by Stella Riley
‘After hearing you put it like that, I’ll be amazed if they agree to stay,’ observed Annis. Then, smiling at Venetia, ‘But I hope you will, for you are most welcome. And Gabriel was never in any doubt of it.’
‘Which is why he’s virtually holding a gun to your head?’ asked Venetia, aridly. ‘You are more generous than he deserves. But you can’t possibly want to be saddled with two complete strangers – not to mention our maid and groom.’
‘Why not? There’s room enough. And as for being strangers … well, that is easily mended.’
Few people could resist Annis in a persuasive mood and Venetia found herself saying feebly, ‘But your husband —?’
‘Her husband,’ said a disembodied voice, ‘would be more than happy to speak for himself if only some great hulking fellow wasn’t blocking the doorway.’
Venetia jumped, Gabriel spun neatly on his heel and Phoebe giggled.
Jack faced them all with his pleasant, unremarkable smile and said simply, ‘I’ve seen the luggage and spoken to Wat. But I wish someone would explain why it’s taking Annis so long to get the wine out.’
‘Need you ask?’ Gabriel grasped his foster-brother’s hand. ‘We were waiting for you.’
‘And pigs fly.’ Jack’s gaze settled confidingly on Venetia. ‘No one in this house has any manners. Mistress Brandon, I presume?’
A smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. ‘Yes.’
‘Welcome to the family.’ He turned to Phoebe. ‘And you must be Mistress Phoebe?’
She beamed at him.
‘Yes – and I’m very happy to meet you. Gabriel’s told us so much about you.’
Mr Morrell succeeded in looking anxious.
‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that you didn’t believe him?’
‘Only the good bits,’ she assured him. Then, with a mischievous, slanting glance at the Colonel, ‘And I sincerely hope you’ll return the favour when the time comes.’
After the ice had been melted over a glass of wine, a still oddly restrained Bryony took Venetia and Phoebe up to her chamber to tidy themselves while Annis had the spare rooms prepared. Jack let the parlour door close behind them and then said bluntly, ‘Wat tells me you’ve instructed him to go straight to Windsor to find quarters for you – so I gather you’re not staying.’
‘No.’ Gabriel smiled faintly. ‘I’m sure you will all do well enough without me.’
‘We’ll have to, won’t we?’ There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘She isn’t quite what I expected.’
‘Venetia? No. She’s on her best behaviour. And as long as I’m not here, it may even last.’
Jack looked at him.
‘If it’s that bad, why bring her?’
‘Because I couldn’t leave her to her own devices in Yorkshire. Didn’t Wat say?’
‘He muttered something about your half-brother and Royalist plots. But he so obviously loathes her that I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not.’
‘Believe,’ advised Gabriel dryly. And, in as few words as possible, gave the gist of his meeting with Ellis. Then, ‘I need hardly add that we didn’t take to one another. Worse still, I’ve a nasty suspicion that the man is an unhandy conspirator.’
‘So you removed your wife from his naughty influence and brought her here to London where plots lurk round every corner? Brilliant. And who, may I ask, is supposed to keep an eye on her while you’re planning another nice little war and casting dice with the Levellers for the settlement of the Kingdom? Or is that a silly question?’
Gabriel refilled his glass and pushed the bottle across the table.
‘Just do what you can. I wouldn’t wish your business to suffer.’
‘Thanks,’ grunted Jack. ‘But do you think I haven’t enough to do keeping up with Bryony – without having to watch your wife and sister-in-law as well?’
‘Phoebe needn’t worry you. She’s a delight. Venetia, of course, is another matter. As for Bryony … I detected a peculiar gleam in her eye earlier. Is she still passionately in love with me and likely to drop hemlock in Venetia’s soup?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Oh, she moped for about a month after she learned you were to be married – but then Sam Radford got out of Newgate. And now she’s got more important things on her mind.’
Laughter stirred in the dark grey gaze.
‘Are you saying she’s become a little Leveller? No, no. It can’t be true. The last time I saw Bryony she thought green ribbon was a love-token.’
