A cold shiver ran along Phoebe’s arms, and she pulled her cashmere shawl further over her shoulders, shocked by the use of her father’s name, though there was no law to prevent it. They stopped outside the display of silverware that the young man guarded against thieving hands, and on the pretext of looking, Phoebe gave in to a moment of unease. Despite the renovations, this was the place where her father had traded, the place where her brother had died. Here. On this very spot.
Sir Leo appeared to sense her apprehension, giving her time to regain her composure before entering the dim interior, where well-dressed customers sat at tables with assistants hovering, just as they had in her father’s day. It was dim and quiet after the roar outside, a long wooden counter marking a barrier behind which were shelves of gleaming gold, plates of every shape and size, ewers and chalices, rings, pearls and pendants hanging below, chains of office, badges and bracelets, hat-pins and filigree pomanders. An elderly bespectacled gentleman sat behind the counter, weighing coins on a fine brass balance.
‘Master Laker?’ said Sir Leo, knowing that he was not.
The gentleman’s expression changed instantly from preoccupation to pleasure as he saw the cut of his customer’s fine mulberry velvet suit and that of his lady companion. The balance was dropped and pushed aside. ‘Why, no, my lord. Laker is the previous owner’s name. I kept it because it’s well known. After the fire, you see, I bought the plot, as we were allowed to do when the owner could not be traced. Very sad. Started my own business from scratch. Your lady…?’ He glanced at Phoebe with a smile. ‘Looking for something special?’
‘The lady is Mistress Phoebe Laker,’ said Sir Leo, ‘daughter of Master Adolphus Laker, the banker and goldsmith whose name you have borrowed. I am Sir Leo Hawkynne, private secretary to his Grace the Duke of Lauderdale. And your name, sir?’
The man rose slowly from his stool, his mouth making a perfect O, his brown watery eyes showing the whites all round as the information registered. Then, gathering his wits with a discernible effort, he lifted the hinged counter and came round to their side, bringing the stool with him and placing it reverently beside Phoebe. ‘Please to be seated, Mistress Laker…oh…this is…this is something I’ve waited for…how long? Well, since I visited the building site to see how they were getting on with…you know…the new premises. And you, my lord, may I offer you a glass of my best…?’
‘No, I thank you, Master…?’
‘Addiman, my lord. Samuel Addiman at your service.’ Frowning in disbelief, he shook his head several times. ‘Tch! This is…unbelievable, sir.’
‘What is, Master Addiman? What is it you’ve been waiting for?’ Sir Leo leaned against the counter beside Phoebe, clearly as puzzled as she was.
‘Well, it’s like this,’ he replied, directing his explanation at Phoebe after a furtive glance down the shop. ‘I’ve been hoping that someone connected with the Laker family would one day appear, because although the ground floor and cellars were buried when the upper floor fell in…’ He paused, seeing how Sir Leo’s hand came to rest upon Phoebe’s shoulder. ‘Er…yes. The thing is that hardware shops like ours didn’t suffer quite as badly as those selling fabric and fur, for instance. Or the haberdashers either. So when they started to clear away all the rubble, there seemed to be pockets where the fire had done very little damage, you see.’
‘You mean paperwork? Bills? Order books?’
‘Oh, no, Mistress Laker. No paperwork survived, unfortunately. But there were some empty strong-boxes that the owner found too heavy to remove, and there was something else that must have been dropped.’ At this point, he scurried round behind the counter again and disappeared while Phoebe looked up to meet Sir Leo’s eyes, as clouded as her own.
Puffing a little with the weight, Master Addiman heaved an oak chest on to the counter, chose a key from the bunch at his waist and unlocked the lid using a series of complicated turns that took him some time to execute. From one corner, he brought out a small linen-wrapped parcel tied round with string, and a label which he read out to them. ‘Found on premises, October 1666. Unfinished item.’ Replacing his spectacles at the end of his nose, he passed the parcel across to Phoebe. ‘The workers passed it on to me,’ he said, ‘which was remarkably honest of them. Naturally I gave them a reward. If you’d like to open it, mistress, you may be able to shed some light on the mystery.’
