Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (35 page)

“I’ve known for some weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m pleased, of course. I know you want a child.”

How to answer his question? Not with the truth, that she’d been afraid he wouldn’t want to pleasure her in this bed if there was no purpose.

“I’m not sure,” she lied. “Something to do with the curse.”

He shifted to hold her closer. “No wonder it’s weighed on you with a child already on the way. I truly believe it’s hollow, my dear. You have nothing to fear beyond life’s normal hazards.
We
have nothing to fear.”

She turned to kiss him. “I like ‘we.’ Our home, our child, even if you must often be away.”

“I will do my best to be a good father,” he said, but she heard the underlying tone, that he doubted how good that could be.

She snuggled closer.

She’d find a way.

He would visit Perriam Manor for at least the thirty days a year, and in between she would visit London. There was the problem of his male-only rooms, but perhaps they could afford to rent a house like this frequently.

She would find a way to have this sweet togetherness most of the time.

I
n the morning,
they fell out.

Over breakfast Claris said, “Today, Dun Street.”

“I’ll take you, but not today. I have matters to attend to.”

“I can go alone. I’ll take Alice.”

“It’s not safe, and nor is this obsession. Put any thought of a curse out of mind and think of our baby.”

Claris put down her cup. “We know Aunt Clarrie didn’t cast a curse, but my mother might have done. I need to understand, and explanations could lie in Dun Street. I can’t bear delay.”

“But you must. I forbid it.”

“What?”
She stared at him. “So you turn tyrant now? Exerting your husbandly authority?”

“In this case, yes. I’ll try to find the time—”

Claris thumped the table so that crockery rattled. “And if you can’t, I’m to forgo this opportunity?”

“Yes!” He rose. “There’s nothing more to discover, and you need to put it out of mind.”

He left before she could make a retort. She grabbed the sugar bowl and hurled it to shatter on the door. And then burst into tears.

Ellie hurried in and gathered her in her arms. “Dearie, dearie, what is it?”

Claris sniffed. “I don’t know! Perry. The curse. Aunt Clarrie . . .”

“There, there; there, there. It’s likely the child. Makes for funny moods.”

Claris blew her nose. “Do you think so?”

“Even Thenie was weepy at times.”

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“True, though. You need to avoid things that upset you.”

“Like the curse.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing to it, dearie, and if there was, what could you do?”

“My marriage was supposed to end its power.” She still hadn’t told Ellie and Athena that the curse was her mother’s work, and she didn’t want to. It brought it too close to home.

“There, then,” Ellie said.

“Yet it haunts me all the same. And Perry forbade it!”

“Forbade what?”

“My going to Dun Street to learn more.”

“What’s at Dun Street?”

“It’s where Mother and Aunt Clarrie lived when in London.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“We found people in Wellsted who remembered them, so why not there?”

“What do you hope to learn?” Ellie asked.

“Something. Anything. How Aunt Clarrie was when there. How she died. Perhaps then I can put her shade to rest. Yes, that’s it. I feel as if I owe something to Aunt Clarrie.”

“Well, then, why don’t we go?”

“We?”

“You and me. Your grandmother’s gone off to a meeting about the rights of women. I excused myself. I find it all a bit silly.”

“I’m sure it’s not. Husbands can be cruel oppressors and are supported by the law.”

“Talking isn’t going to change that. It’ll need bloody war.”

“I hope you’re wrong.”

“So do I, but I prefer to do things that can be done. We need to know how to get to Dun Street. Do you have an address?”

“At the sign of the dove, and there’s the landlady’s name. Stally-something. I’ll reread the letters and find out.” She hugged Ellie. “Thank you! I’m sure I’ll feel at ease when I’ve followed this last thread.”

Claris hurried upstairs and took out the letters.

But then she hesitated.

Perry had been so firm on the subject.

She shook that away.
Say, Tyrant Custom, why must we obey / The impositions of thy haughty Sway.

She would
not
be ruled by a husband. That had been clear in their agreement. She was to be independent. Just because they’d consummated the marriage, just because that was so sweet, just because she loved him . . .

Oh, she did, she did.

But that couldn’t be allowed to weaken her.

