The Best of Men (69 page)

Wilmot’s troops were busy trying to secure the area around Reading when Laurence rejoined them; the garrison was so undermanned that it was at risk of falling into enemy hands, and Wilmot feared he had not the strength to prevent this. Prince Rupert and Digby could offer him no aid; they were raising siege at Lichfield in order to forge a path north, so that the Queen could travel safely to Oxford. Since Rupert had insufficient cannon to blast a hole through Lichfield’s walls, his foreign engineers were mining them. It was an innovative tactic never yet attempted on English soil, Wilmot admitted grudgingly to Laurence.

Their fears about the fortifications at Reading were soon confirmed: despite a valiant effort on the part of a combined Royalist force to come
to the town’s aid, it capitulated to Parliament on the twenty-sixth of April. Just two days later, Laurence received a message from Oxford requesting that he call on Lady d’Aubigny at Corpus Christi College.

“Better go,” Wilmot said. “Can’t turn your nose up at a nice piece of snatch.”

Laurence laughed, but he felt uncomfortable, knowing very well who had thrown her fan from the galleries after he had testified at Hoare’s trial. He had not wished to encourage her by retrieving it, but he should at least have had the courtesy to thank her for assisting in his release from gaol.

He got to Oxford late in the afternoon, left his horse stabled at Merton, and walked to her lodgings. Outside her door, as if dropped by magic from some sunnier clime, stood an African pageboy in Oriental dress. The boy bowed, doffed his turban, and said in a high, piping voice, “Mr. Beaumont?” Laurence nodded apprehensively, reminded of the cold December night when Lady d’Aubigny had some trouble with her lock.

As the boy ushered him in, he saw that she was alone, clad in a loose robe, lying on her bed; she was no longer pregnant. She did not rise but offered her hand for him to kiss. “Dear sir, how pleased I am to see you. You may leave us and shut the door, Ibrahim,” she told the page, who obeyed. “Mr. Beaumont, did you attend the hanging today? Colonel Hoare finally went to the gallows this very morning.”

Why had it taken so long, Laurence thought, though he was relieved that he had not had to witness the event. “My lady, please forgive me,” he said. “I should have thanked you earlier for what you did for me when I was in prison.”

“It is Mistress Isabella Savage you should thank. If she hadn’t begged me on her knees to help, I would never have known you were in such difficulties.” So, Laurence realised, Isabella had extended herself far more on his behalf than he had known. Yet she was still with Milne.
“Sit beside me, sir,” commanded Lady d’Aubigny. She lifted his chin with her forefinger and examined his face. “I do believe that these marks of your captivity render you more attractive than ever. It is my wish that we may soon spend some time together, once I am fully restored to health after the birth of my dear little boy.” She was now stroking his thigh. “You know I have dreamt of you and the pleasure you gave me. My late husband possessed neither your experience, nor such a superb –”

“Please, your ladyship,” Laurence interrupted, edging away from her as her fingers trailed further upwards. “You must allow me to explain. On that night, I was overwhelmed by your loveliness, but my behaviour was not that of a gentleman.”

“Sir, I did not mind in the least.”

“No, no. I took advantage of you in your bereavement.” He tried to coax some moisture into his eyes. “And my offence weighs more heavily on my conscience since then, because you saved my life. I was – I was too ashamed of myself to see you again.”

“There is no need for you to be ashamed. In fact, I wish you would be entirely shameless, sir,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Your ladyship, the more I stay, the harder it becomes –” He stopped, to correct himself. “I mean, the harder you make it for me to do what I know is right. I really must leave.”

“Oh no,” she said, as he stood up; she wore the same look of spoilt entitlement that he had seen in Kate. “Please wait, Mr. Beaumont,” she added, abruptly dropping her flirtatious manner. “As I have helped you, I want you to help me. I am going to London next month, on a matter of extreme importance, and Lord Falkland agreed that I might borrow you for this mission.”

“
Borrow
me?”

“You are his agent, are you not?” Laurence did not reply as a suspicion took shape in his mind. “And you do know about the plans for London.”

“Your ladyship, I’m bound to secrecy in whatever he tells me,” answered Laurence, his suspicion confirmed.

