by Stella Riley
‘With only one alternative. I write a reply to Ellis and you deliver it – along with a kick up any part of his anatomy that pleases you.’
Wat regarded her with a sort of caustic indulgence.
‘Now why didn’t you say that in the first place?’ he said.
*
Venetia wrote a brief, pithy note to her former betrothed and made Mr Larkin read it before he set off for his rendezvous amongst the bookstalls in St Paul’s churchyard. Then she prowled restlessly about the parlour until Gabriel walked in, looking harassed.
He said, ‘I can’t stay. I’ve been summoned to a meeting at Headquarters in St Albans and probably won’t be back until tonight. I was hoping to catch Wat but he’s nowhere to be found – so perhaps you could brief him for me?’
Venetia barely stopped herself from telling him where Wat had gone and why. Then, reminding herself that there would be time enough for that when Francis and Colonel Ambrose were safely on their way, she said, ‘I spoke to Wat earlier and he said he hadn’t seen you. So I tried to give him all the information he needs. I’ve also acquired the … the potion we spoke of.’
‘Excellent. Just one more thing. Our friends downstairs need to be informed of what we intend but I don’t want any of us to be seen communicating with them. So do you think you could write down the basic outline and put in inside a book for Francis? Preferably the kind he’d never normally open. Eden will then make sure it’s passed over intact after the day guards come on duty tomorrow. Can you do that?’
She nodded, suddenly acutely conscious of the well-defined planes of his face and the rich, seductive timbre of his voice; of the way his hair lay in soft, glossy waves against his collar. Then, striving to concentrate on the matter in hand, she said, ‘In French, if you like.’
‘Better still,’ said Gabriel. And, entirely without warning, he smiled … that singularly attractive smile which now had the effect of turning her bones to water. He said, ‘I hope you slept well?’
Venetia blushed. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Good.’ He turned as if to leave and then looked back, saying, ‘Tell me. Are you enjoying our little cloak-and-dagger episode?’
‘More, probably, than I should,’ she replied. And thought, Though not as much as last night. But was either too cowardly – or too sensible – to say it.
*
Wat returned half an hour later with a distinctly irritable glint in his eye.
‘Well, I’ve seen him,’ he said sourly. ‘All prinked out like a candied tart with nice shiny buttons and a jewel in his ear. I gave him your letter and watched him read it and he wasn’t best pleased. Then I told him what the upshot’ll be if he comes sniffing round here again and he didn’t like that neither.’
‘No. He wouldn’t. But will he take any notice of it?’
‘I wouldn’t put money on it. He’s so full of himself he thinks a few oily words can fix anything.’
‘The unfortunate truth being that, in Ellis’s case, they usually do,’ sighed Venetia. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘In a manner of speaking. He sent you this.’ Wat pulled a purse from his pocket and tipped a stream of shiny sovereigns into her lap. ‘Said he owed it to you.’
Venetia stared blankly at the money for a moment and then said flatly, ‘Now I am worried. In all his life, Ellis has never paid a debt unless he was forced to. So why has he done this? There has to be a reason.’
‘Devilment, I reckon.’ Wat stirred through the heap of coins, selected two of them and placed one in each of her hands. ‘What do you make of those?’
‘Is this a game?’ she began. And then, automatically weighing one against the other, ‘This one feels heavier.’
‘That one is heavier,’ came the grim reply. ‘Not much – but enough to give the game away.’
The amethyst eyes widened slowly.
‘It’s counterfeit?’ said Venetia, disbelievingly. And when he nodded, ‘But … where did Ellis get it?’
‘Where do you think?’ demanded Wat irritably. ‘He must be in it up to his pretty ear-ring with the clever fellow who’s doing the coining. And if he don’t watch his step, they’ll be stretching his neck at Tyburn one of these days.’
