by Stella Riley
‘You certainly were,’ agreed Dorothy warmly. ‘And none of us has yet asked you why – and whether you were actually on your way here to visit us.’
For the first time, Ralph looked slightly uncomfortable. He said slowly, ‘Well, yes. I was. I thought that if Eden wouldn’t come himself – or at least write – then somebody ought to come and tell you why.’
Kate watched the disappointment darken her mother’s eyes and said dryly, ‘We know why. It’s because of Celia, isn’t it?’
‘You knew?’
‘Enough to draw certain conclusions. Is Eden aware that she’s no longer here?’
Ralph nodded. ‘Francis got a message to him. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably wouldn’t have known anything about it myself – because Eden’s closed up like a clam.’ He paused and then said bluntly, ‘Apparently she’s living openly with some fellow called Verney in Oxford. Francis is livid.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Dorothy bleakly. ‘And Eden?’
Ralph took a large gulp of wine and wondered how you told someone that their son had changed out of all recognition. That he shunned even the simplest companionship and had acquired an edge like a razor; that in order to find out even the smallest part of what troubled him, you first had to provoke him into attacking you and then use the basic persuasion of your fists. But it wasn’t possible to tell Dorothy any of that so instead he said cautiously, ‘He’s bitter, of course. And he doesn’t want to lay eyes on Celia again.’
‘That’s understandable. But since he knows she’s not here, it can’t be why he doesn’t want to come home,’ said Dorothy. ‘Well?’
‘No.’ Ralph drew a long breath and prepared to say the one thing that couldn’t be omitted. ‘It’s worse than that. He … he doesn’t want to see the children. Particularly the little girl. He says … he says she’s not his.’
Kate sat like a stone and watched her mother turn perfectly ashen. It had, after all, been a hellish day and none of them was up to coping with this as well – not even she herself who, seemingly alone of them all, had already guessed it. Rising, she said sharply, ‘Enough. I’m going to ask Flossie to serve supper.’
‘Food?’ Dorothy shuddered. ‘I don’t think I could.’
‘Possibly not. But Ralph must be ravenous,’ replied Kate flatly. ‘And even if he’s not – life has to go on and it’s the little things that help it to do so. I thought we’d already learned that.’
* * *
With Christmas a mere week away and Waller’s army firmly entrenched in its winter quarters at Farnham, Ralph was easily coaxed into staying to spend the festive season at Thorne Ash.
‘Except that it won’t be very festive,’ said Kate candidly. ‘Having so recently lost Father, we wouldn’t be celebrating much even if Westminster hadn’t decided to abolish the holiday.’
‘You can blame the Scots for that,’ muttered Ralph. ‘Blasted sour-faced killjoys!’
‘You’ve obviously less sympathy with them than you once had,’ she grinned. ‘But never mind. At least you can count on being well-fed here – and we’ll certainly appreciate your company. Particularly Tabitha.’ And she drifted away, leaving him to wonder precisely how random that parting remark had been.
The truth was that he was finding himself increasingly drawn to Eden’s youngest sister but had no idea whether or not it was mutual. Because of his lack of prospects except as a soldier, he tried to believe that it would be better if she held him in nothing more than simple friendship. But still he could not help seeking her out and, in time, telling her more about Eden’s current state of mind than he would ever have admitted to Kate or Dorothy.
Tabitha listened and responded to his talk and was aware of nothing save a feeling of deep pleasure in his company. She discovered that it was possible to say anything to Ralph and have complete faith in his discretion. And that was why, when a mud-spattered courier arrived on Christmas Eve with a packet for Kate from London, she pulled him unobtrusively into the parlour so that Kate could be alone and said quietly, ‘It’ll be from Luciano del Santi. They were married in October and she’s been waiting for some word ever since.’
Ralph stared at her. ‘Married? My God! Does Eden know?’
‘No. And, at the moment, it’s best that he doesn’t. The truth is that Luciano’s engaged in some business he’d rather Kate wasn’t connected with so they’re keeping their marriage a secret until it’s concluded. Eden might not understand that. And I don’t think he’s ever liked Luciano much, anyway.’
