Deeply stung, she tossed her head. “Nor am I eager to wed Eglinton’s heir. I am delighted the betrothal is null and void. I don’t even remember the callow youth,” she lied.
“Of course, should King Charles be restored to the throne and we get back our confiscated estates, I have no doubt your union would once again become most desirable to Eglinton.”
Velvet lifted her chin. “That will be too bad. I wouldn’t have his son for a husband if he were the last man alive!”
When the awaited letter arrived, it wasn’t from the Earl of Devonshire or his wife, but from his mother, the Dowager Countess of Devonshire. William read it to his daughter:
My Dearest Newcastle:
It is with anticipated delight that I invite your daughter, Velvet Cavendish, to come and make her home with me. It is my great honor to correspond with my dear friend Queen Henrietta Maria, and know from her letters the hardship of life in exile.
On my advice, my son, Devonshire, does not reside at Chatsworth. (Far too ostentatious in a Commonwealth.) He now lives at Latimers in Buckinghamshire.
Tired of my cutoff life in the country at Oldcoates, I have recently moved back to my late husband’s house in Bishopsgate, London. Velvet’s company will be most welcome, I do assure you, until such time as you return to your own estates.
My felicitations on your union with the noble Lady Margaret.
Christian Bruce Cavendish, Dowager Countess of Devonshire.
“I don’t remember her,” Velvet said blankly.
“Christian Bruce is the daughter of the late Scottish lord Kinloss. She’ll be about sixty now.” Newcastle did not tell his daughter that the dowager wielded her great power with an iron hand and had certainly always had his cousin Devonshire under her dominant thumb. “I expect she will be lonely rattling about in a house in London and would benefit from your company.”
A house in London
sounded like heaven to Velvet. “Thank you, Father. I have decided to take the dowager up on her offer.”
Chapter Three
G
reysteel Montgomery was given permission to speak to his men on the eve of their release. He found them thinner and quietly subdued, as if their cocky spirits had been knocked out of them.
“I have bargained with General Monck for your freedom on the condition that you do not take up arms again. Our Royalist force is disbanded and you are free to return home to Northumberland. You served me well and I thank you.”
His lieutenant said quietly, “Nay, sir, we thank you for whatever sacrifice you made so we wouldn’t rot in prison.”
The gratitude in their eyes made him glad he’d made the pact with Monck regardless of whether it was morally right or wrong.
The following day, before he left Berwick, George Monck handed him a ciphered code using numbers to represent names and places. “Commit this to memory; then burn it.” Monck gave him a written pass in case he was stopped by the military. “There are spies everywhere, so it is best not to use a false name. As heir to the Earl of Eglinton, who made his peace long ago with the English Protectorate, you should not be under suspicion in London. Cromwell’s official residence is Whitehall. I shall leave it to your ingenuity to gain access.” Monck returned his sword and pistol. “I want regular reports.”
“Whom will I use as courier, General?”
“When you get to London, my man will contact you.”
Greysteel crossed the Border and rode directly south to Montgomery Hall, in Nottinghamshire. He was relieved that he was free to set his own course of action and his own timetable. Monck’s only stipulation was that he report regularly.
Greysteel hadn’t seen his father since he’d retired from the Royalist army six years ago. Though the earl was still curt and abrasive, his son was surprised to see how much he’d aged.
“Damned glad to see you’ve come to your senses. Fighting wars is a thankless business. No profit in it.”
Greysteel neither confirmed nor denied that he was finished with the Royalist cause. He kept his own counsel.
The earl grudgingly modified his authoritative manner. He could see that young Greysteel was an authority unto himself. “It is time you eased my load with the estate business.”
“I can see you have tripled the sheep flocks.”
“Sheep—or rather,
wool
is money, especially on the London Wool Exchange. I don’t enjoy traveling back and forth anymore. If you have a nose for business, you could act as our agent.”
“Agent?” His grey eyes flickered with irony and then it was gone. “Since the business end is all conducted in London, it would benefit us to establish a permanent office there.”
