The Rebel’s Daughter (29 page)

Every suspicious thought Helena ever had
about Tobias rose in her throat, and threatened to choke her for
its injustice. To think that he should demonstrate such devotion,
when her actions toward him at Loxsbeare had been nothing less than
spoiled petulance. Her shoulders slumped and with a silent nod, she
gave way to quiet, heartbreaking sobs.

Tobias gathered her in his arms like a child,
the cloth of his coat rubbing her cheek, the smell of damp wool
overlaid with leather and warm skin filling her senses. Familiar,
masculine smells, which brought with them the painful realization
that no one had held her for a long time.

When her tears subsided, she pulled away,
embarrassed at her lack of control in front of a servant - despite
that he was no longer in her service.

He handed her a large kerchief. “If you
will give your permission, I wish to go to Holland.”

She took it gently, sensing their
relationship had altered since his arrival. Never a subservient
man, he had always treated her insolence towards him with humor and
tolerance, an indulgence she didn’t deserve. “Something tells me
that you will go anyway.” She gave him a watery smile, acknowledged
by his wider one. “His letter only mentions the street and the
town. How will you find him. And is it safe?”

Inexplicably, she did not want Tobias to
walk into danger. Rumour said that the king had sent his agents
into France and Holland in search of fugitive rebels, who were to
be dragged back to England to face trial. Who was to say it wasn’t
true?

“
Someone will know where he resides.” As if
he read her thoughts added, “I doubt His Majesty has men on the
lookout for messages going back and forth to the continent. His
scandalous promotion of Catholics into key positions has given him
more than enough to cope with at home, without worrying about Aaron
Woulfe.”

“
Or Sir
Jonathan Woulfe?” She sighed, then brightened. “Maybe there are
other rebels in Holland who do know what happened to Father. People
Aaron hasn’t yet encountered.”

“
One
thing at a time, Helena. I believe Samuel has sent a messenger to
fetch Henry, so he may be told.”

“
Henry!
Yes of course he would want to know. I should have thought…” She
noticed he did not say, “Master”, but hardly cared. She rose to her
feet, the letter still clutched in her hand. “Thank you, Tobias.
You mentioned you had a room, so I assume you’ll be staying here
for a while?”

“
A few
days. Until I can book passage from Woolwich.”

“
So
soon? You’ll have to excuse me. I must find Celia and tell her the
good news before Henry arrives. He’s bound to be full of
questions.”

The sound of William’s familiar laugh drew
her steps towards the door of the taproom, anticipating his delight
at her news. These last few weeks, William always wanted to hear
her stories about her family, openly sympathetic where her father
and brother were concerned.

Unlike other taprooms in local hostelries,
the room was plain but stylish. There were benches and scrubbed
tables set in booths. Shoulder-height glass panels afforded privacy
from adjoining patrons who gathered to drink, take an ordinary
meal, and talk. The room was always spotlessly clean and the staff
disciplined, and what Carstairs called, “of high moral
character”.

Smiling, Helena retraced her steps,
intending to go in, knowing he would be as delighted as she to know
about Aaron. William occupied a booth opposite the door with an
attractive woman, who on closer inspection was hardly in the first
flushes of youth. William pressed his lips to her hand, while
fixing her with his amorous gaze. From her delighted protestations,
Helena could tell she was receiving the same flattery he always
employed when he addressed her.

Helena stepped back into the shadows as a
shaft of anger ran through her. A server with a tray narrowly
avoided a collision, his expert arm guiding the tray over her head.
He turned a grimace into a gracious smile, bowed and moved on into
the dining room at the end of the hall.

Blood throbbed in Helena’s temples as she
ran up the stairs, though by the time she gained her room, her
sharp disappointment had passed. Why should William not flirt with
any woman he chose? Besides, the man had little to do other than
hang around the dining rooms in search of female distraction. He
lived on the generosity of his father, and possessed no skills of
his own with which could begin to provide anything like the life
she had lost. He reminded her of a cat, stretching and preening
under whoever’s hands he found himself at the time. Sometimes,
Helena suspected boredom alone drove him to lay siege to her; so
why had seeing him use his charm on another affect her so
strongly?

If she could not attract a wealthy man who
could give her what she needed, a reliable one with ambition and
ability was her only alternative - not a vain, idle fop, with a
roving eye.

Surprised at herself for allowing
William’s actions to disturb her so badly, she refused to allow him
to spoil her special day. Helena returned downstairs, resolving
never again to be susceptible to William’s feline grace.

Chapter
18

Tobias wrapped his heavy long
coat around his shoulders
, and huddled on the forecastle deck of
The
Sirius
,
s
hivering in
the bitter cold, icy salt spray that whipped across his face. He
bore the discomfort stoically, preferring to brave the prevailing
wind, rather than suffer the nauseating yawing of
below-deck.

The gale howled like an animal in pain,
greeted cheerfully by the crew who declared it meant an earlier
arrival at their destination. The ship had left Brewhouse Quay on
the tide the previous day, and the coast of Holland formed an
uneven gray mass on the horizon, partly obscured by horizontal
rain.

The rain turned to drizzle as they pulled
into The Hague, the vessel lashed down with ropes.

Tobias joined the small group of
passengers who clumped down the rickety wooden gangplank. None of
whom had uttered a word to him throughout the overnight
voyage.

His leather bag tucked under one arm and
one hand holding down his hat, Tobias glanced around the dockside,
wondering which way to go. An old man approached him, narrowed eyes
staring out of a wrinkled face. Tobias grasped his bag tighter,
returning the man’s stare in silence.

“
Waar u
bent die gaan?” the old man mumbled.

Tobias frowned, and shook his
head

The man tried again. “Kan ik u de heer
helpen?”

