Sovay (17 page)

He toppled a bottle of carmine ink, drenching his improvised armies. The stain spread out across the blotting paper, surrounding them in a great ragged circle of red.

‘Dysart is funding
both
sides?’ Sovay asked.

‘Oh, yes. I divined that from the contents of the wallet that,’ he hesitated, ‘came into your possession. That is why he was so anxious to get it back. I thought at first that it was because his agents might become known, but no. His concern is that this greater plot might be exposed.’

‘Surely he cannot think that this plot will work?’ Sovay shook her head, unable to believe such madness.

‘Oh, he does. And it is clever, fiendishly so. He is not to be underestimated. He has crafted something that works with a devilish logic, and once it is put into operation, it will be very difficult to stop. The ensuing violence will eventually be quelled by troops loyal to Dysart and his party. Dysart is not acting alone. He heads a group, a cabal of already powerful men, all hungry for even more power. They will stage a coup d’état and rule the country much as Robespierre and his Committee of Public Safety are doing in France. They will be able to do as they wish, curing the nation’s ills with copious bloodletting, I’ve no doubt. A White Terror will be upon us.’

‘What about His Majesty?’ Skidmore asked.

‘What about him? Who knows when his madness will return? He will be confined, whatever his state of mind. His son will be declared Regent with Dysart pulling the strings. If he proves unsatisfactory to his purpose, then Dysart will get rid of him. There is a precedent. France is not the first nation to kill its king.’ He turned to Sovay. ‘Tell me, Miss Middleton, has Dysart been in contact with you?’

‘Why, yes. He called to give me this.’ She showed him her invitation to Thursley. ‘He said it was for my father, but insisted that I should come in lieu of him.’

‘Did he, indeed?’ Oldfield studied the black-rimmed invitation, with its heavy, gothic lettering. He walked about, brushing the edge against his chin, as he put his thoughts in order. Then he turned to Sovay. ‘The time has come for us to act. Dysart and I are old acquaintances; we were students together at Ingolstadt. I have also received an invitation. The date is nearly upon us.’ He looked from Sovay to Skidmore and Gabriel. ‘If we are to save our friends and prevent the entire nation descending into bloody revolution and savage suppression, I feel that we must go to Thursley.’

Before Oldfield left, Sovay asked if she could see him on a matter of private business.

‘Certainly,’ he nodded to Skidmore to wait for him in the hall.

When they were alone, he turned to Sovay. ‘It is only fair to warn you, if you go to Thursley you may be in very great danger. You are perfectly at liberty to refuse the invitation. Dysart does not welcome interference and will certainly strike at any who he perceives to be his enemy. His chosen method is to destroy all who might have any knowledge, however peripheral.’ He described concentric circles on the desk. ‘And you are at the centre of the web.’

‘I understand that,’ Sovay replied to him. ‘I am not stupid. But if Dysart succeeds, who will protect Gabriel’s friends? Who will defend their liberty?’ Sovay straightened her shoulders. ‘I will meet such danger when I come to it.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ the lawyer smiled at her. ‘Skidmore has told me a little of your exploits of last night.’ He waved a hand to quell her protest and dispel any anger she might feel towards his clerk. ‘Do not be angry with him. He did not mean to betray you, he was mortified to think that he had, but I know how to unearth secrets. I would not be worth my salt as a lawyer if I did not. He admires you greatly, Miss Sovay.’ His smile grew broader. ‘It is a wonder your ears were not burning. Now what is this business?’

The business Sovay wished to discuss with him was regarding the money that she’d found in the wallet. The money belonged to Dysart, but she was determined that it should not be returned to him. Ever. Nevertheless, the money had been stolen. Moral scruple prevented her from spending it on herself, but she saw no reason why she could not spend it on others.

‘I have a sum of money,’ she began to explain. ‘Deposited at Turnbull’s Bank, in my name. I want you to arrange to put it to particular purposes.’

She sat down at the desk, removed the ruined blotter, took a fresh sheet of paper from her father’s drawer, dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

To Master Toby White, to be found at Mistress
Pierce’s establishment in Chandois Street, Covent
Garden, the sum of £100, to pay for his
apprenticeship to a reputable locksmith and to pay
also for his passage to America.

