Scandalous Innocent (10 page)

‘A woman always has more to lose, and I played my hand badly, clumsy devil that I am. You were right to reject me. But I never stopped wanting you, and if I’d been free to go where I would, I’d have come to tell you so and risk being turned away at your door. But now I’ve got you here, sweet Phoebe, and I cannot let you go again. Let me show you how much I love you, dear heart. You’ll not regret it, I swear.’

The hand continued to explore her, insatiable in its fondling, setting her alight, robbing her of thoughts, twisting her body in his arms to follow his caresses, greedily seeking more. ‘You were right on one thing, Leo,’ she said. ‘I would have been an easy conquest for you. I would have laid myself at your feet if you’d snapped your fingers for me. You were the only man I’d ever have given myself to. Even when I was planning revenge, you managed to turn me inside out with one sweep of your hand. And I have a hundred questions to ask that women are supposed to ask at such times, yet I cannot recall even one. Take me to bed. Show me what I have to do. Teach me all you know, Leo.’ Hiding her burning face against his chest, she breathed in the scent of him, dissolving the last of her fears. Her head lifted to seek him again, while the touch of his lips and hands held her senses in a limbo of delight. ‘“Come away. Sweet love doth now invite,”’ she said, quoting the song.

His white teeth caught the last of the dying light. ‘Doth it, indeed?’ he said. Hooking an arm beneath her knees, he lifted her into his arms. ‘Then who am I to resist such an invitation from the woman I’ve loved for sae long?’

As her room slid gently into darkness and the night spread its warmth over them, her took her carefully through every phase of loving, revealing the mysteries of her body that she had known nothing of, that could only be unlocked by a lover’s hand, never by her own. She had not needed to protest her inexperience, for he could tell it was all new to her, the places to be kissed, her wonder at her own responses, her delight in his magnificent body, the growing fierceness of her ardour long before he expected it.

What he could not tell was the way her memory taunted her with the added thrill of being loved, at last, by the very man who had once held her in contempt, even though she now understood the artifice. Winning Sir Leo Hawkynne and having held him off, fought him and bound him to her, and then fallen in love more deeply than before was the stuff of dreams and not to be taken lightly. After his efforts, he deserved her respect, her devotion and her trust, for he was a man of substance, not a lad with his first love.

The moment, when it came, was for Phoebe the peak of all her desires as well as being a gift as great as any she could bestow, one she’d withheld despite many persuasions. It was for her the most natural thing to be close to him along every surface, to have him fit perfectly inside her, smoothly throbbing, making her moan and cry out at the power in him that could possess her so utterly. That was something she’d not been told to expect. That, and his wonderful muscle-bound body, toned and virile, holding her under him with his hair touching her face, his kisses luring her mind, his deep tones whispering of her beauty in words too intimate for daylight, words she received with sighs and smiles and all her senses stormed.

‘I want this to be good for you, sweet lass,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘I want you to remember the first time you gave yourself to me, without shame or resentment, but for love of me. Is there love for me yet, Phoebe Laker? Or shall I have to do more to earn it?’

‘There has always been…ah…love for you, Leo. I was hurt only because I cared deeply what you thought of me. Forgive me. I hated
and
loved you. Ah…Leo! Something… is hap…happening…’

There was something else that no one had told her of, except with meaninglessly extravagant words too vague to make sense. Her own attempts to speak became cries and inarticulate sounds as his loving swept her on ever faster into a tide of sensation, her hands clinging, raking his back, her mewing gasps suspended on the crest as he arched above her, groaning softly into the tangle of dark ringlets that spread across the pillow. His weight upon her was gentle, like a human blanket that wrapped with tender fingers, rewarding her with breathless kisses and praise for her courage.

‘Don’t go,’ she whispered when her breathing began to settle. ‘Stay there, beloved.’

Leaning upon one elbow, he looked into her eyes, dark and gleaming like deep midnight pools, damp-lashed. ‘Did I hurt ye, sweet lass? Are those tears?’

‘No, Leo. I’m not hurt. Do other women weep at such times? I don’t know. Something happened, and I don’t think I shall ever be the same again. Perhaps this is what it means to become whole.’

‘I’ve waited sae long for this, sweetheart,’ he said, pushing away her tear-drop with the soft heel of his hand. ‘You’re mine now. Wholly mine. Ye’ll be marrying me now, Mistress Laker?’

