‘I only hope we may not be stranded here!’
‘You are tired after your journey,’ replied the marquis soothingly, ‘let me ring for my man to show you to your room. Then, after we have dined, we will get down to business.’
The dinner was a good one, a saddle of mutton and a couple of dressed capons meeting with Mr Boreland’s approval, although he decided against the spiced beef, and later chose only the almond pie from the array of sweet dishes that were brought to the table. At length, the covers were removed and the servants withdrew, leaving the two gentlemen to refill their own glasses from the bottle of brandy set on the table between them.
‘Now,’ began the marquis, sitting back in his chair, the stem of the wine glass turning gently between his long, thin fingers. ‘What news from France?’
‘Precious little. In fact,’ said Boreland, thinking of his two-day journey, ‘nothing that could not have been put in a letter.’
‘Forgive me, James. You know it is not my way to commit anything to paper. Men may be persuaded to forget one’s words, but material evidence…! Only once have I ever made
that
mistake… but we digress. You spoke with the King?’
Boreland nodded: ‘Yes. I travelled to Rome, but found no joy there, so I went to Avignon and succeeded in gaining an
audience
with the Prince.’
‘And how did you find Charles Stuart? Well?’
‘As well as ever a fellow can be in his situation. By the bye, it came out in conversation that he was smuggled into England a few years back – were you aware of it?’
‘But of course. He came to be received into the Anglican Church.’
His companion shot a suspicious glance across the table.
‘You arranged it?’
‘I had some hand in the affair.’
‘You told me nothing of this!’
‘My dear sir, no-one knows all my cards. There was no reason for you to know of the matter. Furminger handled the whole.’
‘That old woman!’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘The fellow’s a fool.’
‘Nevertheless, he is a bishop, and managed things quite satisfactorily. But that is enough of the past, my dear Boreland. Tell me of the Prince.’
‘He’s a father now, did you know?’
‘I heard rumours – a boy?’
‘If only it had been! A son might perhaps have given Charles Stuart the will he needs to try his luck here once more.’
‘He will not come?’
‘No. I told him of your plans, but it proved of little use. Poyntz had apparently tried such persuasion but without success. He will not make any attempt upon England unless he is assured of the crown, and for that we need the backing of the French.’
‘Which is not forthcoming.’
‘No.’
‘And the gentlemen I told you to contact – they could not help you?’
‘I had meetings with them all, in Paris and Versailles, but to no avail. The most I could get them to agree upon was the troop ship movements in the Channel ports, although even these will not be as extensive as you had requested. It seems they do not consider the moment
propitious
for opening hostilities with England.’
Thurleigh shrugged.
‘How disappointing.’ He refilled his glass. ‘But not entirely unexpected, after all.’
‘Hell and damnation, my lord! You had me chasing all over France –’
‘Calm yourself, Boreland. I set you no unnecessary task. If Julian Poyntz had not been fool enough to kill himself with his unaccustomed debauchery he would have reported back to me and saved us both a deal of trouble. As it is, I needed to know how much Poyntz had achieved before his untimely end. Very little, it would appear. However, all is not lost. While you were hard at work pleading our cause across the water, I have been equally busy here at home. I now enjoy the full confidence of the Princess of Wales, and, to some extent, that of her eldest son, although he is set about by a bunch of the most admirable men, who make sure no-one wins too much influence with the heir to the throne. However, I am certain I have gained favour.’
‘It is never a bad thing to have friends in the highest places,’ came the somewhat sneering reply. ‘I fear ‘tis a great pity that there will be no invasion, for you are obviously well-placed to put an end to the line of Hanover.’
‘But there will be
news
of an invasion, I can promise you that,’ smiled Thurleigh. ‘Rumours are already rife in Town and the movement of men and arms to the western shores, however small the actual numbers, can only fuel the speculation.’
‘And what good will that do us?’
