A Falling Star, page 58
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
‘Return to Wintercombe. Doubtless various officials will be visiting, to interview the servants and ask questions in the village. Unless someone else has a grudge against me, they won’t discover anything, but they’re probably quite capable of manufacturing evidence if necessary. I’d like you to stay there until that unsavoury business is done. Then, if you can face the journey, come to London…and bring Lukas with you.’
‘I will, and gladly,’ Phoebe said. ‘You’ll have to tell me where all the best booksellers are…’ she looked at him, her eyes suddenly brilliant with hatred. ‘What of Charles? If we are both right, he will try to assume the management of Wintercombe, just as he did after Father died. I didn’t think it was his right, rather than his duty. But now, after this…quite frankly, I don’t think I could bear to see him take your place.’
‘You won’t have to,’ Alex said grimly. ‘That letter to Philip authorises him to make out a power of attorney, putting my affairs entirely in your hands. You will have the authority at Wintercombe, and I’d like to see Charles gainsay you. In any case, he will probably be summoned to London as a witness, so you won’t have to share your roof with him for long.’
‘Thank you,’ Phoebe said, with profound gratitude. ‘I’ll do my best to manage everything, although I can’t promise — as you know, my health is not perfect.’
‘Ever since I planted you in the knot on the lowest terrace at Wintercombe, and watered you to make you grow,’ Alex said, and his smile was suddenly brilliant. ‘Have you forgiven me for that, little sister?’
‘Yes, without reservation,’ Phoebe said, and held out her hand. Alex got to his feet to take it. ‘I’m glad. That has been weighing much on my conscience.’
Phoebe snorted. ‘A likely tale. Alex…before I go, I must ask if there will be any other visitors allowed you. Louise, in particular, would very much like to see you.’
‘Louise…’ Alex said, and his voice told her all she needed to know, of longing and desire. ‘She is a very remarkable young woman… Have no fear, little sister, she will survive this.’
‘Will she?’ Phoebe rose with her usual lack of grace. ‘Will she? I don’t think she’s as tough and invulnerable as you seem to believe. And I’ll add now, so that there’s no misunderstanding, that I know that the two of you are lovers. It wasn’t exactly difficult to deduce — the air positively crackles between you.’
‘And you aren’t going to pass judgement? I’m surprised.’
‘It isn’t my place — what do I know of lust or passion? But I wouldn’t be surprised if Charles also knows — and if that were the reason, or one of them, for his treachery. He genuinely loves her, I’m sure of it — and don’t sneer, he’s as capable of sincere feeling as anyone else. I don’t think, though, that he loves the real Louise, but some cherished phantom that he’s created in his mind. And for him to realise that you and she are lovers must have been the most bitter disillusion.’ She saw his face, and added quickly, ‘I am not attempting to excuse or justify his behaviour, just to offer some small explanation. He may still cherish some hope of attracting her, once you are out of the way — they used to be good friends, after all. But I think he is deluding himself.’
‘I trust that he is,’ Alex said, and the sudden vicious savagery in his voice startled her. ‘For if he tries to snare her as well, I swear that I shall take the first opportunity that offers to kill him.’
*
It was almost dusk when she returned to Jonah’s house, with Louise’s maid Christian a faithful and silently sympathetic escort. Every halting step of the way back, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say to Charles as soon as she encountered him, and the vast depths of her fury astonished and disturbed her. Surely her natural but limited affection for her brother was not strong enough to spark this terrible anger?
It was the deceit and the treachery that really disgusted her, she supposed, as she approached the Loveridges’ door. And the hypocrisy of a man who never lost the opportunity for righteous condemnation of Alex’s licentious ways, while plotting to betray him, possibly to a hideous death.
Elias opened the door, and she hobbled past him on Christian’s supporting arm. ‘Is Master St Barbe still here?’
Elias was still not quite certain of the relationships and names of all his master’s cousins by marriage, but he knew Charles. ‘Yes, Mistress, and all the ladies as well — upstairs in the parlour.’
