The Licence of War (32 page)

Price closed the door and collapsed onto the luxurious featherbed. He imagined Elizabeth lying with him, her arms twined about his neck. And Beaumont had stuck him in a corner of this vast mansion, expecting him to stay there like an obedient child! “I’m not good enough for your sister, eh?” he was complaining into his pillow, when a noise arrested him: the click of a woman’s heels in the corridor. Someone knocked gently. He leapt from the bed, and answered, to Elizabeth.

“Mr. Price, are you retiring already to sleep?”

“Why … no, my lady,” he replied.

She took a step nearer, leaving the door ajar. “How pleased I am to see you,” she said, in the same spontaneous manner as at the wedding banquet. “I’ve thought often of you, since we met.”

“As … have I of you,” he said, cautiously.

“My brother is particularly mysterious about you. He’s told me only that you were of assistance to him, and that he recommended you to Lord Digby.” Price nodded, further encouraged by Beaumont’s discretion. “Are you married, sir?” she asked next, so directly and with such candid interest that he hesitated.

“I am a bachelor, my lady, free to pledge my affections where I choose.”

“Have you a … sweetheart?”

This time, Price did not hesitate. “No, my lady, and though you may consider me very forward, there is none other to whom I would rather pledge myself, than to you.”

She sighed and offered him her hand, which he pressed to his lips. “I have been lonely, after the death of my husband. I never hoped to love again, as I did him. And yet …” She gave his fingers a little squeeze. “My strongest instincts inform me that … I am in love with
you
.”

“My lady, those last words were on the tip of my tongue.”

“You needn’t worry that my parents might forbid me to accept suitors so soon upon my widowhood,” she said, with an assurance that dizzied him. “They have agreed that I can, once Laurence is married. He and Mistress Furnival are to be wed in a matter of months.”

“There might be other obstacles,” Price said, yearning for her to demolish them. “I am not of noble birth.”

“Nor is Anne’s husband, Walter Ingram.”

“I have no property to my name.”

A shade of uncertainty crossed her face. “Ingram’s Aunt Musgrave made him heir to her estate – that was what sealed the betrothal. But Laurence told Ingram he would have spoken in favour of the marriage, even so. He’ll do as much for us. He’s your friend, too, is he not?”

Price grew anxious: Beaumont could come upon them at any minute. “Yes, but my lady—”

“Elizabeth,” she corrected him.

“Elizabeth, we must keep our love private between us.”

“Doesn’t Laurence know?”

“I would have been presumptuous to speak out, when I was afraid you might not reciprocate my feelings.”

“Now you can. Or
I’ll
tell him. And I can confide in Anne, not that she hasn’t guessed.”

“No, I beg you – we’ve met just twice, and I have many things to settle before I can ask for your hand. I’ve … I’ve debts to repay.”

“Ah well, afterwards we won’t have to concern ourselves about money. My bridal portion was restored to my father by Ormiston’s mother upon his death, since he and I were wed less than a year. It’s over a thousand pounds.”

High stakes, thought Price. “Elizabeth, let’s not be rash. In due course, I’ll address his lordship for permission to court you. Anything else would be unworthy of us both. We should say no more tonight, but you will hear from me. Promise you will abide by my instructions?”

“I promise.” She danced out, and blew him a kiss. “And I wish you happy dreams, sir.”

Price shut the door again, trembling from head to toe. Impossible to maintain a conversation with Beaumont: his excitement would betray him, and that divine creature and her thousand pounds might be lost to him forever. He tore off his boots, undressed to his shirt, extinguished the candle by his bedside, and dived under the covers. He was praying for God to smooth his path towards marital bliss, when the clink of spurs in the corridor signalled Beaumont’s approach.

A firmer knock sounded. “Price? Are you awake?”

Price stumbled from bed, ran his fingers through his hair to dishevel it, and padded to the door. He opened it an inch. “I’m sorry, Beaumont – the journey must have tired me out.”

Beaumont had two glasses in his left hand, a letter in his right, and a bottle tucked into his sling. “Never mind, we’ll drink when I get to Oxford in a couple of weeks. This is for Digby.” He passed Price the letter. “
I’m
sorry, about my rudeness earlier. It was a consequence of anxiety, but I shouldn’t have directed it at you.”

