by Karen Brooks
‘Si, bella,’ said Bianca softly, lifting their joined hands to her lips. ‘And we saw the way he looked at you.’
Rosamund pulled out of her grip. Jacopo let her go. ‘I don’t care. I will use the fact I look like his sister; I will use the chocolate if I have to. I can control him. What I can’t control is what he does to you. Please, please, for my sake, leave and be safe.’
Jacopo looked to Bianca. ‘You don’t understand, signora. We’re not free to leave. We’re naught but property, slaves bound to the master of Blithe Manor. It seems the master is now Aubrey. If we leave, then we’ll be fugitives. A price will be put on our heads. We’ll be imprisoned and then deported, just as he wishes.’
Rosamund sank onto the bed. ‘Is this true?’ When they nodded, she put her head in her hands. ‘Let me think. Let me think.’
They stood in silence watching her, the only sound the snapping of the fire and the steady thrum of snow on the windows.
Finally, Rosamund raised her head. A smile broke, beaming to warm them all. ‘I have it. The will hasn’t been read yet. Therefore, we don’t know its exact contents, despite what Aubrey has said. First thing, I will seek out Mr Bender and learn what I can and ask his advice on how best to deal with… with Aubrey. With you both. Can you trust me to do this? To look to your best interests?’
‘When have you not done so, signora?’ asked Bianca softly.
Jacopo let out a long sigh and reached for his sister’s hand. ‘Very well. We will go, and wait to hear from you, but only if Ashe stays. We cannot leave you alone with that man.’
‘I can manage him too, madam,’ said Ashe quickly. ‘If I can handle Mr Remney’s men, I can handle an upstart lord.’
Rosamund began to pull at her lip. If only that were true.
Filled with gratitude and warmth, she drew Bianca then Jacopo into a long embrace. ‘I know there’s no point arguing when you are united in your purpose.’
‘Allora,’ said Jacopo. ‘None whatsoever.’
Rosamund made a sound that could have been a laugh but was suspiciously like a sob. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll do this together, all right?’
Three sets of eyes regarded her doubtfully.
Rosamund tried to smile, threw out her arms. ‘We made the impossible possible once, we’ll do it again.’
‘Si. But then we worked together to save a chocolate house —’ began Jacopo.
‘And we did,’ said Rosamund. ‘Only this time the stakes are higher. We work to save ourselves.’
THIRTY-ONE
In which Lady Rosamund becomes a woman of property
Well before dawn, Rosamund rose and left the house, taking a young, sleepy-eyed maid with her (Ashe would not allow her to depart otherwise). She ordered the hackney carriage to take her straight to Mr Bender’s at Gray’s Inn.
Lanthorns swung from the walls of houses, casting crazed light about the dark streets in the pre-dawn gusts of wind. The horses’ hooves were a steady, empty crunch, interrupted only by the driver’s hacking cough. Snow had fallen again overnight, but not enough to coat the streets, which were crusted with black ice. The pervasive smell of damp and mould barely disguised the other odours of urine, shit, tallow and stale beer. A dead cat had been trampled beneath carriage wheels. Rosamund turned away in despair, but not before she’d seen some crows pecking at the flesh, and large rats scurrying along the walls of the buildings, slipping between holes in the plaster, straw and wood, their night foraging complete.
Further on, shopkeepers were opening for trade, pushing snow off their stoops, opening their creaking shutters, slapping their hands and stamping their feet to restore warmth to their limbs. The markets were assembling, carts and barrows pushed into position, weary vendors setting out their produce, some even beginning to call, their cries piercing the air. Servants leaned from windows as the city woke, emptying chamber pots and other vessels into the street, uncaring who might be trudging below. More servants scurried through the city gates, heads down, strides wide as they passed the carriage, determined to claim the freshest and finest produce.
The closer to Gray’s Inn they came, the more people they saw, and the roads started to become congested. At one junction there was even a great spit with pig on it, the fire and the smell attracting a small crowd.
