The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (29 page)

‘Now you’re exaggerating.’
 
Ashley looked across at Froissart and Laroque.
 
‘Are your characters fighting in earnest or for sport?’

‘One fight is in earnest – the other requires an element of comedy,’ replied Froissart.

‘Ah.
 
Well, Major Langley has just ably demonstrated the second of those,’ remarked Ashley.
 
Then, ‘Can the actors tumble?’

Laroque looked mildly offended.
 
‘Pardon, Monsieur?’

‘Can they tumble?
 
Fall, roll, stand … oh never mind.
 
Francis – engage forte to forte, push me back with a quarter-turn and for God’s sake keep your blade out of the way.
 
Now!’

Francis grinned and swung into action.
 
Ashley went down, rolled over backwards and landed on his feet.
 
This time Froissart
did
applaud.

‘Thank you.’
 
Ashley bowed.
 
‘Can one of your actors do that?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Monsieur Laroque. And with a dry laugh, Then, ‘But I’ll enjoy watching them try.
 
Wednesday at two o’clock, gentlemen.
 
And thank you.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
* ~

Leaving Francis to discuss the finer points of their employment (such as money) with Antoine Froissart, Colonel Peverell made his way to the Louvre.
 
With two of his minor tasks now in train, it was time to embark on the rather more serious (unpaid) ones entrusted to him by Sir Edward Hyde.

He finally tracked the King down in a secluded corner of the gardens.
 
Charles had an arm round a girl’s waist and a hand in her bodice.
 
Ashley sighed, turned away and waited.
 
Charles also sighed and reluctantly released his companion with a murmured word and a kiss.
 
The girl rose and sauntered past Ashley with a roguish glance and a swish of taffeta.
 
The King stayed where he was and said long-sufferingly, ‘Have you any idea of how long it took me to find this precise spot – and to persuade Sophie-Clarice to share it with me?
 
Of course you haven’t.
 
So this had better be important.’

‘I consider it important, Sir.
 
But I doubt either one of us will find it enjoyable.’

‘Oh God.
 
You’ve been talking to Hyde, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.
 
But I’m not here to deliver a lecture. I’d hoped we might simply talk – man to man.’

Charles uncoiled to his full height and stretched.
 

‘Is that why you’re wearing your sword?’

‘No.’ Ashley laughed wryly. ‘If you really want to know, I’ve been engaged to devise fight sequences for a forthcoming theatrical production and to train the actors performing them.
 
That’s where I drew the line.
 
Major Langley, however, is set on treading the boards as what they call a ‘walker’.’

He’d thought Charles might find it funny.
 
Instead, His Majesty looked sympathetic and said, ‘You’re both short of money?’

‘We’re never anything else.’
 
Deciding it was time to change the subject, Ashley added, ‘But since I
am
wearing a sword, I’m entirely at your disposal if your wrist is in need of some practice.’
 

‘Later, perhaps - when you’ve said your piece. By then I might be in the mood for a little violence.’
 
The King strolled out of the arbour, leaving the Colonel to follow him.
 
‘Well, Ash?
 
Shall I say it for you? You want me to be discreet, sober and, preferably, chaste.
 
You’d like me to spend my days in sensible conversation and my evenings with an improving book.
 
And you’re going to ask me to keep away from George.’

‘Not exactly, Sir.
 
I was merely going to suggest that you allow his Grace of Buckingham to raise Cain without you from time to time.
 
He can play merry hell with his own reputation if he likes – that’s his prerogative.
 
But those of us who want to see you regain the life you were born for would rather he didn’t do it with yours.’

A bitter smile twisted the wide mouth.

‘What difference does it make?
 
You said it yourself – nothing changes.’

‘Not right now.
 
But you can’t lose hope, Sir.
 
And – if you’ll permit me to be perfectly blunt – the kind of excesses you’ve recently been indulging in with the Duke will do you a lot of harm amongst the men whose help you’ve been hoping to gain.
 
