The Secret Duke (40 page)

Rothgar, however, was the clear leader here. He was a decade older, and that decade had been spent steeped in such matters under two kings.

“There are pivot points in history,” he said as they sipped brandy, the footman having departed. “Europe’s move into the eastern Mediterranean with the Crusades. The Renaissance. The Reformation. I believe we are on the brink of another such time, and though the consequences of these pivots were eventually good and necessary, none were pure pleasure for those who lived through them.”

“The Renaissance?” Thorn questioned.

“Was mostly benign, but change destroys. It must. Many found that their traditional ways were no longer necessary. And thus it always is. Consider the spinning wheel.”

Thorn hoped he hadn’t shown that he missed the relevance of spinning wheels to the discussion.

It was Robin who said, “The spinning jenny. Soon there’ll be no need for the cottage spinners.”

“And the next thing you know,” said Bridgwater, “no need for the cottage weavers, either. I don’t approve. A whole way of life will be swept away.”

Thorn said, “Your canals are going to affect the livelihood of carters and packhorse drovers.”

“Ah, true.”

“But like Canute, we are powerless to stop any tide,” Rothgar said.

“But the tide can be affected,” Thorn pointed out.

“Groins and breakwaters. Sometimes even more substantial construction.”

“Even so, the next big wave may sweep man’s work away.”

“Not if it’s properly engineered,” Bridgwater stated.

“In any case,” Thorn said, “it’s often better to adjust to the power of the sea. To understand it and use it. Never any point in fighting winds.”

“As in a windmill,” Rothgar said. “Thus we must understand and use the new spirit of our age.”

Thorn had the irritated feeling that Rothgar had been steering them to this point all along.

“We can look for causes, as in blaming our philosophers for asking troublesome questions, or our monarchs and politicians for creating injustices, but that will change nothing. Nor, in my opinion, will new, draconian laws. Better to understand our times and use the rising forces in the cause of peace and welfare. Are we agreed?”

Robin and Bridgwater said aye, but Thorn demurred.

“You state a theory of winds and waves. To what port do we steer?”

“A good sailor prepares his ship for whatever wind might blow. Especially for a storm.”

“You expect one?”

“Yes,” Rothgar said with certainty. “Possibly a hurricane.”

They had not spoken of the king’s sanity, of course. To do so would come close to treason. But the subject lay behind everything.

The king could be stubborn, especially when distressed. Though he was guided—even ruled, to a degree—by Parliament, he could seriously tamper with the sailing of the ship of state. If he were insane, he could sink them all, especially if faced with stormy seas.

All in all Thorn agreed that it would be wise to establish a means of preventing that. Devil take it, he was going to have to join forces with the Marquess of Rothgar.

 

Bella had asked Kitty to be sure to wake her early, and it was still dark outside when she went to take her breakfast in the kitchen. She needed to talk to Peg about future plans, and wanted to do so and still leave the house while the town around slept.

The kitchen was clean as always, with sparkling copper pots and aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling. A big kettle was always by the edge of the fire, ready to be brought to the boil in a moment. Bella laid her own place at the plain wooden table and selected a bread roll from a basket, still warm from the nearby baker’s.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Peg asked, but with a twinkle. She was at the table too, enjoying some bread and ham and a big pot of tea, Ed Grange and Kitty by her side. Annie was getting Bella’s chocolate.

“Plans,” Bella said, buttering her bread. “I’m going to become myself again.”

“Well, thank the Lord for that.”

“And probably move from London. How would you feel about that?”

Peg sipped her tea. Bella’s mouth puckered because she knew how strong and stewed Peg liked it.

“I’m content enough here,” she said at last, “but I’ve no objection to moving elsewhere. Only within the country, mind. I’m not going to foreign parts where I won’t know what people are saying, or what I’m eating, either. Snails,” she added with a shudder.

“I wouldn’t care for that, either,” Bella said.

“And we’ll need to see to Ed,” Peg said, putting a tender hand on the lad’s shoulder.

