by Jo Beverley
Verity fought a betraying giggle and lost. “Really, Chastity. But I have to confess that Father’s outrage that such a man is adviser to the king is understandable. Bute could be disastrous for the country and yet seems to have the young king and his mother in his control.”
“Which situation Father would do anything to shatter…”
“But Chastity, how could Sir William or Henry possibly help him with that?”
“Not likely, is it?” said Chastity. “I did once hear Father say he was looking for evidence that Bute had Jacobite sympathies, that he had supported Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745. It is said a great many people flirted with the Jacobites when it looked as if they might succeed in returning the Stuarts to the throne.”
Verity curled her lip. “And then became staunch Hanoverian supporters when the rising collapsed. I detest such self-serving hypocrisy.”
“Wasn’t Sir William one of the Special Investigators set to ferreting out those hidden English Jacobites?”
“Yes,” said Verity with a shudder. “He used to tell gloating stories which made me pity even those wretches. He positively enjoyed wielding power and terrorizing people, and I suspect he made a pretty penny from turning an occasional blind eye. He certainly rose from a petty squire to a rich local lion at about that time.”
“Loathsome man,” said Chastity, her mind on other matters. “Perhaps that’s it! Perhaps he had evidence against Bute, and Father used us as bribes to obtain it. Bute is a Scot, after all.”
Verity stopped her work to consider it, then shook her head. “Really, Chas, I doubt it. Bute is rather stupid, but very loyal. He is a Scot, but not all Scots are Jacobites, no matter what people say.”
Chastity sighed. “I fear you may be right.” She passed Verity a pile of nappies. Something firm crackled within. She pulled out a heavily sealed document. “What on earth is this?”
Verity looked a picture of guilt. “Oh, that.”
Chastity inspected the document. It appeared to be just a couple of sheets of paper, folded and sealed four times. She looked at her sister.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Verity explained nervously. “Some time ago, Sir William showed me that, and where he kept it, and made me swear a solemn oath that when he died I would take it straight to Judge Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice. William made me swear on the Bible…”
“Verity,” said Chastity firmly, knowing her conscientious sister well, “you are not going to London until you are safely wed to Nathaniel.”
“Of course not,” said Verity, but uneasily. “I tell myself I am going toward London after all.”
“Exactly.” Chastity looked at the document. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. But as Sir William did not seem to want his brother to have it, I have wondered if it might be an amendment to his will…”
“Cutting out Henry as guardian?” asked Chastity sharply. “Let’s see—”
Verity snatched it. “We mustn’t! Oh, Chastity. I’m sure it will invalidate it if the seals are broken.”
“But…” Chastity broke off. “I don’t suppose it makes much difference. The main thing is to get you to Nathaniel. Then we can decide what to do about this.”
“Perhaps we should ask Lord Cyn.”
“Lud, no,” said Chastity. “Who knows what this document is? We don’t want to put ammunition into the hands of a Malloren. Keep it well hidden. Now, I’m going upstairs to change.”
When Chastity had gone, Verity tucked the paper away safely and sighed over her sister’s predicament. Verity had hopes that her own situation would turn out right, but nothing on earth could mend Chastity’s life.
That the Earl of Walgrave should order Chastity to marry Henry Vernham was peculiar; that he should be willing to ruin such a valuable pawn as his daughter in the attempt defied belief.
Verity had been in the country, in the last weeks of her pregnancy, when the scandal had occurred. She had heard the story from her husband, however, spiced with rage and foul humor. Sir William had been furious that Chastity had scorned his brother, and had painted the worst possible picture. Now Verity had heard the story from Chastity.
Henry Vernham was ten years younger than his brother. Where William was coarse and greedy, Henry was smooth and calculating. He was not ill-looking, but had only a small competence and a minor court post. He was, in effect, a nonentity who could hardly have expected even to encounter Lady Chastity Ware except for his family connection.
He had, however, not just met her but been so bold as to offer for her hand. And the mighty Earl of Walgrave, far from laughing in his face, had ordered Chastity to accept.