“No surprise he values you so. It was Mistress Savage who inspired me when she told me how she arranged for
Mercurius Aulicus
to be smuggled into the capital under women’s skirts, which is how I can bring in the Commission of Array. That document itself, signed by His Majesty, will confirm how and when the uprising is to take place. We expect to deliver it by the middle of next month.”

Laurence could not hide his dismay. “You’re very brave, my lady, but I honestly believe it would be a mistake. You’ll be spied upon from the moment you enter the city.”

“Why should Parliament take any notice of me? After all, I own a house in London and have every reason to visit there. Pray consult with Falkland, who will make all the necessary arrangements. It will be such fun,” she concluded gaily, “to travel with you!”

After bidding her goodbye, Laurence rushed straight to Falkland’s chambers, so angry that the servant Stephens stepped back in alarm on opening the door to him. His lordship was out, Stephens said, eating with Lord Digby in a tavern close by.

Laurence hurried there and was shown into a dining room where they were alone together at table. His expression must have had a similar effect on them as it had on Stephens, for both men regarded him with a startled air.

“Good day,” he said to them, with a curt bow, and to Falkland, “My lord, we must speak in private.”

“We shall go outside.” Falkland rose quickly. “Excuse us, Digby.”

“By all means,” Digby said, “but would you honour me by joining us afterwards, Mr. Beaumont? There is something
I
should like to discuss with you, as well.”

Laurence merely nodded, and walked out ahead of Falkland.

“I’ve just seen Lady d’Aubigny,” he began, as soon as they could not be overheard. “Did you suggest to her this trip to London?”

“No. She volunteered herself. His Majesty was delighted with the idea.”

“What is he thinking! He might as well send Prince Rupert’s dog with the Commission in its mouth. Why didn’t you ask me yourself if I would go with her?”

“Because she insisted on speaking to you first. I told you last time that I might need you, and now I do. She will be travelling by coach, with her friend Lady Sophia Murray. Lady d’Aubigny’s late husband had a seigneurie in France, and the pretext for her visit to London will be to discuss the issue of this property with the French Ambassador. Should anything go amiss with the uprising,” Falkland continued in a lower voice, “the Ambassador will offer you sanctuary.”

“I’m most comforted to hear that.”

“For heaven’s sake, enough of your sarcasm, sir!” Falkland burst out. “None of this was my choosing, yet I am duty bound to fix things as best I can. And because I am acutely aware of your desire to move on the regicides, I have managed to extract a concession from His Majesty.”

“We can take in Radcliff?” Laurence asked, more hopefully.

“Not him, I am sorry to say, but the lawyer, Joshua Poole. You must bring him to me for questioning. And when you are in London, you will deliver some correspondence to Edmund Waller.”

“Which is His Majesty’s main purpose in sending me, of course. He’s giving us the arrest just to keep us happy.”

“Dear me, Mr. Beaumont, I shall never try to pull the wool over
your
eyes. Meet me tomorrow at my chambers and we shall determine how you should proceed. Does ten o’clock suit you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I thank you,” Falkland said, with a weary smile. “And now shall we return to Lord Digby?”

When they entered the room, Digby was still eating while a servant fussed about him, fluffing a pillow on a stool where he had propped his leg. “I have a wound in my thigh, incurred during the siege of Lichfield, Mr. Beaumont,” he explained, as they sat down. “I had been working waist-deep in mud like a trooper with his Royal Highness the Prince – we were draining a moat and attempting to build a bridge across it, as the enemy took practice shots at us and dragged off what prisoners they could. I finally extracted myself from the morass, then a ball struck me. Shaved off an inch of flesh. As a result, I was too incapacitated to witness the first mine sprung on English soil.”

“So he did it,” Laurence said. “Quite a feat!”

Digby shrugged, pouting.

“It seems you had not just your leg wounded, but your pride also, my lord,” Falkland observed. “He argued with the Prince, I am afraid,” he told Laurence, “and ended up resigning his military command.”

“So you’re not a soldier any more, my lord?” Laurence queried.

“Not for the present, sir,” Digby said, “though as consolation here in Oxford I was able to watch Colonel Hoare step off into infinity. But where were
you
? I did not see you at that august event.”

