Sovay (18 page)

‘About what?’

‘About the war with France. That is what we were discussing, is it not?’

‘Politics do not interest me and my knowledge is slight, so I have no opinion upon it, Sir Robert.’ She looked back at him. He knew she was lying but she did not care. She was tired of being played upon and jerked about like a puppet. She would have liked to tell him that there was no need to threaten her. She would be at Thursley, and not because she was afraid of what he would do to her, or her family. ‘I’m very much looking forward to my visit,’ she said, changing the conversation back to the original topic. ‘Your house sounds most impressive. I will be there.’ She met his gaze, unflinching. ‘Never fear.’

‘There is none to equal it in England.’ Lady Bingham had come to join them and had overheard Sovay’s last remarks ‘Is that not so, Sir Robert? You will see a wonder, my dear.’

‘Modesty prevents me from agreeing, my dear lady.’ He bowed to the newcomer. ‘Miss Middleton must judge for herself. Now if you will excuse me,’ he added and with one last bow he was gone from them.

On the carriage ride home, Lady Bingham talked of little else except Thursley. Everything was to be marvelled at, from the height of the tower (three hundred feet) to the amount it had cost (four hundred thousand pounds and still not finished). Sovay wearied of hearing about the exact dimensions of the place: the entrance door that was thirty feet tall, the length from north to south equalled Westminster Abbey.

‘It has an oratory, galleries, libraries, cloisters and cabinets,’ Lady Bingham counted rooms off on her fingers. ‘I don’t think I’ve explored it all, and every room crammed with the most fabulous riches from all over the world.’

Lady Bingham looked expectantly at Sovay, waiting for her comment.

‘I’ve never desired to live in a cathedral, or anywhere so grand or large,’ Sovay said at last. ‘I’m sure it is full of wonders, but Thursley does not sound such a comfortable place to me.’

They continued the rest of the journey in silence, each looking out of their separate window. Lady Bingham noted the crowds had thinned with the approach of evening. The town looked so much better with fewer people about, she thought, and was just going to remark as much to Sovay, but the girl had that sullen look about her. Sulky little thing, not much of a companion, that was certain. Lady Bingham wouldn’t be sorry when this was over and the girl was delivered to Thursley. What happened after that was none of her concern.

CHAPTER
1
9

B
y the time they arrived back at Sovay’s door, any pretence of cordiality between them had nearly broken. Sovay did not mean to be discourteous but she found Lady Bingham’s company exhausting. On the surface, everything was relentlessly trivial but beneath Sovay sensed deep waters. Even ordinary conversation felt as though they were engaged in an elaborate cotillion to which she had to guess the steps and putting a foot wrong would spell disaster.

Sovay stripped off her gloves and removed her wisp of a headdress, ready to hand them to Mrs Crombie, her mind still on Lady Bingham.

‘Oh, Miss Sovay!’

The housekeeper stayed by her, gloves and headdress crushed in her hand. She was hovering somewhere between tears and mirth, excess emotion fairly vibrating through her. It was so unlike her that Sovay felt immediate alarm.

‘Mrs Crombie, what is it? Whatever is the matter?’

‘In your father’s study. He arrived not an hour since. So thin . . . Like a skeleton . . .’

Sovay failed to hear the rest of her words. She ran down the hallway, threw open the doors of her father’s study and hurled herself into the arms of her brother.

He seemed all bone and skin, she could feel his ribs through his coat, but he was strong enough to lift her off her feet and whirl her round as he always did when he was back from school. When he finally released her, they looked at each other both too filled with emotion to speak. Sovay was so glad to see him that she could not find words for it. Anyway, she could not think of what to say. His appearance surprised her greatly. He was rake thin, his clothes were hanging off him, but what he was wearing was even more shocking. He wore the dress of a French patriot: a long riding coat over a plain white shirt open at the collar. He wore the
pantaleons
of the
sans-culottes
and black boots turned down. His hair was cropped short into a gold cap of curls, like those of a young Greek god, or Roman hero.

‘At least I left off my
tricolour
and
bonnet rouge
,’ he said, smiling at her reaction.

‘Good that you did.’ Sovay shuddered at what could have happened, recalling the man she’d seen beaten in the street.

‘You must forgive me appearing as a
citoyen
. I did not think it would trouble you so. I left Paris in a hurry in what I stood up in.’

‘Why did you go there? I’ve been so worried . . .’ Sovay felt tears threatening again.

‘Shush.’ Hugh took her in his arms again, much as he used to comfort his little sister when she had fallen over and grazed her knee. Finally, he held her away from him and looked at her. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’

‘Yes, you are here now. But why on earth did you not tell anyone?’

