The Best of Men (27 page)

“Oh no,” he said. “We all have our fears.” Her gown, with the faint moonlight behind it, was quite diaphanous. He was most intrigued as to what she would do next.

She reclined beside him, and he could see the curves of her breasts, and the faint shadow of her nipples beneath the gauzy fabric. “It is nice to see that you can laugh. Your expression earlier today was positively forbidding. I hardly dared open my mouth lest I say something to provoke your further displeasure.” She paused. “Mr. Beaumont – may I call you Beaumont?”

He nodded, trying not to appraise her too obviously. “What should I call you?”

“Isabella. I cannot have you call me Savage. Not on such short acquaintance, at any rate! But I am sure we are going to be friends.” A promising start, he thought, and waited for her to continue. “Beaumont, I have some idea why you are in such a foul mood. So I am offering to help you.”

“Why?” he asked, wondering just what had been said at her little party the previous night.

“Don’t frown at me like that. I suppose you are suspicious of me because you have heard that I am Digby’s mistress. It is untrue, and a gross slander to both Digby and me.”

“Why would I care whose mistress you are,” he said, at which she looked piqued. “I mean – it’s none of my business. I’m very grateful for your generosity towards my brother, and your friend Mr. Cottrell has been –”

“I am aware that you have been put in a most difficult position,” she interrupted. “And I have an idea as to how you can get out of it.”

He gazed into her eyes a moment longer. “Perhaps you should shut the window,” he said, rising from her bed. “Another bat might fly in. Good night, Isabella.”

She leapt up and grabbed him by the arms. “Beaumont, listen to me. Trust me to help you.”

About to remove her hands, he gave in to temptation and kissed her instead. She offered no immediate resistance, and he was beginning
to contemplate leading her back towards the bed when she stamped on his foot. “How dare you take such liberties,” she said, although she sounded more challenging than angry. “If I want you, I shall tell you so.”

“Won’t I have any choice in the matter?”

“I believe part of you has chosen already,” she murmured, and touched him lightly there, making him shiver.

“Who’s taking liberties now,” he said, hopeful that she might take more.

Then he heard Tom’s voice, from the corridor outside. “Excuse me for disturbing you, Mistress Savage, but have you seen my brother?”

“What do you want, Tom?” Laurence snapped.

“I – I’m not well.”

Laurence swore mutely.

Isabella was smiling. “You had better attend to him. We shall talk again tomorrow. Good night, Beaumont.”

“Good night,” he said.

Laurence caught a faint snigger from Tom on entering their room. “How far did you get with her?” Tom asked him. He did not respond, still coping with the physical discomfort of unsatisfied desire. “So sorry I spoilt your fun,” Tom laughed quietly. “You lecherous old goat. Is that how you repay her kindness, by trying your best to fuck her?”

Laurence took a deep breath to master his temper. “You said you were unwell, Tom, so why don’t you go to sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

The following morning at breakfast, Isabella seemed in excellent spirits and announced that she would take Tom’s horse again. As they resumed their journey, she asked Laurence, “Did you like Mr. Cottrell?”

“Very much,” he said.

“He and his wife nursed me through a difficult illness once, long ago, and I have not forgotten his kindness to me, nor his wife’s. She is dead now, bless her soul. Let us ride towards Northampton,” she went
on more briskly. “There is an old road that should be serviceable in this weather.” After they had gone some miles, she urged her horse nearer to his. “Beaumont, may we talk again?”

“Why not.”

“I shall be direct, if you don’t mind. I know that Colonel Hoare has pressed you into his service. Such work is not altogether new to you, I hear.” Laurence said nothing. “If you aren’t aware yet, Hoare despises Falkland’s peace overtures to the rebels, and is eager to have his lordship replaced by a Secretary of State less pacifically inclined. In fact, I have cause to believe he is now working towards that end. If he is not stopped, he could seriously damage Falkland’s reputation – which surely you would not wish,” she added, when Laurence remained silent. “Your father is a good friend of his lordship’s, is he not?”

Laurence heaved a sigh. “Isabella, why are you telling me all this?”

Her eyes lingered on him in such a way that he was reminded of his frustration the night before. “Because I’ve taken a fancy to you,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.