‘I have told you, my friend, I never pass on more than it is necessary for you to know. But,’ he paused, thoughtfully regarding his guest, ‘in this case, I am so pleased with my little scheme that I will tell you! The Princess thinks me her only friend: she hates the King and distrusts Cumberland, fearing that he wishes to be rid of his nephews and take the throne for himself. You may smile, Boreland, for you know as well as I that the Duke has no such notions. His current unpopularity is mainly undeserved, but it suits my purpose admirably! To continue: the lady is already disturbed by the rumours that are flying about Town concerning the French and Charles Stuart, and is in no way comforted by the King’s dismissal of such reports. Thus, as speculation grows, she will become ever more concerned for the safety of her children. I shall then come to her aid, and at a suitable moment I intend to spirit the whole family away to a place of safety.’ He smiled. ‘Think of it, Boreland: the disappearance of the heir to the throne. There will be chaos. I shall make sure some suspicion falls upon Cumberland. That should cause a few riots! Then mayhap the Jacobite cause may once more raise its standard, and once it is seen abroad what turmoil the country has been cast into, I have no doubt that France will wish to turn it to her own advantage. England will be at her mercy, Charles Stuart will reclaim his throne, with the help of his French cousins, to whom he will of course show due gratitude….’
‘And also to yourself, my lord?’ grinned Boreland.
‘There you have it, sir. If, however, no such success is forthcoming for the Stuarts, I shall of course protect my royal charges until such time as the young King may return safely to his court.’
‘Young King?’ Boreland frowned.
The marquis met his eyes with a bland smile.
‘Oh, did I forget to mention it? At the same time that I spirit away the royal children, the King is to be assassinated.’
* * * *
Boreland awoke the next morning in no very good humour. He had a splitting headache, and since no-one could doubt the quality of the wines Lord Thurleigh allowed to grace his table, Boreland realized his present state must be due to the quantity consumed the previous evening. Indeed, he thought grimly, his host’s mellowness was some proof of that, for rarely was Guy Morellon so forthcoming about his plans. As he rose unsteadily from his bed, Boreland found himself wondering if his brain was playing tricks on him: had Thurleigh really said that he planned to kill the King? He walked over to the washstand, filled the bowl from the heavy jug and plunged his head into the icy water. The shock of cold revived his memory, and last night’s conversation came floating back to him.
‘If
you
are busy with the heirs to the throne,’ he had said to his host, ‘who is to dispose of the King?’
He remembered Thurleigh’s cold grey eyes watching him over the rim of his glass.
‘Why, it must be you, of course, James. A man of your standing should have no difficulty in obtaining a private audience with our revered monarch.’
‘And how do you propose that I get away after completing my task?’
‘That is for you to arrange. I have no doubt you will hit upon a solution.’ Thurleigh had leaned forward, his voice suddenly urgent. ‘There is no-one else I would trust to the task. Oh, I have no doubt I could find a dozen willing to attempt it, men with grievances to avenge, or a liking for murder, but they cannot be relied upon should things go wrong. Poyntz is dead: so too is Rowsell, that leaves only you or Furminger, and the bishop really does not have the stomach for the task.’
No, thought Boreland, and in the cold light of morning neither did he relish the thought. Thurleigh’s plan was a bold one, the stakes were high, but if they succeeded! The sudden excitement died within him as he looked out of the window at the sodden landscape. The rain fell straight and heavy, relentlessly beating into the ground: there would be no travel today.
* * * *
For two days the rain continued, filling ditches and rivers to bursting point and when at last it eased and the servants ventured out for fresh supplies, they returned with ominous reports of flooding in the surrounding farms and villages. Lord Thurleigh’s lodge was built upon a slight rise, and they had no fear that the house itself was in any danger, although the lawns were waterlogged, and my lord’s dour butler announced gloomily that the cellars were growing damp. Boreland cursed his bad luck and could scarcely conceal his impatience at the continuing bad weather. Coming into the breakfast room one morning, Lord Thurleigh found his guest standing by the window, his countenance every bit as forbidding as the lowering sky. The marquis smiled faintly.
‘Is my hospitality so poor that you cannot wait to get away?’
Boreland joined his host at the table, his ill-humour unabated.
‘Damme, sir, ‘tis Christmas Eve! I had hoped to be back at Weald Hall by now. It’s the custom for the parson and his brood to dine with us tomorrow, plus various other respectable neighbours – a parcel of dowds, but I’m expected to play the great lord now and again. With the roads near impassable we could be imprisoned here for weeks. Hell and damnation, Thurleigh, how do you stand this place?’