She looked at him, her large eyes magnified by tears. Hugh could never decide between blue or grey. Storm clouds or summer’s day?

‘I went because I wanted to be part of the greatest event to happen in our time, perhaps any time,’ he answered. ‘I had to be there. I had to see for myself. I acted partly on impulse. I could not tell father, he would have tried to dissuade me and I did not want to quarrel with him. I never dreamt that he would come after me.’ He sighed. ‘That is my only regret.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘He is in hiding. In a village outside Paris. He is safe there.’

‘For how long?’ Sovay remembered Dysart’s veiled warning. She could hardly contain her agitation or her anger with Hugh. He was standing there, safe and sound, while who knew what was happening to her father. Her relief at seeing him was over. She turned on her brother, accusing. ‘How could you have left him there?’

‘It is difficult for him to travel,’ Hugh’s shoulders slumped, and Sovay was immediately sorry for her anger. ‘The English are
interdit
and liable to immediate arrest as spies or enemies of the Republic. I have papers, thanks to M Fernand, and can pass as a
citoyen
but Father might as well have the Union flag emblazoned on his forehead. He got to Paris with Henry Fitzwilliam, who is a familiar presence there. The French want to ferment rebellion in Ireland, so he should have been safe with him, but the situation grows ever more volatile. Circumstances change day by day, sometimes hour by hour. What is safe one day will get you guillotined the next. We thought it better for him to be out of Paris. We were set to leave together, across country to a port in Normandy, from there by a smuggler’s vessel to the south coast. But . . .’ He hesitated, aware of the effect his words might have on his sister. ‘He is not well, Sovay.’

‘What is the matter?’

‘Congestion round the heart is what the doctor we found for him diagnosed. He ordered absolute rest as the only cure and I fear that difficult travel, beset about by constant danger, then a long sea journey might have been too much for him.’

‘How could you leave him like that?’ Sovay shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘He begged me to go. He is safe enough where he is. Some areas, even close to the capital, remain almost untouched by the work of the Revolutionary Committees and the Tribunal who orchestrate
la Terreur.
’

‘That still does not answer my question. How could you have left him and saved yourself?’ Sovay turned away. Her anger surged back and threatened to overwhelm her.

‘Do not be angry with him.’ A quiet voice came from the shadows at the side of the room. ‘He came at my request. He didn’t want to leave your father. I had to persuade him.’

Sovay recognised the soft tones and measured cadence of the American, Virgil Barrett. She had been so transported by seeing Hugh again, that she had not stopped to think that another might be there.

‘You said you had a surprise for me.’ Sovay turned away, embarrassed at his presence.

‘Virgil told us about Dysart’s plans, about this gathering at Thursley,’ Hugh said. ‘That he has invited you to be there. Sovay, you do not realise the danger that puts you in –’

‘That is no reason for you to leave Father!’ This time her anger included them both. ‘I do not need you to come and rescue me like a distressed damsel in a fable.’

‘That may or may not be so.’ Hugh took her hand. ‘But saving you from your impetuous nature is only part of the reason. As soon as Father heard of this, he insisted I come back and go with you. He would not hear of you facing such danger alone. I came with his full sanction. Dysart plans to plunge the country into a chaos at least as bloody as anything that is happening in France. Father wants us to stop him.’ He picked up the invitation. ‘This will be no ordinary house party. It will mark the beginning of a coup d’état, unless we can stop it. This is an invitation to our family. Fortunately, you are no longer the sole representative. I have the right to attend on another count. As I understand it, Thursley will be hosting a meeting of the Illuminati.’

Sovay had never heard of them. ‘Who, or what, are they?’

‘It’s a secret society. It was started in Ingolstadt in Bavaria and has since spread all over Europe. I am initiate, through Fitzwilliam in Oxford, and I’ve attended a brother group, Les Cordeliers, in France where M Fernand was a founder.’

‘I am also a member,’ Virgil spoke. ‘I belong to a lodge in Portsmouth, Virginia, which numbers Thomas Jefferson among its members.’

‘You belong to the same society as Dysart!’ Sovay looked from one to the other in horror, not knowing whether she could trust her own brother any more.

‘It is not how it seems!’ Virgil put his hands up to placate her. ‘Most lodges are harmless, like the Masons. They are simply places where like-minded men can meet together and share in the pursuit of knowledge and enlightenment through reading and discussion. Some lodges, however, have become corrupted, little more than dens of depraved libertines. Others have used their secrecy to cloak their sinister intentions and the ruthless pursuit of power. I fear that Dysart’s Lodge may combine both evil aspects.’

