Marigold Chain (3 page)

‘You forget how
well I know you. And you were quite content to be my lover before –
so why not after? Why cut off your nose to spite your face? It
isn’t as though Graham Marsden is a friend of yours, is it?’

He gave an odd
little laugh. ‘You’re missing the point. Firstly, I find the
thought of cuckolding anyone – friend or no – singularly repellent.
And secondly, I expect you, if you love me at all, to love me
exclusively and irrespective of material considerations. If I ask
too much … let us kiss and part.’

Swallowing an
angry sob, Lady Sarah said petulantly, ‘You are unreasonable! I
thought you loved me!’

Quite without
haste, Alex rose and, taking her hand, raised it to his lips.

‘Did you, my
sweet?’ he asked dryly. ‘So did I.’

And turned and
left.

~ * * * ~

The Acorn
tavern was hot, noisy and crowded, but Mr Deveril seemed oblivious
to its warm, cheery chatter. Pushing his way carelessly to the
counter, he demanded a bottle of eau-de-vie and, when it came
poured a glass and downed it in one.

‘
Alex!
Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.’

With
unnecessary force, Alex dislodged the hand clasping his shoulder
and swung to face its owner.

‘
Have
you? Why? You must have other friends.’

His colour
rising, Daniel Fawsley met the unpleasant blue gaze squarely.

‘
We
have,’ he replied tersely.

‘
Then go
and join them. You and Giles ought to be able to manage without me
for one night. And I,’ announced Alex conversationally, ‘intend to
get extremely drunk. Preferably, in blissful solitude.’

For a second
Danny scrutinized him, his lips pressed tightly together. Then,
‘Hallelujah,’ he said, turning on his heel and walking away.

Throwing
himself back into his chair, he stared at Giles Beckwith with
unaccustomed gloom and, lifting his tankard, drained it before he
spoke.

‘
Next
time,’ he said feelingly, ‘
you
go. He says he’s going to get drunk – which, if you ask me,
will be a public service.’

‘
Ah.’
Giles rested his fingers together and surveyed the shadowy corner
where Alex sat alone with his bottle. ‘Then I think he would be
better doing so at home. If he’s in one of his moods, he’ll look
for someone to offend. And everyone doesn’t know him as we
do.’

‘
Oh
Lord!’ Danny grimaced. ‘You’re not suggesting we try to get him
home by force, are you?’

‘
No. I’m
not. It may have escaped your notice, but I am wearing my best
coat.’

Danny raised
one quizzical brow. It amused Giles to pose as a fop, but to
Danny’s certain knowledge he was the only man who stood any chance
of wrestling Mr Deveril and winning.

‘
What I
am suggesting,’ continued Giles placidly, ‘is that one of us should
go for Matt.’

Danny leaned
back and folded his arms.

‘
What
you’re suggesting is that
I
go for Matt.’

Giles smiled.
‘Unless you’d rather stay here and keep Alex out of trouble?’

‘
Well I
wouldn’t!’

‘
No. I
didn’t think you would.’

Danny was
justifiably indignant. ‘Damn it, Giles – you know what he’s like.
How many times has he made you want to hit him just by the way he
looks at you?’

His friend
laughed. ‘It’s a bit extreme perhaps – but I take your point.’ He
paused as Danny got up. ‘So be a good fellow and make it quick,
will you?’

When Danny left
the tavern, Alexander Deveril was broaching his fourth shot of
brandy. He leaned back, chin on chest, legs stretched out and
ankles crossed. One hand was plunged deep in his pocket while the
fingers of the other were loosely curled about the goblet. There
was nothing in his attitude that spoke of danger and to the casual
observer he merely appeared to have left sobriety behind him and be
verging on sleep.

Mr Beckwith was
not deceived. They had grown up together – in France and in many
army camps and battlefields since then – and though the indulgence
in drink was a fairly recent innovation, the wild moods were not.
In recent years, when anything had really hurt him, Alex had
developed a talent for finding and making the most unforgivable
remark. With a faint sigh, Giles crossed the room to stand looking
down at him from the other side of the table.

Alex did not
move but the lowered lids lifted and the light, compelling gaze
fell full on the other man.

‘
Oh
hell,’ he said. ‘Enter Sir Righteous, full of good intentions and
dressed to kill. Danny-boy called up reinforcements.’