Eventually the carriage pulled up outside an expanse of frost-covered grass surrounded by hedges. Walkways led to a vast group of stone buildings four storeys high. All but a few of the windows were dark. Rosamund asked the coachman to wait and, leaving the maid in the relative warmth of the carriage, begged the young doorman to wake Mr Bender, slipping a few coins into his gloved hands. When it was clear who had come to visit, she was swiftly taken to the lawyer’s rooms. While his servant lit candles and poured coffee, Mr Bender rubbed his eyes and tried to look official in his thick emerald house robe. Rosamund swiftly outlined the events of the previous evening: Aubrey’s return and his claim, not only on the house and the estate of Sir Everard, but upon Jacopo and Bianca.
‘So,’ said Mr Bender, stifling a yawn and reclining into his seat, his hands wrapped around the bowl of coffee, ‘Aubrey lives. I always wondered if Sir Everard was merely indulging in a guilty fancy, wishing a lost child back from the dead when he made out the will and named Aubrey executor, let alone heir. I’d heard rumours of a nephew doing well in the colonies, thus I wrote to inform him of what had happened, but didn’t consider for a moment the living relative was, in fact, the dead son. You have to believe me, my lady.’
‘I do, Mr Bender. But Aubrey Blithman is very much alive and, from what I understand, his father knew this. Together, they conspired to hide his existence.’ Rosamund tried not to think of those odd eyes, the moist fingers, the way Aubrey smelled. ‘He’s been living these last years in Virginia mainly, managing his father’s lands, making money by selling slaves to the plantation owners. I gather he’s done quite well…’ Did she resent that he was able to take all that she’d come to think of as hers? Perhaps a little, may God forgive her. At least he couldn’t touch the chocolate house.
Unable to sleep the night before, she’d given much thought to what Aubrey revealed, especially the way he behaved towards Jacopo and Bianca. He’d created a problem she must solve. During the early hours of the morning, she’d snuck into Sir Everard’s study in the hope of finding a document to provide guidance, if not answers. To no avail. Rosamund had sorted through Sir Everard’s papers long ago, and there’d been nothing of a personal nature. Aside from Matthew’s letters to him, everything related to the business. No letters to or from his wife when he travelled, or to or from his sons. Nothing. It was as if Sir Everard either had no sentimental attachments or kept such things elsewhere — though if he did, she’d never found them.
As she sat opposite Mr Bender in his snug rooms, inhaling the mixture of beeswax, coal, brandy and burned chestnuts and watching the light creep up the stained walls as day broke, she outlined her plan for how she might alter the situation in which she found herself.
‘As we know, Mr Bender, my late husband left me a jointure.’ She held her bowl of coffee tightly, but mostly to keep her hands warm.
‘He did. Not a very generous one, but then I guess you hadn’t been married for very long. I believed it was temporary and that once Aubrey’s death was proven — by this false nephew no less — you would be entitled to at least a third of the estate; more if we appealed to the Chancery Court. I must say —’ He put down his coffee and rose to prod the coals in the hearth. His man darted forward and refilled his bowl, offering more coffee to Rosamund, who politely declined. It was hard enough swallowing Aubrey’s presence, she didn’t need more bitterness. ‘I thought the point moot. I really believed the boy dead. I don’t understand why he didn’t write and inform me.’
‘He’s no boy, sir,’ said Rosamund, ‘but a grown man desiring to take up his rights and re-establish his name, as one would expect. As for not corresponding —’ She shrugged. ‘I believe he came home as soon as
he learned of his father’s death.’
Mr Bender sat back down. ‘What would you have me do, my lady? With Aubrey alive, executor and in London, I doubt we can extract more from Sir Everard’s estate than has already been granted. You did sign those papers, after all. Not even the most understanding of judges or sympathetic of lawyers can undo that — not an agreement between husband and wife, especially not a literate one such as yourself. Ah, yes, madam, I am aware your literacy is relatively recent, but persuading a judge this is the case would be beyond even my powers.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I wish I’d known better what Everard was about when he asked me to draw them up. At that stage, I hadn’t met you… I had no idea —’
Rosamund waved a hand. ‘Please, Mr Bender. Do not chastise yourself. I do not want any more.’
‘Then, my lady, what is it you do want?’
Rosamund took a deep breath. ‘What I want is to negotiate with Aubrey Blithman.’
