The Licence of War (19 page)

Laurence blinked away tears of his own: this sounded like a farewell speech. “I promise, if it’s in my power, that we won’t quarrel again.”

“Laurence,” Lord Beaumont said more sternly, “twice your mother and I tried and failed to find a girl who would meet with your approval. On the second occasion, you told us that you wanted to choose your bride, and I acquiesced. But you are on the verge of an unfortunate alliance.”

“I beg to differ,” Laurence said. “I’d be very fortunate to have Mistress Savage as my wife, and I won’t dishonour her by retracting my proposal.”

“Ingram gave account of her merits, and how she snatched you from the brink of death in Oxford Castle. For that, I thank her with my heart, and if you cannot leave her as a mistress, it is your affair. In marrying her, however, you would grieve us terribly. Dear boy,
surely you have loved other women as you do Mistress Savage, and imagined the earth would cease to spin if you could not be together?”

“There was one,” admitted Laurence.

“Just
one
, among them all?” asked Lord Beaumont, with a combination of humour and mild bemusement. “When was that?”

“The summer before last.” Laurence thought back to the hot night on the rugged Andaluz hills when Juana had rejected him; so different from the present frigid morning in a carefully tended park. Lord Beaumont might fall off his horse if he learnt that the object of Laurence’s mad obsession had been a gypsy thief. Nevertheless, to a degree Juana and his father shared the same view:
We did not create this world, Monsieur, but we must abide by its rules
.

Lord Beaumont cast him an inquisitive frown. “Would you still wish to be with her?”

Laurence could not lie. “No.”

“
Quod erat demonstrandum
. I intend no dishonour to Mistress Savage, but I ask that you wait upon your offer to her. Should she inquire the reason, you may tell her it is on my request.”

“I’m a bit too old for that excuse.”

“So you are,” said Lord Beaumont. “Over Christmastide, if possible before Anne’s wedding, call upon the Furnivals and become better acquainted with Penelope. Try to see
her
merits. Your mother said you found her pretty, which is a start. Have I your word, sir?”

Laurence hesitated; he was about to betray Isabella, as she had predicted. “You have it,” he said.

“I thank you, my son.” Lord Beaumont leant from his saddle to press Laurence’s arm. “And I’ve yet another request. We are concerned about Elizabeth. You and she were always close. She will not confide in Anne, but Anne is convinced that more ails her than the sorrow of widowhood. She might confide in you.”

Laurence discovered Elizabeth in the parlour. She was sitting on the bench before her virginals, not playing the instrument but staring
fixedly at the keyboard. He shut the door behind him, and edged onto the bench beside her.

“Liz,” he said, “I can only imagine how painful it must be for you, with all the talk about Anne and Ingram’s wedding.”

“Let me guess the next platitude on your lips,” said Elizabeth. “I’m still mourning my husband, and Anne’s joy must bring forth memories of my brief happiness. The truth is, Laurence, I spent more time with Ormiston during our courtship than after the wedding, and living as his wife in his mother’s house with his carping old maid sisters was intolerable.” Laurence held his peace. “Now I’m disgusted by myself. Without the miniature portrait that he had painted for me on our betrothal, I might already have forgotten his face. And I loved him so much. I suppose I love him still, but it’s like loving a ghost. How could it happen to me, in less than half a year? I’m evil and rotten, and cold inside.”

Laurence tucked an arm around her waist. “You’re none of those things, but I’ll say this for you: you’re as prone to exaggeration as our mother.”

“There’s more that I am ashamed of,” she said, squirming away. Again, he waited for her to speak. “Do you recall when we talked, before my wedding night?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I could count upon my ten fingers the number of times I lay with Ormiston, but I showed him how to please me, as you had described, and … 
that’s
what I remember most about him, not his face. I can’t rid myself of the images that creep into my head, and the urges I have – and at the most inopportune of moments.” He smiled, seeing the blood rush to her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have told you – you take it as a joke.” She gave him a fierce shove.

“I’m very glad you did. And though it’s beyond even my dubious morals to administer the cure, what I think you need is a good … A good man,” he finished.

She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “Is that what you
meant to say?” They both started to laugh, quietly at first, and then uproariously, until they were collapsed upon each other, shaking with mirth. It was not the release she might have desired, yet it was better than nothing; and Laurence felt the better for it, too. “So I’m not sick?”