*
While Venetia bestowed twenty-five lawful sovereigns on Wat for the purpose of acquiring two horses and hid the same number of illegal ones at the back of a drawer, Gabriel was sitting in St Albans listening to the boiling discontent of his colleagues. Then, deciding against a late ride home, he spent the night at Headquarters and departed on the following morning for Shoreditch and his appointment with Samuel Radford. It went off reasonably well. Abigail Templeton sat quietly in a corner with Bryony and behaved as if she had never laid eyes on him before; Jack made a number of provocative remarks about his protracted absence; and Sam discreetly passed him a small slip of paper containing the name of an inn at Barnet. Gabriel drank a glass of wine, thanked God that neither Samuel nor his sister had revealed the fact that Colonel Ambrose was currently residing in Cheapside and then left to return to his duties at the Tower.
He stayed there, as arranged, until Major Maxwell arrived at about nine in the evening. Then, with little more than a faint smile and a nod, he walked out into the night air and strolled unhurriedly back to Cheapside.
Venetia was in the parlour, brooding over the remains of supper. Absorbing the tension in her face, Gabriel said deliberately, ‘I wish, just once, I could come in to a meal that Eden hasn’t already picked over.’
‘You should come home earlier, then,’ she retorted automatically. ‘Where have you been all day?’
‘Staying out of the way. Did you need me?’
‘Not especially.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Venetia drew a fulminating breath and then encountered the gleam in his eye. The strain of the past hour slid miraculously away and she gave a tiny choke of laughter.
‘That’s better,’ approved Gabriel, unwinding his sash and preparing to unfasten his coat. ‘Now, why don’t you pour us both some wine and give me a progress report?’
‘Everything you asked for has been done.’ She crossed to the dresser in search of a clean glass. ‘Wat arranged the horses this afternoon and set off back to Holborn shortly before you came in – having spent the last hour drinking with Willis and Baxter. I then made sure that two jugs of wine went sent down with their supper and am fairly confident that Nan will presently re-fill them in order to continue making eyes at Trooper Willis.’ She paused, handing him the glass and trying not to let her own eyes linger on the breadth of shoulder beneath the white cambric shirt. ‘The only thing I can’t be sure of is whether or not Francis found my note. Eden passed it over inside a copy of Machiavelli’s Principe.’
Gabriel dropped carelessly into a large, carved chair by the hearth.
‘Do you think that was a big enough clue?’
‘I hope so.’ A sudden, vivid smile transformed her face. ‘It was in Italian. And Francis knows that I know he struggles to read it.’
He looked at her. The silver-gilt hair was loosely tied up in a ribbon, her skin was creamy-pale against the dark blue of her gown and her eyes bright with laughter. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; and remembering only too well how she’d looked lying half-naked in his arms, the alabaster skin flushed with passion and the pansy eyes dark with desire, made it extremely difficult to concentrate on the task in hand.
‘Ah. Then that should do it.’ He hesitated, reminding himself that he’d vowed to let the changes in their relationship develop slowly and seeking, instead, some means of keeping the conversation neutral. ‘You’ve heard, I suppose that the Commons has acceded to His Majesty’s request that no single concession at Newport be considered binding unless total agreement is reached?’
Venetia nodded and seated herself facing him.
‘As I understand it, they fixed the debate for a day when there was a call of the House – knowing that a
ll the normally present Presbyterian members would turn out in force to avoid being fined for non-attendance.’ She paused, sipping her wine. ‘I don’t imagine that the Army is especially happy about it.’
‘It’s not. The general feeling is that there’s no point in bending over backwards to make terms with a king who appears to have no regard for peace and whose word cannot be relied on.’ He met her gaze wryly. ‘The result is a widespread demand for the Army to purge Parliament of the Presbyterians so that the Newport talks can be brought to a summary end. Fortunately, however, it’s a demand which Fairfax has so far managed to resist – much to the disgust of Ireton who, having had his resignation refused, has taken himself off to Windsor in a huff.’
‘Good,’ said Venetia.
‘Not from my point of view, it isn’t. You may have forgotten – but I have to present myself before him tomorrow; and I’d as soon not have to ride ten miles in order to do it.’ He watched her recollect what lay ahead of them; and then, without giving her time to speak, said, ‘In case you may have been wondering … I wasn’t planning to immediately capitalise on what happened between us two nights ago.’