She had refused, scarcely taking the matter seriously at first. The earl’s rage had corrected that impression, but Chastity had still refused. She had stoically accepted petty restrictions and lectures on duty, not even bending when he forbade her to attend the Wares’ annual grand rout if she would not do so as Vernham’s partner.
Chastity had remarked that she had been more relieved than anything to be locked in her room if the alternative was to have Henry Vernham pawing at her all evening.
She had gone peacefully to sleep, but had woken near midnight when her father burst in on her with half a dozen guests in tow. She had sat up in alarm, and only then realized that Henry Vernham was lying in the bed beside her, stark naked. She had realized immediately that the trap could only have been accomplished with her father’s full compliance. Her door had been locked on the outside.
He had doubtless expected her to give up all resistance to the match. What else could a young lady do? Chastity, however, had loudly protested her innocence and continued to refuse. The matter had then become highly unpleasant, with the whole world believing the worst, and the earl losing all control of his temper. Even whippings and starvation, however, had not changed Chastity’s mind.
In the end the earl had given up. He had washed his hands of his daughter and banished her here to this cottage. He had made sure she would stay in her exile by providing no money, only the coarsest clothing, and by shaving off all Chastity’s beautiful hair.
It had hardly been necessary, for where else could the Notorious Chastity Ware go? The Earl of Walgrave’s daughters were not trained for employment, and no respectable man would offer her his name. And that was a shame, thought Verity, for Chastity had always been a joyous girl, made to be a wife and mother.
Chastity reappeared, transformed. She’d cinched the loose frieze breeches with a belt, and they added bulk to her legs. The moleskin shirt also disguised her shape, while the spotted neckerchief hid her slender neck, her most betraying feature. She wore the mouse-brown bag-wig, covered by a battered flat-brimmed hat.
“It’s marvelous!” exclaimed Verity. “A much better disguise than more elegant clothing. Lord Cyn was right.”
“You would think that,” grumbled Chastity, but with a smile.
A new problem fretted Verity. “Chas, do you think Father knows I’m missing?”
Chastity looked at her sister sharply. “He’s bound to, unless Henry Vernham has hushed it up for his own nefarious reasons.”
“Oh, lud. What reason would Henry have to do that? All he wants is William so he can control the estate. Or perhaps worse…” Verity shuddered. “Horrible Henry! That sums him up so beautifully. I like Lord Cyn.”
“You like everyone,” said Chastity grimly. “Here, is there space for my suit in that portmanteau?”
Verity took it. “I do not like everyone. I dislike Henry intensely. But I like Lord Cyn, and I feel very secure knowing he’s an officer. Our plan is full of hazards, dearest, but I’m sure he can carry it through if anyone can.”
“He’s in it for amusement, Verity!”
Verity shook her head. “You must learn to look beneath the surface a little. Remember he’s a military man, like Nathaniel.” She paused in her work of pushing the brown suit into the full bag. “But Father worries me, Chas. He knows about Nathaniel and will ha
ve no trouble discovering where he is stationed…”
“And with his connections,” said Chastity quietly, “he could virtually raise the country.”
“Chas, we have to tell Lord Cyn who we are, and what he’s embroiled in. Father could ruin him with a word.”
Chastity’s eyes widened in alarm. “But that would mean he would know who I am! Oh, what does that matter next to your safety—”
“No,” said Verity quickly. “What would it gain us?” She knew how Chastity dreaded facing anyone as the Notorious Chastity Ware.
They looked at each other. “It shouldn’t matter,” said Chastity. “I’m sure we can reach Maidenhead without tangling with Father…”
“I’m sure we can,” Verity said firmly, then bit her lip. “But what of Nathaniel? If Father is a danger to Lord Cynric Malloren, he’s even more so to Nathaniel. His career could be ruined. Officers have been thrown out of the army for merely voting against the government in an election…” Verity’s hands clenched on Chastity’s. “And what of the baby? Do you think they could take William? I’d die first!”