“So quickly?”

“Yes. And I am worried for
you
, as well as for Falkland. Hoare is an odious upstart who abuses his agents terribly if he has the faintest suspicion that they might cross him. He expects them to come to heel like obedient dogs. And you are not that kind of man, if I am any judge of character. Beaumont,” she persisted, “you will be close to him. You might be able to catch him out, in his scheming.”

Laurence started to laugh. “Now I understand! You’re not Digby’s mistress, you’re his errand boy. He must want to get rid of Hoare for his own reasons.” She glared at him. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. And in time you will regret not listening to me.”

He laughed again and shook his head. “What I do regret is my brother’s interruption last night.
That
was most ill-timed.”

“By God, you are presumptuous.”

“I’m being
direct
. And with respect, I don’t need any more of your help, thank you very much.” He wheeled his horse about and cantered back to the coach, which had been trundling along behind them. “Stop,” he said to the driver.

Tom stuck his head out of the coach window. “What’s the matter, Laurence?”

“Get out, Tom. You said you were fit to ride, and we’ll make better speed on horseback.”

As Tom hesitated, Isabella approached them. “He can continue with me as far as Banbury,” she said, in a clipped tone, “even if you prefer not to.”

“Oh no,” said Laurence. “We wouldn’t dare take any further liberties with you.”

She scowled, and jumped down from her horse. “Then put my saddle back in the coach.” He did so, replacing it with Tom’s. Once Tom had vacated the coach, she entered and slammed shut the door. And on her command, the coach took off.

Tom was chuckling as he mounted his horse. “Too bad for you, Laurence,” he remarked. “And she was such a beauty!”

Too bad indeed, Laurence thought, but after the trouble that Juana had brought upon him, he did not intend to make the same mistake twice.

He and Juana had arrived at Paris without further incident. Either they had lost their pursuer or he had been satisfied by his search at Lille, for they saw no more of him, and as they rode along the banks of the Seine, Laurence felt a new optimism. Here at last was life untouched by war: there were boats unloading plentiful cargo of wines and cloth, and hawkers peddling hotcakes and birds in cages and ribbons and strange fruits to the milling crowds of people. Entering the heart of the city, he
was surprised how well he could remember its geography from the last occasion that he had visited, on his foreign tour with William Seward.

Once they had stabled the horses, he took Juana to market to buy a change of clothing, and then, much against her will, to a bathhouse. Afterwards they repaired to a tavern, where he ordered a lavish meal.

“It’s the last we’ll have together, so it might as well be the best,” he said.

“Let me stay with you tonight, Monsieur,” she begged. “I swear I will be gone tomorrow.”

Feeling relaxed and indulgent, he agreed. It was dusk, and rainy, and he did not like to think of her sheltering in some damp alleyway, so he bought them two private chambers in a hostel.

When he came to say goodbye to her the next morning, she clung to him, pressing her face against his chest. “You are the only
gadjo
who has ever treated me with any respect,” she moaned. “Let me stay.”

“Come on, Juana,” he said, laughing. “This city is as rich as The Hague. You’ll do just as well here picking pockets.” Without another word, she pushed him away as though insulted, seized her belongings, and rushed out. “Goodbye to you, too,” he muttered after her.

He lazed about contentedly in bed until suppertime, then went to the same tavern as before, and ate and drank with some officers from the young King Louis’ court who later invited him to a social gathering. Here he fell into the company of two women, and he spent the night with them, in a tangle of limbs, only to return wonderfully sated to his own hostel in the early afternoon.

Juana was sitting on the floor, her baggage beside her, at the door to his chamber. In her lap was a purse of expensive calfskin, and she wore a new, gaudy yellow dress. Her hair was curled and pinned up to imitate the French fashion, though crudely, as if she had done it herself. Her lips bore traces of paint. All these additions to her toilette had the
effect of making her look younger, more vulnerable, and cheap at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, puzzled by her transformed appearance.

She gave a sorrowful sniff. “I can tell where
you’ve
been. You reek of perfume.”

When he unlocked the door, she entered without being asked and planted herself on the bed, holding the purse to her chest.

“Juana, what more do you want,” he said. “I did as I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Monsieur. And that is why I came back. I owe you a confession. The man who attacked me at Lille is the one we saw on the road.”