Giles sat down.
‘Do you want to talk?’

‘
Why? Are
you lonely?’

‘
I was
referring,’ said Giles patiently, ‘to whatever has occurred in the
last four hours to induce this epic fit of sulks.’

Alex drained
his goblet, filled it and drained it again.

‘
If you
enjoy catechisms and confessions,’ he said at length, ‘you should
enter the priesthood. Alternatively, go and find somebody else to
mother. I don’t need you.’

‘
A fact
for which I’m duly grateful,’ retorted Giles, signalling for the
potboy to bring him more ale. The low-ceilinged room was hazy with
pipe-smoke and the blast of icy air that came in with a small party
of finely-dressed gentlemen was refreshingly welcome. He glanced
back at Alex and noted that his cheeks held a betraying flush and
that the bottle was more than half empty.

‘
Do you
suppose that one bottle will be enough?’ he asked casually. ‘Or is
this the beginning of a crapulous week?’

‘
For Christ’s sake!
’ The pewter vessel cracked
down on the table. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do? You are
neither my brother nor my keeper and my moods and habits are not
your business. So stick with Danny who has no nasty vices to offend
you or go home to your embroidery – but leave me alone!’

The flush that
sprang to Giles’ cheeks had nothing to do with drink.

‘
My
pleasure, I assure you. I doubt you’ll find you can drown your
inadequacies in eau-de-vie – but if there’s any chance it will take
the edge off your bitching tongue, I’ll buy you an anker.’ And he
walked away before the infuriating boredom in Alex’s face drove him
to violence.

Alex watched
him go and then, delicately, he began to sing.

His serenade
passed unnoticed. The trio of latecomers, having progressed by
degrees from mannerly tipsiness, were fast approaching a state of
cupshot roistering. Glasses were raised to the King, to each other,
to a speedy return to London and to their respective ladies. At
this last, a large gentleman, splendidly attired and equipped with
swarthy good looks but marked by the ironic finger of Fate in a
manner not instantly obvious, rose swimmingly to his feet.

‘
To
Sawah,’ he pronounced. ‘May she soon be wedded, bedded and
bored.’

The younger of
his companions frowned as he grappled with what he considered a
vital point.

‘
Can’t
say that,’ he objected. ‘She ain’t exactly a bawd, old fellow.’ He
thought about it. ‘Ain’t exactly a rose of virtue neither – merry
widow and all that. But you can’t call her a bawd.’

‘
I don’t
know why you don’t give it up, Gresh,’ said the other man. ‘Every
time you visit her it costs you a fortune.’

The swarthy
gallant waved a dismissive hand and subsided into his chair.

‘
I can
afford it. Gave her a sapphire pin only this morning and last week
it was a pearl necklet. Twuth is that she’d not mawy Marsden if I
were fwee.’

‘
Roses out-red their lips and cheeks

Lilies their
whiteness stain

What fool is
he that shadows seeks

Who might the
substance gain?’

sang Alex
Deveril softly, his gaze fixed reflectively on a point some two
feet above the swarthy gentleman’s head.

Gloom,
meanwhile, had settled on the third member of the trio.

‘
Damn
war,’ he groaned. ‘Damn plague, too. Between the two of ‘em, my
profit’s down by half this last year. Don’t know how you manage it,
Gresh. You’re the only one who ain’t suffering.’

Lord George
Gresham gave an immense hiccup that rocked the table.

‘
I have
good contacts and good information, Wobert. And a first-class
Captain.’

‘
Hm!
Well, if we don’t beat the Dutch soon, I’ll be a ruined man. Can’t
understand it. In Cromwell’s day our Navy was the best there was –
and now look at it. All to pieces!’

‘
The
pwoblem,’ said Gresham derisively, ‘is that it’s being wun by
Sandwich, who is a wogue and Wupert, who is a fool.’

Confused, the
quiet young man looked hard at him.

‘
Woo
who?’

‘
Wupert!’
repeated Gresham, irritated. ‘Wupert of the Whine. A man,
Fwedewick, only fit to be a widing master.’

Robert nodded,
but Frederick remained unconvinced.

‘
Can’t
say that,’ he recited. ‘He’s supposed to be pretty good with a
sword too.’

Robert stared
at him pityingly.

