A Falling Star, page 61
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
It was plain, from his tone of voice, that he did not necessarily agree with, or even support, his royal master. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Louise said, ‘Please tell me, Sir Hugh — why are you willing to help us?’
The older man looked at her, and his long eyes crinkled suddenly with amusement. ‘It would not, perhaps, be altogether wise, or discreet, to tell you. Indeed, sometimes I am not completely sure myself. But suffice it to say that although I have served His Majesty loyally for many years, while he was Duke of York, I dislike injustice. And when a charming lady begs me for help, how can I possibly refuse?’
‘In that case,’ said Phoebe tartly, ‘I can’t imagine why you agreed. But I’m exceedingly grateful for your assistance, even though it seems at present as if we are both battering our hopes against a wall. Alex is in the Tower still, but perfectly well, and apparently quite unworried by his situation. He has been frequently questioned, of course, but so far his interrogators seem to be losing the battle.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Alex could always argue the hind legs from a donkey. He has staunchly maintained his complete innocence, and very convincingly, so Sir Hugh has heard. If that alone could obtain his freedom, he would walk from the Tower tomorrow.’
‘But it can’t,’ Nick said thoughtfully. ‘There is Charles to consider. Is he here, in London?’
‘I don’t know,’ Phoebe told him. ‘We have tried to find him, but without success. It’s possible he may still be in the West Country, but unlikely, I think. Of course, he will be the most important witness for the King. Even if all his accusations are pure conjecture, without any solid evidence to back them, he loathes Alex so much that he will be eager to testify against him.’
‘I thought that a second witness was needed, in cases of treason,’ Nick said.
‘Yes, so Philip Cousins assures me. But it’s not absolutely necessary if there is other evidence. Algernon Sidney was convicted because of what he had written, as much as by the testimony of witnesses. They searched Wintercombe, as I told you, before I returned from Taunton, and apparently they took books and papers from Alex’s chamber, and from the library. Even if those are trivial pamphlets and the like that wouldn’t normally rouse suspicion, they may assume considerable importance when used as evidence against him, together with everything else. It’s like building a house of cards — using fragile, flimsy things to construct something elaborate and out of all proportion to their real worth.’
‘And like a house of cards, one puff of truth and common sense may bring the whole edifice crashing to the floor,’ Sir Hugh remarked. ‘And, so far, the case against your brother seems to be exceedingly insubstantial. If, as you say, his cousin’s greed and malice have provided the motive for these accusations, then all the more reason to expose them for what they are. It is a great pity that we haven’t managed to track down Master Charles St Barbe.’
‘I’m sure he’s here,’ Louise said. ‘Unless he’s trying to find some rebel who hasn’t yet been transported, to bear witness against Alex. Thank God Bram is out of his reach!’
‘If he succeeds in finding a second witness, then, I warn you, the situation will become much more serious,’ Sir Hugh pointed out. ‘But it might be possible, even so, for Sir Alexander to be freed without trial. Once the King’s anger has had time to settle, he will be more amenable to pleas for mercy or reprieve. And…’ He coughed drily, and glanced round at the company. ‘…the late rebellion cost His Majesty dear, and many did him loyal service who have not yet been adequately rewarded. If some recompense were to be offered…’
‘You mean a bribe,’ said Phoebe bluntly, and roused his smile. ‘Yes, Mistress St Barbe, although my courtier’s sensibility forbids me to mention so indelicate a matter so plainly. But certainly there are many of influence in Whitehall who would be willing to put your brother’s case to the King, in the hope of monetary gain.’ He saw Silence’s disapproving face, and added quickly, ‘It is not a pretty practice, Mistress Hellier, and I do not condone it — I am merely acknowledging its existence. And let me make it quite clear that I will seek no reward for myself in this. If His Majesty should prove obdurate, you will need all the coin you can lay your hands on.’