Take the Dutch, for example.
 
On the whole, they’re a fairly sedate race and --’
 

‘Dull is the word you’re looking for.
 
Have you ever met William Frederick?’

‘No, Sir.
 
But --’

‘Count yourself fortunate.
 
The man never uses one word when ten will do.’

‘Ah.
 
I can see that might be --’

‘And there’s no use expecting any help from the Netherlands anyway.
 
They’ve got their hands full fighting Cromwell at sea. On present showing, the war could drag on indefinitely – since neither side seems actually to be winning.’

‘Sir.’ Ashley stopped walking and allowed his tone to sharpen.
 
‘This is all very well – but in many senses, it’s beside the point.
 
Tales of your doings are spinning out of control.
 
For every girl you bed, rumour credits you with three; and for every occasion you and Buckingham engage in a little rough-and-tumble in a tavern, gossip has you picking fights right, left and centre.
 
If you don’t want Cromwell sniggering behind his hand and every ruler in Europe deciding you’re too light-weight to be worth helping, you’ve got to employ some restraint.
 
And if Buckingham has trouble understanding that, I’ll force the point home with him myself.’

For a long moment, Charles stared at him in silence, leaving Ashley to wonder if he’d over-stepped the mark.
 
But finally the King said, ‘You’re right.
 
I don’t deny it.
 
But at present I’ve nothing of any significance to fill my time.
 
And George is always entertaining.’

‘I understand the evils of inactivity only too well, Sir.
 
And I’ve no wish to deny you every amusement.
 
I’d just caution you to employ a bit more discretion and dilute my lord Buckingham’s company with that of your other friends.’

‘Such as yourself?’

‘I’m not so presumptuous, Sir,’ came the wry response.
 
‘But, as ever, I am at your disposal.’
 
He paused and then, not without humour, added, ‘I’d also suggest Sir William Brierley – though every time I pass an evening with him I spend the following day with a sore head.
 
Does what I’m suggesting sound so very terrible?’

‘No.
 
I suppose not.’
 
Charles turned away and strolled on along the path.
 
‘It’s just that I’d like the illusion that some small part of my life is my own.
 
And don’t –
don’t
tell me that it is and that it’s called
self
-control – or I may just hit you.’

Ashley knew perfectly well that this was an empty threat.
 
On the other hand, the fact that he’d said it, boded ill for the subject Ashley had to raise next – but he knew there was no escaping it so he said cautiously, ‘If you can bear with me a little longer, Sir, there’s something else.’

Charles shot him a sideways glance. ‘Spit it out, then.’

‘It concerns your relationship with Lucy Walter.’

Drawing a sharp breath, the King said, ‘Outside the not insignificant fact that we have a son, I
have
no relationship with Lucy Walter – and haven’t done since last October. When I got back here after Worcester, I sent her a pearl necklace and told her it was over. I had thought that fact and the reasons behind it were common knowledge.’

Ashley nodded.
 
‘Her child by Viscount Taafe, to name but one?
 
Yes.
 
But I understand that you still pay Mistress Walter a pension?’

‘I support my son.
 
I promised Lucy a pension but have yet to find the means to pay it.’
 
The dark Stuart eyes showed wariness oddly mingled with impatience.
 
‘If there is a point to this, I’d appreciate hearing it.’

Ashley sighed inwardly and considered his options.
 
There weren’t many.

He said, ‘Because the lady persists in calling herself your wife, there have always been rumours that you did, in fact, marry her.
 
I need … I’m sorry, Sir – but I have to ask if there is any truth in such talk.’

‘None.
 
How many times must I say it?’

‘At least once more, I’m afraid.’

‘Why?’

‘Because someone is trying to turn rumour into fact.’
 
Ashley hesitated and then said baldly, ‘Someone who claims they can provide proof.
 
And before I spend God knows how long trying to find out who it is, I’d like to know whether or not there
is
any.’

Charles was silent for so long that Ashley thought he didn’t intend to answer.
 