His father nodded, immediately seeing the merits. “It would cut out the cost of using middlemen as brokers.”
“I will have to go and familiarize myself with the capital. I’ll rent a small house and set up an office.”
“If you can find a good piece of property with a manor house on the outskirts of London, I recommend that you buy it.”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind. Land always increases in value. A London property would be a sound investment.”
“Our banking is done with a goldsmith in the Temple by the name of Samuel Lawson. I’ll give you a draft so you may draw whatever you need. The spring shearing is finished and the wool has been shipped to a warehouse we rent at Paul’s Wharfe on Thames Street. That will allow you time to get the best price.”
“Tonight I’ll go over the account books with your steward.”
“The books will tell you we’re in excellent financial shape.”
“By the way, is the Derbyshire land my mother entailed to me still leased for grazing? I’m sure it would bring a higher income if we leased the mineral rights. I should consult with the Earl of Devonshire about his coal contracts.”
“Devonshire’s mother controls the purse strings in that family. She obtained full legal guardianship over the heir’s inheritances when her husband died. She’s the one to advise you. The dowager countess recently moved from her Oldcoates property to the city. I still owe her for a few hundred sheep I bought when she left. You should pay a call on her in London and settle the account. It doesn’t hurt to have connections.” With a look of guilt the earl lifted a decanter of whiskey and poured them each a drink. “Damn Puritans consider every act of comfort a sin! London has been ruined with religious fanatics.”
Velvet, accompanied by Emma, disembarked from the small trading vessel, which had brought them across an extremely rough Channel. She stood on the London dock trying to exude confidence but felt her optimism ebbing away as she eyed a black cloud. She looked about for shelter and found none; then her fears were fulfilled by a downpour of summer rain.
When it stopped, a somberly dressed man of middle years approached. “Excuse me, mistress. I am looking for the Earl of Newcastle’s daughter, who was supposed to arrive on this vessel today. Do you know anything of the lady’s whereabouts?”
“I am she,” Velvet said with a rush of relief.
The man gave her a doubtful look. “Are you sure?”
Velvet’s self-esteem plummeted, yet she knew she must convince the lofty servant. “Yes, I am Mistress Cavendish and this is my traveling companion. Did the Dowager Countess of Devonshire send you?”
He recovered his aplomb. “She did indeed. The carriage is waiting over yonder. Where is your luggage, my lady?”
Velvet blushed as she indicated the single bag at her feet.
The coach driver bowed politely and picked up the bag. “My name is Davis. Kindly follow me, ladies.”
The carriage departed the docks and eventually left the dilapidated area behind. Velvet gazed with curiosity at the bustling streets of London. She tried not to think of her upcoming meeting with the wealthy countess after the reception she had received from the servant. The buildings and residences they drove past became more imposing and she glanced nervously at Emma, who sat clutching her bundle.
I shouldn’t have come!
They came to the London Wall and the carriage left the city through the Bishops Gate. Here, the large houses had their own gardens. They drove up a long driveway and stopped before a great mansion. With resolution, Velvet went up the steps and was about to knock when the door was opened by a manservant. She stepped into a black-and-white marble reception hall and came face-to-face with the Dowager Countess of Devonshire. As they stared at each other, Velvet’s knees began to tremble.
“What a radiant woman you have become!” The rail-thin countess, with iron grey hair, had a faint Scottish accent.
Velvet feared she looked like a drowned rat and the dowager was mocking her, and her hand flew to her hair. With relief, she realized that in the carriage it had dried into a mass of tight curls. Belatedly, Velvet remembered to curtsy.
“None of that.” The countess tapped her ebony stick on the floor. “My own hair used to be red, but nothing like your glorious golden shade. I am delighted you are here.”
Velvet’s voice quavered. “Thank you, Countess—”
“I’m the dowager—you will call me Christian. Who’s this?”
“This is Emma, who was kind enough to travel with me.”