‘You do? I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
Rosamund put down her bowl carefully and leaned forward. ‘First, I need to know where the law stands with regard to the rights and liberties of Bianca and Jacopo Abbandonato. I want to negotiate for their freedom.’
If Rosamund had declared she wished to be treated as a horse from here on, Mr Bender could not have been more surprised. ‘I see.’ His hair, which was shaved close to his scalp, glinted silver in the candlelight. ‘The laws around slaves are murky, but what is clear is they have no rights and certainly no liberties except those granted by their masters. They’re regarded as goods when it comes to the distribution of an estate. They’re like horses or cattle — ownership is transferred. They belong to Aubrey Blithman for him to do with as he wishes.’ The words were as distasteful for the man to say as they were for Rosamund to hear. She liked him better for it.
‘Transferred.’ Rosamund stared at the fire, thinking. For something crackling so fiercely, it provided little warmth, and she felt cold and uncertain. Finally, she said, ‘In that case, he has it within his power to transfer their ownership, does he not? To sell or exchange them?’
‘Ah… I think I understand what you’re trying to accomplish, madam.’
Rosamund took a deep breath. ‘You do? Good. I have a proposition I want you to put to Aubrey Blithman. It’s my understanding that he’s coming to see you later today to discuss the terms of the will.’
‘Is that right? Nice of him to inform me. Glad I’ll be prepared.’ He tugged his robe over his legs. ‘What is it you wish me to put before him, my lady?’
As she outlined her plan, Mr Bender began to shake his head but, as she continued, eloquently and sensibly, he stilled. He signalled to his servant for paper and quill and began to make a few notes.
‘What you’re asking for,’ he said when she had finished, ‘it’s not impossible, though it will depend very much on Aubrey — what he wishes to do with his inheritance, how inclined he is to be agreeable. The degree of attachment he feels to the Blithman estate here in London. His attachment to the Abbandonato siblings.’
‘That’s the sticking point. Though, when he is set to gain so much, I hardly think he’ll object.’
Mr Bender gave a slight shrug. ‘If he’s like his father, I fear he might consider this an imposition, a diminishing of his rights as property owner. Nor would he welcome what he would regard as interference in matters that are his to decide.’
Rosamund’s heart fell. ‘Well, then, Mr Bender, it’s up to you to put my bargain in terms he will understand.’
‘What might those be?’
She recalled Aubrey’s face as he boasted of his acquisitions, the lands and businesses he had accrued. Her proposal needed to be put in a language he’d comprehend. She searched her mind for the right words. A smile brightened her face.
‘I know,’ she said, and patted Mr Bender on the knee. ‘Tell Aubrey he’s so inspired me with his business success that I too desire to become a woman of property.’
Swallows circled, greeting the grey morn as Rosamund arrived at the chocolate house. With a quick ‘God’s good day’ to Mr Henderson, she snuck up the back stairs. From the kitchen she could hear a great ruckus coming from the main room. The place was full. Men from all walks of life — earls with their stars and garters, fops in their pretentious wigs exuding cloying perfumes, clergymen in cassocks and bands — were crammed into benches and in booths. There were black-robed lawyers, merchants and tradespeople; the poet John Dryden held court in one corner; Sir Henry Bennet and the Duke of Buckingham talked animatedly at the bar — evidently they were yet to go to bed. Smoke swirled beneath the ceiling and the windows were frosted from the hot air inside and the freezing gusts outside. Something had caused the men to bury their heads in news sheets and argue vehemently.
Was it news of Aubrey Blithman’s return? Certainly, it had caused Rosamund’s world to erupt.
Filip was deep in conversation with the courtiers propped at the bar. Bianca took trays laden with empty bowls from Jacopo who was, in turn, trying to send orders out with the drawers. Behind her, Thomas and Solomon worked quickly to ensure chocolate and coffee went to the floor.
She should help. And she would, once she discovered what had caused the place to fill so early and the men to be so agitated. As she tried to puzzle the reason, the Unwise Men tripped in, adding their arguments to those already circulating.
‘Signora,’ said Bianca with relief as she swept into the kitchen. ‘You’re here.’