‘
What
good’s that? You can’t lead the fleet like a cavalry charge. He
needs strategy.’

Gresham
snorted. ‘Stwategy? Shouldn’t think Wu – that His Highness knows
what it means. Look at how he lost the war with Cwomwell! Spent his
time wushing about on fool’s ewands – he and those young idiots who
followed him calling themselves cavalwy. And wemember Bwistol? He
suwendered it against the King’s expwess orders. Why, the fellow’s
not even
bwave
! And now
--’

He stopped
abruptly as a hand closed like a vice on his shoulder and, jerking
his head round, found himself impaled on a piercing, blue gaze.

‘
Good
evening, my lord,’ said Alex, his tone pleasant but his smile
markedly less so. ‘You talk too much.’

Gresham
spluttered. ‘Damn it, sir – who the hell do you think you are?’

‘
Merely
one of the ‘young idiots calling themselves cavalry’.’

His lordship’s
face became rather red.

‘
Weally?’
he asked, with what should have been freezing dignity.

‘
Weally,’
echoed Alex unkindly.

Lord Gresham
turned from red to puce.

‘
You’re
dwunk,’ he said furiously. ‘You don’t know what you’re
doing.’

‘
I’m
drunk,’ agreed Alex, ‘but as for the rest – we’ll see.’ He crooked
his fingers round one red velvet lapel and drew Gresham easily to
his feet. ‘A not-particularly wild guess would suggest that while
Prince Rupert was fighting for his King, you were sitting safe by
your hearth; that later on you were quick to ingratiate yourself
with your snuffling Puritan masters and that five years ago you
performed the same
volte-face
in favour of Charles Stuart. And you …
you
are the snivelling little runt who calls
Rupert a coward?’

His lordship
closed his mouth and raised an arm only have it fall useless to his
side from a swift, hard chop to the wrist. Then his collar was
seized in strong, fine-boned fingers and savagely twisted.

‘
If you
are sensible,’ said the playful voice, ‘you will admit yourself
mistaken about His Highness and then drink his health. You and your
friends.’

‘
A-and if
I don’t?’

Dark brows rose
over eyes filed with malicious invitation. ‘Do you really want to
find out?’

‘
I say!’
bleated Frederick with an attempt at bravery. ‘You can’t really
--’

‘
Of
course he won’t!’ snapped Gresham. And then realised his
mistake.

From across the
room, Giles watched with a certain detached interest. But when he
saw his lordship clawing frantically at the fingers slowly
tightening his collar, he decided that it was time to intervene.
Quite without haste, he strolled across the room marvelling that so
few people appeared to have noticed the incident. By the time he
reached the little group, however, it was attracting rather more
attention – for Robert had joined in the fray and was trying, so
far without success, to break Alex’s grip. Gresham’s breath was
coming in wheezing gasps and perspiration beaded his brow. Giles
stepped forward and tapped Robert on the shoulder.

‘
Allow
me,’ he said politely.

Robert
retreated thankfully and, as he did so, Alex turned his head. Giles
did not hesitate. With a small, satisfied smile, his fist shot out
to take Alex on the point of the jaw and send him reeling back
amongst tables and benches. He went crashing to the floor and was
still.

Giles stood
over him, absently rubbing his knuckles and then looked up to meet
Danny’s astounded gaze.

‘
You took
your time,’ he drawled. And, looking beyond Danny to Matthew
Lewis’s enigmatic countenance, ‘Sorry, Matt. It couldn’t
wait.’

Matt walked
forward and looked thoughtfully on Alex’s prone figure.

‘
How many
times did you have to hit him?’

Giles smiled.
‘Would you believe once?

Matt grunted.
‘He’ll be well into his altitudes then. I’d best get him home.’

‘
Yes. In
a minute.’ He turned back to Gresham who had collapsed in his chair
and was massaging his throat and choking spasmodically. ‘I should
point out, sir,’ said Giles with unusual crispness, ‘that I
prevented Mr Deveril from strangling you for his sake rather than
yours. With his reasons for wishing to do so, I am in complete
accord. And, that being so, I must insist on a full retraction of
your slanderous attack on Prince Rupert’s valour and leadership –
both of which are above reproach. Should you refuse, I shall have
no alternative but to serve you in a similar manner to that of my
unconscious friend here. Well?’