She found the right letter. Mistress Stallycombe. An unusual name that would be remembered. When she returned the letters to the drawer, she saw her pistol case.

She opened it and took out the gun. It was still loaded from the journey, but she’d emptied the firing pan for safety. She poured new powder there and carefully settled the pin.

How to carry it, though?

It would fit in one of her pockets, but she didn’t like the thought of it there. What if by some mischance it went off? It wasn’t cocked, but accidents could happen.

She found the cardboard box in which the mended stockings had been delivered, lined it with handkerchiefs, and nestled the pistol there.

When she went downstairs, Ellie said, “What’s that?”

“An excuse. More stockings to be mended.”

Ellie shrugged, but when they were outside she said, “You don’t need an excuse to leave the house, Claris.”

“I know, but it’s done now.”

“Let me carry it.”

“No. Did you get directions?”

“Yes, but the stocking mender doesn’t lie that way.”

“I’ve heard of a better one. How far is it? Should we take a hackney?”

“Not unless you’ve lost the use of your legs. We can go most of the way across the park and I could do with a good walk. I’ve sat around too many fancy salons in the past few days.”

P
erry regretted the ar
gument as soon as he was out of the house. He’d return except for that smash of china. He’d give her time to calm down. In any case, he was expected at Malloren House to review the situation. Claris should understand that he couldn’t devote every moment to her whims and fancies.

Clocks began to strike around Town. Nine o’clock. Too early for Malloren House. He went to Porter’s coffeehouse, a fashionable place, which meant there would be few customers at this hour. He needed to think.

There were only two other gentlemen in the establishment and he knew neither. One was reading a book, the other a newspaper. He picked up one of the other newspapers provided by the proprietor and carried it to a table, where he ordered coffee. He opened the paper but turned his thoughts to the two spies.

He wanted the matter tied up so he could devote the next few days to Claris. There were so many London treats she hadn’t tasted. The theater, Ranelagh . . .

Concentrate.
The one remaining puzzle was why Ryder and Pierrepoint refused to explain their actions. What pressure had been fierce enough to make them act against their natures, and why wouldn’t they reveal what it was, even when promised immunity?

At this point, no one wanted to prosecute them. If their acts were made public, they would reveal vulnerability in the two military offices. Did they guess that?

There was also the matter of the king not wanting Pierrepoint prosecuted, but Perry didn’t think the man had the wit or nerve to exploit that.

So what did they gain by keeping silent?

Why didn’t they want those who’d tormented them to suffer for it?

He went round and round it but made no progress, so he looked over the newspaper to clear his mind.

The destruction of the bastions at Dunkirk had begun at last. It had been agreed on in the peace treaty, but France had been delaying. That would make a French invasion less likely, but another article reported that French boats were fishing on the Grand Banks. Deliberate provocation.

Had the French learned anything useful from Pierrepoint and Ryder?

Did Guerchy have other spies as yet undetected?

He flipped a page. Trouble at home, and not caused by the French. Miners were refusing their labor in the north and the military had been ordered in. Cate Burgoyne had written him a letter about that. Pure greed on the mine owner’s part, according to Cate, but then, he’d always taken the side of the persecuted.

He turned to lighter news. The Duke and Duchess of York were making merry in Brunswick. Soon they’d return with the Prince and Princess of Brunswick and Town would be afire with levees and celebrations. A pity Claris would have left by then.

One small item caught his eye. A gentleman of comfortable means and excellent reputation who was soon to have been married had shot himself in his rooms in Jethro Street.

Jethro Street.

He rose, put a coin on the table for the newspaper, and left. Soon he was at Malloren House, where he asked for Cyn. After a short delay he was taken up to a parlor, which must be part of Cyn’s rooms here. Cyn was alone, wearing a dressing gown over shirt and breeches. A table held the remains of breakfast. Somewhere nearby a woman talked and a child giggled.

“I’ve disturbed you,” Perry said. “My apologies, but you need to see this.” He handed over the paper, indicating the middle of the right-hand column.

“Odd,” Cyn said, taking one of the chairs by the fireplace. “But important?”

Perry took the other. “Ryder lives in Jethro Street.”