‘It’s as well that I have made some provision,’ said Phoebe grimly. ‘Don’t worry, Aunt, I did not bring the family wealth clinking in a treasure chest in the coach for the first highwayman to appropriate. Master Cousins has arranged for funds to be made available through a goldsmith and banker in Cheapside — in fact, that is where he is now, drawing some money for our expenses.’ She glanced at Sir Hugh. ‘If all you say is true, we shall need a great deal more in due course. But to free Alex, I shall do all that is necessary.’
For someone who had always, in the past, professed to dislike her brother, her voice was remarkably sincere. But Louise, whose opinions had also been transformed — and lust was very different from liking — knew that she meant what she said. If nothing else, the terrible events that had overtaken them all had brought Alex and Phoebe to acknowledge their mutual affection, even if they had also sundered all civilised connection between Alex and Charles.
Somehow, she must find Charles, and speak to him. Phoebe had already done her utmost to help her brother, and would continue to do so until he was free. But she, Louise, had other methods which she could employ. Despite her loathing and contempt for Charles, she suspected that he was still in love with her. Such an obsession, as she had good cause to know, was not easily abandoned or forgotten. And if that was so, then she must still possess some power over him, be able to influence him, perhaps to persuade him…
But there was something that she must do first. She wanted to visit Alex, because the longing and the hunger had grown almost too great to bear, and she had missed him more than she had ever suspected that she would. And she wanted, too, to see the expression in his eyes when she walked into his presence, for only then, perhaps, would she know how great his own need for her had been.
She knew, realistically, that he would never love her. But desire, longing, affection, tenderness, were almost as good.
Almost, but not quite. And it was her mistake, for she had fallen in love with a man whose nature did not admit of such feelings. So far, she had persuaded herself that what they already shared was sufficient for her needs. But soon, she suspected unhappily, it would no longer be enough. And in demanding of him something that he could not give her, she would probably drive him away for ever.
But still, like Phoebe, she would do whatever lay in her power to free him from the threat of death.
She looked up at Alex’s sister, and said quietly, ‘Is it possible for us to visit him?’
‘I should think so,’ Phoebe told her. ‘Sir Hugh obtained permission for me and Lukas and Master Cousins to see him whenever we wished, and I expect he could do the same for anyone.’
‘Within reason,’ the courtier pointed out. ‘But the Earl of Sunderland, who is the principal secretary of state, deals with such matters on the King’s behalf. I regret to say that, like most, he and his officials will require some payment for the privilege, but I see no reason why it should not be granted. It will, however, take a day or two to arrange. In the meantime, I suggest that you take the opportunity to explore London, and all it has to offer.’
The city was a very poor substitute for Alex, but it would be pointless to complain about something that could not be altered, or hurried. And, Louise thought, with sudden eagerness, perhaps the time could be usefully employed in trying to find Charles. For, it was plain, he was the basis of that tottering house of cards. Remove his testimony, and the case against Alex would collapse into nothing.
*
As it happened, Charles St Barbe rode into London the next day. He had spent much time in Wells, where exhaustive enquiries and interrogations had eventually produced a man who had been in Bram Loveridge’s troop, and who was prepared to state on oath that he had seen Sir Alexander St Barbe fighting with the rebels at Philip’s Norton. That man, one Taylor, had been promised the King’s pardon for his information, and had been despatched to London under escort, for further examination. And Charles, the other witness, went with him, jubilant.
He left behind, at Wintercombe, his mother and sister, in a state of considerable distress. He had hoped to spare them many of the more sordid details of his activities, but that had proved impossible. The search of Wintercombe, courteous but thorough, had alarmed and angered Bab, whose own chamber had not been sacrosanct, and Amy had been very distressed by the news that Alex was in prison, and still more so when she learned that her brother’s evidence had put him there. Phoebe, returning to Wintercombe a few days after Charles, had made sure that everyone knew of his betrayal, and to his anger and dismay he found his attempts to assume the management of the house and estate thwarted by the crippled, intellectual cousin whom he had always tended to dismiss from his calculations. She was clever, damnably so, for she had a paper, signed by Alex and verified by the family’s lawyer, making Wintercombe temporarily over to her. Faced with that, and the hostility and resentment of the servants, all of whom, incredibly, seemed to have taken Alex’s part, and had refused to incriminate him, he had no choice for the moment but to leave.