‘Yes, I’ll be marrying you now, Leo Hawkynne, I thank you.’

Moving out of her, he drew her into his embrace, smoothing her wild hair off her forehead, kissing her damp skin. ‘What a woman,’ he murmured. ‘
What
a tigress for our bairns.’

The next day, Sir Leo suggested a trip to London. ‘I have my barge ready,’ he said. ‘We could be there by mid-day, if we start early tomorrow.’

‘You wish to go to Court?’

‘No, to the Royal Exchange where your family’s shop was. I know it’s been rebuilt since then, but…’

‘But it’s changed hands now, and I don’t know who the new owner is.’

‘No matter. I thought a pilgrimage might help to lay a few ghosts.’

‘It might. Who knows?’

The heat had become oppressive overnight and the sky was heavy, the breeze off the river stronger from the south-west, hitting the long graceful barge with rough waves each time the oarsmen pulled into a bend of the river. Each man had served a seven-year apprenticeship and was entitled to wear the uniform of the Thames Watermen with two badges on the sleeve of the pleated coat, one for the Waterman’s Hall and the other for the Duke of Lauderdale, their employer. Rowing strongly with the tide, they came into the Chelsea reach well before noon, the shelter of the buildings making a welcome respite from the continuous blasts of the wind.

Leaving the barge just short of the bridge, Sir Leo summoned a hackney carriage to take them to Cornhill, giving Phoebe a chance to see some parts of the town that had recently been rebuilt, and to compare her memories of ten years ago with the clean new buildings of brick and stone that were growing in their place. The original stone-built shopping place of the Royal Exchange had suffered less than most and had been restored very much along the same lines as before, four sides of stalls and two-storey arcaded shops set around a vast open square.

The crowds of browsers, shoppers and merchants made it difficult to move forwards with any speed, once they had descended from the hackney, and all Phoebe could do was to point out where the goldsmith’s shop had once been, on the ground floor where some of the other jewellers were. Telling him that she didn’t suppose it would go by the name of Laker now, he was undeterred, leading her by the hand through the throng towards a young aproned apprentice yelling a familiar name. ‘Laker’s! Finest gold and silver for your table, earrings for your lady. This way, sirs!’

A cold shiver ran along Phoebe’s arms, and she pulled her cashmere shawl further over her shoulders, shocked by the use of her father’s name, though there was no law to prevent it. They stopped outside the display of silverware that the young man guarded against thieving hands, and on the pretext of looking, Phoebe gave in to a moment of unease. Despite the renovations, this was the place where her father had traded, the place where her brother had died. Here. On this very spot.

Sir Leo appeared to sense her apprehension, giving her time to regain her composure before entering the dim interior, where well-dressed customers sat at tables with assistants hovering, just as they had in her father’s day. It was dim and quiet after the roar outside, a long wooden counter marking a barrier behind which were shelves of gleaming gold, plates of every shape and size, ewers and chalices, rings, pearls and pendants hanging below, chains of office, badges and bracelets, hat-pins and filigree pomanders. An elderly bespectacled gentleman sat behind the counter, weighing coins on a fine brass balance.

‘Master Laker?’ said Sir Leo, knowing that he was not.

The gentleman’s expression changed instantly from preoccupation to pleasure as he saw the cut of his customer’s fine mulberry velvet suit and that of his lady companion. The balance was dropped and pushed aside. ‘Why, no, my lord. Laker is the previous owner’s name. I kept it because it’s well known. After the fire, you see, I bought the plot, as we were allowed to do when the owner could not be traced. Very sad. Started my own business from scratch. Your lady…?’ He glanced at Phoebe with a smile. ‘Looking for something special?’

‘The lady is Mistress Phoebe Laker,’ said Sir Leo, ‘daughter of Master Adolphus Laker, the banker and goldsmith whose name you have borrowed. I am Sir Leo Hawkynne, private secretary to his Grace the Duke of Lauderdale. And your name, sir?’

The man rose slowly from his stool, his mouth making a perfect
O,
his brown watery eyes showing the whites all round as the information registered. Then, gathering his wits with a discernible effort, he lifted the hinged counter and came round to their side, bringing the stool with him and placing it reverently beside Phoebe. ‘Please to be seated, Mistress Laker…oh…this is…this is something I’ve waited for…how long? Well, since I visited the building site to see how they were getting on with…you know…the new premises. And you, my lord, may I offer you a glass of my best…?’