To Mr Algernon Skidmore of Vine Street,
Clerkenwell, the sum of £100 to pay for his articles
to the firm of Oldfield & Oldfield, and to meet any
other expenses he might incur.

The residue to be given to Mr Gabriel Stanhope to
disperse as he sees fit.

She blotted the ink and handed the paper to Oldfield who studied it carefully.

‘Generous.’ He nodded. ‘Very generous. Money well spent on Skidmore, he will make a fine solicitor. Now, this other, Mr White . . . This establishment, ah, if I’m not mistaken, it’s a –’

‘I know very well what it is, Mr Oldfield.’ Sovay looked up at him, her steel-blue eyes clouding to thunder grey. ‘Do not seek to interfere. I want to save the boy from a life of criminality and vice, because I think he is worth saving.’

‘Certainly, of course.’ Oldfield was at his most conciliatory. He had not seen her angry before. ‘I will make the arrangements immediately, rest assured. I will . . .’

As Oldfield talked on about escrow and fiduciary duty, Sovay sat back in her father’s chair and stared at Dysart’s invitation lying on the desk before her. She ran her fingers over the embossed script and tried to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling creeping through her that she was putting her affairs in order, as people do when they think that they are going to die.

‘A lad came for you, while you were with Mr Oldfield,’ Mrs Crombie said after seeing the lawyer out. ‘He’s downstairs in the kitchen. Said he weren’t hungry, but he looked half-starved to me. I told Lydia to give him a few slices of beef and a mug of ale.’

Toby stood up when Sovay came in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Toby!’ After the events of the day, she had quite forgotten that she had asked him to call on her. ‘I’m glad to see Lydia has taken care of you. If you have finished, perhaps you would like to accompany me to my father’s study. We can talk there.’

‘Very well, miss. That were very nice, miss, missus,’ he smiled and bobbed his head to Lydia and Mrs Crombie. ‘My thanks to you.’

Sovay led the way to the study and closed the door, eager to tell him about her plans for him. To get his agreement.

‘I want you to find a good master,’ she told him. ‘A locksmith, an honest one, and have yourself apprenticed.’

‘But I ain’t got near enough money for that!’

‘I will give you the money,’ Sovay said, ‘but you have to promise me something.’

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘That you won’t go back to Ma Pierce.’

‘I got to, miss. What will I do for tin?’

‘I’ll give you money, I just told you. I have made arrangements to that effect with my lawyer, Mr Oldfield. All you have to do is present yourself at his offices in Carter Lane. Do you know where that is?’

‘Yes, miss. Off Ludgate Hill, just down from St Paul’s.’

‘Very well. If you go there, he will make the necessary arrangements and release a sum of money to you, for expenses and so on. When you need more, you just apply to him and he will give it to you.’

Sovay sat back, thinking that she had explained it very well. Toby looked at her. He could not help but be sceptical. He had never trusted anyone in his life and was not about to start now. It wasn’t Sovay, as such. She was well-meaning and good-hearted, he didn’t doubt that, but like as not she’d get bored with all this nannicking, or she’d take fright and go back to country life and old Tobe would be left with nothing. He didn’t see anyone handing the darby over on his say so, especially not a lawyer. He’d promise, of course he would, but he had no intention of leaving Ma just yet.

‘Have you had any word of Captain Greenwood?’ Sovay asked, as she rose to show Toby out.

The question was casual, but Toby wondered if she was sweet on him. She wouldn’t be the only one. Devil for the ladies was the Captain. He was counted a special friend by every innkeeper’s daughter from here to Bristol.

‘Not since he left us. Probably out on the pad,’ he replied. ‘He better watch hisself when he comes back.’ ‘Oh, why’s that?’

‘Ma’s got it in for him. She’s a terrible one for a grudge is Ma, or sometimes it’s just pure spite.’ In fact, Ma had taken against Sovay as well, but Toby judged it best not to tell her that. Sovay was beyond Ma’s power and couldn’t be harmed by her, but the Captain was a different matter. ‘You know that tall, thin cove, dresses in black, you and the Captain was talking about?’

