Marigold Chain (12 page)

Chloë
hesitated, unsure of his meaning and therefore acutely wary. Then,
shrugging slightly, she said, ‘Probably – but you’d know that
better than me. You’ve been with him a long time, haven’t you?’

‘
Nigh on
fifteen years,’ said Matt. ‘Since Worcester-fight.’

‘
Tell
me,’ was all she said.

For a moment,
she thought he was going to refuse but then, nodding tersely, he
began.

‘
You’ll
know the Scots raised an army in ’51 to put Charles Stuart back on
the throne? Under General Leslie, we were – though one or two of us
didn’t relish it. So when the King brought Captain Harry with him –
Mr Alex’s father – I got my release from Leslie and joined him. I’d
been with him before from the first battle of Newbury up to the end
in ’46 and he was good. No raw turnips or damp powder in Captain
Deveril’s company.’ Matthew paused, remembering. ‘He’d a small
troop of horse in Scotland and he’d brought Mr Alex along – fifteen
years old, the image of his dad and near as tall. Captain Harry was
that proud of him. I mind him bringing the lad to me and saying,
“My son, Matt – Alexander Charles Deveril. D’you think we can make
a soldier of him?” And he laughed.’

‘
And did
you?’ asked Chloë.

‘
Aye.
Took to it like a flea to fur, he did – for all it wasn’t the best
of campaigns.’ Matt’s face darkened. ‘The Scots wouldn’t fight and
Leslie didn’t make ‘em. One charge and we’d have won the day but
no, they wouldn’t budge.’ He moved as though to spit and then
thought better of it. ‘When it was all over bar the shouting and he
could see the enemy was about to over-run us, Captain Harry grabbed
Mr Alex’s bridle and shoved it in my hand, telling me to get him
out of there and to safety. Mr Alex yelled that he wouldn’t go and
the Captain told him that he would because it was an order from his
commanding officer. Then he looked at me and said, “Take care of
him for me, Matt – and God keep you both.” And he rode off.’ There
was a short silence broken only by the crackling of the flames. ‘He
never came back.’

Chloë stirred
and, avoiding all the trite remarks she might have made, said, ‘So
where did you and Mr Deveril end up?’

‘
Paris by
way of Felixstowe and the Hague. It was a black time. We were cold,
hungry and ragged and there was no one we dared trust. Those months
changed Mr Alex. By the time we reached Paris, no one would have
taken him for a lad of less than sixteen – which was just as well
since we’d only one trade we could ply.’

‘
Soldiering?’ asked Chloë.

Matthew nodded.
‘We joined the French army to fight the Dons and by the time Prince
Rupert came back from the Indies in ’54, Mr Alex had learned his
craft. But we’d had enough so we went back to Paris – which is
where Mr Alex met Mr Giles again.’ Matt grinned sourly. ‘We’d timed
it well. Lord Southampton had arrived just ahead of us to meet King
Charles about a group of Royalist gents calling themselves the
Sealed Knot. Not that we knew that till later and by then the three
of us were recruited and bound for London. For the next four years
we lived disguised as poke-noses, passing information to the King
and doing what we could to save loyal folk from discovery. They
were good years, too, in spite of the rope being ready to drop
round your neck any minute. Mr Alex was particularly good with
codes and the like - and they’d never have caught him out but for
that turn-coat Wyllis selling Cromwell’s spymaster a list of names.
Then we had to leave in a hurry.’

Chloë laughed.
‘Was there ever a dull moment?’

‘
Not as I
recall. Next we went to Austria where Prince Rupert was raising an
army to fight Sweden – and that’s when we picked up Mr Danny. It
wasn’t exactly a war, that one – just a few skirmishes. But in no
time, Cromwell died and King Charles came back to his throne and by
September 1660 we were in London again. And that,’ announced
Matthew crossly, ‘was when our troubles
really
started!’

‘
Shouldn’t it have been the other way about?’

‘
It
should
– but it
wasn’t. I doubt Mr Alex has mentioned his Cousin Simon?’

She shook her
head. ‘No.’

‘
His
father was Captain Harry’s younger brother and, while the Captain
fought for the King, brother Robert didn’t commit himself till he
could come down on the winning side. He joined Cromwell after
Marston Moor and by the time we were working for the Knot, he’d
made himself useful enough to be granted all the sequestrated
Deveril property … most of which ought to have gone to Mr
Alex.’