They were waiting expectantly when she arrived, breathless and aching, at the parlour door. Hannah and Sue sewing in desultory fashion; Louise trying to read; Jonah and his wife side by side next to the warmth of the fire, and Silence and Nick opposite. Significantly, Charles sat on his own, a book on his knee, but somehow isolated from everyone else by more than just his position. Phoebe, looking round at the crowded parlour, wondered if anyone else had suspected him. Had Silence, or Louise?
She said bluntly, to the familiar, apprehensive faces, ‘I have some unpleasant news.’
‘About Bram?’ Tabby’s expression was suddenly anxious. Phoebe hastened to reassure her. ‘No — not about Bram. This concerns Alex.’ She looked round at all her kin, and let her eyes rest last and longest upon Charles. Under her condemning gaze, he shifted in his seat, and a faint flush rose under his skin, despite his defiant face. ‘He is in custody, under threat of trial for treason, and all the hideous consequences of that, because someone went to the Lord Chief Justice and laid false information against him.’
There was sick, appalled horror on every face before her, save for one. Phoebe directed her implacable gaze on that exception, and spoke almost sadly. ‘Oh, Charles — why did you do it?’
‘Charles?’ Silence cried, with disbelief stark in her voice. ‘No — no, that can’t be true!’
‘It is,’ Phoebe said bleakly. ‘I had my suspicions, and I made certain enquiries at the castle before I returned here. Charles saw the Lord Chief Justice himself last night. I don’t know exactly what accusations he made, but they were obviously serious enough to lead to Alex’s arrest.’
They were the truth,’ Charles said, between stiff lips. He had risen to his feet, the book falling forgotten to the floor, and his face was closed and hostile. ‘He is a traitor, and I was able to give Jeffreys clear evidence of it.’
‘You betrayed him? You’re no better than a traitor yourself!’ Louise cried. She leaped from her chair and strode over to confront him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, pale with fury. ‘Mon Dieu, Charles, I thought you were my friend!’
‘I am,’ Charles said. ‘That was why — partly why.’ His voice roughened suddenly. ‘The man’s a traitor, a low and despicable rogue — he helped the rebels, why should he not suffer for it, like all the rest? Why should he escape scot-free? He doesn’t deserve it — and least of all after what he did to you!’
‘To me?’ Louise stared at him in astonishment.
Her grandmother interrupted suddenly. ‘Explain yourself, Charles. What exactly did Alex do to her?’
‘He seduced her,’ Charles said baldly, the horror of the night when he had witnessed them together suddenly and appallingly plain in his voice. ‘He took her, he exploited her innocence, he dragged her down to his own hideous debauched level —’
‘Stop!’ Louise said sharply. ‘Charles, what are you talking about? It’s nonsense — Alex didn’t debauch me!’
‘Did he seduce you?’ Silence asked, and her face seemed to have crumpled suddenly, so that all her years showed plain upon it. ‘Louise, please tell me the truth — did he seduce you?’
‘No,’ she said, her anger making her less tactful than was perhaps wise. ‘He did not seduce me. We became lovers by mutual consent, and are still. If you’re looking to apportion any blame, then I must share it equally with Alex. And if you thought that I was innocent until I climbed into his bed, Charles, well then you must be blind, or stupid, or both.’ She stared at him, breathing hard, urgent with the desire to do hurt. ‘He is not my first lover, nor is he likely to be the last, whatever foolish illusions you might have cherished. This is the real world, Charles, not some cloud-cuckoo-land from the pages of a romance!’
‘You’re lying!’ said her cousin. He had gone very pale, save for a spot of scarlet on each cheek, and his voice was hoarse. ‘You must be — Louise, tell me it isn’t true!’
‘I’m sorry if it hurts you,’ she told him, in tones that indicated the opposite. ‘But I have spoken the plain and unvarnished truth. Alex is my lover, and I was no virgin when I came to Wintercombe. Is that blunt enough for you? Do you wish me to spell it out again?’
‘No — no!’ Charles cried, and put up his hands as if to ward her off. ‘I thought — I regarded —’
‘You regarded me as your rightful property, just like Wintercombe,’ Louise said, on a note of discovery. ‘And when you realised that Alex possessed me, as well as the house — did your jealousy grow so great that you could not bear it, and betrayed him?’