“Oh, I understand. We could drink one glass,” said Price, feeling somewhat calmed, and buoyed by Beaumont’s apology, as frank as Elizabeth’s declaration of love.

“No, no – one always leads to another, and you’ve a long ride tomorrow. Price,” Beaumont went on, more quietly, “I met Sue when I was in London. She told me about taking Devenish the pie – and about the child.”

“Trust her to keep a secret.”

“She asked if I wanted to hide in her room. Of course, I couldn’t accept.”

“What was she thinking – as though
you’d
ever stay in a wretched hole like that.”

“I’d have been grateful for it, but I might have brought her a lot of trouble. She was brave to offer.”

“So she was.” For the second time that night, Price summoned
up his own courage. “But I’m afraid my fancy for her is over, Beaumont. Though I wish I could go and explain to her honestly, as a man should, I can’t risk it, now that my cover’s blown with Veech. I’m not worried about her,” he said, forcing a grin. “She has a bevy of admirers at the Saracen’s Head. She’ll find a husband faster than I could say the Lord’s Prayer.”

“Then you might write and suggest that she does.”

“She can’t read.” Price saw reproach in Beaumont’s eyes, and felt annoyed. “Have
you
never got a woman with child that you had no desire to marry?”

“Perhaps many times, without my knowledge,” Beaumont admitted. “I do know of one, when I was sixteen, and marriage was out of the question. She was a servant here.”

“What became of her?”

“My mother dismissed her with a payment, and I was sent abroad on a tour. On my return nearly a year later, I’m ashamed to say I’d forgotten her.”

“You had your problem solved for you.”

“And it’s not to my credit.”

Price thought of Elizabeth: he would need Beaumont’s good opinion of him in his dealings with women if he was to court her. “I swear, I’ll do what I can to make amends with Sue.”

“Well, then … If I’m not up before you leave, God speed. And goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Beaumont,” said Price.

Laurence and his father were sitting in the Hall, gazing up at Van Dyke’s magnificent portrait of his lordship. “Now that we have stripped ourselves of smaller treasures,” Lord Beaumont said, in a conspiratorial tone, “might more items be preserved from the rebels, such as my canvasses, and my bronze statuettes from Venice? Or am I becoming greedy?”

“The canvasses are easily stored without their frames. You can remove them and the tapestries, and lay them flat under the rafters of the house. If you hang some of your less prized works of art in their place, Colonel Massey’s troopers won’t look very far, unless they’re as discerning in taste as you are yourself. As for the bronzes,” Laurence suggested, “you might sink them in the river – weigh down the lighter ones and chain them together.”

“And what could be done with my horses? It will break Jacob’s heart, should the rebels take them away. He has bred and raised them for generations, and is fonder of them than his own children.”

“I don’t blame him – horses must be less of a nuisance.”

“On the subject of children, my boy, you ought to call upon Mistress Fur—”

“Who’s singing at the virginals?” interrupted Laurence quickly.

Lord Beaumont keened an ear to listen. “Elizabeth has not touched that instrument since Ormiston’s death! She may be recovering her old spirit. Would you ask her to play me my favourite air by Dowland? ‘
Come again, sweet love doth now invite
,.’ ” he sang, in his tuneful tenor.

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to oblige you,” Laurence said.

When he walked into the parlour, Elizabeth was still playing. The beatific look on her face changed, as he shut the door behind him. “What is it, Laurence?”

“Liz, are you in love with Price?”

She dropped her hands into her lap, and took a deep breath. “Remember when we spoke here about my situation, and I asked if you had any potential suitors for me among your friends?”

“Yes.”

“And later you denied whisking Mr. Price away from Anne and Ingram’s banquet, to keep him from me.” Laurence nodded, now regretting that he had not told her more of the truth about Price. “And last night you invited him to stay. I presume
he
is your friend.”

“He is, of a sort.”

“Not like Ingram?”

“I have few, if any, friends like Ingram. Liz, you hardly know Price.”

“You hardly know Pen Furnival, and you are about to propose to her.”

“I’m not marrying for love. And our mother has gone to inordinate lengths to ensure that she’ll make me a suitable wife.”

“Why would Mr. Price not be suitable for my husband? Is it because he has debts?”

Laurence blinked at her. “When did he tell you that?”

“When I happened to pass by his chamber, as he was about to go to bed.”