‘Oh.’ She took refuge in her glass. And then, ‘No. Of course not.’
An unholy glint lit his eyes.
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘Not at all. I understand perfectly.’
‘Liar,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’m not ecstatic about it myself – so it’s encouraging that you feel the same way. And I didn’t say not ever. I said not immediately. As for the reason, it’s simply that passion has a way of clouding one’s judgement. And I am rather hoping that, with the misconceptions cleared away and given a little time and space, we might find we have more to offer each other than a quick romp between the sheets.’
‘Quick?’ echoed Venetia before she could stop herself. And then, ‘Romp?’
Gabriel grinned appreciatively.
‘I was using the term loosely. If you’re going to be a stickler for accuracy … I suppose we’d better call it an intensely slow and languorous assault on every inch of your skin, until you’re begging me to take you. Better?’
He liked watching her blush and, along with her shortened breathing, the colour sweeping over her now clearly revealed the effect his words had on her. In truth, the picture they conjured up had an effect on him as well, forcing him to shift in his chair to disguise it.
Venetia opened her mouth, closed it again and finally managed to say weakly, ‘No. Quick romp is fine. I’m sorry I asked.’
‘You’re sorry you asked right now. As it happens, so am I. Consequently, I think now is as good a time as any to take Willis and Baxter their brew.’
Venetia’s gaze refocused. Wordlessly, she crossed to the dresser, withdrew a small pot of brownish powder from the drawer and poured it into the earthenware jug of wine which stood ready and waiting. Then, stirring it, she said, ‘It should take effect within an hour and, on top of what they’ve already drunk, I imagine they’ll snore through the rest of the night.’
‘Good.’ He rose, smiling a little. ‘You realise that I’ll never again accept wine from your hands without a certain amount of trepidation?’
‘Very wise.’ She walked, jug in hand, to the door and turned to fix him with a limpid amethyst gaze. ‘If I ever drop a little something into your malmsey, you may be sure it won’t be a sleeping-potion.’
And she was gone, shutting the door with a gentle click.
When she reappeared some minutes later, all traces of flirtation had vanished beneath layers of bountiful satisfaction.
‘They’re already so fuddled that they’re unlikely to remember I was ever there. And they started drinking before I turned my back.’
‘Of course they did.’ Gabriel surveyed her lazily from the hearth. ‘So you may now go to bed and attempt to get some sleep.’
‘Sleep?’ echoed Venetia. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! How can I? And don’t, please, give me the obvious, flippant answer.’
‘I wasn’t about to. The truth, if you want it, is that you can do nothing about what happens next. And, if anything goes wrong, I’d prefer you to be able to emerge – suitably startled and in your night-rail – from your room.’
‘But —’
‘No.’ His tone was pleasant still but utterly final. ‘I thank you for your help. But your part is now done and I’d like you to leave me to do mine. Goodnight.’
She hesitated, knowing that he was right but reluctant to leave him. Then, realising that it would be stupid to spoil the incredibly sweet mood of the last hour by arguing, she shrugged slightly and said, ‘As you wish. But you … you will take care, won’t you?’
The note of anxiety touched him but he couldn’t quite resist dropping a light kiss on her brow. He said, ‘I always do.’ And waited, with courteous patience, until she left the room.
*
Once alone, the time seemed to pass very slowly and Gabriel found he was thinking more about his wife than what lay ahead. But eventually midnight arrived and, glad of the prospect of some action, he trod silently down the stairs and into the corridor leading to the rear of the house.
Trooper Willis was slumped, snoring, across the table and Baxter had slipped into an inert heap on the floor. Gabriel smiled to himself and unhooked the keys from the wall. Then he unlocked the workroom door and went in.
In the shadowy light of a single oil lamp, two pairs of eyes encompassed him wordlessly. Colonel Ambrose was lying upon his pallet with his arms behind his head and his ankles crossed and Captain Langley leaned negligently against the wall. Then Justin came smoothly to his feet and Francis murmured, ‘So it’s true, then. May I ask why?’