‘No,’ Charles said desperately. ‘No — I did not betray him — he’s a rebel, he helped them, for God’s sake, he gave horses to Monmouth, he even fought for him — he’s the traitor, not me! I was only doing my duty!’
‘Your duty? Your idea of duty stinks,’ Phoebe said suddenly. ‘Would you have done the same if Louise had helped Monmouth? Or me, or Aunt Silence, or Uncle Nick? Of course you wouldn’t. You betrayed Alex because you hate him, and you’re jealous of him.’
‘No, that’s not true! It was my duty, I tell you — my duty as a loyal subject of the King!’
‘Loyal? You make me sick,’ said Phoebe savagely. ‘For twenty years you and your mother and sister have had every comfort at Wintercombe — you’ve been sheltered and clothed and fed and provided for, and still you cannot accept it gracefully, still you want more, you want everything — and loyalty to your family means nothing to you when your own profit is at stake! What did Jeffreys promise you? Wintercombe as a reward, and Louise’s hand in marriage?’
‘I wouldn’t have him if he were the last man in England,’ said Louise vehemently.
Phoebe stared with loathing at the cousin with whom she had played as a child, with whom she had grown up. ‘Alex has his vices, I grant you, but not so very much more than most men — and there is a great deal of good in him, as I have discovered, and no doubt Louise too — and Lukas. He is your cousin, Charles, your kin, your flesh and blood —’
‘Is he?’ Charles’s wild pale-blue eyes swept round the other people in the parlour, their expressions frozen, appalled. ‘Is he my cousin? Or is he, more likely, some nameless bastard that my uncle’s wife foisted on him?’
‘You forget yourself.’ Silence was on her feet, her face suddenly harsh. ‘That is a despicable slur upon my poor sister, who cannot defend herself, and there is not a syllable of truth in it, as you well know —’
‘Then why was it whispered all over Somerset, eh?’ Charles stared defiantly at his grandmother, whom he had always respected, and who now seemed to be ranged against him with the rest. ‘Why did everyone talk about it if it wasn’t true? Everyone knew about the dance she led him, how flighty and faithless —’
‘That’s enough!’ Silence was shouting, something she had not done for many, many years. ‘Charles, that lie is more revolting than anything else you have said today. My sister Patience was lively, she flirted, she wore fashionable clothes, and if the truth be told she was vain and rather spoilt — but she was also kind, and generous, and she loved Nat very, very dearly. They had ten years of happiness together, marred only by her difficulty in bearing children — she had four miscarriages before Alex was born, then several more afterwards — but she desperately wanted another child, even though Nat tried to dissuade her. He professed himself happy with one, but she insisted, and so Phoebe was born — and in the bearing of her, Patience died.’ Silence stared at her grandson, apparently unaware of the tears streaming down her face. ‘How dare you — how dare you say such things about a woman who died before you were born — repeat such slanders — blacken her name because you want to justify your own heinous deeds? Nat was not stupid — he was a generous man who cared for his family, he knew that Patience had never been unfaithful to him, and although he heard the rumours, and they hurt him, for her sake he never for a moment believed them. Alex is his son, as Phoebe is his daughter, he was kind and good to your mother and you and your sister, beyond all duty — and this, this is how you repay him, by vilifying the wife he loved so much?’
Charles stared at her, his mouth working. He made a sound in his throat, and backed away. Silence stood ramrod straight before him, her whole body shaking with emotion. Nick came up to her, and took her very gently in his arms, and abruptly she collapsed, sobbing, against his shoulder.
‘I hope you’re sorry,’ Phoebe said to Charles. ‘I hope you regret all the grief and woe you’ve caused today — I hope you regret it most bitterly. I hope you suffer as much as you’ve made all of us suffer with your lies and your self-righteousness and hypocrisy. Have you really thought of the consequences of this? Have you? You probably didn’t look further than getting rid of Alex. What about Bram?’
‘What about him?’ Charles had found his voice, and it was plain that he had no intention of backing down, even in the face of such an attack. ‘He’s a traitor too — taken in arms against the King. He deserves whatever he gets, just as Alex does.’