‘I am. What’s happened? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a racket. But first, are you well? Is Jacopo?’
Bianca deposited the tray of empty dishes on a table so Cara might wash them. In her working dress and apron, she looked as pristine and well rested as she always did, despite fleeing the manor late last night.
‘We are well, signora. Filip found us beds. It’s not uncomfortable upstairs.’ She glanced at the ceiling. ‘The fires of the day keep the rooms warm throughout most of the night. But you? Were you disturbed?’
‘Only by thoughts of Aubrey and what he revealed. The valerian did its work. I do thank you for that.’
A swell of voices caused them to turn towards the noise.
‘What has the men so unsettled?’ asked Rosamund. ‘Has the King made a proclamation? Have we won the war?’
‘No. That continues. What has happened will affect it though. According to reports, the mighty frigate London exploded while sailing along the Medway towards the Nore.’
Rosamund gasped. The London was meant to be the pride of the fleet, a great warship with which to defeat the enemy. ‘Was it the Dutch?’
Bianca shook her head. ‘They’re saying it was an accident. I overheard some men blaming the gunners who were packing the cartridges, others said it was the way the gunpowder was stored. Over three hundred men and some women and children have died.’
‘Women and children? What were they doing aboard a ship bound for war?’
‘Bidding their men farewell.’
‘Oh, dear God.’ Rosamund fell back on a stool. ‘How terrible.’
‘Your cousin, Mr Pepys, arrived some time ago and shared the dreadful news. Since then, more have come, adding their tidings of woe to this sorry tale. There are those out there —’ Bianca jerked her head towards the main room, ‘claiming this is yet another portent. First the comets, now this. They say some great disaster looms.’
‘As if the London isn’t enough,’ whispered Rosamund. Here she was worrying about Aubrey Blithman while hundreds of souls had suffered a horrible death. ‘There are those who would see doom in a drop of water.’ She looked towards the main room. ‘Is he still here? Sam?’
‘Si. But he’s not well. He complains of a pain in his — what did he call them? Cullies?’ Bianca shrugged.
‘Ah, his testicles.’
‘Why did he not say so?’
Why indeed. Rosamund’s mouth twitched. Sam had no decorum when it came to discussing his ailments. But, if he was in pain, she had ju
st the thing. She rose, determined to speak with him — not only to learn more about this latest disaster, but, if the plan she had put to Mr Bender was to work, she needed all the allies she could get. Also, as his cousin, Sam needed to know that Aubrey had returned and the Blithman estate had a new master.
‘I’ll make him a special drink to help with the stones, for that’s what ails the poor man.’
A few minutes later, Thomas, who was growing into a strapping lad, led the way through the throng with her tray. Sam was not only delighted to have his cousin’s company, but to be seen to be chosen over men of greater rank and authority. Sam quickly made room in the booth for her and made a great show of leaning over and planting a kiss on her mouth, then looking around to ensure the gesture was seen. It was.
‘How goes it, cuz?’ he asked. ‘You heard about the London? Frightful. Simply frightful.’ He shook his head in sorrow.
His face was pale, his mouth pulled and though the room was warm and the fire blazing, it wasn’t so hot as to warrant the beads of sweat upon his brow. The poor man suffered, but not enough to forgo sharing tragic tidings at the Phoenix.
‘I have heard. May God bless their poor souls. If not for such news, I would be well. Better than you, I fear, dear Sam. Here, drink this.’ She quickly added some herbs to a bowl, poured, and pushed the cup towards him. ‘Bianca made mention —’ she cleared her throat, ‘of your troubles.’
‘Oh, excellent,’ said Sam and took the drink gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
She waited until he’d enjoyed a few sips and the men around them had returned to their conversations, then asked him to tell her exactly what he knew about the London.
He told her how the ship had been completely destroyed, with only twenty-four souls saved. When he finished, they sat quietly for a moment, listening to the chatter around them. Bianca was right. There were those blaming the Dutch, others claiming it was a sign of worse to come.
Finally she tapped Sam on the arm and leaned over. ‘I have some news to share as well. Do not look so concerned, it’s far better than that you carried here.’ She quietly explained about Aubrey.