Phoebe had begun to shake, not only in anticipation of what she might find, but also for the unease she had felt outside, a premonition that something significant was about to happen again, after all the happenings of the past weeks. Fold after fold, the linen fell away until, nestling at the bottom and still shining, was a lump of solid gold in the shape of a heart. It was no larger than a wren’s egg. At the top, waiting for a chain, was a delicate ring.
Gasping with amazement, she held it up and caught the blue-white flash of a diamond embedded in one side with star-points radiating from it. On the other side was engraved the name ‘Phoebe,’ and underneath it in the point of the heart was a full moon of white enamel enclosed by seed pearls.
‘It must have been meant for you, mistress,’ said Master Addiman. ‘I believe the Greeks called one of their moon goddesses Phoebe. Do you know who might have had it made?’
She could hardly speak. Instead, she held it up for Sir Leo to see. ‘Mistress Laker’s brother ran the shop after their father’s death,’ he said. ‘He was only eighteen, but he managed to keep the business going and to build a house at Mortlake too. He was a remarkable young man.’
‘This must have been what he came back for,’ Phoebe whispered, ‘on that night. He had to come back for something he said was for me, and he’d nearly finished it. He was learning the art of goldsmithing from the shop manager.’
Master Addiman was absorbed in the workmanship, hardly listening. ‘There are two pearls missing,’ he said, ‘and it wants for a chain too. You shall have one from me as a gift. And if you can wait a while, I’ll find two more pearls and put them in. From a brother to his sister. Well, well…what a day this is, to be sure.’
‘I would rather it stayed as it is, unfinished, if you please. But I feel I should pay you for it. It’s a very valuable piece, Master Addiman.’
‘Won’t hear of it, mistress. I would never have sold it, you see, and the chances of a lady named Phoebe Laker coming to claim it must be one in a million. No, what you’ve told me fits like a hand in a glove. Here we are now, here’s the chain I have in mind. Ah, perfect. See?’ The chain he threaded through the ring was a generous one with finely twisted links, and he passed it back to her from the end of his finger. ‘Take it. It’s found its rightful owner. Mystery solved.’
Her hands trembled as she accepted it and wrapped it again in the linen. Then, on impulse, she leaned forwards to place a light kiss upon each wrinkled cheek. ‘Thank you, Master Addiman,’ she whispered. ‘You have done more than solve a mystery, sir.’
On any other visit to London, they might have shopped in Cheapside or gone to see the menagerie at the Tower, but already the sky had taken on a greeny-grey cast, and rumbles of thunder could be heard over the raucous street cries and the hubbub of noise chanelled down every street. The purpose of the visit seemed to have been accomplished, even though they had not quite determined it beforehand, and now they both agreed that a quick return home was important. Yet it was not the threat of a downpour that kept them immersed in their own thoughts as they felt the pull and lurch of the boat through the water.
The journey upriver was more difficult than the previous one on the tide, for it had not turned yet, and the oarsmen had to battle against both wind and current while Phoebe and Sir Leo huddled together for shelter under the open-sided roof of the barge. Rain began to spatter them well before they reached Richmond, but the men were spurred on by the promise of extra pay and, although drenched and tired, they reached Ferry House long after other river traffic had abandoned their journeys.
The storm was now at its height, unl
eashing its fury on the two who ran for cover with clinging clothes and hair like rats’ tails, breathless with cold and beaten by the unrelenting force that swept across the river. Immediately they were the centre of attention, stripped of sodden clothes and wrapped in blankets, hair rubbed and warm bricks placed underfoot, food set before them, hot punch at their elbows. By this time their faces had begun to thaw and Phoebe’s teeth had stopped chattering enough for her to dismiss the fidgeting servants, leaving them in peace by the fireside.