Tabby cried out then, and Jonah exclaimed in horror. Phoebe said furiously, ‘Have you thought of what they might do — might have already done? Will they offer him his life, at the cost of betraying Alex?’
‘He’d be stupid not to tell them everything,’ Charles said.
Louise drew in her breath with a hiss. ‘You — you are loathsome — un salaud, une espèce de merde! You disgust me, and I feel ashamed that I was ever deceived into thinking that you were my friend — the worst gutter rat has more honour than you! Get out, Charles, go — I don’t ever want to speak to you again, and I don’t suppose anyone else in this room does either, after what you’ve done.’
‘Louise —’ Charles stared at her, stricken, his dream vanished as if it had never existed. ‘But, Louise, I love you!’
‘Love? That’s a worthless coin, from you,’ she said viciously. ‘Here’s what I think of your love.’
She spat in his face, and turned away. Charles gave an inarticulate cry, his hand outstretched, and then abruptly, pushing Phoebe aside, ran from the parlour. They heard his feet crash down the stairs, the slam of the door to the street, and he was gone.
‘Good riddance,’ said Louise, and flung herself down in her chair, her face white with rage. But she knew, as did they all, that although Charles himself might be banished from their lives, the consequences of what he had done would have a direct and terrible impact upon them all.
*
George Jeffreys, the Lord Chief Justice of England, pronounced sentence upon the Taunton rebels the following afternoon. All five hundred were condemned to death, but only those who had dared to protest their innocence were ordered to be executed on the following Monday. The gallows and fires were being prepared as the assize judges left Taunton for Bristol. For the rest, although under sentence of death, no date was set for their hanging. It seemed as if the promise of mercy, held out to all those who pleaded guilty, might after all be fulfilled.
On the day after the procession of judges, clerks and officials left for Bristol, another coach, under armed escort, rattled away from the castle, bound for London. And inside it, treated with courtesy and respect, but undeniably a prisoner, was Sir Alexander St Barbe, suspected traitor: although anyone seeing his relaxed, casual demeanour would never have suspected it.
After all, there was nothing he could do. His fate lay in the hands of others now, the cousin who had accused him, the sister whom he trusted to save him, and Bram, who must surely be faced with a ghastly choice, betrayal or death, and could not be blamed if he decided on the first.
He had said goodbye to Louise, although not in the way he would have wished. She had spoken of Charles with such deep disgust that he had no fears that his cousin would ever succeed in resuming friendship with her, let alone make her his wife. She had not wept, nor bemoaned his fate, but given him her dazzling, gallant, fly-away smile, and recklessly kissed him in a way that woke all the familiar, overwhelming passion in them both, to no purpose. But Louise, his sweet Louise, had never been wise, or cautious: she had taken what she wanted from life, with both hands and a carefree heart, and it was that wild quality in her that had first drawn his attention, then aroused his desire.
As she left him, he saw in her eyes the true nature of the feelings that had been awoken in her, and felt a sharp regret that surprised him. His future was clouded and uncertain, his past reprehensible, and she was too young, despite her worldliness and confidence and experience, to waste any unnecessary emotion on a suspected traitor and avowed libertine, nearly ten years her senior. And he realised, now, why Phoebe had warned him that she might be vulnerable.
He wanted her, for her body and her skilled, delightful lovemaking, for her wild laughter and her reckless riding and the way her clothes always seemed ready to slide seductively from her shoulders, and the deeply sensual look in her eyes when she desired him. And the longing and the regret stayed with him, like a shadow, all along the dusty, jolting roads that led to London, and the Tower.
*
On the twenty-sixth of September, Jeffreys sent to the High Sheriff of Somerset, Edward Hobbes, the list of those tried and condemned at Taunton and at Wells, whom he judged to be deserving of the ultimate penalty for their crimes, two hundred and thirty-nine men in all. The other prisoners, those who had not already died in gaol, were to be transported. Some of the considerable expense involved in suppressing the rebellion could be recouped by selling able-bodied rebels to the owners of plantations and property in the islands of the West Indies, such as Barbados or Jamaica. At a price of ten or fifteen pounds for each man, the eight hundred or so selected were valuable assets.
