Marigold Chain (29 page)

Chloë had gone
to Tunbridge Wells hoping to find peace of mind and in the first
few days there was tranquillity of a sort, brought about by the air
of dawdling business that invested the royal household. You never,
she discovered, had much to do but you always had to be there,
formally gowned and smiling, as you chatted over your embroidery or
accompanied the Queen in her carriage or walked with her in the
gardens. And you were never, ever alone. Chloë settled in amongst
the other ladies like a raven amongst peacocks and for a time the
strange novelty of her life contrived to exercise a beneficial
effect on her spirits. Then came the letter from her husband and
she was carrying hods in Egypt again.

It was a cool,
impersonal letter, written in flamboyant hand-writing and signed
with his initials. Chloë had stared at it for a long time,
disappointment in her eyes and anxiety in her heart, thinking how
typical it was. Anyone else would use their name; anyone else, damn
it, would stay at home in his slippers and leave the war to those
whose job it was. Hadn’t anyone, she wondered, blowing her nose,
ever told Mr Deveril that the things you liked were usually bad for
you?

Wednesday, the
twenty-fifth, was the feast of St James the Apostle and Chloë, who
had woken with a nagging headache, went quietly to Mass with Queen
Catherine and moved through the rest of the day with a vague sense
of unease. It was not until Friday, when news came that the fleet
had been engaged, that she understood it; and then had to live
through four long days before more detailed news arrived with the
King and his suite.

They were only
too pleased to talk of the late battle for this time Prince Rupert
and the Duke of Albemarle had won a conclusive victory. Moving
discreetly from one gentleman to another, Chloë discovered that the
two fleets had finally converged early on St James’ day after
previously losing each other during twenty-four hours of gales and
heavy seas. The opposing vanguards had gone into action first but
the centres were soon engaged and Sir Jeremy Smith of the Blue
Squadron had become involved in a confused struggle with the Dutch
rear under Tromp; a struggle which Sir Jeremy had presumably had
the best of, since he kept Tromp away from the rest of the Dutch
fleet and then chased him all the way home.

Elsewhere, the
Dutch van had been driven into retreat in some fierce fighting but
the hottest action, so everyone said, had been in the centre.
Rupert and Albemarle had conducted a furious mêlée, grappling with
the enemy and firing broadside upon broadside against de Ruyter
who, though weakened by the loss of his rear and vanguards, was
still determined to fight on. No one mentioned Mr Deveril but Chloë
gloomily thought that she knew where he would have been.

She joined the
periphery of a little group about George Villiers and listened
while he described in hilarious terms how Albemarle had supposedly
boasted that de Ruyter would give him but two broadsides and then
run. This anecdote was greeted with a good deal of amused ribaldry
from his audience. Chloë moved away and found herself confronting
the King. She curtsied and waited for him to move on. He did not do
so and the cynical gaze rested on her with disturbing
knowledge.

‘
Mistress
Deveril,’ he said, raising her to her feet and placing her hand on
his arm, ‘you have been talking to all the wrong
people.’

Walking at his
side between the stately rose-beds, Chloë decided to say as little
as possible. ‘Oh?’

‘
Indeed,’
nodded Charles placidly. ‘That is – I presume that you want news of
your husband? Or perhaps I’m mistaken and some other fortunate
gentleman is the cause of this pallor?’

The pallor
vanished beneath a deep flush.

‘
No,’
said Chloë baldly. ‘There isn’t – he isn’t – that is, I –
‘

‘
Quite.’
His Majesty was laughing. ‘You know, there is a question I should
dearly love to ask you. And I imagine that you can guess what it
is.’

‘
I - I
think so, Your Majesty.’

‘
But
since it isn’t my business,’ he went on, ‘it would be churlish of
me to inflict upon you the embarrassment of answering it. So I
shall strive to content myself with telling you that, to the best
of my knowledge, Mr Deveril is both alive and well and aboard
the
Royal James
with my
cousin.’