Basking in the comfort of loose dressing gowns and the crackling fire, the high whine of the wind and the rattle of rain on the windows, the events of the day swirled around Phoebe’s mind like scenes from a dream from which she had yet to recover. Only a hand’s reach away, the little parcel lay on the table and she’d had time to be sure, between London and Richmond, that its future was to be not only a reminder of her brother’s love but as something else too, just as symbolic.
Sir Leo lounged across a cushioned day-bed of walnut and rattan with one arm across the back as if waiting to enclose her, should she wish it, his eyes watching for her to tell him her thoughts. His gown was tied round the middle, but gaped open to reveal a deep V of bare chest where brown hair darkened the upper part, and he had already seen how her eyes strayed there, looked away, and returned. He sat in silence, knowing how she was choosing words and finding them all inadequate, wondering if actions might be better.
Finally, unable to demur any longer, she took the linen bundle and, rising with some difficulty through a swaddle of loose robes and rugs, she shuffled over to him and sat down with a bump, tripping over herself like an infant learning to walk. He pulled her against him, dislodging the wraps that had begun to slip, making it difficult for her to move without revealing more than she had intended. ‘I have something for you,’ she said.
As if on cue, her words were drowned by a crack of thunder that reverberated across the sky with a white flash, lighting the room in shadowless detail. Not expecting her announcement to be upstaged so promptly, she let out an involuntary yelp of fright, throwing herself across him, clinging to his woollen robe, her damp curls tucked beneath his chin. She had intended her well thought-out declaration to be a delicate and touching affair. Now things were not going entirely to plan.
His arms tightened around her and she could feel his laughter. ‘What, sweet lass?’ he rumbled as the thunder crashed again.
The competition was too great; the lightning took centre stage. Reaching up to his head, she saw the glint of laughter in his eyes and the smiling lips preparing to try again with his question. ‘Please forget it,’ she muttered through the din. ‘Just kiss me, Leo.’
Her request might not have been heard above the cacophony of sounds, but her arms invited and there seemed to be no delay before his mouth was upon hers, hard and hungry, as if he’d held himself to breaking point throughout the day.
Their loving this time, wild and spontaneous, would not wait for them to reach the greater comfort of Phoebe’s bed. This time, she could not wait upon every preliminary, as she had before, for it was as if the storm itself drove her into a frenzy where her cries were muffled by the noise outside. He would have waited to take her in more comfort, but this day had been unique in every sense, and her astonishing surge of desire was like a spark to his tinder, igniting them both like a forest blaze after drought. Their coupling took on a dream-like aspect lit alternately by the fire’s glow and by lightning, one moment plunged into deep shadow with blinding flashes to penetrate their eyelids, the next moment relying on touch alone to guide them, which deterred them not at all.
Phoebe opened to him like a flower to the heat of the sun, and as the cracking thunder and lashing rain mingled with her moans of bliss, they were sealed in the roaring blaze of their desires, oblivious to everything but their passion. It took them both by surprise, leaving them speechless and with hardly enough breath left to laugh at their greed, or at the unusual use of the day-bed and, later, the hearthrug.
As they quietly recovered, untidily coiled inside Sir Leo’s gown while the storm passed overhead, their lethargy took over from where their energy had left off, with their hands idly smoothing in mutual comfort. Phoebe, suddenly remembering something it had been holding, began to search through the folds of the blanket on the day-bed.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ Sir Leo mumbled.
‘I was about to give you something.’
‘I thought you just did.’
‘Not that. There’s something else. Somewhere.’
His fingers brushed over her forehead, holding her hair away. Then he covered her with the blanket and stood up, as graceful as a cat. ‘It’s here,’ he said. ‘We’ve been lying on it. I fear Master Addiman might be scandalised by such irreverence.’ Placing it on her lap, he pulled up to the daybed and pushed a cushion behind her, sitting himself at her feet. Phoebe unwrapped the treasure and placed it on her palm, holding it out to him. ‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘I want you to have it, with my love. It’s meant to tell you that you hold my heart next to yours, but now you already know that so…oh…I don’t know what…only that I worship the—’
‘Hush, sweetheart. Don’t say it.’ His arms enclosed her and held her to his chest, his hands sweeping down her back. ‘I know,’ he said, nuzzling her neck. ‘I know what it tells me, and if you really want me to have it, then I will, but it was meant for you as a message from your brother.’