‘And now she quotes Free-born John by the yard, knows her rights under Magna Carta and argues a fairly sound case in favour of one man, one vote,’ came the mildly exasperated reply. ‘I spend half my time wondering where she is and the other half listening to “Sam says”. I don’t know which is worse. But it’s my own fault. I should have shown young Radford the door while I had the chance.’
‘I’m amazed that you didn’t.’ Gabriel drained his glass and stood up. ‘If you get seriously worried about Bryony, let me know. Wat is remarkably skilled in surveillance.’
‘Wat is remarkably skilled at a good many things – not all of them entirely desirable,’ retorted Jack. Then, ‘You’re not going already, are you?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’ve been away a long time, you know.’
‘But you haven’t even begun to tell me what it’s like being the lord of the manor.’
‘If you must know, it’s bloody hard work. Now – are you going to show me your son and heir or not?’
Mr Morrell rose with unashamed alacrity.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
‘Ah. Do I detect a hint of the doting parent?’
‘Yes. And you needn’t laugh. You’ll be just the same yourself one day.’
A slow, bitter smiled bracketed the Colonel’s mouth.
‘Don’t hold your breath,’ he said.
*
It took Venetia less than twenty-four hours to recognise that staying in Shoreditch wasn’t going to be nearly as bad as she had feared. Though by no means luxurious, the Morrells’ house was extremely comfortable, spotlessly clean and large enough for her not to have to share a chamber with Phoebe. Mr Morrell’s workshop lay on the far side of the yard, his apprentices took their meals in the kitchen and, though his wife preferred to do certain household tasks herself, she also kept two maidservants and a cook.
More important than any of this was the fact that both Jack and Annis were friendly to a fault. If they knew how matters stood between herself and Gabriel, nothing they said ever showed it. The only fly in the ointment, therefore, was Bryony – who met every overture with monosyllabic frost and whose eyes frequently held a sort of baffled disapproval.
Had Venetia but known it, Bryony was utterly confused. Until Gabriel had walked into the parlour, she had assumed that she still loved him as much as ever. But if that was so, she ought surely to have experienced some emotional upheaval on being suddenly confronted with his wife – and the fact that she hadn’t done so was something of a shock. Consequently, she kept Venetia at arm’s length and would have done the same with Phoebe – had not Phoebe’s sunny disposition made it impossible. And the result was that Bryony lowered her defences a little and grudgingly remarked that Venetia was very beautiful.
‘I know,’ sighed Phoebe. ‘Some people think our sister Bess even prettier. I don’t mind, of course – or not very much. But I can’t help being glad they’re both married.’
Bryony thought for a moment and then said baldly, ‘Does Gabriel love her?’
‘Heavens, no – nor she him. Far from it.’
‘Then why didn’t he leave her in Yorkshire?’
‘I’ve no idea and daren’t ask. Most of the way here they hardly spoke to one another. But that was a blessing really because it was better than hearing them argue.’
‘About politics?’
‘Mostly,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘You know that our family supports the King. My father and eldest brother died fighting for him and Venetia
is committed to seeing him restored to the throne.’
‘With the same powers as before?’
‘I suppose so. Does that make a difference?’
‘It’s the crux of the matter.
‘Oh. I’m afraid I don’t understand these things very well – or care about them as much as I should. It all causes too much unpleasantness. You probably think I’m naïve.’
‘No.’ A sudden grin illuminated Bryony’s face. ‘I used to be pretty much the same myself. Only then … well, I met someone who made it interesting. His name’s Sam and he’s a Leveller.’
‘Goodness!’ Phoebe regarded her with flattering awe. ‘And are you one too?’
‘Yes.’ Bryony hesitated and then, unable to help herself, said proudly, ‘I’ve signed the Long Petition – but you mustn’t tell Uncle Jack. He’d have a fit. Worse still, he’d forbid Sam to come here any more.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ vowed Phoebe solemnly. ‘Are you in love with him?’