The sense of it
took a moment to sink in and behind her black satin bodice, Chloë
experienced a number of conflicting sensations. At length, she
looked up and her mouth curled into a wide, irresistible smile.

‘
Thank
you, sire.’ She thought for a moment. ‘How do you know?’

Charles raised
one mocking brow.

‘
My dear
– is it possible that Alex could take part in any campaign
and
not
be mentioned in a
despatch? As I understand it, when de Ruyter went into retreat
there was insufficient wind to enable our fleet to overtake him –
so your husband asked for, and was given, command of Rupert’s small
sloop, the
Fan Fan
. He took
it up behind the
Seven Provinces
under oar and, with only two guns and good deal of impudence,
proceeded to harry our Dutch friends for almost an hour. Much, I
might add, to the delight of our own seamen.’

‘
And
without getting himself blown out of the water?’

‘
And
without getting blown out of the water,’ agreed the King gravely.
‘Not that they didn’t try, you understand. But Alex has the luck of
the devil.’

*

Five days later
they were all back in London and Chloë, leaving the Queen to be
settled in by her usual attendants, obtained her release and
scuttled home to Southwark where she was received by Naomi with
rapturous relief and the intelligence that Mr Deveril was still at
sea. An enquiry as to the whereabouts of Mr Lewis produced a
faintly disapproving sniff and the information that he was out and,
as usual, no one knew where.

Matt returned
just as Chloë was sitting down to supper and it immediately struck
her that his normally imperturbable face wore signs of distinct
harassment.

‘
I
think,’ she said conversationally, ‘that you should tell me why Mr
Deveril suddenly decided to join the fleet.’

Matthew took
his time over a mouthful of beef and then said, ‘Maybe I should –
but Mr Alex’ll gut me if I do.’

She sighed.
‘It’s to do with his work for Prince Rupert?’

‘
Aye.’

The food turned
to ashes in Chloë’s mouth and she laid down her knife.

‘
Was
Danny involved in it?’

There was a
long silence before Matt said, ‘No. Only Mr Alex and Mr Giles – and
me.’

The pause had
given him away and her eyes widened with tired shock.

‘
But
someone thought he was – is that it? And they – ‘ She stopped,
pressing her fingers over her mouth, her stomach cold and every
sense revolted by the smell of the food.

Matthew pushed
his plate away with a jerk.

‘
Come
on.’ He rose and drew her out of her seat. ‘You can’t stay in here
with this lot. Come away to the parlour.’ Then, when he had her
settled beside the empty fireplace, he sat down facing her and said
roughly, ‘As for Mr Alex’s work for the Prince, you know I can’t
discuss it. It’s not that I don’t think you can keep your mouth
shut … but the less folk that know, the safer we’ll all
be.’

Chloë looked
across at him and for once didn’t trouble to school her
expression.

‘
I’m
frightened, Matt. I wish he’d come home.’

And Matt, who
felt much the same, scowled direfully.

‘
That’s
no way to go on, lass. Mr Alex can take care of himself well
enough.’

‘
I know.
I know … but it’s hard just waiting and doing nothing.’

The sharp black
eyes rested on her with sudden thoughtfulness.

‘
Well,
worrying yourself silly is no help. But what you
could
do is keep your ears open at
Court and tell me what you hear. Not the bedchamber gossip – but
other things you’ll hear a lot quicker on the inside than I will on
the out.’

Chloë looked
blank. ‘What sort of things?’

Mr Lewis
gestured vaguely. ‘Anything at all – particularly if it’s to do
with the Navy.’ He paused, then added casually, ‘Or the Duke of
York’s household.’

*

Chloë’s first
item of topical excitement came three days later when she passed
the Duke and some of his gentlemen in the Stone Gallery and
observed that the royal nose and right eye were hidden beneath
three separate dressings and around these the skin was covered in
bruises and long, angry scratches. He looked, thought Chloë, as if
he had been in a fight. Seeing Cousin Simon detach himself from the
group and move in her direction, she dutifully slowed her pace to
let him overtake her, then smiled encouragingly and tried not to
stare at his ornate wig and lavender brocade.