‘I can’t say that I blame him,’ replied Ralph. ‘Not that I’ve ever met the fellow myself, of course. But rich as del Santi’s reputed to be, it’s not everyone who wants an Italian leech in the family.’
Tabitha’s gaze became disconcertingly direct.
‘Possibly not. But in this one, we tend to accept people for who they are, not what they do for a living. And if Eden’s forgotten that, he must have changed even more than you’ve said.’
* * *
Alone in her room, Kate read the brief, impersonal note that told her nothing at all about her husband’s activities and looked for a long time at the lovely, antique cameo he had sent her. Then she washed the tearstains from her face, composed her expression and went downstairs to join the others. He was alive and had not forgotten her; and that, it seemed, was the only comfort she was to be allowed.
* * *
Christmas passed quietly with nothing more than church and the good food Kate had promised to mark it from other days. And when small gifts had been exchanged and Goodwife Flossing’s goose both cooked and eaten, the talk drifted back – as it had tended to do throughout Ralph’s visit – to Parliament’s attempts to reorganise the army through something called the Self-Denying Ordinance. This, explained Ralph, would prohibit members of either House from holding military office and thus enable the Committee of Both Kingdoms to elect a single supreme commander. That it would also force the resignation of Essex, Manchester, Cromwell and Sir William Waller was something that no one at Westminster appeared too worried about.
Dorothy didn’t worry about it either, since whatever the Parliament did with the army was unlikely to bring Eden home. But on the night before Ralph’s departure, she drew him to one side and said, ‘I’m aware that you’ve tried to be tactful – but I’ve heard from Tabitha a little of what Eden is suffering and how concerned you are about him. And I’d like you to tell him this from me. I understand his absence and recognise that only time can soften the pain of what has happened. But none of it is little Viola’s fault – and he should also remember that she may be his daughter, after all. Or why did Celia not take her?’
* * *
The year of our Lord 1645 opened with the execution of Archbishop Laud and more abortive peace talks, this time at Uxbridge. In Oxford, Prince Rupert had finally been made generalissimo of all the King’s forces and a terrible fire had devastated part of the town. In Westminster, the Lords refused to pass the Self-Denying Ordinance and leadership of the Commons veered between Harry Vane and Denzil Holles. And at Derby House, the Committee of Both Kingdoms started laying plans for their New Model Army.
Throughout all this, the weather was less than kind and Kate, whilst attending meticulously to her daily duties, began to strain at the leash that kept her from Luciano. With James Carter discreetly buried in the orchard and one-eyed John having disappeared into thin air, no fresh disasters struck either farm or household and, though they were all a little more wary than they had been before, the sense of incipient cataclysm swiftly evaporated. Consequently, Kate’s desperate desire to see Luciano boiled to fever pitch and, by the middle of February, would have carried her to London in the teeth of everybody’s opposition, had not the state of the roads prevented her.
It was not until the end of the month that Captain Ambrose finally put in a belated appearance to claim the previous quarter’s rents and Kate, with a sardonic quip already hovering on her tongue, found herself stricken into silence
by the sight of him.
‘There’s no need to look quite so appalled, Mistress Maxwell,’ he said mockingly. ‘I have merely been slightly singed. It will mend.’
It was more than the marks on his face and the places where the long walnut hair had obviously caught light and been cut away. He was shockingly fine-drawn and the skin looked too tightly stretched over his bones. Kate didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone look so ill but the glint in his eyes told her not to ask questions. Not that she needed to. Everyone knew about the disastrous attempt to re-possess William Compton’s family home and how some forty men had been roasted alive as a result.
She didn’t want to feel any sympathy for him and was annoyed that she did. Fortunately, Tabitha was occupied elsewhere – or the captain would likely have found himself tucked into bed with a hot posset.
Kate swallowed and, in a tone that brooked no argument, told him to sit down. Since she’d never offered him a chair before, his brows rose a little but he took it without managing to look grateful.
She said irritably, ‘The money is on the table beside you. Do you want to see the ledgers?’