‘Sir Robert Dysart?’

‘That’s him. There’s something funny going on between him and Ma. He was in earlier and when he left, Ma was mighty pleased with herself. She asked after the health of my
friend
, as she put it, meaning the Captain. “Tolerable well when I last I saw him” is what I said. To which she replied, “Well, he ain’t goin’ to be for long.” She had a nasty little gleam in her eye and went off cackling. She intends to peach on him just as soon as he’s back in town.’

What could Dysart want with the Captain? Sovay thought as Mrs Crombie showed Toby out. Would they all be caught in a web of Dysart’s weaving as Oldfield implied? Was there no escaping, for anyone?

CHAPTER
1
8

T
he next morning, as Sovay was at her dressing table, Lydia came in to announce that a quantity of boxes had been delivered.

‘From Madame Chantal. Oh, Miss, I can’t wait to see what’s inside!’

Sovay smiled. ‘I think that is what I’m supposed to say.’

‘Shall I tell Mr Wallace and the boy to bring them up?’

Lydia ran off down the stairs, without waiting for an answer. Wallace and Perkins duly arrived, the boy hardly visible behind an assortment of pale green boxes, all of different sizes, edged with gold and inscribed in elegant black lettering:

Madame Chantal of Mayfair

Magazin des Modes

They laid the boxes on the bed, Lydia desperate to view the contents that were so carefully wrapped in fine tissue paper.

Sovay allowed her to open the boxes and throw back the filmy wrappings. Madame had certainly been busy. There were day dresses, evening dresses, robes à la française and robes à l’anglaise, jackets and caracao, shirts and petticoats, clothes for every occasion. Indeed, a whole wardrobe. Sovay refused Lydia’s entreaties to try things on. Instead each item was to be unpacked and hung in the clothes press. The last box was empty, Lydia stepped back.

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why should that be? There’s just this.’

She handed a note to Sovay.

Dear Mademoiselle,

I have not forgotten. Your special gown will be
ready. Never fear!

Your friend,

Hortense Chantal

‘Special gown?’ Lydia frowned. ‘What’s that, Miss Sovay?’

‘What it says. Something Madame is making especially. For a weekend party I am attending.’ Sovay kept her tone vague and distant. She did not really want to talk to Lydia about it. The invitation made her feel odd. Excited, but at the same time apprehensive. Slightly queasy in the stomach. She thought that this must be what a soldier felt going off to war, or a sailor to sea. ‘Now, fetch the clothes I’m to wear today.’

Lydia did not move. ‘You said nothing about this party. Does Mrs Crombie know?’

‘I haven’t told her, no.’

‘You’ll need a maid if it’s a grand affair.’

‘Not necessarily. I’m accompanying Lady Bingham. If I need someone, I’ll use whoever she brings with her. Now get my clothes, there’s a good girl.’

Lydia stared at her mistress, her green eyes shiny with hurt and an anger she had to suppress. ‘You’re ashamed, that’s it, isn’t it?’ She looked away, finally. ‘Ashamed to have a maid who is just a country girl.’

‘Nothing could be further from my mind! Why on earth would I think that?’ Sovay smiled and put her hand out to Lydia. ‘I’m a country girl myself.’ She had not asked Lydia to accompany her, in case something happened to put her in danger, but she did not like to see her upset like this, or to be misunderstood by her. When the time came, she would find a way of putting her off. ‘If it means that much to you, of course you can come with me. I will welcome the company.’

Somewhat mollified, Lydia brought Sovay her day gown and began hanging the new clothes.

The bell downstairs sounded. As if summoned by some black art, Lady Bingham’s servant had come by to leave her card. Wallace reappeared. Sovay took the card from him. Lady Bingham would be calling on her at three o’clock that afternoon.

Lady Bingham was determined to introduce Sovay into London Society, beginning with a visit to Lady Kilderry and then an evening party at Lady Sarah Jersey’s residence at 38 Berkeley Square.

