Marigold Chain (14 page)

Chloë
opened her mouth, closed it again and then said, ‘How do you
do
that?’

‘
Do
what?’

‘
Remember
endless screeds of poetry.’

He turned from
Persephone, shrugging slightly.

‘
Fifteen
years of moving around, living in army billets.’

‘
I don’t
follow.’

‘
Aside
from drinking, whoring and gaming, reading is the only leisure
activity left to you,’ he said impatiently. ‘So I read such books
as came my way and when there were no new ones, I read them again.’
He paused. ‘You look surprised. No doubt you thought I was more the
drinking, whoring and gaming type – in which, of course, you would
be mostly right.’

*

Having cleaned
the house, Chloë enlisted Matthew’s help in removing sundry items
of furniture from rooms she did not need for use in those she did.
In this way, four bedchambers were made habitable and the parlour
granted a degree of comfort that had seemed unthinkable only a few
days earlier.

For nearly a
week they lived on dishes from the cook-shop before Chloë, tiring
of this arrangement, took the notion to invade the hitherto unused
kitchen and take over the catering herself. Without informing Mr
Deveril, she decided to make her culinary debut on a day when Giles
and Danny were bidden to supper and, assisted by a faintly dubious
Naomi, she made her preparations.

At first all
went well and Naomi, waiting at table, served a well-roasted goose
and a spicy rabbit hash. The trouble, when it came, was caused by a
mutton pie which perished unsampled when the oven burst
mysteriously into flames. Hopeful of rescuing the pie, Chloë threw
open the oven door then, scorched and coughing, hastily kicked it
shut again; and dislodged an avalanche of soot from the
chimney.

It dropped into
the fire, releasing clouds of smoke, formed a black crust on a
simmering pot of fricassee and filled the air with gently
descending flakes which came tenderly to rest on the fruit
tartlets, on the dish of cheeses and on Chloë. By the time the dust
finally settled, the entire kitchen appeared to have been showered
with volcanic ash and Naomi, arriving to find her mistress
black-faced and choking in a room laden with smoke, uttered a
hearty shriek and ran for help.

Within seconds
Mr Deveril was in the doorway, closely followed by Giles and Danny.
He checked on the threshold and then strolled on, blue eyes
interestedly inspecting the damage, before coming to a halt by the
table. He gazed down on the spotty tartlets and then across at his
equally spotty wife, standing like Dido among the ruins of
Carthage.

‘”
The blasted hearth laid low in horrible
destruction
.” Does anyone,’ he asked unsteadily,
‘fancy a sooty tart?’ And gave way to laughter.

Two days later,
Mistress Jackson was installed in the kitchen.

*

Balked of
employment in this field, then magisterially despatched by Mr
Deveril on a tour of silk-mercers and milliners in the company of
his determined and energetic sister, Chloë retaliated by bending
her fertile brain to an enterprise of a very different nature
suggested by the cost of dress materials.

The state of
declared, if not actual, war between England and France showed
every sign of hitting fashionable Londoners where it hurt most.
Prices were already rising and Lyons silk and Nantes velvet were
being bought in enormous quantities before the expected scarcity
became a reality. Chloë, bullied by Julia into paying thirty pounds
for length of figured brocade, shuddered and then bombarded her
companion with a series of detailed questions on the types,
qualities and origins of every fabric she saw.

Born of her
impending annulment and Mr Deveril’s straitened circumstances, a
fascinating idea had taken root but she took her time before
tentatively broaching the subject with her husband. His reaction
was irritatingly predictable – a mixture of amusement and
impatience. It was a pipe-dream, a fantasy, a flight of schoolgirl
romance, he said. It was impractical, foolish and probably
impossible. Chloë demanded reasons and was given them in a stream
of concise and numerically listed points; then, warming to his
theme, Alex subjected her to a relentless inquisition from which
she emerged battered and depressingly aware of her own ignorance
but fundamentally unconvinced. She sought information in Tom
Blanchard’s small but well-stocked library and then, rejuvenated,
took her problem to Matthew. And Matt, after a long and persuasive
discussion, reluctantly agreed to make enquiries.

