Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (26 page)

“And you trust his opinion that much?” Beth asked.

“Yes. He’s the best judge of character I’ve ever met. If he gives you his serious opinion of somebody, and is not merely being witty or playing to his audience, he’s well worth taking notice of, believe me.”

“I don’t know how you can tell the difference,” Beth said deprecatingly. “I don’t think I’ve heard him utter a serious remark yet.”

“You don’t like him very much, do you?” Caroline commented.

Beth blushed. It seemed uncharitable to dislike someone who clearly had a high opinion of her, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. She pondered the question for a moment.

“I don’t know what to make of him,” she said candidly after a minute. “He is amusing, and he’s been very kind to me, but...” she faltered into silence, unwilling to tell someone who was a friend of his that she didn’t trust him. “You have known him for years, of course, so you are better qualified to give an opinion of him.”

“Not at all,” said Caroline. “I’ve known him since he first arrived in London last year, that’s all. Before that he was living in France. His family emigrated there from England when he was a child, after a family tragedy of some kind. But he has two faces, you must have noticed that, if you have spent any time alone with him. He’s quite different when you get him on his own, if he likes you, than he is when in company.”

 Beth thought. He had been a
little
different from his normal superficial self when he had taken her to visit Didsbury, but then she had not really been alone, as Grace had accompanied her. She could certainly agree that he was two-faced, although that was not quite what Caroline had meant.

“I don’t know,” she said awkwardly. “Maybe when I get to know him better...”

“I heard a piece of gossip about you yesterday,” Caroline commented, changing the subject in an attempt to alleviate Beth’s discomfort. She poured the tea. “I must say I am deeply concerned about it, as I was hoping, now that we are becoming friends, to introduce you to some of my more intelligent acquaintance.”

“What is this piece of gossip?” Beth asked.

“There are fears that you may be a little simple-minded.”

“What?” Beth spluttered.

“It seems that when you make calls with your cousins, you have a tendency to behave in a somewhat vacant manner, staring into space, smiling to yourself, that sort of thing.”

Beth burst out laughing.

“Oh dear,” she said after a moment. “I think I have been making my boredom a little too obvious.”

Caroline offered the plate of almond biscuits to Beth, who shook her head.

“Yes. You’re adjusting quite well to society life, I must say. I have noticed that you are making great efforts to control your tongue, and your impatience, and even your temper.”

Beth stared at her.

“I’ve been watching you. At the theatre last night you showed no sign of your impatience when Isabella kept chatting to you whilst you were trying to watch ‘
Othello
’. And you managed to sit quietly throughout the whole of Edward’s ridiculous tirade about the inferiority of the female intellect at dinner last week. But it’s not good enough to merely replace inappropriate emotions with a vacant expression, dear Elizabeth. You must do better than that. Why, some of your potential suitors are having second thoughts about asking for your hand!”

“In that case,” Beth said dryly, “perhaps I should start drooling and muttering to myself as well as looking vacuous.”

“Oh dear, is it that bad?”

Beth nodded. “Three proposals this week. All of them idiots. Two of the men I’ve never even met. How can you declare undying love for someone you’ve never even seen before? Luckily, they were all untitled civilians, otherwise Edward or Richard would be no doubt trying to fob me off on one of them.”

“The attractions of twenty thousand don’t need to be seen to be irresistible, Elizabeth. But if you think things are bad now, wait until you’ve been presented to the king. Still, at least being acquainted with royalty should deter some of the untitled suitors. You will put yourself beyond them if you make a good impression on George.”

“I think it highly unlikely that I’ll get to see the king,” Beth said, sounding remarkably happy not to be meeting the sovereign. “None of my family has ever been invited to Court. Edward moans on about it constantly, trying to work out how to cultivate an opportunity to get into St. James’s. I’m sure he thinks King George would take one look at him and say, ‘Make the man a duke, at once!’”

Caroline laughed.

“But I’ve heard he’s somewhat unsociable since the queen died,” Beth continued.