“I’m sure they couldn’t,” Chastity soothed. “Nathaniel would never allow it. And you’ve forgotten his true nature if you think he would not sacrifice his career entirely for your happiness. But it will never come to that,” she added hurriedly, knowing Verity would immolate herself before hurting her beloved. “Nathaniel is a highly regarded officer, and this is a time of war. Once the knot is tied, no one will be able to make a case for taking away your child.”
In truth, she wasn’t as certain as her words implied, and her own knees were turning to jelly at the prospect of challenging the Earl of Walgrave’s will again. But what choice did they have?
What they needed was an advocate as powerful as Walgrave. They might as well wish for the moon.
Chapter 4
Chastity rode into Shaftesbury with Lord Cyn, alert for any sly move he might make. Despite his professed eagerness to help them, she didn’t trust him one iota. He had too frivolous an attitude to life, and a way of making the most outrageous things sound reasonable.
Such as them coming into town in the first place.
And her giving him back some of his money.
After all, he’d said, he did intend to buy clothes, and it would look strange for the groom to be paying the shopkeepers. It had sounded too reasonable to deny, but Chastity was fretted again by the feeling that matters were being cleverly slid out of her hands.
They left the horses at the Crown and found Cyn’s coachman there in the taproom. Hoskins was a barrel of a man with the ruddy, weathered face of one who had spent a large part of his life on the box.
“Sent the others on to the Abbey, milord, since there were spaces on the uptraveling Exeter Fly.” He drained the ale Cyn had purchased for him and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Reckoned I’d best stay, though, in case you needed ‘elp. ’Sides which, I can’t go ‘ome without me rig, can I?“ He gave Chastity an unfriendly look, but there was no hint in it that he thought she was female, or a true villain.
She took as large a swig as she dared from her own tankard, and worked at looking like a cocky young rogue.
“Then you’ll approve of my plan, Hoskins,” said Cyn. “I want you to drive us.”
“That’s me job, milord,” the man agreed, but with narrowed eyes. “That, and keeping you out of mischief.”
Cyn grinned. “And how do you think to achieve that?”
“Lord only knows. Gallows bait, you are.”
Cyn slapped him on the back. “Cheer up. It’s not as bad as you fear, certainly not a hanging matter. The first thing you should do is hire yourself a horse so you can ride back with us. Then,” he added blithely, “purchase a pint of paint to match the coach color as close as you can. It has been a little scratched. Be ready to ride out with us in an hour or so. My friend and I have some purchases to make.”
Cyn then dragged Chastity out of the room before the man could splutter his alarmed questions. Chastity pulled against Cyn’s hand on her arm, but his grip was like steel. He did not let her go until they were well clear of the inn.
“Believe me, lad,” he said, “you don’t want to be the one to describe the damage to the coach. Especially as it was your doing.”
“It’s only a few scrapes.”
“I’ve seen Hoskins fret over a bird dropping on his varnish. He’s going to want blood when he sees what you did.”
“Then why are you adding him to our party?”
“We need someone to drive the coach. Don’t worry. If he tries to flog you, I’ll defend you to the death.” He looked at the street name painted on a building, and plunged down an alley.
Chastity had expected to derive amusement from his lordship’s attempts to procure ladies’ clothing at short notice in a strange town. Her own ignorance, not his, was exposed.
The Walgrave ladies had only ever patronized one dressmaker in Shaftesbury, and Miss Taverstock had only been entrusted with the simplest garments. Cyn had made inquiries of the innkeeper, and now had the direction of the town’s secondhand clothes dealer.
Chastity was fascinated to venture into parts of Shaftesbury which were strange to her. There were alleys with small shops, and narrow, winding streets festooned with lines of washing. There were houses as dark and forbidding as the Fleet, and others which turned smiling faces to the world. In front of the former lurked scabrous, dirty rogues; in front of the latter sat women preparing food or knitting, while watching children and chatting with their neighbors.