Strangely, it
was in Mr Fawsley that she found her first real supporter. Danny
had offered his services as guide and mentor in the intricate ways
of the City and with this aim in mind, called for her on the
morning of Shrove Tuesday and found himself escorting her on a tour
of the wharves between Blackfriars and Dowgate. Standing on
Queenhithe and uncomfortably aware of language colourful enough to
make a sailor blush, he was moved to remonstrate.

‘
This
isn’t a part of London that ladies visit,’ he announced. ‘Let’s
go.’

Chloë
removed her gaze from the
Betsy-Rose
whose holds were disgorging a
multiplicity of barrels and tarpaulin-covered boxes and looked
absently at Daniel.

‘
There’s
no need to be embarrassed,’ she said. ‘I’m not listening. What’s a
fishmonger’s daughter?’

‘
Never
you mind,’ frowned Danny, taking her arm in a firm grip and leading
her back in the direction of Thames Street. ‘Why on earth did you
want to come here?’

‘
Research,’ said Chloë. ‘I’m considering making a little
investment.’

The frown faded
and he looked suddenly interested. ‘In what? Shipping?’

‘
In a
way. I’ve a dowry of eight hundred pounds and it seems a pity not
to put it to work. I thought I might perhaps buy a
cargo.’

‘
And sell
it where?’

‘
Tangier.
The garrison there might be glad of a few home comforts the Navy
doesn’t provide, don’t you think? Then on to Genoa for velvet and
Tunis for silk and home for a nice profit.’

Danny looked
faintly disappointed. ‘Why not the East?’

‘
Or the
moon?’ grinned Chloë. ‘Because everything has to start somewhere.
But today the Mediterranean, tomorrow - - ‘

‘
Russia,’
said Daniel dreamily. ‘China, the Indies.’

‘
Why stop
there?’

‘
I
daresay I shan’t,’ he replied simply. ‘Since I was old enough to
make sense of them, I’ve always loved maps and books about
far-flung places. Places I want to see for myself … places so
different from here that you can hardly imagine them.’

‘
You’re
serious,’ she said slowly. ‘I didn’t think you were serious about
anything.’

‘
About
this I am.’ The cheerful, freckled face showed rare determination.
‘And one day I’ll go – you’ll see.’

*

On the first
day of March, Matt sought out Chloë and informed her that he had
found a Captain – one Nathaniel Pierce – who was willing to
undertake her commission for a return of forty per cent. Two hours
later the three of them sat facing each other in Chloë’s restored
parlour.

Their
discussions, arduous and complex, were made lengthier by the
Captain’s tendency to digress or reminisce every second or third
word; but eventually they reached agreement on all the major points
and drew up lists of items and quantities to be purchased for the
outward voyage to the English garrison at Tangier. It was decided
that this part of the venture should be handled jointly by Captain
Pierce and Matt with Chloë taking care of all finances and
paperwork. The proposed route was to take
The Black Boy
on from Tangier, through the
pillars of Hercules to Genoa where Pierce would buy velvet and any
other materials he considered to be of the right quality and price.
From there he would sail down the coast of Italy to Naples for
tortoiseshell and perfumes, then across the Tyrrhenian Sea to
Bizerta for oranges, figs, almonds and silk and back home with all
possible speed. He hoped to sail within a fortnight and return by
the middle of August. Matthew was plainly sceptical.

‘
There’s
Dutchmen in the Channel and Frenchies further south. How do you
plan on avoiding trouble?’

The Captain
tapped his nose.

‘
There’s
ways.
The Black Boy
is fast
and well-armed for a merchantman. And we carry a full set of flags.
You can leave that part to me – it won’t go amiss. We were at war
with the Dutch last year as well but I still ran half a dozen trips
into La Rochelle – and that was trickier by far, I can tell you!’
He laughed and settled back in his chair. ‘Not but what they didn’t
nearly have us one time. I remember it like yesterday. There we
were, out in mid-channel … ‘

Chloë and Matt
exchanged glances while the Captain droned happily on; then,
seizing her opportunity when he paused for breath, Chloë asked
quickly, ‘Do many English merchant ships sail the Channel these
days?’