“So do many.”

“And was engaged to wed.”

“So are many, I’m sure. Why think this is about him?”

“We can find out, but it’s stirred some thoughts. It appears the man in Jethro Street had everything to live for and no reason to kill himself, and yet he did.”

“Being accused of treason might be cause. He was in deep distress over it.”

“But why
now
?” Perry asked. “He’s been in anguish over his sins for weeks.”

“But now he’s caught.” Cyn put the paper down. “The country air’s addled you.”

“No, no, some idea is trying to form. There’s a connection to another case.” Perry hit his head with the palm of his hand, trying to shake the insight loose. “I have it! Did you hear about the case of Thomas and James Brown?”

“No.”

“It occurred when you were in Canada. They were petty thieves, but they devised a novel way of going about it. They lurked at night in the shadowy parts of London, particularly those known for assignations of a certain sort, waiting for lone men to pass by. Then they dragged their victim aside, opened his breeches, and threatened to take him to court for sodomy if he didn’t give up any valuables.”

“’Struth. But their word against his.”

“With the weight of proof on the accused, remember. How can a man prove he’s not a sodomite when there’s no obvious reason for a false accusation? Once caught on this hook, the victim could be milked again and again, and that was the Browns’ way. None of their victims were brave enough to take them to court, and with reason. There have been men hanged for sodomy on very flimsy evidence. Enough to terrify anyone accused of the crime.”

“Were all the Browns’ victims innocent?” Cyn asked. “If so, why were they in such places at night?”

“Another point against them if it came to court. In the case brought to trial, the one that did it for the Browns, the victim was a servant simply taking the quickest way home after an errand. He was new to London and didn’t know its ways. By singular good fortune, another man came by and saw what was happening, so he could testify to it. But as the case unfolded, it turned out that a previous victim had hanged himself in despair—over the constant payments but also over the shame of the accusation.”

Cyn whistled. “Same pattern. Repeated demands on Ryder and Pierrepoint. Both would fear the accusation, and Ryder in particular wouldn’t be able to face even the hint of suspicion. I see a flaw in your theory, however. Neither man would wander in such places at night.”

“Their entrapment would have been more neatly devised. I suspect someone they trusted invited them to the Merry Maid.”

“Pierrepoint would go out of stupidity, but Ryder?”

“The bait must have been right. There are groups devoted to ridding London of vice through prosecuting sinners. Any evidence he was part of one of those?”

“Yes. I didn’t take much note of it, as he wouldn’t be meeting a French spy there, but he did regularly attend meetings of the Society for the Moral Improvement of London.”

“Why the devil do people skim over details? Never mind. He was tempted there to gain evidence, and foolishly went without another member of the society. Once through the door a number of seemingly worthy citizens would be ready to stand witness.”

“Thereby incriminating themselves?”

“They could support each other’s claims of innocence but agree on his guilt. He wouldn’t have been willing to risk it.”

Cyn shook his head. “I’d have sworn he’d go to the lions before giving in to blackmail.”

“But that wasn’t the torture he faced. It was trial in court, accused of a vile crime, with the terrifying possibility that he could be found guilty and shamed forever. One man—not a victim of the Browns, but merely unfortunate in where he was—was convicted even though many vouched for him, and he had a wife and three children.”

“Gads.”

“It’s a fever at the moment, the desire to stamp out vice.”

“But why shoot himself now?” Cyn inhaled and answered himself. “Because he was being pressured to explain how he was compelled, and he couldn’t bear to even speak of it.”

“In case some would believe the accusation true.”

“Poor man,” Cyn said. “He didn’t deserve such torture.”

“He did leak secrets. The fact they were minor doesn’t excuse him. He’d have leaked bigger ones if squeezed hard enough.”

“No,” Cyn said. “He’d have shot himself sooner. Damn Guerchy and the French.”

“I’m sure we do things as foul. It’s the corruption of war. For now, we have hopes of ending this. Confronted with the truth, Pierrepoint will crack.”

“Agreed, and the people at the Merry Maid will spill all they know under pressure. The weight of evidence will crush Guerchy and cripple French espionage, for now, at least. The French won’t want such sordid means known.”