“He’s never been that sociable, but since Queen Caroline died St. James’s has become unbearably dull. Everybody who is anybody usually dashes off to pay their respects as soon as they arrive for the season. It’s only good manners, to visit the king first of all. Then after they’ve listened to him droning on about military tactics for a while, they make their escape, breathe a sigh of relief, and get on with enjoying themselves. Of course being accepted at Court still carries prestige, even though it is a chore.”

Beth was shocked. “I thought you were in favour of the Hanoverian succession. Your husband’s an MP in the government that put George on the throne!”

“I am,” Caroline replied. “I would fight to my last breath to stop the Pretender regaining the crown and plunging the country into another civil war. But that doesn’t mean that I have to personally like the man on the throne. He’s ignorant and dull, and what’s worse, he’s proud of the fact.”

“Do you really think there would be another civil war if James retook the throne?” Beth asked.

“Of course I do. It’s nothing to do with personalities. King George is dull, the prince of Wales is more lively but incompetent, and Prince William Augustus has all the makings of a tyrant. Whereas from what I’ve heard, James is colourless, and so is his youngest son. The real danger is from the eldest son Charles. He’s the only one amongst the whole shower who might be worthy to be called a king, if rumour is to be believed.”

Beth gasped.

“Does Edwin know that you think Charles Stuart would be a better king than George?”

“Yes. We have no secrets from each other. But I didn’t say Charles would be a better king than George. He has the personality fit for a king. He’s rumoured to be a charismatic man, handsome and daring, although I have heard he’s becoming a little dissipated now.”

“Sir Anthony told you that, didn’t he?” Beth said.

“Yes. He has connections everywhere, and hears a lot. But as I said before, it’s not about personalities. It’s about religion, and freedom. Not many people like King George or his family. But they like the thought of a Roman Catholic, French-influenced Britain far less. So George will stay. It’s as simple as that.”

Beth didn’t think it was as simple as that, by a long stretch, but much as she was coming to like Caroline, she was not about to trust anyone with her deepest feelings on the matter of the Stuart succession.

“So what gives you the idea that I might be presented to the king?” Beth said.

“Sir Anthony told me that he intends to ask you to accompany him when he visits St. James’s. He will be going as soon as he returns from his latest trip.”

His trips lasted anything from a few days to a week or more. He had been away for over two weeks this time. There was a lot of speculation as to what his business entailed, the general assumption being that it was probably something to do with the clothing trade. Almost everyone assumed that he visited France on a regular basis, mainly because he always managed to drop a hint to that effect into the conversation; ‘My dears, the very latest thing in France is...’

“Will he be welcome?” Beth asked. “After all, he’s been in London for weeks. Surely he’s breached the protocol, if he hasn’t visited St James’s yet?”

“Oh, it won’t be his first visit. I thought you knew he was a regular visitor to St. James’s.”

Beth
had
heard that, but then he claimed to know virtually everyone. She had thought it an idle boast.

“Well, if he asks me I suppose I will have to accept, my cousins will never forgive me otherwise,” Beth said. “But if you are right, I should do anyway, no matter how dull the king is. I’d visit the devil himself if it would reduce the number of fools that vow they can’t live without me.”

“Oh, I don’t know if it will reduce them, but at least you’ll attract a better class of fool,” Caroline replied dryly.

In spite of, or possibly because of her conviction that George of Hanover had no right to be on the throne of Great Britain, she felt inordinately nervous at the thought of meeting him, and wondered when Sir Anthony would return and if, indeed, he would ask her to accompany him to St. James’s.

 In the meantime she tried to concentrate on looking less vacuous and appearing more interested in the conversation during the daily round of calls. However, by the end of the week, she had other things than Sir Anthony and the king to think about.

For at a small soiree given by Lady Ann Morley, she had met Lord Daniel Barrington, eldest son of the Earl of Highbury, for the first time. He was titled, handsome, intelligent, witty and irreverent. And she was smitten.