“Oh yes you are, along with much of humankind and pretty much the entire animal kingdom.”

“You won’t tell anyone.”

“No, but I could suggest to his lordship that you might be interested to receive suitors.”

“Wouldn’t it be disrespectful to Ormiston’s memory?”

“I didn’t know him well, Liz, but
he
was a good man, and he’d want you to be happy.”

“What will Tom say?”

He will be furious
, Laurence replied to himself. “You can cross that bridge when you come to it.”

“Isn’t it odd: last year I married Tom’s dearest friend, and this year Anne is to marry yours.” Elizabeth’s blue eyes, upward-slanted like his, were alert and a little scheming. “Might there be any potential suitors for me among your other friends?”

Laurence shook his head at her. “
You
work fast.”

“There’s no harm in asking. While you may not be one of them yourself,” she added teasingly, “you must know at least
some
good men.”

Price followed the turnkey of Winchester House into what must once have been a majestic hall, but was now parcelled into a warren of small chambers, narrow corridors, and rickety staircases. At length the turnkey halted before a door, rapped upon it, and said, “Mr. Devenish, sir, a Mr. Price is here to see Major Ogle.”

The door opened onto a cosily appointed room with a four-poster bed, padded armchairs, and Turkey hangings on the walls. Before the fire an old brindled dog lay snoring, its grey muzzle resting on its paws. Above the fireplace was a wooden board from which
dangled dozens of keys. Devenish was of middle age and prosperous in appearance; fat from bribes like all gaol keepers, Price thought. “Who are you, Mr. Price?” Devenish inquired, when the turnkey had disappeared. Price showed his credentials, a note in cipher from Lord Digby. “Ah yes,” said Devenish, and his left eye began to twitch.

“How fares the Major?” asked Price, in the neutral way that Beaumont had taught him.

“You may judge for yourself, sir,” Devenish whispered. “I wrote to the Earl of Bristol again through Lieutenant-Colonel Mosely. Ogle will be let out, as soon as I have His Majesty’s warrant. In my letter I gave the Earl a list of what else was needed.”

Price handed over a bag. “You will find here the warrant, a safe conduct for Major Ogle to travel to Oxford, and a bill of exchange for a hundred pounds to deal with his expenses.”

He expected some sign of excitement on Devenish’s face, or at least a thanks, but Devenish only said, his eye twitching away, “No more than a short visit with Ogle, sir, and you must be gone.” He selected a key from the board. As he opened the door, his dog struggled up on its stiff legs. “Down, Hodge,” he said to it, with an affection that touched Price. The dog flopped gratefully to the floor, and rested its head back on its paws.

Through another maze of passages, they reached the cell, spacious and comfortable, with a high casement window to provide fresh air. Several men were playing cards, and one, youngish and honest-faced, smiled at Devenish as he might his host at a social gathering.

“Major Ogle, Mr. Price has been sent by your
wife
to assure her that you are in health, sir,” said Devenish.

“Cousin Price, how are you?” said Ogle, rising. “Have you news of her and the children?”

“They are well, praise God, and praying for the day you’re reunited,” Price answered smoothly.

“You can tell her that Keeper Devenish treats us very considerately – an hour of exercise each morning, wine, and meat for supper.
We may be better off than most Londoners. Come and inspect the view: it’s a pleasing prospect.” Ogle drew Price over to the window. It gave onto Clink Street, with the river in the distance; the drop was too steep to afford escape. “Confirm to Lord Bristol that the parties are agreed on Church reforms,” Ogle murmured. “When I get to Oxford, I’ll furnish him with a complete account. But he must not delay in securing my freedom.”

“He hasn’t.” Price grinned over at the pinpoints of light that twinkled on the far bank of the Thames. “You ask Mr. Devenish.”

They said no more, and afterwards Devenish escorted Price to the prison entrance. “You could get lost, otherwise,” he said.

“I thank you, Mr. Devenish,” said Price, adding under his breath, “Both the Earl and His Majesty are happy to have such a friend in you.”

Devenish grunted noncommittally, and retreated into his warren.