‘Since we both know there is no point and I have business elsewhere – no.’
Kate reflected that he didn’t look fit to go anywhere … and from the fact that he hadn’t removed his gloves, deduced that the burns on his hands far outstripped those she could see on his face.
‘Then wait there a moment. I won’t be long.’
She returned with a glass of Mother’s special cordial and a pot of salve.
‘Drink that. It will help.’
A faint smile curled the hard mouth.
‘Such unexpected solicitude,’ he remarked, taking the glass awkwardly in his gloved hand. ‘I obviously look worse than I thought.’
‘You look dreadful,’ snapped Kate. And when he looked dubiously into the glass, ‘Don’t worry. I may have ill-wished you from time to time but I draw the line at poison. Disposing of corpses is such a nuisance.’
Against all expectation, he laughed and then downed the cordial with a grimace.
‘That,’ he remarked, ‘tastes disgusting.’
‘The most effective cures always do.’ She pointed to the pot of salve. ‘That’s for your hands.’
Captain Ambrose stood up.
‘What makes you think I need it?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Actually, no.’ He smiled cryptically. ‘You’re not the first Roundhead’s sister who has offered to repair my hurts. But I thank you for the thought.’
He picked up the purse and turned to go. Kate was just wondering which of the daughters of Banbury had formed an attachment for him when he looked back at her and said, ‘Have you heard from your elder brother?’
‘Not directly. But he’s not coming back.’
‘And the younger one?’
‘Has returned to his work in London.’
‘I see.’ He studied her for a moment, noticing the stubborn lift of her chin that defied him to express any concern. ‘I’m sure you manage perfectly well. But I’ll see to it that we bother you as little as possible in future.’
And with a slight bow, he was gone.
* * *
March brought marginal improvement in the state of the roads and a black-log of news-sheets – from which they learned that Sir Thomas Fairfax was to be commander-in-chief of the New Model Army and the City of London had been asked for eighty thousand pounds to help pay for uniforms and the like. Kate wondered how much Luciano had been forced to contribute.
The next news from the outside world was more momentous still. A letter arrived from Geoffrey Cox announcing that Amy was pregnant – thus providing Kate with the perfect excuse for travelling to London.
Without wasting a moment, she said, ‘One of us ought to go and see her, don’t you think? I mean, I know she has Geoffrey’s mother and sisters – but it’s been a long time since she saw any of us. And Geoffrey admits she seems a trifle homesick just at present.’
Dorothy eyed her with faint foreboding and said, ‘Let me guess. You’re about to offer to go yourself in order to see that absentee husband of yours.’
‘Can you blame me? If I sit by the hearth much longer without a word to tell me how he’s faring, I shall go mad. And, if I’m not quick, he’ll be half-way to Genoa.’
‘Oh Kate. I understand it all, believe me. But he said you were to stay away from him and we’ve been given adequate proof of the sense of that. So even if I were happy to let you go – which I’m not – do you really think he’ll be pleased to see you?’
‘Probably not – but I’ll take my chances. I can’t go on as I am. I feel … I feel as if I’m dying of slow starvation.’ She paused and managed a small, crooked smile. ‘Mother, I’m sorry – but I have to go. And I’ll take every care. I’ll put my wedding ring on a chain round my neck and travel as Kate Maxwell and take both my maid and Adam Woodley for escort. I’ll even do no more than call in Cheapside as if I were just going to see Toby. But please don’t ask me to stay away. I can’t.’
* * *
She arrived on Amy’s doorstep four days later, bone-weary and liberally spattered with mud. The maidservant who opened the door seemed in two minds whether or not to admit her … and whatever pleasure Amy felt on seeing her was well-hidden behind a series of critical remarks on her appearance. Kate, however, could not have cared less. Luciano was no more than half a mile away and tomorrow, God willing, she would see him. So it was easy to smile affectionately at Amy and suggest she be allowed to wash and change instead of sullying the parlour in her present state; and, when that was done, to sit down with her sister over a mug of spiced wine and enquire with perfect sincerity about her health.