“Ah, so you finally admit it.”

“He tracked us all the way from Simeon’s house.” She unfastened the purse and emptied out a heap of gold coins. “I took this from the Englishman that Marie had in bed with her the evening we left. The one who chased us is the Englishman’s servant.” Laurence stared at the coins and then at her. “You can’t be upset with me, Monsieur,” she went on, in a defensive tone. “I needed money for the journey, and it was a clean theft, as clean as any of your card tricks. I took his sword, too, the one I told you that Simeon gave to us. He did not see me, because Marie had already drawn the bed curtains. Not even the servant saw me then. But we rode out in such a hurry, remember? That’s how they knew to come after us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You would have abandoned me!”

“No I wouldn’t have, though by God you’d have deserved it. This is English gold, newly minted,” he remarked, sitting down beside her to examine one of the coins, on which was stamped the profile of King Charles. “Hundreds of pounds.”

“It’s ours now,” Juana said.

“It’s
yours
. You’re a rich woman, you won’t have to steal again.” More gently he added, “You’ve made your confession. Now you can leave. Goodbye, Juana, and good luck spending your fortune.”

He lay back and closed his eyes, hoping she would make some move to depart with her wealth. Then to his amazement he felt her hands inexpertly caressing his thighs. “Well, well,” he said, sitting up again, and grabbed her by the wrists. “Have you reconsidered our terms on setting out? Is that why you got yourself all dressed up? It’s not in the best of taste, but you show your intentions clearly enough.”

She pulled her hands away, and whispered, “The servant is here in Paris, Monsieur. Yesterday, I saw him following me. I … I thought I had lost him, but he may be waiting to catch me outside.” Neither of them spoke for some time; Laurence was too angry. “Monsieur,” she continued, “he knows your name. That night in the cellar, he kept talking at me and shaking me, and I couldn’t understand any of what he said, except for your name: Beaumont. He must have asked about us at Simeon’s. No one inside the house would have betrayed you, but the grooms hated you because you had your freedom with the women. They hated us both.”

“I should hate you, too,” Laurence said quietly. “You put my life in as much danger as yours, and only when you think you need me again do I find out about it.”

“But, Monsieur, you must help me! The servant will kill me whether or not I give back the money.”

“I wouldn’t blame him in the least.”

She burst into tears, which seemed genuine, and he felt a kind of pity for her, that she should have guarded her virtue so zealously for years, only to offer it to him as a last resort and find herself humiliated.

He started to gather up the coins and replace them in the purse but stopped on noticing an odd lump beneath its silk lining. Ripping apart the fabric, he drew out some folded sheets of paper, durable but
so thin as to be almost transparent, covered in lines of writing. “This is a code, or a cipher,” he said, inspecting them. “Why didn’t his servant find the purse when he attacked you?”

“Because of the dark,” she said miserably. “And I had buried it deep in the straw, along with his sword.”

“Then he wasn’t looking for the money when he told you to strip off your clothes. He was after these papers. That’s why he searched you as he did. Christ!” Laurence exclaimed, studying them with new interest. “They must be worth as much to his master as the gold. Perhaps more.”

“How could paper be worth more than gold?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t understand why he didn’t ambush us long ago, to get what he wanted.”

“You would have fought him off,” she declared, with childlike confidence. “You would have killed him.”

“If I didn’t then, I may have to now.”

“Bless you, Monsieur –”

“I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for myself. And if I hear another lie from your mouth, or if you give me any more nonsense, I’m finished with you.” She nodded resignedly, which amused him, even though he was still angry. “And one last thing.” He detached the pins holding up her coiffure and tossed them aside. “Don’t wear your hair like that again. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

At Stratford-upon-Avon, only about twenty miles from Chipping Campden, Tom suffered a relapse. Laurence fed him the remains of the opium, and they pressed on, stopping just a couple of times for Tom to ease the gripe in his belly. Late in the night, they reached the gatehouse to Lord Beaumont’s estate. Laurence ordered the gatekeeper’s son to run ahead with news of their arrival, and then arranged for a
litter to carry Tom the rest of the way, while he followed, leading their tired horses.