‘Nor was I. I came over the wall.’
‘Over the – how dare you sir! You behave like a common thief!’
‘I did it to steal time with you, Madame. Pray allow me to explain myself.’
She turned and began to walk quickly back towards the house.
‘You did that very effectively at our last meeting! There can be nothing left to say!’
In a couple of long strides he was beside her.
‘Lady, I mean you no harm! I want to apologise.’
‘Too late, my lord.’
‘No, I will not allow that!’ He jumped in front of her, grabbing her arms and forcing her to stop. ‘Pray, at the very least hear me! When we last met I was angry. I gave you no chance to defend yourself. That was wrong of me, will you not explain to me
how
I have misjudged you?’
Elinor glared at him, her breast heaving. She bit her lip, stormy green eyes meeting cool blue.
He said gently, ‘I am willing to listen, and more than ready to believe I was in error.’ He watched the fire die from her eyes, but she remained cautious. He continued: ‘Will you not walk with me, Madame de Sange?’
She made no remonstrance as he drew her hand through his arm and led her back along the sheltered paths of the shrubbery. She remained tense, and there was an edge to her voice when she spoke to him.
‘Well, sir?’
‘Well, Madame! I saw you with Poyntz, in Paris, the night he died. I met you on the stairs as you ran away from his room. Even wrapped in your cloak I knew you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I cannot believe your affections were engaged?’
‘They were not.’
‘Then there was George Rowsell.’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you tell me you were not his mistress?’
‘I am no man’s mistress.’
‘Yet they are both dead.’
She said in a tight voice: ‘I did not kill either of them.’
‘I know that, but to see you with Rowsell, a womaniser, man so coarse, and you –’
‘You know nothing of me.’
He heard the wistful note in her voice and stopped, pulling her round to face him.
‘I
do
know you! I know you did not love Rowsell – you
could
not love such a man! Will you not tell me why you gave him to believe you would marry him?’
Elinor looked up and realized her mistake as she found her eyes held by his intense gaze. She wanted to trust him, to tell him everything, but he was a man, and she could not bring herself to believe he was so very different from the rest.
‘If – if I tell you that I have -I had my reasons for befriending Rowsell, would that be sufficient?’
‘No.’
The word stood between them, stark and uncompromising. Elinor realized it was important to explain, and she fought against herself in her attempt to do so.
‘I did not – love him.’
‘And Poyntz?’
Her lip curled. ‘He died of over-indulgence.’
‘But you were there.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I was his Nemesis.’
‘Will you not explain?’
‘I cannot!’ She closed her eyes against the bewilderment she saw in his face. ‘Pray my lord, do not question me further. I have told you more than any other living soul, save my faithful Hannah. At this time I can give you no more.’
‘At this time – does that mean that one day you will tell me?’
Aye, if I live!
Aloud, she said: ‘If you will keep faith with me, sir, and trust me.’
His wry smile appeared.
‘I have no choice, since you will not let me help you.’ He lifted her fingers to his lips and felt them tremble as he kissed them. ‘I am your servant, ma’am, now and always.’
‘Thank you.’ The viscount had retained her hand and Elinor felt her resolve weakening. She said: ‘You must go now, if you please.’
‘And must I climb back over the wall?’
A reluctant smile curled her lips. She shook her head.
‘I have a key to the wicket gate. I will let you out.’
She led him to a shady corner of the garden and unlocked the small door set into the wall.
‘When will I see you again, Madame?’
‘I – I am going out of town for Christmas. I do not yet know when I shall return. I-’ she looked up to find him staring down at her. Instinctively she stepped away, only to find the garden wall at her back. He put his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her. She knew he was going to kiss her, and as panic immobilised her body a whimper escaped her constricted throat.
The viscount stepped back, frowning at the terror he saw in her face.
‘Elinor? Do I frighten you so much?’
She was trembling violently.
‘N-no. It – it is not you, sir, it is – all men!’
‘My dear child, what is it? Will you not tell me?’
‘No, I cannot!’ She leaned against the wall, afraid that her limbs would not support her. ‘Please, please go now.’
‘But will you not –’
‘Please – you must leave me now!’