Easing herself away, she placed the chain over his head and arranged the heart upon the silky brown hair, smiling at the contrast. ‘There. That will keep it polished, won’t it? Wear it for me, Leo, if you please. Tim would be pleased by it, too.’
‘My sun and my moon,’ he said, looking down at it.
They held each other, heart to heart, as a log fell and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney. The rain gusted wearily against the black windows, and from behind a bank of angry clouds a full moon began sailing through the tattered remnants of the storm like a disc of white enamel edged with watery pearls.
Chapter Six
The storm had passed, but the discoveries of that night answered a host of age-old questions and inadequate half-truths that, courtesy of flirtatious friends, had whetted Phoebe’s appetite but never satisfied it. Sir Leo told her all she wanted to know without inhibition or false modesty, of which he had neither. His body was perfect and he was comfortable with it, happy for his beloved to profit from its boundless energy while being careful with her newness.
They slept, made love, and slept again, waking to the realisation that their long-standing feud had gently faded away into the night. They took a long time to rise.
‘You know what the Duke’s first words will be, don’t you, sweetheart?’
‘Will he be angry?’
‘No, he’ll say, “Aboot time too, m’lad. What kept ye sae long?”’
‘And the Duchess will insist it was all her doing.’
‘Well, she did have a hand in it, I suppose. She’s also found a husband for young Betty.’ The startling news was casually delivered.
Phoebe’s head turned sharply, her tongue ready with the comment, in a moment of unashamed jealousy, that perhaps she would now stay out of her future husband’s hair, and what a pity the Duchess could not have done the same for young Katherine.
‘Och, she will, lass,’ he grinned.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because they’ve been casting about for some time.’
‘Then why could you not have told me?’
The grin broadened. ‘Because it was more fun not to. Did they ruffle your feathers then, wee lass?’
‘Not at all, sir.’ She sniffed. ‘They’re only untutored girls.’
‘And you,’ he said, rolling himself above her, ‘are very tutored now, are you?’
They took an even longer time to dress, and Constance began to wonder if it was always going to be like this. She went to speak to Sir Leo’s valet who, reminded of something
, gave her a shirt of his master’s with instructions for what to do with it.
Their first call, after noon, was to take their news to Mrs Overshott at Mortlake. Shedding a tear, she hugged them both and said she was sure it had been meant, all along. Another tear was shed when they showed her Tim’s gift, lacking two pearls, and the story of how it came to light was, she told them, not as strange as all that since strange things happened often where love was involved.
Fortunately, and to their profound relief, Master Thomas Tollemache had returned to his regiment two days previously, which allowed them to make known their news without his nonsensical remarks to spoil it. The Duke’s first comment, however, was exactly as his secretary had predicted.
Likewise, the Duchess’s reaction, with more justification.
It was their daughter Elizabeth’s response to the news that took them by surprise, for her face crumpled and, before her mother could ask her what on earth ailed her, she had fled from the room as if her world had suddenly taken on an ugly reality too distressing to behold. ‘May I go to her, my lady?’ Phoebe said.
The Duchess shook her head. ‘It’s only the talk of marriage,’ she said. ‘She’s to meet Argyll’s eldest son next week and already she’s getting herself into a fash…er…fuss about it.’
‘She’s still very young, my lady,’ said Mrs Overshott.
‘It’s a good match. That’s all a woman can ask for,’ the Duchess said.
Later that evening, at Mortlake, Mrs Overshott expressed the opinion that any young woman might ask for anything instead of a dose of the Duchess’s matchmaking. ‘Too many cooks,’ she said. ‘That was mostly your problem, too.’
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