Chloë drew a
breath of dawning comprehension.

‘
And
which he expected to regain when the King came home?’

‘
Aye –
and he’d a right to expect it. Only it didn’t work out that way.
Uncle Robert died in ’59, just in time for his son to see which way
the wind was blowing. While Mr Alex was still in Sweden, Simon
crossed to Hamburg along with Roger Palmer and while the King’s
head was filled with Madam Barbara, he made his peace, all manner
of promises and heeled himself in with the Duke of York for good
measure. By the time Mr Alex got back to England, Cousin Simon was
assisting York in the Navy Office and so high in favour there was
no shifting him. He wouldn’t give up the land and, having accepted
his vows of loyalty, the King couldn’t take it from
him.’

‘
Wasn’t
there was some sort of Proclamation?’ asked Chloë,
frowning.

‘
Words on
paper,’ snorted Matt. ‘So Mr Alex was left with nought but a
draughty run-down place in Southwark and no means to put it to
rights. He’d have gone back to France but that the King was full of
soft words and promises – like always. At first, he was angry and
then he grew bitter; and because, for the first time in ten years
he hadn’t got a job to do, he took to the bottle. Not every day but
too often for his own good.’ Matt stopped and leaning forward,
poked the fire with a vicious jerk. ‘And then he met Sarah
Courtney.’

‘
Ah.’
Chloë met his gaze thoughtfully. ‘You don’t like her.’

‘
I can’t
abide her,’ replied Matt roundly. ‘She’s a selfish, conceited,
conniving harpy and, but for her, Mr Alex would have gone selling
his sword again last year.’

‘
Does he
love her?’

Matt shrugged.
‘Maybe. He thought he did, at all events.’

‘
Enough
to marry her, perhaps?’

‘
Small
chance of that!’ snorted Matthew.

‘
Why not?
If she loves Mr Deveril --’

‘
You
don’t know her, lass. She loves two things – herself and money. Mr
Alex is a fine-looking young man from a good family but he ain’t
rich. That makes him suitable as a lover but no use at all as a
husband.’

‘
Oh,’
said Chloë weakly. ‘I hadn’t realised it was … that Mr Deveril was
… I thought that he and Sarah were …’ She stopped. ‘Say something,
Matt – before I make an even bigger fool of myself.’

He grinned.
‘You thought what a nice, well-brought up girl would think. Sarah’s
something else. She’s going to marry Graham Marsden on Friday. He’s
sixty-odd if he’s a day but worth more than a shiny shilling.’

‘
Does Mr
Deveril know?’

‘
He
knows, all right. I’ve got an idea she told him, then suggested
that the two of them just carry on as before.’

‘
That’s …
not very nice.’

‘
No, it
isn’t. My guess is Mr Alex told her goodbye and then got so drunk
that he almost killed a man, quarrelled with Mr Giles and married
you.’

Chloë accepted
this evaluation without a blink but her expression sharpened a
little. ‘And you thought I’d make a nice, temporary safeguard?’

Matthew looked
somewhat disconcerted. ‘Something like that.’

‘
But
given the choice, you’d prefer to see him a mercenary
again?’

‘
Unless
things change – aye.’

She nodded
slowly and fixed him with an owl-like stare.

‘
What
you’re really saying,’ she suggested, ‘is that he needs an
occupation.’

A glimmer of
approval lurked in the black eyes.

‘
Now
that,’ he agreed, ‘is
exactly
what I’m saying.’

*

When Friday
dawned, the promised thaw had become a reality and the exquisite
carpet of white had melted into an untidy piebald slush. Water
dripped sluggishly from the rooftops and gurgled dirtily down the
gutters and, away from the cobbles, the ground had the consistency
of gravy-sodden bread. Chloë, on her first outing for almost a
week, stepped carefully while casting dubious glances at the
menacing sky and then, regretfully curtailing her expedition,
headed back towards Brewer Street.