‘
Is His
Grace setting a new fashion in face patches?’ she asked
lightly.

Simon gave a
delicate shudder. ‘My dear – pray don’t mention it! He is quite
morbidly sensitive about it at present. Scars, you know.’

Chloë raised
her brows. ‘My goodness – has Sir John Denham taken exception to
the Duke’s pursuit of his wife? Or was it the Duchess?’

‘
Not at
all – though it does look that way, don’t you think? No. It was a
hunting accident. He will ride so recklessly and this is the
result. He rode straight into the branch of a tree and they say it
almost cost him his eye. Dreadful, isn’t it?’ He waved a scented
handkerchief languidly beneath his nostrils. ‘I am so glad I wasn’t
there – I really cannot support the sight of blood. But fortunately
I never hunt. It is so rough and noisy. And the company, my dear …
positively
reeking
of the
stables and so very tedious. All one hears are tales of “Courses I
Have Run” and “Tosses I Have Taken.” It really isn’t for
me.’

‘
No,’
agreed Chloë amiably. ‘I quite see that.’

Simon beamed
with innocent pleasure. ‘Do you? How charming!’ He paused. ‘One
hears, by the way, that Alex is at sea. I am surprised he could
bear to leave you again.’

Chloë’s
expression remained perfectly bland.

‘
In fact
it was the other way about. I was with the Queen, you know – and
Alex was restless and in need of some occupation and a change of
air. I expect him back any day now.’

‘
Oh I
see. Most understandable,’ he drawled. ‘I need a rest myself –
indeed, I leave for Kent at the end of next week. And then, of
course, the estates require attention.’ He sighed gently. ‘No peace
for the wicked, as they say.’

Chloë smiled
brilliantly upon him. ‘Quite.’

Later, when she
relayed this conversation to Mr Lewis he surprised her by listening
with rapt attention and then annoyed her by flatly refusing to
explain his interest. She threatened to keep anything else she
found out to herself but he would not budge; and two days later she
was back again with something much more promising.

‘
Lords
Coventry and Arlington are accused of being in Dutch pay,’ she told
Matt briefly, ‘and the King has spent all day looking into
it.’

Mr Lewis fixed
her with an unwinking black stare.

‘
Accused
by who?’

Chloë shook her
head regretfully.

‘
I
haven’t heard any names yet. There are four of them, I think; three
who have been rather adventurous with Sir William’s reputation and
another who’s done the same for Lord Arlington.’ She looked at him
eagerly. ‘Is it any help?’

Matt laughed
wryly.

‘
Oh aye.
It’s that all right.’

And would say
nothing more.

~ * * * ~

After the
success of the St James day battle, the whole of Holland had been
thrown into a state of panic which the English were naturally at
some pains to prolong. Rupert and Albemarle ordered a blockade
which efficiently sealed up the Dutch fleet and then cruised
serenely under their enemies demoralised gaze whilst planning a
shore-raid on Vlie Island.

News of this
small splinter action reached London some days later and was the
cause of an official day of thanks-giving with gun salutes from the
Tower and street celebrations of varying description. Sir Robert
Holmes, it appeared, having been prevented by bad weather from
landing at Vlieland, had fired one hundred and sixty Dutch East
Indiamen at anchor in the Fly and then, with the aid of a renegade
Dutch Captain, gone on to make a highly successful raid on
Terschelling.

Early on
Tuesday morning Chloë and Matt received a visit from Captain Pierce
who, under cover of the blockade, had returned complete with
tongue, larynx and lungs to report every imaginable detail of his
voyage, his ports of call and his cargo.

At the
end of two hours, Matt claimed a pressing engagement and fled,
leaving Chloë to listen patiently to a glowing description of Genoa
and Bizerta and then, over dinner, to a laborious account of the
return trip. It was a quarter after two before she was able to
bring the worthy Captain down to the mundane requirements of
business and half past four by the time they had worked
through
The Black Boy
’s bill
of lading and made all the necessary arrangements.