Darkwitch Rising (19 page)

“How do you think you can control Cornelia…
Noah
?”

“Have I never told you? I put an imp in her, too, in our last lives.”

Jane gaped, and for a moment she could not speak.
In the name of heaven…that is why she’d seen
two
imps in her visions!
“Why? Why? Why torment her as you have me?”

“Because I want the Game, Jane, and Noah is going to give it to me.”

“You want her to find the bands for you.”

Weyland regarded her thoughtfully. “Aye. And I want you to teach her the ways of the labyrinth.”

Jane went cold. Her death lay revealed in that simple sentence. That Weyland might want Noah before he wanted her did not surprise Jane (in all of their lives,
everyone
seemed to want Noah before Jane). That he wanted Jane to teach Noah the ways of the labyrinth, and to induct her into the mysteries of the Mistress of the Labyrinth did not surprise her. Jane wasn’t even shocked by the idea that Weyland might kill her once he had what he wanted in Noah. What
did
stun Jane was that she should care so much about death.

She didn’t want to die. Even after all these years of torment and humiliation, she didn’t want to die.

“Of course, I’ll let you go once I have what I need in Noah,” said Weyland, still watching Jane carefully.

Jane swallowed, her mouth so dry she was unable to speak.
Of course he would
not.
She was dead the instant Noah passed the Great Ordeal in the Great Founding Labyrinth
.

She blinked, and became aware that Weyland was grinning at her.

Bastard!
He undoubtedly knew every thought that was screaming through her head. She spun around, pretending to concentrate on the pot hanging over the hearth.

“Can’t you wait,” said Weyland softly behind her, “to see Noah in my arms? To hear
her
scream? To know that she shall suffer the same agony which has tormented you all these years?”

Strangely, Jane felt no satisfaction at the thought.

The pox, she decided, must have finally eaten its way through to her brain.

T
he letter reached Charles when he was surrounded by a room full of people: Sir Edward Hyde; Louis de Silva; several chaplains, courtiers and sundry servants.

The sealed letter was one of only several that had made their way to Charles from his land of birth that day, and it was the last that Charles had picked up. He broke the seal, paying the letter little mind as he laughed at some jest one of the courtiers made, then cast his eyes quickly over the contents.

He went still, horribly still, and his face paled.

“Majesty?” Hyde said, bending close.

Charles laid the letter against his chest so that Hyde could not read its contents.

“A sudden indisposition,” Charles said. “No more.”

“Do you need—” Hyde began.

“Some quiet, I think,” Charles said, and Hyde obediently turned and began to usher people from the royal presence.

“Louis, if you will…” Charles murmured, and Louis halted just inside the door, waited until Hyde had closed it behind himself, then walked back to Charles’ side.

“What is it?” Louis’ voice was tense.

Charles at first made no response, save to more diligently read the letter, then he handed it to Louis.

He noted without surprise the horror that spread across Louis’ face as he read.

“She’s carrying a child,” Louis whispered.

“We
must
act now,” said Charles. “To allow her to fall into Weyland’s hands while pregnant, or with a child in her arms…”

“Aye,” said Louis. The letter trembled a little in his hand, and he was about to speak again when the door to the chamber opened and closed. Both men jumped, but they relaxed as they saw Marguerite hurrying towards them.

“I heard…” she said, then her eyes fell on the letter in Louis’ hand, and she all but snatched it from him.

Her reaction was very different to that of the two men. A broad smile broke out across her face as she read the letter.

“How she must be pleased!” she said as, finally, she gave the letter back to Charles.

“
Pleased
?” Louis said. “That child…and the imp…and soon…”

“Weyland,” Charles said.

“The child will be a great comfort to her,” said Marguerite. “And what did you expect? Going to her and loving her? It is the way children are made.”

“I should go to her now,” said Charles.

“You can’t,” said Louis. “But I…”

“Neither of you can,” said Marguerite, and both men glanced at each other before as quickly looking away.