For the past
three days her mind had been occupied almost exclusively by Matt’s
revelations. Two points in particular obsessed her. One was the
problem of finding suitable employment for an out-of-work mercenary
and the other, the possible reasons for Mr Deveril choosing to keep
her with him. With the first of these, she made no progress
whatsoever; with the second, she eventually decided that there was
really only one conclusion. That Mr Deveril’s reasons for wishing
to maintain the fiction of wedlock were much the same as those of
Mr Lewis.

She had barely
entered their lodgings and not even removed her cloak when Matt
walked in and stood looking at her with dour foreboding. He said,
‘We’ve got a problem. He says he’s going to the wedding and I’m not
convinced it’s just to dance.’

‘
Oh.’
Shades of potential disaster crowded Chloë’s mind. ‘How do we stop
him?’

‘
Short of
banging him over the head? I don’t know. But I don’t want to
involve Mr Giles if I can help it.’

‘
No.’ A
pause and then, hopefully, ‘We could lock him in. It worked
before.’

‘
The mood
he’s in? We can’t afford the breakages.’

Her heart sank
still further. ‘He’s been drinking?’

‘
Only a
bottle or two. He won’t pass out any time soon.’

‘
That’s a
pity.’ Chloë thought rapidly. ‘How long have we got?’

‘
Not
long. He’s downstairs taking a bath.’

She walked to
the window and stood looking out, fingers resting lightly on the
sill. Then, turning, she gave a rueful smile.

‘
Get the
butter-ale ready. I’m going for a ride.’

The black eyes
narrowed and then widened incredulously.

‘
You’re
going to take Caesar?’

‘
Well, I
don’t imagine Mr Deveril is planning to walk to church. Not in this
mud.’

Matt shook his
head worriedly. ‘He’ll be too strong for you. There’s none but Mr
Alex ever rides him.’

Chloë grinned
weakly and refrained from telling Mr Lewis that she hadn’t ridden a
horse since she was fourteen. Instead, she said, ‘I know. So I
should think Mr Deveril will come after me, wouldn’t you?’

‘
There’s
no doubt about it,’ said Matt grimly. ‘Lass – he’ll fillet and
bread you!’

‘
Probably,’ agreed Chloë. ‘But at least he’ll be nice and
clean and properly dressed for it.’ And, with apparent irrelevance,
‘I think it’s going to rain.’

*

It was
undoubtedly going to rain. In fact, it was already beginning to do
so in large, spasmodic spots as Chloë and Caesar reached the edge
of the common and the skies promised a deluge to come.

Taut as a
bowstring with strain, Chloë thankfully left the town behind her.
Matt had been right. Caesar was strong, disliked strange hands and,
ridden side-saddle, was almost impossible to manage. The muscles of
her arms and shoulders ached with the effort of controlling him and
her hands were numb and bloodless from the tourniquet of reins she
had been forced to twine around them. Breathlessly, she spoke
soothingly in Caesar’s ear and hoped that Mr Deveril arrived before
his horse succeeded in breaking her neck.

She was
out in the middle of the clearing when she heard the sound of
hoofbeats borne on the wind. Throat tightening, she turned her head
and looked; a horseman riding
ventre
à
terre
. Mr Deveril. And then the heavens
opened.

Alex approached
in a haze of flying mud and came to a slithering halt beside her.
He had discarded his sling, she noticed, and the rain was fast
ruining his beautifully-feathered hat. Below that she was careful
not to look.

‘
Get
down,’ he said.

She looked then
and saw that, though his mouth smiled, his eyes were furious.
Chloë’s insides lurched unpleasantly. She ignored it as best she
could and raised her eyebrows.

‘
I’d
rather not. It’s wet. Did you know that your hat is
moulting?’

There was a
brittle pause. Then his teeth gleamed as he said, ‘Should I be
surprised? I thought it was part of the plan.’ And dropping from
the saddle, he said again, ‘Get down.’

And this time,
with her nerves vibrating like wires, she saw no alternative. She
slid unassisted from Caesar’s back and arrived up to her ankles in
freezing slush.

Without a word,
Mr Deveril put the reins of both horses in her hands and began the
process of changing saddles. Chloë watched in growing irritation
while the rain weighed down her cloak, plastered strands of wet
hair to her cheeks and began to trickle down her neck. She had been
prepared for discomfort. But there were limits – and this unnerving
silence was beyond them.