Bella had almost forgotten Ed, but he and Peg were like mother and son.

“Certainly Ed will come with us,” she said.

Annie brought over the chocolate pot. “Kitty and I will stay with you a while, miss, if you need us.”

Bella smiled at her. “You’re very kind, but I have no intention of keeping you from your beaux. I hope to dance at your wedding before I leave.”

Annie smiled, those stars in her eyes. “Then we’ll make it soon, miss. We’re agreed that we’ll all live together for a while, so we can make do.”

“What an excellent idea.” Bella poured the chocolate and turned back to Peg. “I don’t know where I’ll go, but it won’t be near Carscourt.”

“That won’t bother me, dear. As I said all along, I’ve a fancy to see a bit more of England. What of Dover?” she asked, eyeing Bella over the top of her cup.

“I went there on business, Peg.” Bella prayed her expression gave nothing away.

“And then?” asked Peg.

“More business.”

“With a man.”

“Peg . . .”

“I’m not your mother, I know. But you’re young, love, and have always had a bit of a March hare in you.”

“A what? You think I’m mad?”

Peg chuckled. “No, but even as a child you’d rather run than walk, rather jump than stand still. You were more like a lad in your restlessness. More like a lad than your brother,” she said, with a twitch of distaste. “Anyway, that restlessness sent you off on that assignation that caused all the trouble, didn’t it? You weren’t smitten with that young man. You simply liked the adventure of it.”

“You’re right, of course, but I hope I learned by it.”

Peg’s brows went up.

“Yes, very well, there was a bit of March madness about my recent adventure, but it was also necessary. And very worthwhile.”

Despite her aching heart, Bella still relished the satisfaction of Augustus’s disgrace.

“Good thing, then. As for where, though, you’ll have to decide on your own. Perhaps you should ask that nice Mr. Clatterford.”

“He’d want me to go to Tunbridge Wells.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m wary of a small, fashionable place. In truth, I don’t know what I want, but as soon as Kitty and Annie are married, we’ll be off. I think it would be best to be far away from Lady Fowler and her followers.”

“Then why don’t we leave now?”

Bella sighed. “Because I have to try to leave them safe.”

She left and walked the short distance to Lady Fowler’s house, uneasy in the dark, deserted streets. She arrived safely, however, and entered at the back, through the kitchens, startling the servants.

“I was up early,” she said carelessly, “so decided to come over. So much to do.”

The cook and the maid looked at her blankly, so she left the room. Bella knew none of them would concern themselves in affairs upstairs. Servants never stayed here long. Lady Fowler had always been erratic, and there were many people to take care of, all of them too poor to give the little gifts of money that were the norm.

She slipped along to the printing room—and found it locked. When had that begun? Perhaps it was always locked at night. She went upstairs, furious and worried. Now she needed to create an excuse for turning up so early, or the Drummonds would become suspicious.

The house was quiet and also cold, for the fires had not yet been lit. Bella kept her cloak on as she went into the scriptorium. She put a sheet of paper on the table and checked a pen. She opened an inkpot and found it dry.

Had everyone ceased to copy out the letter now that they had the press? She found some ink and added it to the pot and started writing.

There was no need to fill the page, so she paused often to think of other things. How long would it be before she could be sure the women here were safe? Where should she go? What should she do with her life?

March hare. It was true, and she had to be very careful not to leap into danger. The March hare in her had been quashed during the four years at Carscourt, and she’d thought she’d left there a changed, sober woman.

When she considered her recent adventures, however, she could see the spring- maddened hare was still alive and well. She suspected that meant that she should find employment. Not for pay, for the positions open to women were tedious, but something to occupy her time and her brain. She couldn’t imagine what. Perhaps she should forget her origins and run an inn, as Thorn’s more-or-less aunt did.

She closed the door on memories, but when she looked at her sheet of paper she saw that she’d written,
Thorn
. It disappeared after the O because the nib had run out of ink, but she could see the word anyway.

