The Best of Men (19 page)

“Very,” she said, then she escaped him just as Ingram came over with his aunt, Frances Musgrave.

“Here’s to the groom!” Madam Musgrave raised her glass; one of several, Radcliff guessed from the woman’s flushed cheeks. “Will you spare me a gavotte, dear sir?” she continued amiably, as she took his arm in a powerful grip. “I was considered an excellent dancer in my youth, though I can’t fathom any of the newfangled steps they practise at Court these days. Too slow for my liking. Not enough
brio
, eh, nephew?”

“My aunt is full of
brio
tonight,” Ingram said, smiling at her.

“As I observe,” said Radcliff. He knew that he ought to feel indebted to her, since she would be housing his bride for the next months, but he found her tactless and coarse.

Ingram’s smile faltered as he surveyed the pillaged table, the knot of sweating musicians, and the lavish decorations. “Richard’s outdone himself.”

“Cheer up,” said Madam Musgrave. “I’ve seen to it that you all won’t be left destitute as a result of these festivities. Kate’s our only girl and her parents would turn in their graves if we didn’t send her off in style. She’s a little spoiled, Sir Bernard,” she went on, “and she knows nothing of men, apart from her brothers. She needs to be treated gently but firmly.”

“I hope I’ll give no cause for complaint,” Radcliff said, bridling a little.

“Tonight shall be your first trial! Kate may be an inexperienced judge but don’t press your case with too much dispatch. We women so appreciate an eloquent tongue before and after the due process of love.”

“Aunt,” Ingram said quickly, “I must speak with Sir Bernard about the troop. Just dull military stuff – would you excuse us, please?”

“With pleasure. My glass is empty. I’d better hurry to quench my thirst before the dancing starts. I shall let you go you for now, Sir
Bernard, but you still owe me a gavotte!” And she sailed away towards the refreshments.

“A spirited lady,” Radcliff commented.

“There are few such ladies nowadays,” laughed Ingram. “Her kind went out of style with old King James’ passing. She was considered a beauty then.” Radcliff examined her with more interest, trying to distinguish her natural attributes beneath the white lead make-up, heavily painted lips, and stiff, old-fashioned gown. “After her husband’s death she had a string of suitors,” Ingram told him, “but she refused to remarry. She’s wealthier than all of us Ingrams put together and she’s very astute where money’s concerned. But she’s also got a heart, Radcliff. She’s been almost like a mother to us, most of all to Kate, who was so young when we lost our parents.”

“I’m sure she is devoted to you. I only wish that Kate and I could settle down together in my own house, and have no more need to depend on Madam Musgrave’s charity.”

“Kate will be much happier at our aunt’s. She and Richard are like chalk and cheese.”

“I know. Though I can’t help worrying … which is why I must ride for Longstanton tomorrow. I have to organize for payment of the new taxes the rebels are imposing, or else I could lose –”

“Radcliff, this is your wedding night!” Ingram clapped him on the back. “Let the future keep until tomorrow. But don’t be away too long. Now that His Majesty has dismissed Parliament’s latest offer, he must declare war very soon, even if he’s been advised against it by his own Secretary of State.”

“Yes – many people say that if my Lord Falkland weren’t pledged to the King out of honour, he might have favoured Parliament’s cause,” Radcliff said, echoing what Pembroke had written to him in their last correspondence.

“That may be, but a man’s honour is the greatest pledge he can give,” said Ingram earnestly.

“It is, and Falkland is nothing if not honourable. That reminds me, whatever happened to your friend Beaumont?” Radcliff inquired, trying to sound casual. “Has he entered Falkland’s service?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked since that afternoon at the Lamb.”

“You should have invited him tonight.”

“I told you, he and Richard aren’t on the most cordial terms.”

“I wonder if he’s joined up with Henry Wilmot? I mean, he can’t be undecided as to where he’ll stand in this war.”

“The truth is, I don’t think he wants any part of it. But he might be persuaded otherwise. He told me he was going to consult Dr. Seward, who was our old tutor at Merton. Seward’s sure to give him some wise advice.”

Radcliff felt the blood rush from his face. “Did you say
Seward
?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Er, no. But I might have heard
of
him somewhere,” Radcliff added, with a brave shrug.