‘
Not
many, Mistress Deveril. But a few do – and do it successfully. Sam
Vine, for one … and I’d give a lot for a look at
his
holds. He sails the
Arabella
for Lord Gresham – but you
don’t make his kind of money by running another man’s business, no
indeed! I’d stake my right arm he’s either smuggling or breaking
bulk.’

‘
Breaking
bulk?’ queried Chloë.

‘
Aye,
Madam. Selling a portion of his cargo on his own account – like my
Lord Sandwich was caught doing with captured prize ships last year.
I’ll go bail Vine is such another. A young friend of mine – a slip
of a lad merely – sailed with him one season and told me that there
was a strange air aboard the
Arabella
. Secretive, he said. Then, the next
voyage, he didn’t come back. They said he’d been lost in a heavy
sea … but I always wondered if he’d learned things he wasn’t
supposed to. Vine’s a chancy bastard to cross – if you’ll forgive
the expression, Mistress.’

Chloë forgave
the expression, smothered a yawn and began tactfully moving the
Captain towards the street. Just less than half an hour later, when
the door closed behind him, she leaned against it laughing weakly
while Mr Lewis sank down on the foot of the stairs.

‘
Rot me,’
said Matt bitterly, ‘if I ever met a set of pipes so full of wind.
The man’s got a tongue like a fiddler’s elbow. Aye – it’s all very
well for you to laugh. You haven’t got to go shopping with him.’ He
eyed her sourly. ‘Not but what his clack won’t have its uses once
he’s away to sea.’

Still laughing,
Chloë sat down beside him. ‘How?’

Matthew
favoured her with an acid grin.

‘
No one
in their right mind is going to take him prisoner. He’d talk ‘em to
death.’

She leaned
forward and buried her head in her arms.

‘
I know,’
she said unsteadily. ‘I know. But I just hope I never have to
introduce him to Mr Deveril.’

Matt’s eye
brightened perceptibly and he drew a long breath.

‘
Now
that,’ he said wistfully, ‘is a sight I’d pay money
for.’

~ * * * ~

With
reluctance, Chloë undertook the task of acquainting Alex with her
plans and was relieved to find them met with nothing more than a
slightly derisive shrug and a very firm order not to visit the
docks or have anything to do with anyone of the maritime persuasion
unless Matthew was at her side. Then, with his usual efficiency, he
fulfilled the legalities that placed Chloë’s dowry at her disposal
and calmly withdrew his interest.

Sitting in
front of a pile of lists and accounts in the small room she had
appropriated as a sort of office, Chloë stared irritably at her
neat columns of figures and wished Mr Deveril would achieve
consistency. One could, at a pinch, come to terms with the
temperamental wildness coupled with occasional, effortless charm -
or the clever, frequently acid tongue and the rare, irresistible
smile. One could even get used to the demonic good-looks. But not
when the demon displayed traits of endearing humanity … such as
laughing himself silly over a ruined dinner.

There was
worse to come. On the day
The Black
Boy
sailed for Tangier, Mr Deveril strolled into
Chloë’s ordered sanctum and informed her that she was going to
Court.

‘
And
don’t tell me you’ve nothing to wear. I’ve seen the
bills.’

Chloë opened
her mouth to point out that she’d ordered only two gowns, one of
which she was currently wearing and instead heard herself say
weakly, ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not go at all.’

Alex shook his
head, his mouth curling pleasantly.

‘
This
isn’t an invitation, Marigold – it’s a royal command. The King is
curious, so you’re going to Whitehall – powdered, perfumed and
dressed to kill – to satisfy him.’

‘
What do
you mean – he’s curious? About what?’

‘
About
you - or rather us - and why we want an annulment.’

Her eyes
widened. ‘How does he know about that?’

Impatience
stirred. ‘How do you think? I told him. We want an annulment and
Charles is the person best-placed to help us get one.’