But finally he said wearily, ‘There shouldn’t be – though I wouldn’t put it past Lucy to fabricate some.
 
But if you’re asking if it’s possible somebody has got hold of Lucy’s and my marriage lines, it isn’t.
 
Is
that what you’ve heard?’

‘No – or not in so many words.
 
Just that there is written proof of a marriage.
 
And it’s hard to know what else could be meant by that.’
 
Ashley frowned, his mind scanning the possibilities.
 
‘Could Mistress Walter have anything else? Documents of any kind?
 
Letters from you promising marriage or hinting that young Jemmy is legitimate?
 
Anything at all that could account for this anonymous person’s claim?’

‘Not as such – and none of the things you mention.’
 
Charles swung away a couple of steps and, still with his back to Ashley, said, ‘But she does have … papers … which could be damaging if she chose to make them public.
 
Papers which, in view of her recent activities, I would very much prefer to have in my own possession.’

What papers?
was Ashley’s immediate thought, swiftly followed by,
Christ.
 
Is he asking me to steal them back?
 
If so, he’s going to need to be more specific.

He said neither and, instead prompted calmly, ‘What recent activities?’

Casting an impatient glance over his shoulder, Charles said, ‘She went to London.’

Calm instantly exploded into alarm. ‘
What?
’

‘She went to London – ostensibly to claim some inheritance or other.
 
What she
actually
did was to get clapped in the Tower on a charge of spying for me.’
 
Charles turned, his smile wholly sardonic.
 
‘You don’t know Lucy, do you?’

‘No. I’ve seen her, of course, but --’

‘And not looked past those stunning looks, I daresay. If you did, you’d understand how ludicrously ill-suited she is to espionage.
 
She’s self-centred, hysterical, wholly unreasonable and not at all intelligent.
 
In short, she’s the sort of spy you’d only use if you wanted them to be caught.’

‘Is she still in England?’

‘No.
 
Cromwell’s fellows soon recognised their mistake and hustled her aboard a ship to Flanders.
 
She’s back in Paris now – probably lodging with her latest lover. I shouldn’t think you’d have too much trouble finding her if you chose to look.’

Ashley nodded, knowing that he had to start somewhere and, as yet, he had nothing else to go on.
 
He said slowly, ‘Sir … you realise that, if there is anything you’re not telling me, the time will almost certainly come when you’ll have to?
 
If enough people start to believe that you married Mistress Walter, it won’t matter whether you did or not.
 
And though I’ll do my best to stop that happening, I’m unlikely to achieve much groping around in the dark.’

‘You underestimate yourself, Ashley.
 
I suspect that you can grope in the dark as well as any man – and better than most.’

*
 
*
 
*

On the following morning when Colonel Peverell had disappeared in pursuit of undisclosed business, Francis finally accepted that the project he’d been consumed by for the last ten days was finished.
 
He’d written and re-written, cut, honed and polished until there was nothing more that he could logically do to it.
 
And the knowledge made his nerves rattle.

Inevitably, he’d started it with Athenais in mind … but a couple of things had changed that.
 
One was the fact that, though he genuinely liked her and found her breathtakingly lovely, he had never once felt the slightest twinge of physical desire.
 
And the other was an element which hadn’t initially occurred to him but which had somehow crept into the pages and turned his mediocre little opus into something extraordinary.
 
Or he hoped it had.

But now it was finished, he had two choices.
 
Shove the thing out of sight and forget about it … or show it to somebody.
 
Now, today, before he talked himself out of it.
 
And if he
was
going to ask someone’s opinion, there was really only one possible candidate.

He found Pauline in the parlour, her feet resting on a footstool and a torrent of misty-blue satin cascading off her lap as she set stitches in a hem.
 
Instead of its usual elegant, not-a-lock-out-of-place style, the glossy brown hair tumbled down her back, loosely caught in a ribbon; and, when she looked up at him, Francis thought he caught a gleam of surprised pleasure.