“Oh, Bellona! What are you doing here so early, with the fires not lit?”

It was Clara Ormond, swathed in shawls. “I’ll just go and get some hot coals,” she said, and hurried out again. She returned with a bucket from the kitchen and placed the glowing coals on the tinder. Soon the flames were licking the coals laid the night before.

Wood was more pleasant, Bella thought, but there wasn’t enough to heat the cities, so she should be grateful for coal, even though it made the air so dirty.

Did practicality always require compromise and some dirt?

Clara said, “There. Nice and cheerful. I do like to make myself useful.” She was smiling, but her eyes were anxious, as always. “What were you writing?”

Bella had scribbled out the revealing word. “On my journey, I heard about some matters that might be suitable for the newsletter.”

“Oh, we don’t do that anymore. Lady Fowler is interested only in the news sheet, and Helena Drummond writes that. I do worry,” she said. “Now that we’re useless, will she let us live on here?”

Bella felt deeply sorry for the old woman. “I doubt there’ll be any changes soon.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They were both referring to Lady Fowler’s death.

“If you had to leave here,” Bella asked, “where would you go?”

Clara’s face crumpled, and she sat. “To the workhouse,” she wailed.

Bella went to hug her. “Oh, surely not. You must have family.”

Clara shook her head. “No, none. I had only one brother and one sister. Dear Algernon was a clerk for a merchant, but he was drowned while traveling to France. Dear Sarah went to be a governess. She lives on the charity of one of her charges, and mean charity it sounds too. I would not be welcome in any way. Sarah always resented me for marrying, and even more for being happy. Oh, but it is a terrible thing to be an old woman alone.”

Bella held her closer and said the only thing she could: “I will not let you go to the workhouse, Clara. If necessary, you may live with me.”

Clara’s watery eyes stared. “Do you mean it? Is it true?” The tears spilled over, down her lined cheeks.

“Oh, Bellona! You are the best of women. You are a saint!”

“No, no, and please don’t speak of this. I don’t have room for all.”

“I see that,” Clara whispered. “I will keep our secret.”

But Clara was unable to keep a secret, and in any case if she seemed cheerful, the others would plague her with questions. Bella simply didn’t have room for all the flock, nor the income to support them, and she wanted to be Bella Barstowe.

What on earth was she going to do?

To crown the day, when she returned to the printing room and found it open, the printed sheets were gone. The press stood silent and the typesetter hadn’t yet arrived, but the dangerous items had disappeared.

Bella looked at the press, trying to find some small item she could remove or break, but it all seemed very solid. Short of taking an ax to it, she couldn’t see what to do. As she’d feared, she was a failure in all respects.

 

 

 

 

B
ella had promised to attend Kitty’s and Annie’s weddings and hence she couldn’t leave London anyway, so she continued to go to Lady Fowler’s house every day, always seeking some solution to the problems. She did manage to gain access to Lady Fowler’s room once, but the poor woman’s mind had gone. After that, she contented herself with asking Agnes Hoover for news on the rare occasions the faithful attendant left her mistress.

Clara tried to keep their secret, but it leaked out, and Bella had some other ladies beg for help. She had to agree, but she began to paint a grim picture of the future, claiming her income would provide only the simplest food and warmth. Slowly, members of the residential flock began to follow Elizabeth Shutton’s example and decide that their family’s charity might be preferable to this house of death and danger.

Eventually there were only eight of the flock left: the Drummond sisters and their adherents, Betsy Abercrombie and Ellen Spencer, Bella, and those who might see themselves as of her party—Mary Evesham, Clara Ormond, and strangely enough Hortensia Sprott. Bella had always thought Hortensia disliked her, but she now decided the woman gave the impression of disliking everyone.

The press continued to do its work, but the typesetter now had an assistant, an unpleasant young Irishman whom Bella decided was a guard. From Olivia Drummond’s smirk, he was there expressly to prevent Bella from doing anything to disturb their work.