The former was not so onerous. Once the ladies had patted her hand, grown momentarily tearful at the memory of her mother and enquired after the health of ‘poor, dear Harriet’, they more or less ignored her and carried on with their own concerns, gossiping about people Sovay neither knew, nor cared about. Often their voices fell to murmured exchanges, whispered confidences and delighted exclamations that excluded her entirely. All Sovay had to do was remember to nod and smile when called upon to do so. The other young women present offered nothing and seemed entirely uninteresting, sitting with eyes downcast, paying close attention to their mamas, so they would know how to behave when they were married ladies. Her mind roamed away from the inconsequential chit-chat around her and she wondered what she was doing here.

There was still no news of her father and brother. She had not seen Virgil Barrett since Fender’s Field and he had sent no word despite his promise. And then there was the Captain. She knew that she should not be experiencing any concern about him. If anyone here even suspected an acquaintance, she would find herself outside the door of polite society. But who knew what would have happened to her without his help? She was beholden to him, and did not like to think of him getting into difficulties on account of her. The life he led was dangerous enough. He could look after himself, she was sure of that, but she would have liked some news of him. She could not go herself to find news of him, but perhaps she could send Gabriel. She dismissed the idea. He was much recovered, more or less his old self, but he would ask too many questions and she did not want him to know about her escapades in Covent Garden. Besides, she could not imagine him at Ma Pierce’s. She smiled to think of it. There was always Oldfield. If Toby had been in touch . . .

‘I’m glad you find our gathering amusing.’ Suddenly Lady Bingham was beside her, making her start. ‘Lady Kilderry thinks you most charming, if a little shy. She would like you to come to her again next Thursday, so put it in your diary. Now, we must be going if we are to be ready for this evening.’

Between tea party and soirée, Sovay found time to write a note to Mr Oldfield to ask if Toby had been to see him. After she had folded, addressed, sealed the letter and sent Wallace’s boy to the nearest receiving house, she felt very much better.

Her lift of mood did not last. The evening party was somewhat more of an ordeal than her visit to Lady Kilderry. Since Lady Bingham had discovered that Sovay had no current attachment, she was introduced to a succession of young men, fops and fools to a man. They paid her extravagant attention, indulging in frivolous banter and elaborate flirtation until Sovay’s face ached from the constant smiling and her brain sickened from so much confection. No one seemed capable of serious conversation. Such a thing would probably be frowned upon anyway, as exceeding the bounds of etiquette.

This did not mean that the underlying purpose of these occasions was not serious. Far from it. Every look, every word and gesture was regarded. Everybody was watching everybody else. Lady Bingham glided through it all, like a pike through the reeds. Sovay was not the only young lady in whom her mentor took an interest. She began to wonder if the lady took a commission. What difference was there between her and Mother Pierce? It was all about money, just like the street and the brothel. Girls on the look out for rich husbands, wealthy older women on the look out for attractive young lovers. Men keen to oblige for the promise of a fortune, through marriage or patronage. Later in the evening, the disappointed among the gentlemen, or those not concerned with the marriage market, would begin to make their excuses and slip away. Sovay knew where they were going. This was the time when business picked up at Mother Pierce’s and Rosie Marples’, on the streets of Covent Garden. It was the whores who got the blame, who faced prison or transportation, but who was really to answer for it? Where would the whores be without their clients?

‘Why the sour expression?’ a voice said close to her. ‘Anyone would think that you were not enjoying yourself.’

Sovay looked up to find Virgil Barrett smiling down at her. She strove hard to hide her surprise. For some reason, she hadn’t expected to see him at one of these gatherings. He looked so fine that she hardly recognised him with his powdered hair and beautiful burgundy brocade jacket. His velvet breeches were a matching colour and his pale green silk waistcoat was embellished with tiny flower motifs, the front edges very prettily done with gold purl embroidery, gleaming sequins and floral ribbon.

‘I can play the man of fashion as well as any here.’ He smiled at her scrutiny. ‘Or perhaps you are surprised to see that I move in such circles?’ He looked around at the assembled company. ‘They regard me as something of an oddity. An American cousin. Many here believe that our independence is just a passing phase.’ His mouth twisted in irony. ‘That we will soon see the error of our ways and return to the bosom of the mother country and our father, the King. A belief that I encourage. There are many here who interest me.’