“
I
shall go to her,” Marguerite continued, “and Kate, for she is well enough after her daughter’s birth. Weyland shall never suspect our presence. He does not know of us. He does not suspect us. Charles, you may write to the Earl of Bedford, and ask him to expect us to stay. A small house in Woburn village, perhaps, will do well for Charles’
mistresses and whatever of their children they bring with them. I am sure the earl shall be glad to comply.”

“Yes, majesty,” said Charles wryly, but there was no amusement in his face, and when he looked back to Louis, there was nothing shared between the men but desperate worry.

“It is time,” said Marguerite softly, “that the first of Eaving’s Sisters returns to her side.”

“
M
ajesty! Majesty!”

Charles’ racquet missed the ball, and he swore. He was on the tennis court at Hoogstraeten, deep in battle with Louis, and the interruption had just cost him a game.

“What is it?” he snapped at Sir Stephen Fox who by now was standing at the side of the court, breathless from his run.

“Cromwell is dead.”

Charles stared at Fox. “Say again, man?”

“Cromwell is
dead
. A fever, some say, although another rumour whispers poison. But what care we? Cromwell is dead!”

“I hope not poison, for the sake of your reputation, majesty,” said Louis, who had come to Charles’ side. Both men were sweating heavily, the linen of each one’s shirt stuck in patches to their back and chest, their breeches stained at groin and waistband.

“Cromwell is truly
dead
?” Charles said.

“Aye,” said Fox. “And aye and aye again. A week since.”

Charles and Louis locked eyes; there was a great deal which needed to be said, and none of it here, with other ears listening.

The news had spread. Men were running from the house towards the tennis court, cheers announcing their forthcoming joyous arrival.

“What do we now, majesty?” said Fox, a great grin splitting his face.

“We play it more carefully than ever we have before,” said Charles, and Sir Edward Hyde, who had just arrived, nodded.

“Aye, majesty. Now is not the time to put a single foot wrong.”

“No invasion,” Charles said slowly, and again his eyes met Louis’.
Not this time
. “We wait for the invitation.”

Hyde looked at Fox, and around at the other men who had gathered in an excited circle about Charles. Exile, finally, finally,
over
!

Almost.

“Cromwell’s son, Richard?” said Charles. “Has he been proclaimed Protector, do you know?”

Fox nodded. “On his father’s deathbed. The Council of State has ratified it.”

“That isn’t worth the hot air it took them to expel the blessing,” said Louis.

“Nay,” Charles said. “Richard must now prove himself, and I think he shall not have the nerve for it. My friends, the world turned upside down fifteen years ago, but now I think the mighty tide of revolution has passed, along with Cromwell. Rebellion has exhausted itself, and we,
we
, shall return on the ebbing tide of its strength.”

“Who, then?” said Louis. “Who holds the power? Who the key to your—”
our
“—return?”

Charles looked at Sir Edward Hyde.

“General George Monck,” Hyde said, and Charles nodded. Monck was the leading general in Cromwell’s army, controlling over half of its total forces. He was virtually the most powerful man in Britain at the moment; not in title, but in influence and might of weapons.

“But Monck has been ever loyal to Cromwell,” said Fox. “He has never said a word in your favour, majesty.”

“It is what he doesn’t want that is more important,” said Hyde, “and what Monck
doesn’t
want is for England to dissolve into chaos, which is what is likely with Richard Cromwell at its helm.”

“He is an astute man,” said Charles. “He will be amenable to…discussion.”

“Promises of titles? Lands?” said Fox.

“No!” snapped Charles. “That is just what we must
not
do. Hyde, de Silva, my private chamber, if you please.”

They reconvened within Charles’ chamber within the half hour, giving both Louis and Charles time to bathe and change their clothes.

Hyde had gathered several sheets of paper, and a pen and inkwell lay to one side of his right hand.

Charles sat down at the table, Louis also, setting down a large flask of ale and three cups. He filled the cups and passed them about.

“Lord God,” Charles said quietly, “pray I do not make a misstep now.”

“It will take time,” said Hyde. “Months, likely, if not longer.”