“I wouldn’t be surprised; he’s quite renowned in academic circles. Oh, look out, Radcliff,” Ingram said distractedly, as a round of applause broke out amongst the guests. “The gavotte has been announced. You’d better ask Kate to take the floor, before my aunt catches hold of you.”

In a daze, Radcliff sought out his wife and danced with her, his thoughts now far from joyful, that dread name ringing in his ears. Then he became aware that the music had ended; and the guests were hushed by a roll of drums.

“We must bed our married couple!” Richard exclaimed. “Ladies, to work!”

“Until soon, my love,” Radcliff whispered to Kate, who avoided his eyes.

She was taken away by the women, to the cheers and hoots of the male guests, as Radcliff tried to compose his features and act as though nothing were wrong. Even without such dire news to oppress him, he would have had to fake enthusiasm as the gentlemen accompanied him upstairs shortly afterwards; he hated the vulgarity of the ceremony. In an antechamber to the bedroom, he undressed, and Richard held out a fresh linen nightshirt and robe for him to put on. Healths were drunk to his virility and to the fruitfulness of his bride. Entering the bedroom he felt temporarily nauseated, his nostrils filled with the scent of rosemary. For remembrance, he thought to himself, and used as much at funerals as at weddings. The curtains around the bed had been drawn back. A cluster of giggling women threw dried flowers and more herbs upon the counter pane beneath which Kate lay, her face strained and pale.

“Now may God bless you, my brother,” cried Richard, “and may He bless your union tonight.”

Radcliff allowed him to remove the robe and slipped into bed. “I
am
blessed,” he said, “to have celebrated the greatest day of my life with my new family and dear friends. I thank you from my heart.”

“Well, let them get to it,” Richard declared, shepherding the crowd to the door.

Radcliff listened as their guests retreated down the stairs, and when all was quiet, he turned to her. He had envisaged this scene over and over again, yet all the pleasure he might have taken in it was now spoilt by his discovery of another shocking connection between Beaumont and himself. As he looked at Kate, he felt as if he were cursed with some evil enchantment; he did not even know if he would be able to perform. “Close your eyes, my darling,” he said, and slowly he rolled on top of her. He kissed her lips, pulling up her nightdress under the covers. Her legs were icy, the muscles tensed, offering him no encouragement. He could not hope to enter her as he was. “Let me show you what to do,” he whispered, and taking her cold fingers he guided them
below his nightshirt. Her eyes opened, her expression a mixture of defiance and distaste. Immediately he released her hand, moving away so that they lay beside each other, looking up at the embroidered canopy of their bed.

“Kate, would you prefer to sleep?” he asked. “I won’t take offence. I’m very tired myself, after the long evening.”

“Please,” she said.

He kissed her again, on the forehead, and with a short breath extinguished the taper by their bed. “Good night, my love, and sweet dreams.”

He had requested of Ingram that they not be disturbed by carousers later on, as was the old custom, and at length, exhausted by feverish cogitations, he slept.

He dreamt that he and William Seward were in a dark place with wood-panelled walls, lit only by a single candlestick. Before them, on a table, was a bowl full of opaque liquid, and they were both concentrating upon the still surface, waiting for a vision to appear. For hours, it seemed, none came; and he knew that if he did not produce some result, Seward would cast him out as a failure, so he began to invent images of the most fantastic sort, conscious that he lied atrociously. Seward berated him, calling him a scoundrel and a counterfeit. Increasingly stung by the invective, he grabbed the old man by the throat. In the same moment he glanced over at the bowl and saw the reflection of Madam Musgrave’s face laughing at him; and when finally he managed to draw his gaze away from her, he noticed that his fingers were closing around Ingram’s throat, not Seward’s. He tried to release his hold but it only locked more tightly. He witnessed Ingram’s horror, and in the next second he woke.

Kate was asleep, her back to him. As he regained a measure of calm, a fury rose up inside him that fate should put such obstacles in his way, overshadowing everything, including his own wedding night. One curse had been lifted, however, for beneath the bedclothes he was hard
and bursting with desire. At least in this most intimate part of his life, he would not be frustrated.

Intending to rouse her, he sat up in bed. “Kate,” he hissed in her ear.