The discovery of Jem Taylor had been some small recompense for the frustration of his hopes at Wintercombe. Taylor, already doomed to transportation, had no wish to go to Barbados, and talked eagerly and volubly. He knew Sir Alexander by sight: he had seen him first on the march between Bath and Philip’s Norton, speaking most earnestly to Cornet Loveridge, who had shortly afterwards led a group of men, including Taylor, to Wintercombe, to seize horses. The conclusion, reached by Taylor as well as Charles, was obvious: there had been a plot between the two men to make it appear that Sir Alexander was being forced to surrender the horses, whereas in fact he was quite willing to do so.
Not for the first time, Charles cursed the officials at Taunton, who had sent Bram for transportation. It would undoubtedly have been better if he had been left to languish in gaol, as he had suggested, with plenty of time to contemplate his gloomy future, and the promise of a free pardon to tempt him into submission. But while Charles had been scouring the West Country for another witness, in case Bram still proved obstinate, his young cousin’s name had been put down for transportation. By the time that Charles had discovered the mistake, it was too late — the boy was already at sea aboard the John, out of reach, and they would have to construct their case without his testimony.
But at least he did have his second witness, and Taylor would be invaluable. Most damningly of all, he had actually seen Alex in the thick of the fighting, in front of the barricade at the end of North Street. It was the opinion of the Justice who examined him that he would make a convincing witness. He had already seen Sir Alexander twice, after all, and his identification was absolutely certain. Charles, exultant, could have hugged the rebel, filthy and unsavoury and stinking though he was. Taylor had provided the proof that he needed, and although hardly impressive in manner or appearance, there was no doubt that he was telling the truth.
With a joyful heart, Charles left Wells with his precious witness, and headed for London, and, at last, his longed-for, long-planned vengeance against the cousin who had so often humiliated him.
27
‘A pardon might be won’
The Tower of London had a sinister past and a bloodstained present. It was only three months since James Scott, late Duke of Monmouth, and a prisoner within its walls, had been messily executed on Tower Hill. Despite the cheerful November sunlight, the place seemed full of menace, and Louise knew that it still contained many men of quality, imprisoned, like Alex, on suspicion of treason.
The order allowing her and her grandparents access to him had been signed the day after their arrival in London, through the good offices of Sir Hugh Trevelyan. His reasons for such apparently altruistic assistance still puzzled Louise. Had it been anyone other than Phoebe, she would immediately have suspected that he intended to worm his way into her affections. But Phoebe, plain, acerbic, intellectual and crippled, was no languishing lady ripe for romance, and besides, Sir Hugh was probably fifteen years her senior. But there must, surely, be some hidden motive for his kindness and generosity. Men of his sort, she knew full well, did not concern themselves with such affairs unless they perceived some advantage to themselves in so doing.
But she did like Sir Hugh: he was an engaging man, lazy, good-natured, but with a cynical sense of humour that made her laugh. He did not take himself in the least seriously, and his dry, deprecating wit had the effect of deflating any exalted illusions she might have harboured concerning life at Court. His son, James, was a kind child — not normally an attribute of small boys — who seemed quite happy to play with Lukas and thereby distract his thoughts from the perilous situation in which Alex stood.
They went to the Tower by river, hiring a boat at Westminster Stairs. It was, explained Phoebe, who after nearly three weeks in London seemed to have become very well acquainted with city life, much quicker, more convenient and pleasant than the same journey in a hackney through the crowded streets — so long as it did not rain. In common with most prudent passengers, they disembarked at the Old Swan stairs, just before London Bridge, for the river, forcing its way between the huge piers, was so fast and turbulent that ‘shooting the bridge’ when the tide was flowing could be extremely dangerous.