Dismissing the conversation as a waste of
his time, Tobias turned to go, when an English voice behind him
spoke, “He asks vere you are bound, and can he be off
help.”

A smiling blond man of about his own age
sat perched on a cart pulled by a well-built, but elderly horse.
“Thank you, sir, I’m looking for a street called-” He pulled a
sheet of paper from his pocket and peered at it. “Grote
Markt.”

“
The
market.” The carter pointed with a curt nod. “I go there. I gif you
a ride.”

Tobias slipped a coin to the old Dutchman,
who nodded his thanks and shuffled away.

“
Could
you take me to an inn near the market? I need to make
enquires.”

At the carter’s languid nod, Tobias
climbed onto the cart, his bag beneath his arm and hand clamped
firmly onto his hat. Distracted from his discomfort by the rows of
neat, tightly packed brick built houses with ornamental gables,
Tobias wondered whether he could have travelled by water instead.
Everywhere he looked, the canal weaved along his route, jammed with
conveyances piled high with goods and people.

One thing his foster-father had taught him
was that good gratuities made for reliable service. Thus when the
man dropped him in the main square, he rewarded him
well.

“
Take
the door to the left; the landlord knows everyone who comes to The
Hague since the summer. He will tell you vere the man is whom you
seek.” As if as an afterthought, added. “You don’t vish him harm, I
trust?”

Tobias grinned, hitching his bag beneath
his arm. “No, I wish him no harm. He’s a friend.”

“
Goot!”
The carter clicked his tongue at his horse. “Prince Villiam is
sympathetic to these men, ja?”

Pulling his collar up against the biting
wind, Tobias entered the inn, a low-ceilinged room with
roughly-made wooden benches, badly scarred and marked, but which
looked clean. The landlord professed no knowledge of Aaron, but
another man at a table in the corner of the room proved more
forthcoming, in a clipped, disinterested sort of way.

“
Back
alley, black door, top floor, rear,” was all he said, pocketing the
silver coin Tobias proffered.

A tiny, wizened man his black cap covering
his head down past his ears opened the door, peering up at Tobias
with myopic gooseberry eyes. Mention of Aaron’s name brought smiles
and nods, together with a pointing finger to an upper floor. He
took Tobias to a narrow staircase at the back of the hall and
pointed again, indicating he should climb to the top.

Tobias paused on the tiny landing, placed his
bag on the floor and, took a cleansing breath before he raised a
fist to knock.

The door opened tentatively at first, then
when the occupant saw who it was he flung it open.

“
Lumm!”
Aaron ushered him inside and close the door on the tiny apartment,
where he relieved Tobias of his hat and slapped him repeatedly on
the back as if reassuring himself he was real.

“
Pardon
my hesitation in opening the door just now, but I thought you were
a creditor.” Aaron grinned as he guided his visitor to a rickety
chair set at a tiny round table in a corner of the room, and bade
him sit. “I gather my letter reached mother at Loxsbeare?” He
hastily removed a thin pile of linens from an equally fragile chair
opposite and sat down. “I apologise for my Spartan lodgings, but
they are all I could find.”

Aaron
’s face looked too thin, his blue
eyes wary under a vivid red scar that sliced through his left
eyebrow, though the broad smile and twinkling blue eyes were
unmistakably Aaron Wolfe’s. He wore his fair hair shorter, held at
the nape of his neck with a wide black band; most likely in tribute
of his lost duke.

Tobias assessed his surroundings at a
glance. Set beneath the eaves of the ancient building, the walls of
the room were lime-washed, the floorboards bare and uneven. A
small, square gable window looked onto clumps of contiguous
rooftops of the city, washed of their colour under the winter sky.
The window held no hangings to keep out the cold wind, and the
furniture was old and decrepit. The door of the next room stood
open and through it, Tobias spied a narrow bed with meagre
coverings.

His gaze came round to settle on Aaron’s
face again, all his well-rehearsed speeches deserted him. “I’ve
brought letters for you, Sir.” Tobias, faltered on the “Sir”, but
Aaron appeared not to notice. “And money.” He withdrew the bulky
packet from his coat and set a square packet and a cloth bag on the
table between them.

“
I
appreciate them all, Tobias. The money is particularly welcome. As
you can see,” he indicated his worn clothes, “I wear hand-me-down
garments these days.”

Aaron stared at the letters hungrily for a
moment before turning back to Tobias. “How is everyone at home?
I’ve been worried for them all since the Rebellion
failed.”

He leaned his forearms on his knees, his
chin jutted forward, a stance so familiar it brought a lump to
Tobias’s throat, and he couldn’t speak.

“
Is it
so bad?” Aaron whispered.

At one time, the arrogant Aaron Woulfe had
possessed no insight to a man’s feelings. Spoiled and indulged, he
had seen no need to dig below the surface to a man’s
soul.

Tobias nodded, admiring of the
change in his former master.
Where to begin
? “There has been no news at all of Sir Jonathan,
Master Aaron.”

“
I feared as much.” Aaron exhaled, nodding.
“He could have been caught and sent for trial. Then there would be
no hope.” He leveled his gaze at Tobias” face, waiting.

Tobias swallowed. “Your Uncle Edmund is
dead.”

Aaron gave a small groan, then rubbed his
hands over his face as if washing it. “May his soul be at peace,”
he murmured so Tobias barely heard him. He jerked his head up and
met Tobias” gaze. “Was he hanged?”

“
No.
Killed at Sedgemoor.” Tobias did not see how the manner of his
death made a difference, but this detail appeared to matter to
Aaron, who released another low, relieved breath.

In the heavy silence that followed, Tobias
knew if he did not say the rest of it there and then, he might
never be able to. He licked his lips and took a deep breath,
summoning his courage. “Master Aaron. Your moth-Lady Elizabeth is
also dead.”