As though irritated, she shifted away from him. Flipping her onto her belly, ignoring her gasp of surprise, he dragged up her gown, baring her to the waist. He pressed his hands between her legs and buttocks, splaying her on the mattress, and penetrated her. When she moaned, his excitement increased, though he forced himself to pause, for he did not want to end too swiftly. But when he looked down and saw the root of his penis stained with her blood, a brute sense of triumph overwhelmed him. In one deep thrust he spent himself.

Instantly he felt ashamed: this was her first taste of their marital union, and he had possessed her as selfishly and artlessly as some yokel might tumble his wench beneath a haystack. “I’m sorry, Kate,” he murmured. “That was not how I wanted it to happen. Next time it will be different, I promise.”

She did not respond, and so he covered her with the bedclothes and went out to the antechamber to wash away the signs of their brief contact. As he was dressing, he heard her stir, and rushed in again. She was lying on her back, her eyes wide though oddly expressionless, gazing up at him.

“Kate, I have to leave,” he said.

“So early?”

“Yes. You remember, dearest, I’m expected at Longstanton.”

“When will you return?”

“As soon as I can.” He bent to kiss her. “I love you, Kate.”

As he straightened, he saw a flash of ruby beneath her golden hair. Reminded once more of his troubles, he wanted to tear the necklace off and rip it apart, but instead he left the room, shutting the door gently after him.

Perched on the edge of Seward’s desk, Laurence was examining the latest set of transcriptions. “Three days and you’ve got no further with these letters than I did.”

“You’re right.” Seward pushed back his chair wearily. “All the names and places are in another code, and we’re lost without the key. They could be using a slew of variations.”

Laurence jerked his head in the direction of Clarke, busy packing books into a chest in preparation for Seward’s journey. “Why did you tell him so much?” he asked, in a low voice. “I thought we were to keep all this between us.”

“You must learn to trust him. I shall be seeking refuge at his house, don’t forget.”

“So, what now?”

“You should still take the letters north to His Majesty.”

“But we don’t even know who the conspirators are.”

“The horoscope is sufficient evidence of a plot, together with those parts of the code that we have broken so far.”

“What if he thinks the plot is connected to me in some way?”

“Why in heaven would he suspect you of any such thing?”

Laurence frowned at Clarke, who must have registered Seward’s exclamation and had come nearer. “Before I left the German army, I was in just this sort of work,” Laurence said, gesturing at the letters.

“Deciphering codes?” Clarke interjected. “Where’s the offence in that? His Majesty will have men similarly employed in his own service.”

When Laurence did not speak, Seward told Clarke, “I believe Beaumont means that he was a spy for the Germans.”

Laurence saw repugnance in Clarke’s eyes. Always the same, he thought to himself. “Please don’t ask me what I did there,” he said. “All
I can tell you is that some of my past activities might prejudice the King’s opinion of me.”

“Could you not get a recommendation from your father?” Seward suggested, after a long silence.

“I nearly did, though I declined it.” Laurence told him about Lord Beaumont’s request.

“But that is perfect, Beaumont! Rather than approach His Majesty directly, you would do better to address my Lord Falkland. As your father’s friend, he will trust you, and he has the authority to investigate what you have learnt thus far.”

“I suppose,” Laurence said, grudgingly.

Seward leant forward, his face very stern. “I must ask you to promise, however, that you will not mention my name to him.”

“Why? You broke the hardest part of the code.”

“We both have a past, Beaumont. As you know, my more esoteric interests often got me into difficulties that I haven’t the strength to live through again. I shall do whatever is in my power to help you, but I do not wish to be associated publicly with this business.”

Neither do I
, Laurence almost added, for he could see where it would all lead, as though he were being sucked down inexorably into some evil swamp.

“Well,” Seward recommenced, “let us make haste, you to Chipping Campden for the letters, and I into the depths of Oxfordshire.”

“Seward, we have a supper at High Table tonight,” Clarke put in, his frigid gaze still resting upon Laurence. “If you don’t attend, people will wonder.”

“I know. I’ll sleep in your rooms tonight, Clarke, and be off at first light. You don’t need to stay on guard, Beaumont,” Seward added. “In fact, you would be making a mistake – you must not delay your mission on my account.”