Some streets were dry and wholesome, others noisome from the sewage pooling in the central gutter.
A junk shop full of fascinating bits and pieces distracted Chastity, then an herbalist’s that looked as if it still operated according to the rules of Gerard’s Herbal. Cyn drew her away, even from a delightful bookshop.
“We’re hardly in a hurry,” she protested.
“I told Hoskins we’d be back in a hour. If we’re not, he’ll probably decide you’ve done away with me. Look, here we are.”
Mrs. Crupley’s Emporium presented a narrow, faded front at the entrance to a particularly dismal alley. Chastity took in the foul mess lying in the middle of that dark passageway—including a dead cat—and gave thanks they didn’t have to travel it. They had obviously reached the edge of respectable Shaftesbury. She doubted they would find much of use in such an establishment.
They pushed through the door, and Chastity’s nose wrinkled at the musty smell of damprot and stale sweat. The place was packed with garments, headgear, footwear, and accessories. Items lay on shelves against the walls and in boxes on the floor. Most of the clothing hung from ropes stretched across the room.
Mrs. Crupley sat near the door in a rocking chair by a stove. She had a cat on her lap, and a mug in her hand. Chastity feared it held gin.
She had to smile, though, when she saw the way the plump middle-aged woman clearly enjoyed her stock. She wore a gown of opulent yellow silk and lace that was at least twenty years out of fashion, and hopelessly stained. On her wiry gray curls sat an elaborately dressed lace cap of the style of Queen Anne.
“Good day to you,” the woman said. “What can I do for you, dearies?”
Mrs. Crupley knew her stock well. When Cyn told her, without explanation, that he had need of good-quality ladies’ garments for a woman of above-average height and sturdy build, she put down her cup, tipped off the disgruntled cat, and headed toward the back of her shop. Chastity and Cyn had to fight their way through after her, like battling through endless lines of washing.
“Keep the good stuff back here, I do,” said the woman, “well away from sneak-thievery.”
Once they reached the dim and musty depths of the place, she began pulling down samples, extolling their virtues. “Lovely, this is,” she said, dangling a blue lutestring silk, her eyes darting to catch their every reaction. “The highest lady in the land could wear this as it is, or it’d cut up a treat.”
After all, it seemed very likely that she would have an impoverished future.
She expected to be asked for her advice, but Cyn ignored her. She remembered then that he thought her a youth. He didn’t seem to need help anyway. He rejected various items of evening wear, and some shoddy garments which Mrs. Crupley obviously thought all the go, and chose two ugly gowns of excellent quality.
One was a brown Brunswick traveling dress with beige braid; the other was an open sacque of Prussian blue figured cloth to be worn over a quilted gray petticoat and a stomacher of blue and black braiding. He added a dark blue hooded cloak, and a plain straw villager hat.
Mrs. Crupley clearly didn’t think much of his choices, and pitied the poor lady who would be forced to wear such dull stuff, but she made one last attempt. “Look lovely with new ribbons, this will,” she crooned, stroking the flat hat. “Yellow or bright green, I’d think. Have to have at least sixpence for this, I will.” She glanced at Cyn slyly. “A guinea and a half for all this, I’d say.”
He ruthlessly beat her down to eighteen shillings and sixpence, and had her throw in a shabby black wig and a huge cloth muff as well. Chastity was amazed to see the woman look content when she took the money.
When they were out in the alley she said, “Eighteen and six for all that! You diddled the poor old dear.”
He laughed. “I paid her more than she hoped for. She’d have been suspicious if we paid much over the odds. People poor enough to buy castoffs watch every penny.” He flicked her an indulgent glance and dumped one of the large, newspaper-wrapped bundles in her arms. “You don’t know you’re born, do you, young Charles?”
Chastity snarled at him, but he was already off at a brisk pace back the way they had come. Chastity quickly followed and had to admire his command of geography. She would have been hard put to find her way back to the Crown unaided.