Chapter Nine

Joshua White paced half the packed dirt floor of his dimly-lit cellar in a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. The other half of the floor was stacked with boxes of tea and several bales of high quality silk, along with two hundred broadswords and a hundred muskets. He had helped to unload this cargo from a cutter landed at Hastings a few days earlier. All the goods were contraband. If he was discovered to be storing these items, he would be heavily fined. If it was discovered that he was a newly-accepted member of the notorious Stanbridge gang of smugglers, he would be transported, at the least.

These thoughts were certainly enough to keep any man worriedly pacing a room, but the prospect of being apprehended by the authorities did not even cross Josh’s mind. He was safe here, he knew that. The cellar’s entrance was hidden behind a false wall in the kitchen and was accessed by a steep flight of wooden steps wide enough to permit the descent of only one man at a time. Cumbersome when carrying the boxes of contraband up and down, but easily defended from below. Behind another wall in the cellar a tunnel led to the nearby woods, facilitating escape if necessary. These precautions were not, however, the reason why Joshua felt so safe. The village of Stockwell, though only three miles from London, was beyond the rule of law. Almost every occupant was involved in the smuggling business in one way or another, either voluntarily or by coercion, and in addition he was protected by his membership of the gang. No one would threaten him now.

The frown which creased his thin, sharp-nosed, foxy face was caused not by anything he had done, nor by his conscience pricking him over the men he had killed and betrayed in the past, but by what he was about to do. He had gone over the plan several times, how he was going to approach the subject and how he would cope with the possible reactions of the young man he would be meeting soon.

No,
he thought.
He won’t give me any trouble.
Josh was a good judge of character. His life had depended on it more than once. He had dealt with the handsome young Scot known as Jim several times. It was not his real name, Josh knew that. Nobody used their real names in this business. Jim was brave and reckless, but also good-humoured and naïve. Still, better to approach the subject in a public place, surrounded by people who would assist him if the boy tried anything rash, than in his own house.

He mounted the cellar steps and, putting on his blue woollen coat, which was made of good material but had seen better days, he left the house. The weather was fine though cold, and the single street that comprised the small hamlet was dry. The sun was setting. In an hour or so the villagers would be coming home from the fields, but for now the few scattered cottages were deserted. As he walked down the street his spirits lifted and he started to softly whistle a bawdy tune. The plan would work. It was already working with two of his other clients. Soon he would have a steady regular income, and without being soaked to the skin while unloading cargo, or running the risk of being caught by excisemen every few weeks.

When he arrived at the pub his client’s horse was already tethered outside the squat, whitewashed building. Josh entered the stuffy interior and acknowledged the pretty barmaid’s desultory greeting with a perfunctory nod of his head. He was not a popular man, although that did not disturb him at all. He preferred to be feared rather than liked, and at any rate the villagers’ opinion of him was irrelevant; in a few short days, if all went according to plan, he would be able to move to the Capital and set himself up in style.

He looked around the room. The young man he sought was sitting in the dim recesses of the inn, a pewter tankard of beer in front of him. To Josh’s surprise there was another tankard on the table opposite the blond man. He looked up and smiled as Josh approached and sat down, his back to the room.

“Very kind of you to stand me a beer,” Josh said, taking a deep swallow of the foaming brew. “Were you expecting me imminently, then, or are you very thirsty?”

Jim seemed about to say something, and then desisted, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He relaxed back into his seat.

“I called in for a beer, as I always do, and the landlord told me ye’d sent a message to say you wanted to meet me here rather than the house. Why? Are we discovered?”

“No, nothing like that. Everything is in the cellar, as usual. I just thought it would be more convivial to meet here over a drink, that’s all.” Josh looked sharply at his companion, but he showed no suspicion. On the contrary, he seemed quite amused by something. Maybe he had just propositioned the barmaid and been accepted. His athletic figure, glossy blond hair and merry blue eyes were just what Jane would go for. Even as he thought this, Jim cast a glance over Josh’s shoulder in the direction of the bar and winked, slowly and seductively. Josh didn’t need to look round to know who he’d winked at; Jane’s clear tinkling laughter rang out across the room seconds later.