‘No, I thank you, Master…?’

‘Addiman, my lord. Samuel Addiman at your service.’ Frowning in disbelief, he shook his head several times. ‘Tch! This is…
unbelievable,
sir.’

‘What is, Master Addiman? What is it you’ve been waiting for?’ Sir Leo leaned against the counter beside Phoebe, clearly as puzzled as she was.

‘Well, it’s like this,’ he replied, directing his explanation at Phoebe after a furtive glance down the shop. ‘I’ve been hoping that someone connected with the Laker family would one day appear, because although the ground floor and cellars were buried when the upper floor fell in…’ He paused, seeing how Sir Leo’s hand came to rest upon Phoebe’s shoulder. ‘Er…yes. The thing is that hardware shops like ours didn’t suffer quite as badly as those selling fabric and fur, for instance. Or the haberdashers either. So when they started to clear away all the rubble, there seemed to be pockets where the fire had done very little damage, you see.’

‘You mean paperwork? Bills? Order books?’

‘Oh, no, Mistress Laker. No paperwork survived, unfortunately. But there were some empty strong-boxes that the owner found too heavy to remove, and there was something else that must have been dropped.’ At this point, he scurried round behind the counter again and disappeared while Phoebe looked up to meet Sir Leo’s eyes, as clouded as her own.

Puffing a little with the weight, Master Addiman heaved an oak chest on to the counter, chose a key from the bunch at his waist and unlocked the lid using a series of complicated turns that took him some time to execute. From one corner, he brought out a small linen-wrapped parcel tied round with string, and a label which he read out to them. ‘Found on premises, October 1666. Unfinished item.’ Replacing his spectacles at the end of his nose, he passed the parcel across to Phoebe. ‘The workers passed it on to me,’ he said, ‘which was remarkably honest of them. Naturally I gave them a reward. If you’d like to open it, mistress, you may be able to shed some light on the mystery.’

Phoebe had begun to shake, not only in anticipation of what she might find, but also for the unease she had felt outside, a premonition that something significant was about to happen again, after all the happenings of the past weeks. Fold after fold, the linen fell away until, nestling at the bottom and still shining, was a lump of solid gold in the shape of a heart. It was no larger than a wren’s egg. At the top, waiting for a chain, was a delicate ring.

Gasping with amazement, she held it up and caught the blue-white flash of a diamond embedded in one side with star-points radiating from it. On the other side was engraved the name ‘Phoebe,’ and underneath it in the point of the heart was a full moon of white enamel enclosed by seed pearls.

‘It must have been meant for you, mistress,’ said Master Addiman. ‘I believe the Greeks called one of their moon goddesses Phoebe. Do you know who might have had it made?’

She could hardly speak. Instead, she held it up for Sir Leo to see. ‘Mistress Laker’s brother ran the shop after their father’s death,’ he said. ‘He was only eighteen, but he managed to keep the business going and to build a house at Mortlake too. He was a remarkable young man.’

‘This must have been what he came back for,’ Phoebe whispered, ‘on that night. He had to come back for something he said was for me, and he’d nearly finished it. He was learning the art of goldsmithing from the shop manager.’

Master Addiman was absorbed in the workmanship, hardly listening. ‘There are two pearls missing,’ he said, ‘and it wants for a chain too. You shall have one from me as a gift. And if you can wait a while, I’ll find two more pearls and put them in. From a brother to his sister. Well, well…what a day this is, to be sure.’

‘I would rather it stayed as it is, unfinished, if you please. But I feel I should pay you for it. It’s a very valuable piece, Master Addiman.’

‘Won’t hear of it, mistress. I would never have sold it, you see, and the chances of a lady named Phoebe Laker coming to claim it must be one in a million. No, what you’ve told me fits like a hand in a glove. Here we are now, here’s the chain I have in mind. Ah, perfect. See?’ The chain he threaded through the ring was a generous one with finely twisted links, and he passed it back to her from the end of his finger. ‘Take it. It’s found its rightful owner. Mystery solved.’

Her hands trembled as she accepted it and wrapped it again in the linen. Then, on impulse, she leaned forwards to place a light kiss upon each wrinkled cheek. ‘Thank you, Master Addiman,’ she whispered. ‘You have done more than solve a mystery, sir.’