‘In part, thanks to Lucas and Lisle – and because I don’t believe a soldier should face trial for merely doing his duty,’ responded Gabriel briskly. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘As soon as you like,’ said Justin. ‘I assume you want this to look like an escape?’
‘Since I’d as soon not be court-martialled, yes,’ agreed Gabriel with a gleam of acidic humour. ‘The guards are out cold and will stay that way for some hours. When you leave here, take their pistols, lock me in and drop the keys in the passage outside. As you’re aware, my man has horses ready for you in Holborn – and I suggest you make good use of them.’
‘You can rely on it,’ said Francis. ‘Speaking for myself, I intend to board the first boat sailing out of Harwich – regardless of where it may be going.’
‘Then you’ll need this.’ Gabriel tossed each of them a small purse. ‘It’s not much but I hope it will help.’ And, to Justin, ‘You’ll find your wife at The Partridge in Barnet with her brother. She’s expecting you.’
A hint of colour touched the austere face.
‘I’m grateful. I hope you don’t suffer by this.’
‘So do I – but I suspect I will,’ came the mordant reply. And, with a sigh, ‘You’re going to have to hit me.’
Silence. Then, ‘Rather you than me,’ murmured Francis.
‘Now?’ asked Justin, calmly.
‘Now. And make it good.’
‘I will.’ Smiling remotely, Justin held out his hand. ‘But, since we’re unlikely to meet again, at least allow me to thank you for all you’ve done. I shan’t forget it.’
Gabriel smiled back and accepted the outstretched hand. For a moment, their fingers gripped and a look of perfect comprehension passed between them. Then Gabriel was sent staggering backwards by a crashing blow to his jaw.
‘Christ!’ he breathed. ‘You might have warned me.’
A fist like a sledgehammer took him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. He heard a voice say coolly, ‘Better not. It would have hurt more.’ And then another perfectly controlled punch connected with the side of his face, sending him ricocheting painfully against the wall and causing him to skin his knuckles.
Half-dazed and gasping, he dropped to one knee, feeling his throbbing jaw. Amazingly enough it did not appear to be dis
located and, as far as he could tell, he still had all his teeth. Keeping his head bent and summoning his resources, he said thickly, ‘I think that will do. Now knock me out.’
There was a second or two of silent hesitation before he heard Justin say, ‘I can’t see the need – but I won’t argue. My apologies; and my thanks.’ And then something came down on the base of his skull and he knew nothing more.
*
It was the coughing that brought him round. A searing, relentless cough that he eventually realised was emanating from himself … and which tore at his lungs and made his ribs ache. For a moment or two he merely lay where he was with his eyes closed, fighting unsuccessfully against it. Then, as his brain slowly resumed its function, he became aware that something was very wrong; and forcing himself into reluctant activity, he opened his eyes.
One side of the room was ablaze and the air was full of smoke. Flames had all but consumed one of the straw mattresses and were fastening greedily on the other; Luciano del Santi’s workbench was already smouldering and sparks were beginning to ignite the wooden shelving about it. As far as Gabriel could see, the only thing that wasn’t going to catch fire in the next few minutes was the door. And by the time it did, he’d be unconscious again.
The door. The most sensible thing to do, he decided, was to check the door. He heaved himself first to his knees and then to his feet, hoping against frail hope that Justin and Francis had forgotten to lock it. They hadn’t … but desperation made him waste a good deal of effort tugging fruitlessly at the latch until a new, violent fit of coughing overtook him. He dropped to his knees again, crippled by the raw agony in his chest. His eyes smarted painfully and he tried wiping them on his sleeve. That was when he noticed the ewer.
Miraculously, it was half-full of water. Not knowing whether, in the end, it would help very much, Gabriel took a much-needed swallow of it and set about using the rest to soak his hair and shirt. Then, concluding that there was little he could do about the fire and holding a fold of his dampened shirt over his mouth, he picked up the empty pewter jug and started banging it against the heavy, oak door in the hope of summoning help.