“Can you report all this to Rothgar?” Perry asked. “I need to go home. A slight disagreement with my wife.”

“Then make haste, my friend. Sooner is always better than later in that.”

*  *  *

As they walked across the park, Claris asked, “Is London not suiting you, Ellie?”

“I must be getting old, for I enjoy country life now. Town has too much chatter, and I’ve never had the head for arguing about ideas. On liberty. On rights. On miracles, even. I remember Thenie talking about a time when men argued about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. I ask you, why should they want to?”

Claris broke into laughter. “Oh, Ellie, you have such good sense.”

“Well, I think so, dearie, and all this clever talk just causes troubles. Look at the Reformation.”

“What about the Reformation?” Claris asked, fascinated.

“Nothing but trouble.”

“The Roman Church was corrupt.”

“And those that replaced it haven’t been?”

“Ellie!”

“It’s people that make saints or sinners, dearie. I’ve known saintly Papists and wicked ones, but as many of both among Protestants, and among Mohammedans too.”

“You should speak your thoughts at one of the salons.”

“Oh, no. I know my place.”

Claris frowned at her. “You don’t think your views would be respected? Perry pointed out that female rulers don’t liberate their female subjects. Do female philosophers not liberate women of all classes?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. My odd notions would stir up a great deal of bother, and most of it would land on my back. I’m no martyr.”

“It is hard to see why anyone would choose to be, but isn’t it sometimes necessary? Change doesn’t come easily.”

“Now, that’s the truth, dearie. Stuck in their ways, most people are, and it’s bloody war to change things. I can remember a time when I wanted to fight battles, but not anymore. Not anymore.”

They fell into silence as they followed a path between lawns and trees, but Claris pondered the problem.

Why should Ellie “know her place”? Anyone was entitled to their thoughts, so why shouldn’t they be entitled to speak them? And yet, in times like the Reformation people were burned at the stake for just that. If Ellie wouldn’t be heard in a beau monde salon, were there salons for other sorts of people?

“Mistress Perriam! How delightful.”

Claris blinked out of her thoughts to see the Fox, in company with two similar creatures in silken finery. And here she was, in her simplest clothing for this venture.

“Do please allow me to present my friends, Mistress Fayne and Miss Brokesby.”

Claris curtsied and introduced Miss Gable, though she knew the three women would guess that Ellie wasn’t their social equal. They couldn’t, in courtesy, refuse to acknowledge her.

The Fox did so, but slightly, long nose pinched, then turned back to Claris. “I had no idea you meant to come to Town, Mistress Perriam. I would have offered to be your guide.”

“How kind, ma’am, but I am well served in that way. Particularly by my husband.”

“Oh, I’m sure he serves you well,” the Fox said with a smirk, and at least one of the other women tittered. “But a man can’t advise about mantua-makers and such as well as other women.”

Claris heard the sly dig about her clothing. “How true,” she said. “Lady Walgrave and Lady Ashart have been most generous with their advice.”

It was almost as good as firing a pistol at them and left them dumbstruck.

Claris dipped a curtsy. “You must excuse me, ladies. I have an appointment.” Once out of earshot, she muttered, “Eat that and choke on it.”

Ellie chuckled. “Silly widgeons. And that includes you for being jealous.”

“I’m not!”

Ellie made no comment, so Claris pulled a face at her.

“You’ve no cause,” Ellie said.

“You think not?”

“A woman like that beside you, dearie?”

“I’m no beauty.”

“You’re more than that, but in any case, he’s not the sort.”

“For what?”

“For adultery.”

“I thought all men were. We’re likely to spend a lot of time apart.”

“It’ll all work out,” Ellie said comfortably, looking around. “We leave the park on this side, I believe.”

As they entered a street, she asked a passing maidservant and was given directions. But the maid added, “It’s not so nice a place, ma’am.”

The maid went on her way, and Claris paused. “I wonder what that means.”

“What it said, dearie.”

“It can’t be too bad. Aunt Clarrie approved of their lodgings, and this area seems respectable.” A part of her wanted to give up this mission, but she wouldn’t, for a great many reasons.