‘I’m no worse than is to be expected, I suppose,’ came the slightly pettish reply. ‘But the least little thing tires me and I have to rest a good deal.’
‘Yes. Mother said that might be the case – and has sent you one of her elixirs,’ said Kate neutrally. Privately, she thought Amy looked very well indeed, aside from having gained a little extra weight … and that probably had more to do with the dish of apricot tartlets at her elbow than her pregnancy. ‘She’s written to you, too – pages of good advice, I’m sure. She wanted to come herself, of course. But with Celia gone … ah. Toby told you about that, I suppose?’
‘Yes. And I can’t say I was surprised. I expect you’re glad.’
Kate stared at her.
‘Glad? No. Not really. Coming on top of Father’s death as it did --’
‘Don’t.’ Unexpectedly, Amy’s lip trembled. ‘I – I still can’t believe he’s gone.’
‘No.’ Kate swallowed hard and concentrated on keeping her voice level. ‘No. Neither can I.’ She fell silent for a moment and then said hearteningly, ‘Geoffrey must be ecstatic about the baby.’
‘He is.’ As ever, Amy was easily diverted. ‘He brings me a present almost every day and spends much less time with those horrid presses of his. His parents are thrilled, too. It will be their first grandchild.’
‘And what about you?’ asked Kate. ‘Are you happy about it?’
‘Of course. Having children gives one much more standing – which is something you ought to consider yourself. After all, you’re not getting any younger. And if you don’t find a husband soon, you probably never will.’
Kate continued to smile and said nothing. Then, gently turning the subject, she asked if Amy saw much of Toby.
‘Now and then. He dines with us occasionally.’
‘You don’t visit him in Cheapside, then?’
‘And risk being seen entering a money-lender’s establishment? Certainly not! Besides, simply looking at that dreadful Italian makes me shudder. I hate deformity.’
For one breath-stopping moment, Kate felt again the smooth, warm skin of that slightly raised but otherwise perfectly formed shoulder - and then it was gone. Digging her nails into her palms, she said negligently, ‘Oh? That’s a shame. I was thinking
we might perhaps call there tomorrow to surprise Toby.’
‘You may do whatever you wish,’ shrugged Amy, reaching for another tartlet. ‘I have an appointment with my dressmaker. Oh – and while I think about it, I suppose I ought to apologise for the fact of there being no fire in your bedchamber. You may not know of it but we’ve had a coal-shortage here – and even thought the Scots are supposed to have taken Newcastle, things don’t seem to have got any better. So we only heat the main rooms – and my bedchamber, of course because of my condition.’ Polishing off the tart, she brushed the crumbs from her fingers and smiled sweetly. ‘But if you’re cold, don’t hesitate to say. I’ll be happy to lend you a shawl.’
* * *
On the following morning Geoffrey Cox, who had appeared rather more pleased to see Kate than she had expected, discovered her intention to visit Cheapside and offered to escort her. Graciously but with complete finality, Kate declined his offer. Since she didn’t know how matters would turn out, the only witness to possible embarrassment she was prepared to tolerate was her maid, Jenny Platt. She therefore saw Adam Woodley off on the return journey to Thorne Ash, put the finishing touches to an extremely careful toilette and set forth with a quaking heart to see her husband.
She arrived to find that none of the speeches she had prepared were of the least use – and for one very simple reason. Luciano was standing in the shop with Giacomo.
She froze on the threshold and saw something that might have been gladness flare in his eyes before it was replaced by the shuttered look she knew so well. Then Giacomo surged forward, rounder than ever and wreathed in smiles.
‘Signorina Kate! What a surprise you give us!’
Grateful for the little man’s warmth, Kate allowed herself to be embraced and, in an effort to take the wind out of Luciano’s sails, said, ‘Yes. I couldn’t resist it. I’m staying with my sister in Fleet Street but Toby doesn’t know yet, so … well, here I am.’
‘Here you are,’ agreed Luciano coolly. ‘Unfortunately, however, Tobias isn’t just at present. Perhaps you’d care to join me upstairs while you wait? I’m sure Giacomo will be delighted to entertain your maid.’