The turnkey was unlocking the main gate to admit a man in smart, sombre clothes with a satchel under his arm. “Good day to you, Mr. Draycott,” the turnkey said. At once the name set Price’s heart thumping: a Corporal Draycott, formerly a lawyer, had been with Veech that night when Beaumont had been chased through the streets. It was a coincidence Price could not pass up. He heard Beaumont’s voice in his head:
Move slowly, breathe deeply, and look a man straight in the face without wavering. Always say as little as you can, especially if you’re told the unexpected, and especially if you have to lie. And always remember your lies, which is why you should keep them simple, and mix in a little of the truth
. Price walked slowly through the gate, and called out, “Corporal Draycott?”

Draycott halted, polite confusion on his face. “Do I know—?”

“My name is Edward Price, sir, and I wonder if I might speak with you for but a minute,” Price interjected, in an eager, yet not too eager, tone.

“How do you know
my
name?” Draycott asked, as Price approached him.

“I’ve family near the fort at St. George’s Fields. You were an officer there, I believe.”

“Yes, but not any more. What is your business, sir?”

Price looked into Draycott’s eyes. “I can get you information about a fugitive who escaped from the fort last month.” He discerned a smidgeon of interest.

“What fugitive?”

Price pulled a creased broadsheet out of his doublet. “Is the reward still offered on this man?”

“No, it has been withdrawn,” said Draycott in a colder voice. “Too many people came forward – with
false
information.”

“For the same reward,” said Price, “I’ll even help you catch him.”

Laurence wanted to go straight to Isabella’s house on the chance that she might have come home while he was at Chipping Campden, but he felt bound to call first on Digby, who would know anyway if she were back in Oxford. “His lordship is out, Mr. Beaumont,” Quayle said, at the door. “But His Majesty wished you to attend him immediately upon your return.”

Through boot-high drifts of snow, Laurence slogged over to Christ Church, and announced his presence to the King’s equerry. He felt an ominous sinking in the pit of his stomach as he was shown into the royal chamber, where His Majesty and the Queen were at a game of draughts with Prince Charles before a companionable fire. They might have been a family like any other, Laurence thought, except that they were not.

“Mr. Beaumont, how did you find your stay in Chipping Campden?” the King asked solicitously.

“It was most enjoyable, thank you, Your Majesty. Everyone is busy preparing for my sister’s wedding later this month.”

“Is it not about time for yours, sir?” inquired the Queen.

“Your Majesty is ahead of me there,” Laurence said to her, at which Prince Charles snorted with laughter.

“I trust his lordship your father has had no t-trouble from Colonel Massey’s Gloucester garrison?” the King said next.

“No, Your Majesty, though it is a worry to him that he may soon receive a visit from the Colonel’s men.”

“Pray God his worries will soon be removed. Let us talk, sir.” The King rose and picked up his cane. “We shall go to the Great Hall.”

The Hall was so chilly that they could see their breath in the air. The King waved Laurence to a bench at one of the long tables, at a distance from the liveried guards posted at the doors, and took a seat opposite. “I heard of your objections to our strategy for the c-coming spring,” he began, in a subdued voice, “and your concern about our friends Devenish and Mosely. Yet from my own correspondence with them, I have no question as to their allegiance, Mr. Beaumont. These various plans of ours will unfold towards a single purpose, as I shall explain. It is my d-desire that you put the same faith in Lords Bristol and Digby as you have in me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Laurence; he had about the same amount of faith in all three of them, and it was fast eroding. And why should the King devote to him such personal attention, if there were not some doubt gnawing at the royal mind?

The King raised his eyes to the rafters. “Here, in this very place, I intend to call an assembly, late in January. It will be my parliament, to which
all
discontented souls will be invited, on terms of a free and general pardon, to profess their fealty to me. They will swear an oath that the Parliament sitting in Westminster is illegitimate and has no legislative authority within my realm. I shall embrace the independent sects, the City Councillors of London, and whoever has the courage to depart from the Lords and Commons, and from the rebel armies.” Not a trace of his stammer now, Laurence noticed: the King was confident of success. “The idea for my assembly came from Edward Hyde, Lord Falkland’s old ally,” the King went on. “I cherish the thought that Falkland, whom you and I both esteemed so highly, would have approved.”