take some wine?’
‘Thank you, no.’ Sir William accepted her hand and bowed over it with practised grace. Then, looking her straight in the eye, he said, ‘I’m not here on a very pleasant errand, I’m afraid. But first, I believe that Lieutenant Verney would like a word with you.’
‘With me?’ The green gaze encompassed Sir Hugo with nicely judged incredulity. ‘Really?’
Hugo looked back at her with mingled discomfort and unusual gravity. He said, ‘Yes. If – if you would accord me a few minutes in private, I believe I have some news for you.’
Something writhed unpleasantly behind Kate’s russet bodice. Swallowing, she said tonelessly, ‘Then – since I assume that Sir William knows what you want to tell me and there is nothing you can say that my sister should not hear – I suggest you get on with it.’
He exchanged a helpless glance with his superior officer and then said, ‘As you wish. I am aware that you … severed your connection with Kit Clifford some months ago. But I thought you might wish to know that he – he fell at Lichfield last week.’
For a long, airless moment, no one either moved or spoke. Finally Kate said oddly, ‘Kit’s dead?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ Hugo looked appealingly at the other girl.
‘Kate?’ Tabitha laid a steadying hand on her arm. ‘Come and sit down.’
‘No – no. I’m fine.’ The blood drained slowly from her skin, leaving her eyes unnaturally brilliant; all she could see was Kit’s face when he had found her in Luciano del Santi’s arms. Nausea stirred and grew. Kate held her head very high and said courteously, ‘It was very good of you to come and tell me. I appreciate it. And now, if you will excuse me for a few moments …?’
Only will-power got her out of the room with dignity. Once on the other side of the door, instinct sent her flying to the close-stool where she spent several nasty minutes retching helplessly and without relief. Then, still feeling as though she’d been kicked in the stomach, she slipped out through a side-door into the garden.
Shivering slightly, she leaned against the wall and tried to come to terms with the unbelievable fact that all Kit’s youth and vitality had been snuffed out. It was hard. And harder still was the knowledge that she would never now be able to mend the destructiveness of their parting. It was too late.
‘Kate … my dear, is something wrong?’ Inappropriate and unctuous as ever, Nathan had materialised at her elbow. ‘You’re crying.’
‘Go away,’ she said baldly.
‘And leave you so upset? How can I? Come, dearest Cousin … surely we’re good enough friends after all this time for you to be able to share your troubles with me?’
Kate turned her head and stared at him. He’d shown an increasing tendency towards affectionate familiarity of late and she disliked it intensely. She said coldly, ‘Wrong on all three counts, Nathan – and I’d be glad if you would keep your endearments for someone who appreciates them. I don’t. Now leave me alone.’
The pale eyes bathed her in righteous concern and half-veiled calculation.
‘I only want to help you, Kate. Goodwife Flossing tells me that Sir William Compton has called. If the God-cursed Malignant has done something to distress you …’ He paused and then, laying a hand on her arm, said with mounting horror, ‘Or has he brought bad news of Eden? No – no. I cannot believe the Lord can have so ignored my prayers.’
‘When you pray, God listens?’ demanded Kate mockingly, recoiling like a whip from his touch. ‘If you won’t go, then I must.’ And she was off across the garden before he could stop her.
By the time she returned to the parlour, Sir William was apparently on the point of leaving and her mother’s face wore a look that Kate did not recognise.
‘Kate – thank heavens!’ Tabitha rose, pink with indignation. ‘You won’t believe what this – this gentleman has had the effrontery to say!’
‘Not now, dear.’ Dorothy gently silenced her youngest daughter and looked searchingly at her eldest. ‘What can I say, Kate? I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes,’ came the stony reply. ‘So am I.’ And then, looking across to the window where Hugo Verney stood with Celia – who was as pink as Tabitha but presumably for different reasons, ‘Kit’s mother and sister were with the Queen. Will they have been told?’
‘I believe so.’ He took a step towards her and then stopped. ‘If – if you want the details, I have told your mother what little I know.’
‘Then there’s no more to be said.’
There was a short uncomfortable pause and then William Compton said quietly, ‘Mistress Maxwell – my apologies once again for the unfortunate nature of my demands. I hope you will believe that only the necessities of war could have occasioned them. I’ll send a couple of my fellows over again in a few days’ time – perhaps your acquaintance with Lieutenant Verney will make him more acceptable than most? And in the meantime, we’ll relieve you of our presence.’ He picked up his hat and swept her a deep bow. ‘I have the honour to bid you good-day, Mistress.’
After the two men had left, Dorothy and the girls looked at each other in silence for a long time. Then Kate said abruptly, ‘Demands? What demands?’
‘It will keep,’ replied her mother calmly. ‘You look as if you’d be better lying on your bed.’
‘No. I’m perfectly all right. Tell me what they said.’
Dorothy sighed and sat down again.
‘Very well. The good news is that, though Sir William was rather hoping to confiscate our silver plate, he believed me when I said Eden had already taken it for use by the Parliament. The bad news is that he has the King’s authority to levy a quarterly tax. In short, he has the power to divert half of our rents into His Majesty’s war chest. And he intends to do so.’
A hint of colour returned to Kate’s face.
‘But that’s simple robbery!’
‘No more than your precious Mr Pym’s orders for committees to seize Far Flamstead and the like,’ remarked Celia sweetly. She floated past Kate to the door and then looked back to say tauntingly, ‘As far as I can see, this is just His Majesty giving you your own again. And about time, too.’ Then she was gone.
Ignoring the interruption, Kate moved slowly towa
rds her mother.
‘We can refuse to comply.’
‘Oh yes. And give Sir William the excuse to denude all our tenants of their livestock.’
‘He’ll do that anyway.’
‘He says not. Or not if it can be avoided.’
‘That,’ said Kate pungently, ‘is uncommonly civil of him. So what do you suggest? That we meekly hand over whatever he asks for?’
‘No.’ Dorothy smiled wryly. ‘I suggest we set to work preparing a full set of fraudulent farm accounts that reduce our revenue from rents by at least a third – preferably without Celia being any the wiser.’
‘Goodness, yes!’ exclaimed Tabitha. ‘She’d tell Sir Hugo before you could blink. But if she doesn’t know, he’ll probably be too busy making eyes at her to notice that anything’s wrong.’
‘Quite,’ said Kate. ‘But the question is – do we want to let him flirt with Eden’s wife?’
‘No.’ A shadow crossed Dorothy’s face. ‘But, short of chaining Celia to the bedpost, it’s going to be rather difficult to stop him.’ She hesitated and then said, ‘Kate, you can’t feel like coping with any of this yet. Why don’t you go to your room and let me have Jenny make you up a posset?’
Ice was spreading into Kate’s every vein and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the leaden weight in her chest, so she nodded and said wearily, ‘Yes. I think I will. Only I ought to write to Venetia.’
‘Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow.’
‘Yes. I suppose that might be better. Perhaps by then I – I’ll know what to say to her.’
She was half-way to her room when a lone positive thought forced its way through the mists in her brain and, turning aside, she went instead to the nursery. Gianetta was there, playing peacefully with Jude and Eve, but she looked up when Kate entered and said, ‘Something is wrong?’
‘Yes. You could put it that way.’ Kate fought to control her breathing. ‘And I’ve a message for your brother next time you write to him.’
Surprise marked Gianetta’s brows. ‘He will be on his way to my uncle now. But I can write so a letter waits on his return, if you wish.’