‘Easily, James. Unlike you, I have no loving family awaiting me. My Lady Margaret scarcely notices whether I am at home or not. I believe she has taken to amusing herself with the stable lads at Thurleigh. Very bad form; I really wonder if I should put an end to it…’ He broke off from his musing, his hard eyes coming to rest upon his guest. ‘You are mighty keen to get back to your – what did you call them? Your
parcel of dowds
! Or is it perhaps the attractions of this female you have chosen for your son?’
‘As I have already told you, that was Isobel’s idea, not mine.’
‘Is she fair?’
‘A veritable beauty. ‘Tis strange, the girl looks familiar. Can’t quite put my finger on it, but sometimes there’s a look or a word, and I feel certain I know her. Impossible, however!’
The marquis showed a mild interest: after all, the weather was so bad there was little point in hurrying breakfast.
‘My dear Boreland, nothing is impossible. Tell me about this beauty.’
‘She’s somewhat older than Andrew, widow of some Frenchman, and very rich, apparently. Came over from Paris not long ago. If you’d been in Town recently you would have met her – Rowsell was hot for her, even wanted to marry her, would you credit it? When he died, Isobel decided to bring the girl to Weald Hall and see what could be done to promote a match with Andrew. I was surprised she agreed to’t. I had the impression she didn’t like us above half when we first met her. But there, women are strange creatures.’
‘As you say. She came from Paris? How long ago?’
‘Only been in England a few months, I believe. It seems Rowsell had no sooner clapped eyes on Elinor de Sange than he was captivated. Never stopped singing her praises.’
‘The marquis had stopped eating, and now regarded his guest very intently.
‘Elinor - and what does she look like, this paragon?’
Boreland shrugged.
‘She’s tall, good figure, a pretty face, but too solemn for my taste.’
‘And her hair? What colour?’
‘A reddish-brown – in Town she mostly kept it powdered, so I doubt that poor Rowsell often saw its glory, unless he managed to get her into bed, which I doubt. I suspect her virtue was part of the attraction.’
My lord was sitting very still.
‘Would I be correct if I were to hazard a guess that her eyes are green?’
‘Aye, you would.’ Boreland nodded. ‘Very striking. In fact, she’s very like your own lady, when she was younger, of course –’
‘And you say you’ve never met the woman?’ Thurleigh sneered at him, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘You are a fool, man. She was more of a child at the time, but of course you’ve seen her before, following our disappointment in ‘forty-five. You raped her!’
James Boreland stared uncomprehendingly across the table, then as the realization broke upon him, he brought his fist crashing down upon it, cursing violently.
‘Tell me,’ continued Thurleigh, ‘do you know if she met Julian in Paris?’
‘No. That is, it was mentioned once – I think she did say something….’
My lord sat back in his chair, gazing up at the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling.
‘Does it not seem odd to you,’ he remarked, ‘that this woman should have met Poyntz, who subsequently died in a most mysterious fashion, that she should then turn up in London with Rowsell at her heels, and that, upon his untimely demise, she should accept an invitation from you to stay at the Hall?’
Boreland’s countenance darkened as his brain worked quickly back over events. Suddenly he looked up, fixing his fierce stare upon the marquis.
‘The ruby! I thought I had seen its like before!’
Thurleigh brought his own grey eyes down from their contemplation of the ceiling to meet his guest’s harsh stare. He sat very still.
‘Go on.’
‘She wore a large ruby brooch – ‘twas the night George was murdered, which circumstance put it out of my mind until now, but I recall that at the time I thought it an unusual piece, more suited to a man – in fact, my Lord, it bore a striking resemblance to a certain large cravat pin you yourself possess –
if
you still have it!’
The two men stared at each other for a full minute, then the marquis spoke coolly.
‘As you have already surmised, my dear James, it is the very same. It was not to be found after the girl had left the inn that night. I sent my men to recover the stone the following morning, but the wench and her family had vanished. No word could be got from the villagers, despite all my – er – persuasions, and you may be sure that I scoured the countryside for news of them.’