‘Why he wants your presence,’ Hugh took both her hands, ‘I can only guess at, but it is why I’ve returned. I cannot see you put in danger’s way.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ she said.

Brother and sister stared at each other. To Sovay, he seemed to have changed completely. He looked very much older than the picture of him that she carried in her memory. There was little trace left in his face of the dreamy poet, the passionate freethinker who delighted in ideas and flitted like a butterfly from one novel concept to another. Veins showed blue under the translucent skin of his temples and high forehead; his thinness had pared away at the rounded cheeks, draining the high colour, reshaping the boyish face to reveal the pale, aesthetic handsomeness of a young Renaissance saint or scholar. Passion still showed in his large eyes, but there was the blue glint of steel there now. A tightness in the jaw and tension lines around the mouth indicated a new strength brought about by tempering experience.

He, in turn, noted changes in her. She had come in wearing evening dress. The gown was a simple design, but bare at the neck and shoulders, which made her look much older. Her face, too, was changing. There had been a subtle shifting of proportions: eyes that had appeared too large, nose too straight, brows too marked, lips too full for a young girl’s face had, by some alchemy, undergone a dramatic change. As she grew towards womanhood, she was beginning to fulfil the promise of great beauty that had long been predicted for her. That she, as yet, seemed unaware of this transformation, lent it even more power and aroused within him a strong feeling of brotherly protectiveness. In her younger self, her expression had often been marred by a sullen, resentful air of abstraction. This had been replaced by an active animation, which suited her much better, and there was a new softening, a kindness and concern in her intelligent gaze, that he did not remember seeing there before.

‘Hugh!’ Gabriel burst into the room. ‘Mrs Crombie told me you were here! I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you!’

‘Or I you!’ Hugh went over to meet him. ‘Old friend! I had not thought to see
you
here!’

Gabriel took his friend in his strong embrace and Sovay wondered if Lydia was right in her judgement of exactly who was the object of Gabriel’s affection.

‘I’ve just come from Oldfield’s office.’ Gabriel turned to Sovay. ‘He’s taken on the cases of those arrested after Fender’s Field. The hearings have been put back as he predicted. Skidmore has come across something interesting.’ He looked to Hugh and Virgil. ‘He’s Oldfield’s clerk. Enterprising young fellow. He’s taken up spying,’ he laughed. ‘On the spy master at that! He has a friend who works in Leggatt’s Court, where Dysart’s offices are. He’s taken to loitering there, seeing what he can find out.’

‘And has he?’ Sovay asked. ‘Found out anything, I mean.’

‘Plenty. He’s got his friend to log comings and goings. This evening, Gribbon, that’s the name of Dysart’s clerk, left the office in a hurry. Skidmore contrived to bump into him. The letters he was carrying went flying and Skidmore, polite young man that he is, helped the old man pick them up.’

‘Did he notice the addresses?’

‘Naturally he did. Dover, apparently. Gribbon was taking them to the Post Office for the night coach.’

‘Those letters will be bound for France,’ Virgil Barrett said. ‘To be delivered by some smuggler’s boat running the blockade.’

‘That’s what Oldfield thought.’ Gabriel looked at Hugh. ‘He will be glad to know that you are here. And safe. But what of the master?’

‘Is Oldfield still at his offices?’ Hugh asked.

‘I think so,’ Gabriel answered. ‘He seems to fairly live there at the moment.’

‘There are things I want to discuss with him,’ Hugh went to the door. ‘I will tell you about my father on the way.’

Virgil elected to join them and the three men left Sovay in her father’s study. It did not occur to them to ask her to go with them and they barely had time to say farewell. They left engrossed in conversation and had dismissed her from their minds by the time they reached the front door.

‘Is there anything more, miss?’ Mrs Crombie came into the room, rousing Sovay from her thoughts.

‘No, nothing more. I am rather fatigued. I think I will retire.’

‘I’ll call Lydia.’

‘No need to, Mrs Crombie. I can manage very well. I will need nothing more tonight.’

Sovay went up the stairs, her thoughts on the letters destined for Dover. They would be taken on the night mail coach. She paused on the first landing and listened. The house was quiet. The servants had retired to their quarters in the basement.

Sovay went to her room. Earlier in the day, Lydia had taken another delivery, very different from the clothes from Madame Chantal’s establishment. These were from Hazell and Smith on Old Bond Street. They had done well, even with Sovay’s approximate instructions. The suit fitted far better than her brother’s. She put on the cloak and hat and admired the effect in the mirror. Captain Blaze would ride again.