‘With Sam? Good heavens, no!’ giggled Bryony. And then, with a tiny frown, ‘At least … no. I once thought I felt that way about – about someone. But it’s nothing like that with Sam. Nothing at all.’ And there she stopped, wondering uneasily if that was a good thing or not.
*
While Venetia formed an unlikely friendship with Annis, and Phoebe and Bryony exchanged girlish confidences, Gabriel settled back into Army routine, attended a series of meetings with his superiors and grimly set about preparing his regiment for active service.
It was becoming increasingly plain that war could not be far off. In Ireland, Lord Inchiquin had changed sides and joined the Confederates to declare for the King; in Scotland, the Duke of Hamilton was reputedly on the brink of crossing the border at the head of an invasion force; and Wales was already under arms. As for England, London had flatly refused to pay another penny towards the maintenance of the Army and, elsewhere, discontent over ruined trade and cries for an immediate treaty with the King were spreading faster than the plague.
Then, two days after Gabriel’s return to duty, Eden Maxwell took a message to Cromwell in Whitehall and returned with the news that the Duke of York had escaped from St James’s Palace disguised as a girl.
Colonel Brandon looked up from the litter of paperwork spread out in front of him.
‘Has he? Good.’
Eden tutted reprovingly.
‘What kind of attitude is that? There was going to be a call of the House tomorrow with a view to deposing the King in the boy’s favour – and thus solving all our problems.’
‘Or compounding them still further.’
‘Possibly. But it doesn’t do to say so. And, truth to tell, we’ve more pressing matters to worry about. I suppose you know the Agitators are meeting at St Albans tomorrow?’
‘After which we’ll be walking on egg-shells again.’ Gabriel paused. ‘Old Noll didn’t happen to say if he felt the City might be persuaded to pay its assessments before our fellows start wanting to march in and collect them by force?’
‘No.’ Eden frowned a little. ‘In fact, there’s talk of the chains going back up across the streets as a precaution against that very possibility.’
‘Oh my God. It gets better by the minute, doesn’t it? As things stand, we can either hold the City or fight the Scots – but not both; and meanwhile we’ve got the Levellers nipping at our back-sides and telling the men that Cromwell’s forsaken them. The Royalists,’ finished Gabriel bitterly, ‘must be downright ecstatic. And who can blame them? We’ve had two years in which to settle this mess and all we’ve done is to create an even bigger pig’s ear than we had in the first place.’
Neither Gabriel nor Eden expected the St Albans meeting to do anything except aggravate the situation – and they were right. The Agitators began by condemning the personal ambition of Cromwell, Ireton and the other so-called Grandees and then drew up a petition demanding the immediate adoption of the Agreement of the People. Gabriel did not consider this clever. And when Samuel Radford arrived at his quarters that evening, he lost no time in telling him so.
Sam listened in faintly amused silence for a while and then said, ‘Until they’re asked, how can you be sure the majority of the people really will refuse the Agreement?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Right now, the country is automatically hostile to anything even remotely connected to the Army. We haven’t a shred of goodwill left to us.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘I’d say the honours are fairly equally divided between Parliament and the City. They’re the ones forcing us to go on living at free quarter by their refusal to pay us – and that is naturally aggravating to honest men who are still paying war taxes. Or do you have another explanation?’
‘I don’t think we’d better go into that,’ said Sam slowly. ‘I didn’t come here to quarrel.’
‘No?’ Gabriel brows rose. ‘What, then?’
‘I wanted to thank you for getting me out of Newgate. I realise, of course, that you didn’t do it for me – but I’m grateful, nonetheless.’
‘But not, so Major Maxwell informed me, grateful enough to try and stay out of further trouble.’
Sam grinned apologetically.
‘Did you think I would be?’
‘Not having enormous faith in miracles, no. I do, however, expect you to stop Bryony doing anything foolish.’ The Colonel eyed his visitor coolly. ‘I understand that you’ve managed to convert her to your cause which, considering that six months ago she hadn’t two sensible thoughts to rub together, says a lot for your powers of persuasion. But now you’d better rest on your laurels. She’s young and impressionable – and if she gets into trouble, I’ll see that they put you back in Newgate and throw away the key.’