“I was too late. I’ve been serving with Wilmot and only arrived this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, so you were near Reading! Poor Wilmot! He must have been so tirelessly scouring the area for the finest claret to serve his officers, that he could not give assistance to the garrison.” Laurence let this pass, amused in spite of himself. “Oh, then you cannot have heard,” Digby continued, in a more serious voice. “Mistress Savage is sick. You might recall, when we met at Shrewsbury this past autumn and you were
doing your interesting mathematics for Wilmot, that she had a quartain fever – it is the same illness again. And I fancy that Captain Milne’s reappearance can be no aid to her recovery.”

“I thought he was at Lichfield, too,” said Falkland.

“He was, but he seized upon the excuse of a small head wound to return to Mistress Savage’s bower. I am sure she was not happy about it. What would you say, Mr. Beaumont?” Digby asked, scanning Laurence with his round blue eyes.

“I can’t speak for her,” Laurence replied calmly.

“If Milne is bothering her, why do you not tell him to go to the devil?” Falkland exclaimed. “You are her legal guardian. You should protect her from such unsavoury characters.”

Digby looked momentarily abashed. “I would, but she and I have had a dispute.”

“You are arguing with everyone these days!”

“Yes, so it seems. Mr. Beaumont,” Digby recommenced, “you would do me an inestimable favour if you would only pay a visit on her. I am most worried about her health and should like to have some report of it. Or, even better, to have banished from her bedside anything that might cause it to deteriorate.”

Laurence frowned at him. “Are you asking me to get rid of Milne?”

“Why not? She was instrumental in getting
you
out of gaol. She even pawned most of her jewellery to bribe your guards, though she refused to tell me until I demanded to know where her best pieces were. Some of them I had given her myself! And I might argue that, if not for your sake, she could have avoided this unpleasant situation with the Captain.”

“I think her loyalty to you also played a part in it.”

“A minor role. Well, sir, will you oblige me?” Digby asked impatiently. “I happen to know that Captain Milne is sadly impecunious and all his creditors in town are hounding him. He might be lured away by the promise of a reward, which I would not expect you to put up
yourself. I shall gladly provide you with a sum sufficiently tempting to a man in debt. You may call for it at my quarters in an hour or so.”

Laurence eyed him a little longer, then said, “As you wish.”

Laurence found Seward in his rooms at Merton in the midst of some alchemical operation, a steaming alembic on the hearth. “Beaumont,” Seward said, “when did you get to town?”

“Sorry, Seward, I’ve no time to talk. A quartain fever – what do you have for a quartain fever?”

“Are you sick?”

“No, it’s for Isabella.”

Seward grumbled a bit, but at length he selected a remedy from his collection of vials and jars. “This is a tincture of Jesuit’s bark. Expensive and most difficult to come by.” He described how it should be administered, adding, “Don’t waste a drop, and bring me back what you don’t use.”

Laurence grabbed the vial and bolted out in such haste that he forgot to take his pistols with him.

At the Blue Boar, Milne hailed him with the same joviality as on the last occasion. “Was it not a fine thing, to see Hoare kick off?” he cried.

“Oh yes,” Laurence said, with an amicable smile. “How’s your wound?” he asked, indicating the bandage about Milne’s temples.

“I’ll survive it,” Milne said, grinning. “So what brings you here?”

“Digby sent me with a remedy for Mistress Savage.”

“Ha! He hasn’t the balls to come here himself, since he and Isabella quarrelled. Pray enter, and meet my friends.” Milne took him into the room, where two other men were sitting at cards. “Ruskell, Pickett, this is Beaumont. Do you play primero, Mr. Beaumont?”

“I do.”

“A favourite of good Queen Bess, they say. You can join us if you want, but it’s a rich game, I should warn you.”

“That’s all right by me.”

“Beforehand, we should give Isabella her medicine. She’s in the bedchamber.” Milne guided him to the inner door, which was partly open. “My sweet, Digby had Mr. Beaumont run along with something for your fever. Go in, go in,” he added to Laurence. “I must return to the table, or those fellows will tamper with my cards.”

The bedchamber was dark and stuffy, and beneath the scent of Isabella’s perfume Laurence could detect the smell of sweat. The curtains were not drawn about her bed, where she lay propped up by pillows. She looked ghastly, far sicker than she had been at Shrewsbury, and as she saw him she turned her face away.

He took a moment to compose himself. “This is Jesuit’s bark,” he said, producing the vial. “Very effective, according to Seward. Will you have some?”