Davenham hesitated, but Elinor waved him away, and once he had stepped through the door she locked it as quickly as her trembling hands would allow, before giving way to her tears.
* * * *
As the year drew to a close, Elinor made her plans for her forthcoming visit to Weald Hall. Since no time limit had been agreed for her stay, the house at Knight’s Bridge must be kept open, she decided, with Hannah remaining in charge of a skeleton staff. This arrangement did not suit Mrs Grisson at all, as she was quick to inform Madame as they were packing her gowns into a large trunk, but Elinor was adamant. Seeing the older woman’s distress, Elinor put her arms around Hannah and hugged her. ‘My mind is quite made up, Hannah, I must go alone. Pray do not look so frightened, my dear. Boreland is merely flesh and blood, like you or I, and just as vulnerable.’
Mrs Grisson broke out of the embrace and paced the room, her emotions plain upon her face, although she did her best to conceal them. At length she turned to her mistress, her faded eyes pleading.
‘Miss Nell, pray do not go! If you kill that man you will be found out and hanged for sure, and if he should remember who you are, he will most certainly do away with you!’
Elinor gave a small, twisted smile.
‘In that case,’ she said,’ you may inform upon our friend Boreland, and have him executed for murder.’ She held up a yellow gown, ignoring Hannah’s anguished looks. ‘Now, what do you think of this canary-coloured sack? Too many knots and ruffles for a lady in mourning for her lover, do you not agree?’
Realizing my lady would not be moved, Hannah sighed audibly, but refrained from any further argument.
In one of the small apartments of Leicester House, a lady stood by the window, looking out at the wintry sky. The December day was short and the room was already growing dark, but when a servant had disturbed her, bringing in a taper to light the candles, she had waved him away. There was still light enough, she reasoned, and the rosy glow of the blazing fire gave the room an air of intimacy. Nervously she pulled at the lace handkerchief between her fingers as she waited for her visitor to come upstairs: she had seen him arrive, but it seemed an age before she heard the discreet scratching upon the door, and the gentleman was shown in. She gave a faint smile of relief as she watched him enter, his elegant coat of grey silver-laced satin glowing richly in the firelight and as he made his bow to her the diamond stud in his hat flashed its own greeting.
‘Your Highness.’
‘My Lord Thurleigh.’ She greeted him warmly as she came away from the window. ‘I have anxiously awaited your return to Town. You have seen my sons?’
He shook his head. ‘I called at Savile House, but was informed that the Prince was engaged and could not see me.’
And my Edward?’
‘Similarly engaged, ma’am.’
The Princess of Wales made a little sound of annoyance.
‘It is always the same,’ she complained, her Teutonic accent still strong after seventeen years in England. ‘Since that man Waldegrave has been their governor, my children are kept very close. I fear they are not being taught as they should be, yet the King will not listen to me. He has surrounded his grandsons with Jacobites but cannot be made to see it!’
‘There was an inquiry into the matter, ma’am,’ he reminded her gently, ‘the allegations proved groundless.’
The Princess looked sceptical. ‘What do I care for inquiries? I would that
you
were governor at Savile House, my lord. Then I would know my children were in safe hands.’
Lord Thurleigh’s hard grey eyes gleamed for a moment before the lids concealed his triumphant look.
‘I should be honoured by such a trust,’ he murmured, bowing modestly, ‘but although I dare to think that His Majesty regards me in a favourable light, I do not think that he is about to bestow that post upon me. He is too well disposed to Waldegrave at the present time.’
‘He cannot see what is under his nose!’ The Princess was scathing. ‘It is the same with the current rumours concerning the Stuart. His Majesty will not take them seriously. He says they are put about by mischief-makers here in England, but how can he be sure?’
The marquis spread his hands. ‘As you know, Your Highness, I have ordered my own people to look into the matter.…’
‘And have you any proof, my lord?’ she asked him eagerly. ‘Anything that will make the King take this threat seriously?’
‘Alas, as yet I cannot bring His Majesty proof that Charles Stuart is planning another attempt upon the crown. If only I could, then mayhap plans could be made to safeguard the young prince.’ He paused, watching the Princess closely as he continued: ‘Unfortunately, His Majesty will not listen to those of us who believe there is a real threat. It is almost as if someone did not wish him to see the danger….’