The countess pointed her stick at her coachman. “Take Emma into the kitchen and tell Cook to give her a good hot meal.” She waited until they left, then told Velvet, “The woman is constantly trying to fatten me up. Emma will divert her.”
Velvet smiled as some of her apprehension and preconceived notions melted away.
The dowager is a delight!
A few hours later, after a warm bath, Velvet sat propped in bed and pushed away the dinner tray. “Everything was delicious. I couldn’t eat another morsel.”
“Tomorrow, my sewing women will start on your new wardrobe. Well, actually, you will need two wardrobes.”
“Two?” Velvet tried not to feel overwhelmed. The elegant chamber she had been given was the last word in luxury, from its polished silver mirrors to its satin bed hangings.
“Yes, darling. London is not the pleasurable place it once was. It has been transformed into a Puritan society, all piety and no wit. Attending church thrice weekly is the highlight of a drab existence. The Velvet Cavendish we present to the outside world will wear plain and sober garments. Simple dresses in dark brown or dull grey, with white collar and cuffs, will be worn beneath modest cloaks and sheer linen caps. But of course it will be a facade. When you are at home you may go mad with a little color. Oh, nothing low-cut or overtly feminine, God forbid,” Christian said with exquisite sarcasm, “but perhaps slippers with rosettes, rather than sensible square-toed shoes with those infernal buckles! Ah, good, I’ve made you laugh.”
“It feels good to laugh. Though when I was a child, my governess taught me that it showed a lack of breeding.”
Christian hooted. “When you were a child, you were so willful, your governess could teach you nothing.”
“You remember me!” Velvet was aghast.
“You were so deliciously precocious, how could I forget? You came by it honestly enough—your great-grandmother was Bess Hardwick. Now,
there
was a woman, but that’s another story for another time. Now, where was I?”
“You were telling me that London is puritanical.”
“Exactly. Just remember that everything is considered a sin and anything enjoyable is forbidden. They still allow sex, but not for pleasure—there must be no joy in the act. Oh, I’ve made you blush. You must get used to my irreverence, darling—I have a flagrant fondness for it.”
Montgomery’s first stop in London was at the goldsmith’s in the Temple, where he presented the draft and opened an account in his own name. He decided to find out how Samuel Lawson felt about the way London was being governed.
“Is business good, Mr. Lawson?”
“My business as moneylender thrives. Alas, that means that London and the country are drowning in debt above their eyes. The people are doubly angry—not only are they ruled by the military, but they are being forced to pay for it.”
“You believe the ordinary people have grown resentful of the military regime and long for a quiet life?”
“The old form of government was better,” Lawson murmured.
Lord Montgomery walked all about the city, familiarizing himself with the streets and districts, looking for the best place to open an office. He decided on Salisbury Court, where he rented a narrow house with an office on the ground floor and furnished rooms above. It even had a stable nearby to care for his horse. It was conveniently located, not far from the Temple and within a short distance of the Thames at Blackfriars.
Next he went to the barber. Long lovelocks hinted at Royalist sympathies, yet he refused to get his hair cropped in the ugly
Roundhead
style. He compromised by having it shortened and clubbed back neatly with a black ribbon.
Montgomery, needing a new wardrobe, observed the fashions. Men’s clothing seemed to fall into three categories, with Parliamentarian army uniforms predominating. The other extreme was the severely plain, sober costume of the Puritan fanatic with square leather shoes and black steeple hat.
He visited the law courts and the wool exchange and decided to dress like the professional class. He ordered a black suit and a dark grey, whose jackets were shorn of all trimming. The breeches that came to the knee were worn with tall riding boots. His shirts boasted no lace, but had plain cambric neckbands.
He kept his ears open wherever he went and heard rumors of so many plots against Cromwell’s life, he reasoned some of them must be true. He also heard gossip that the Protector was in failing health.
I have certainly used my ears. Now I will use my eyes. I shall go to Whitehall and see for myself.
He went for a ride along the Strand to observe the layout of Whitehall. The area around the Old Savoy Palace was thick with soldiers and he realized he would never get past the guards.