‘There’s an interesting admission in there somewhere, if only we dared pause to explore it,’ observed Sam mildly. ‘As for the warning … Mr Morrell’s already said much the same thing and I’m doing my best. Not that it’s always easy.’
‘Am I supposed to sympathise?’
‘God forbid! As ye sow, so shall ye reap and all that.’ Sam picked up his hat and turned to go. Then, looking back with a gleaming smile, he said, ‘Ah yes. I almost forgot. Congratulations on your marriage. Your wife is stunning. Alarmingly so, actually.’
*
The Duke of York’s escape naturally made Venetia wonder about a few things but then Ellis was driven to the back of her mind by a growing awareness of Bryony’s addiction to the sayings of Free-born John and a brief but telling encounter with Mr Samuel Radford. Venetia had nothing personal against the Levellers. She just didn’t want her overly-susceptible sister to become one. And so, in order to minimise the danger, she spent the majority of the next few days showing Phoebe the sights.
With Sym at their heels, they stared up at the walls of the Tower, crossed the narrow-shop-lined reaches of the bridge and took a boat up the river as far as Westminster. Then they walked along King Street to Whitehall, where weeds sprouted in the courtyards and the only comings and goings were those of black-clad lawyers. Venetia, remembering it as it had been before the war, felt desperately sad and couldn’t wait to get away. For if, as the song said, cobwebs festooned the walls inside, she did not want to see them.
On the following day they explored the City and Venetia had her first sight of the posts and chains that had originally been erected as part of London’s war defences but were now being used as riot barricades. She smiled aridly to herself … and then gradually ceased to smile at all. There were beggars everywhere. Young men with sightless eyes or shattered limbs and hollow-eyed widows whose children did not even have the energy to cry. Venetia and Phoebe gave what they could, knowing that it was not enough … that it would never be enough.
Elsewhere, the streets were busy but the bustle lacked its usual cheerfulness and the only people doing a roaring trade were the pamphlet-sellers of Paul’s yard. Venetia suspected that a goodly proportion of the literature on sale was p
robably unlicensed and when a hawker offered her a copy of A Whip for the Present House of Lords by Mr John Lilburne, she was sure of it. She waited until Phoebe wasn’t looking and then bought one to take home to Sophia.
They spent the next day quietly in Shoreditch before sallying forth again to tour the shops. In the Exchange, shuttered premises emphasised the fact that few people these days had money to spend and poorly-stocked shelves bore witness to falling profits and iniquitous prices; and Cheapside, once the throbbing heart of the City, proved little different. While Phoebe chose some ribbon in a haberdasher’s, Venetia gazed idly at the empty goldsmith’s shop across the street that had once been the home of Luciano del Santi. Then, as she was about to return her attention to Phoebe’s purchases, a man emerged from the tavern on the opposite corner of Friday Street.
Venetia’s breath snared and she flew to the shop doorway in time to see the black-cloaked figure disappear into Old Change. For a moment, she contemplated following; then she realised that the chances of catching up with him now were very small indeed and that if she went running off down Cheapside, Phoebe and Sym would think she was mad.
It was both regrettable and annoying because she had absolutely no doubts about the identity of the man. It was Ellis.
*
Back in Shoreditch, Gabriel was waiting for them. It was the first time they had seen him since the day they’d arrived. Phoebe greeted him exuberantly and then made a discreet exit. Venetia, with other things on her mind, said, ‘My goodness! This is an unexpected honour. Are you sure you can spare the time?’
‘No. But the knowledge that you’ve missed me makes the sacrifice more than worthwhile,’ he replied mockingly. ‘Or have you just missed having someone to quarrel with?’
‘Neither. I merely think you’ve got a monumental nerve to deposit us here like unwanted baggage and then disappear for over a week without so much as a word.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No. But —’
‘Then I fail to see why my absence should matter in the slightest. But you’ll doubtless be happy to learn that you are guaranteed the pleasure of my company tomorrow evening.’