The lady’s petulant expression turned to one of anger.
‘He is being misled by his brother!’ she said savagely. ‘Cumberland would like nothing better than to have Charles Stuart dispose of my children. Then he would be free to wrest the crown back for himself.’
Since this was exactly what Guy Morellon wished to imply, he could not but be pleased with this speech, but the lady’s vehemence caused him to go cautiously.
‘Indeed, ma’am, I have never heard aught against the duke…’
‘I live in constant dread of him!’ came the bitter reply. Suddenly, she stepped forward and caught one of his hands between her own nervous fingers, glancing around to make sure they were alone.
‘Pray, my lord,’ she spoke now in a quiet, urgent tone, ‘you once told me you would do anything to serve your future king. I am a widow, sir. My son is defenceless. If Charles Stuart – or any other – should attempt to steal away his birthright –’
‘I would indeed do my utmost to protect His Highness, and all of your family, ma’am, but would you trust so much to me, rather than His Majesty’s advisors?’
‘In truth I would, sir!’ she told him earnestly. ‘I would put myself and my children totally in your charge. Did not my dear husband tell me you were his very good friend? My son attains his majority in a little over two years and then, my dear sir, you may be sure that your loyalty to us shall not be forgotten. George has a very warm regard for you, Lord Thurleigh, and will welcome your attendance upon him when he sets up his own household.’
Guy Morellon smiled to himself. He uttered a few more comforting words to the Princess while triumph sang within him. It was too easy: the lady was so set against the Duke of Cumberland that she was willing to believe him capable of any infamy. He decided he had done enough for the present.
‘I must go out of Town again for a short while,’ he told her as he took his leave. ‘My man is due back from France very soon, and I go to meet him.’
‘I pray he will bring you good news, my lord.’
‘As you say, ma’am. In the meantime, it would be best if you spoke of this matter with no-one,’ he warned her.
She held out her hand to him, smiling trustingly up into his face.
‘Of course, sir. I would do nothing to endanger my family.’
‘Then I will say
au revoir
, Your Highness, and I hope that upon my next visit, I shall be able to give you better tidings.’
As he was driven away from Leicester House, Lord Thurleigh laughed softly to himself. Everything he had planned was falling into place. Those skillfullyspread rumours of a Stuart revival could never be traced back to him, and what did it matter if the King and his advisors dismissed them? The Princess of Wales believed them, and doubtless many of her supporters, too. He laughed aloud as he recalled his last conversation with the princess: there was not a thought in her head that had not been put there by someone else, and now that he had her trust, it was simple to put in the occasional word or suspicion to keep her at odds with the King. Had she not told him she trusted him above all others? It did not matter after all whether Boreland’s visit to Charles Stuart had been fruitful: Thurleigh was sure now that he did not need a full-blown invasion to stir up a rebellion. With his influence over the Princess, it would be an easy task to set the Hanoverians against one another. Thurleigh settled himself into one corner of the coach and closed his eyes, still smiling. With the country in turmoil, who could say what an ambitious man might not achieve?
Two weeks before Christmas, the Boreland coach carried Madame de Sange away from Knight’s Bridge. Elinor’s scant knowledge of the country prevented her from recognising the route, although she knew from the occasional milestone that they were heading north. Except for a brief stop to change horses at Hadley Green, they travelled throughout the short winter day. Elinor had no way of telling how far they travelled and she dozed fitfully as the carriage rumbled on, only waking when she felt a change in pace, and found they were turning off the main highway to follow a much narrower track that took them between two thick walls of trees. Elinor suppressed a shudder, and took comfort from the knowledge that an armed guard was sitting upon the box beside the coachman, to protect them from highwaymen. A thick bed of rusty leaves covered the ground between the trees and scrunched under the wheels of the coach, and the bare branches overhead formed a dense lattice above the road, reducing the wintry afternoon light to a dusk. Occasionally a break in the trees allowed a shaft of sunlight to finger the road, but to Elinor even this seemed strange and unreal. She pulled her fur-lined mantle closer about her and hoped that they were nearing their journey’s end.