Laurence recalled Price, subdued at table, sneaking glances at Elizabeth; then sulky, upstairs; and next assailed by fatigue in the space of half an hour. “You
happened to pass by
?”

“I wished to bid him goodnight.”

“And this brought on a discussion of his debts?” She coloured. “Did he profess his love for you?”

“We talked of our feelings.”

“Ah, then it was a mutual profession,” said Laurence; no wonder Sue had faded so rapidly from Price’s fancy.

“Laurence, your protective urge is natural in an older brother, but I am a grown woman and I have been a wife. I might add that as a sign of his respect, Mr. Price has refused to court me without our father’s agreement.”

“I should damned well hope he has.”

“I see no reason for you to oppose our courtship, unless you’re aware of some dread secret he is hiding.”

Price’s secrets were tawdry rather than dread, Laurence reflected. “Price was born poor. He’s had to do some less than … honourable things to survive.”

“What things?”

“It’s not my place to discuss them – it’s his. But
I
have done some of these same things and worse, with far less need given my advantages
in life. I know from experience how they can affect a man’s character, to his detriment. Price may love you, but he may also love what you could bring him. I’m not sure which is most important to him. He may not be sure himself.”

“What difference does it make, if we’re happy together?”

“It could make a great difference, believe me: as his wife, you’ll be his property by law – and your property will be his. Don’t be in such a rush. You’ll have other offers.”

“Not while you men are busy fighting in this accursed war. I’d prefer to be widowed again, than miss an opportunity for happiness.”

Laurence decided not to argue. He could rely upon Lady Beaumont to put a crushing end to Price’s ambitions; and yet he hated Elizabeth to suffer the inevitable pain. “You might consult Anne, before your feelings run riot,” he said. “She showed excellent judgement in her husband, and she’s not as much of a cynic as I am.”

Elizabeth gave an exasperated snort, turned to the keyboard, and launched into a loud, aggressive gigue.

Normally Draycott wore his best suit of black clothes but once a week, to attend church. This week, he had dressed in it twice: to bury his son, and now to visit Sir Montague Hallam. If not for the mourning band Judith had stitched on his hat, he resembled any lawyer visiting a client. Within, however, he felt as though every nerve in his body were scraped raw. Immersed in his grief, he walked right by Sir Montague’s house; and he longed to carry on walking blindly down the Strand, for as far as his legs would carry him. It required an effort of will to retrace his path, ascend the steps of the handsome red brick mansion, and reach for the brass door knocker.

An elderly manservant accepted his cloak in the entrance hall, led him up to the second floor and through double doors into a wood-panelled gallery that spanned the length of the house, and then left him. On the walls hung tapestries depicting events in the life of
Jesus. The Crucifixion scene had the air of a village festival; its gay colours assaulted Draycott’s eyes. He moved to Christ healing the sick; one was a child of about Gregory’s age. Why had Christ not listened to his prayers, and healed his son? Judith had told him to have faith in the Almighty’s Divine purpose, but nothing could justify the torment of those final hours. He nearly agreed with Veech:
I cannot think of one sound reason to bring another human being into this world
.

“My favourite is the temptation of our Lord,” said someone behind him. “Satan has such a smile upon his face, as of a cat that has stolen the cream.”

Draycott turned; from the low, gritty timbre of the voice he expected a boy. Instead it belonged to a dark-haired woman in shimmering satin whose loveliness momentarily erased his thoughts. The pretty young maid at her side seemed plain in comparison.

He bowed. “May I present myself: Mr. Draycott, legal counsel to Parliament.”

“I am Lady Isabella Hallam. My husband will soon join us. Has Greenhalgh offered you wine?”

“No, my lady,” said Draycott, trying not to stare at her.

“You must sample a glass of Burgundy from our cellar,” Lady Isabella said, with a bewitching smile. “Lucy,” she murmured to the girl, who slipped out obediently. “Mr. Draycott, let us be seated.” As she took a chair and arranged her skirts, Draycott glimpsed a vivid rainbow flash from the massive diamond on her ring finger. “Sir Montague told me that you are come about the licence. You must have distinguished yourself, to represent Parliament on such a lucrative contract. The Company formerly negotiated with one of His Majesty’s lawyers – an astute fellow, according to my husband, and an expert on wine.”