“I know,” said Charles. “I am a patient man.” He laughed shortly. “After all, I have had the time and the opportunity to perfect my patience.”

Louis caught Charles’ eye.
More than enough
time, eh, my friend? More than two lifetimes’ worth of patience
.

“What steps
do
we take now?” said Louis.

“We approach Monck,” said Hyde, “quietly and gently and humbly. Your crown literally rests in his hand, majesty.”

Charles briefly wiped a hand over his eyes.
Pray to all gods, Christian included, that Weyland doesn’t think of that
.

“What should I say?” Charles said. “What words do I use to beg my throne back?”

“Use words of truth,” said Louis. “He is a general. He has no time for the dissimulation of courtiers.”

“Perhaps,” Hyde said, picking up his pen and dipping it into the inkwell, “after a general salutation, we might say something in the manner of: ‘I know too well the power you have to do me good or harm not to desire you should be my friend’.”

Charles grunted. “Are those the kind of words a general would wish to hear, my friend?” he said to Louis.

“They are truth, and they are straight,” said Louis. “He will accept them, and not think you the weaker for speaking them.”

“Then perhaps some words stating my desire above all else for peace and happiness for all Englishmen,” said Charles to Hyde. “I am sure you can find something suitable to express my meaning.”

“Make sure also,” said Louis, “to ensure Monck knows that should he hear anything to the contrary, then it be a falsehood. The king desires peace for his country, nothing else. He does not send this missive with a sword in his hand.”

Hyde nodded, intent on his scribbling.

They passed to and fro some more suggestions, then Hyde had a suitable draft before him. “How should I end it, majesty?” he asked.

Charles sipped his ale, thinking, then dictated: “’I must say, I will take all the ways I may to let the world see that I have an entire trust in you, and as much kindness for you as can be expressed by your affectionate friend, Charles R’.”

Louis grinned. “A final flourish, majesty, to let him know the courtier is not quite dead?”

“‘Affectionate friend’?” queried Hyde. “He was Cromwell’s man, after all.”

“Monck was not one of the men who signed my father’s death warrant, Hyde. He was not one of the murderers. He came later to Cromwell’s cause, and then worked with him for England’s sake. If his
had
been one of the signatures on my father’s warrant of murder—” Charles shuddered “—then what I have just written would damn me. I would rather invade than grovel to one of my father’s murderers.”

Louis and Hyde exchanged glances. No one who had put his name to that warrant would live long once Charles was firmly on the throne of England.

“How shall we send it to him?” said Hyde. “If we send it directly we may well endanger Monck. We cannot know the full subtleties of the situation in England at this moment.”

“He has a brother, a clergyman in Cornwall, I believe. We can send the communication to him, and he can pass it to his brother.”

“Very well,” said Hyde. “I shall retire and write this more neatly, and without these schoolboy blotches.” He rose. “If I may have leave to retire…”

Charles nodded, and Hyde left the chamber.

“
England
!” Louis said, emotion rippling through his voice.

“Aye. Finally.”

“Noah…” Louis said.

“Marguerite and Kate left yesterday, and my letter to Bedford asking him to house them a few days
before that. They are better placed than I’d thought, with this welcome news. Bedford now cannot refuse me. Not his probable future king. Ah, Louis, Noah is my life. I wish
I
could be going to her now.”

“I know,” said Louis, gently. “I know, Charles. At least, now that Cromwell has died, it should not be too long before
I
can be with her.”

Charles shot him a dark look.

L
ady Anne sat, her face ashen, staring at Noah Banks who at least had the grace to keep
her
eyes downcast to her hands folded in her lap. The countess flashed a look at her husband, and noted that he looked as shocked as she felt herself.

“I had not thought it of you,” Lady Anne managed, her eyes once more on Noah.

Noah inclined her head, which could have meant anything. In counterpoint to the Bedfords,
she
was looking radiant.

“Who is the father?” Lord Bedford said. Noah at last raised her face. It was very calm. “A man I love very much.”