Public hackneys were everywhere, shabby but convenient, and they hired one for the rest of the way to the Tower, although it was only half a mile or so. Normally, this encounter with London at close quarters would have exulted Louise, but even the river journey, with splendid views of the new, brick-built city that had risen phoenix-like from the ashes of the Fire nearly twenty years previously, had failed to rouse her from her preoccupied mood.
She had not seen Alex for seven weeks, but time and distance had failed to diminish the power of his image in her mind, or the strength of her feelings for him. She wanted to see him, yes, most desperately, but in private, not under the interested gaze of her grandparents and his sister, all of whom were doubtless intensely curious about the exact nature of their liaison. Nor could she rid herself of the fear that nearly two months of separation might have cooled his ardour. And if that proved to be the case, she must hide her distress — if she could.
Phoebe had told her that he did not yet know that she was in London. In the first, unguarded moment when she walked in through the door of his chamber, she might glean some clue to his real feelings for her. But she had no doubt that, in the presence of Phoebe and the Helliers, he would treat her exactly as if there were nothing between them but friendship.
The Lieutenant of the Tower, Thomas Cheek, had told his deputies to permit their visit, but, even so, there were frustrating delays. The sun disappeared behind a lowering cloud, as they were passed from guard to warder to official. Louise had not realised that wild beasts were kept in the Tower, just by the entrance, for the curious to gape at on payment of a penny. The enraged roars of one of the lions, obviously suffering from his captivity, followed them as they proceeded inside the Tower.
The warder led them to a tower at the far corner of the walls. Louise looked about her with surprised interest: she had not expected the precincts to be so crowded, both with buildings and with people. When they reached their destination, there were more guards to pass, stairs to climb, and an oaken, iron-studded door. The warder turned a key, knocked on it, and went in. ‘Visitors for you, Sir Alexander.’
Louise had a brief impression of stone walls, hangings, a deep window embrasure with several cushions, books, a guitar, a bed, table and chairs. And then there was Alex, rising to his feet by the window, his eyes instantly on hers, and she saw them widen, and the desire and delight undisguised on his face before he could control it, and knew with unutterable relief that her fears were groundless. If anything, he wanted her even more now than he had at Wintercombe, and her blood sang and tingled in exultant answer.
But she had to behave, even in front of the other three who knew everything, as if he were no more than a friend. She watched as he embraced Phoebe with brisk brotherly affection, and his aunt and uncle likewise, and then turned to her. ‘I thought you would not be able to deny a good excuse to enjoy all the facilities that London has to offer. But I seem to recognise that gown.’
‘I haven’t had the opportunity to find a mantua-maker yet,’ Louise told him, as he put his hands on her shoulders for a decorous, cousinly kiss. But his eyes, blazing and sapphire blue, told another story entirely, and the subtle pressure of his fingers was as eloquent as any declaration of passion. Almost sick with longing, she felt his lips on her cheek, and then he released her, smiling. ‘I thank you all, for coming so far. I only hope you won’t have to kick your heels too long in London, before we can all go home again.’
‘There is nothing to draw us back immediately,’ Nick pointed out. ‘Richard is perfectly capable of managing affairs at Chard without my interference, and indeed he and Sarah will probably relish the opportunity to be alone for once. As for Louise…’
‘As for me, I’m at your beck and call,’ she said, smiling at her grandfather with a dazzling mixture of sudden happiness and mischief. Alex’s need for her had not diminished, and that was all that seemed to matter to her at this moment. He still wanted her, and he was delighted to see her. With that knowledge hugged secretly to her heart, she felt suddenly exuberant.
The warder had withdrawn, with one of Phoebe’s silver crowns hidden in his palm, and they could talk quite freely. But somehow, the conversation never rose above the trivial or the harmless, although Louise wondered who could possibly hear anything of what they said, behind three inches of solid oak. But she could see, looking about the pleasant chamber, that Alex was being kept in comfort, with his servant to attend him — Gerrit had already appeared, incongruously familiar in these alien surroundings, to bring wine for them — and a plentiful supply of books, provided by Phoebe.