Sovay followed his gaze. Marriage broking was not the only business being carried on here. Around the margins of the room little knots of men stood in quiet conversation, a word here, a word there and patronage was withheld or granted, fortunes made or lost.

It was a game of high stakes and Virgil pointed out the major players. Members of Parliament, members of the Government.

‘Your friend Dysart is talking to Mr Burke. Mr Pitt himself is expected later, so I believe. There is much to concern them at the moment.’

‘I was expecting word from you,’ Sovay’s look was accusing. ‘After Fender’s Field. Where did you go?’

‘I was called away on urgent business. Let us take a turn around the room, shall we?’

‘You are quite a man of mystery,’ Sovay smiled, ‘with your sudden comings and goings.’

‘That is because of my occupation.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now I see you don’t know whether to believe or trust me.’

‘Why should I?’ Sovay shrugged. ‘Whenever people might have need of you, that’s when you choose to disappear.’

‘I’m stung by that, Miss Sovay,’ Barrett strove to look hurt. ‘Perhaps you will be less angry if I tell you that my business was in Dover.’ He continued in a light tone, as if they were exchanging nothing more than banter or gossip. ‘No need to say anything. Dysart is watching us. It would not be good for him to know that we are anything more than casually acquainted. Concern for your father and brother was one of my reasons for going. Whatever you may think, I have been working hard on your behalf.’ Sovay’s spirits lightened at the prospect of real news after so long and she wanted to question him further, but he gave her a look of warning. ‘You will know more, very shortly. I may have a surprise for you, but you must have patience. It is too dangerous to speak here.’

Just then, they were called into supper. They were seated at opposite ends of the table, so there was no further opportunity to speak with him. At the end of the meal, Sovay retired with the ladies and by the time the gentlemen joined them, Virgil had disappeared again.

‘We seem to have lost your admirer.’

Sovay willed herself not to start at Dysart’s voice in her ear.

‘Admirer?’ She turned to face him.

‘The American. Barrett.’

‘I’d hardly call him an admirer,’ Sovay answered.

‘He is one of many.’

‘How gallant of you to say so, Sir Robert, but as it is our first acquaintance, I fear that it is too early to include him in their company.’

‘Indeed,’ Dysart smiled, but the look he gave her said,
I know better!

He looked away from her, his opaque eyes resting on this or that person in the company. When he looked back, he was laughing as if at some inner jest that only he could hear.
There can be no escape from
me
, he seemed to be saying,
I know everything about
everybody here.

‘If you will excuse me.’ Sovay moved away from him. With all she now knew, she found his presence disturbing. She did not want to give herself away to him and was beset with the uncomfortable feeling that he could look into people’s minds. ‘Lady Bingham beckons. She does not like to stay too late.’

‘A moment more.’ He nodded towards the lady who immediately turned away. ‘She will not mind waiting. You see? She has already found someone else. I’m so glad you have made her acquaintance. She has grown very fond of you in this short time. There can be no excuse for you not to come to Thursley now. Indeed, I would be
very
disappointed if you do not. I am very particular about who I invite to Thursley. Let us walk, shall we? Do you know the Secretary at War?’ A gentleman bowed to her, she bowed back. ‘The war goes well – for us,’ Dysart said as they moved on. ‘But in consequence Paris grows ever more dangerous for any Englishmen mad enough to be caught there.’ She looked at him, gauging his reasons for telling her this. ‘The French grow every day more ruthless. They send friend and foe alike to Mme Guillotine, no matter how aged or infirm.’ He shook his head. ‘They are inhuman in their fixity of purpose. Even their erstwhile friends, the Americans, are suspect now. Tell me, Miss Middleton, what do you think?’

He looked at her, inviting a response and any trace of pleasantry in his flinty grey eyes had been replaced by thoroughgoing menace. The hint was oblique, he had not spoken it straight out, but there was a warning in the positioning of one subject against another.
Come to Thursley
, he seemed to be saying,
or
it will be worse for your father and brother and do
not look for help from Virgil Barrett.