Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (32 page)

BOOK THREE

LACE COAT

CHAPTER 11

ENGLAND,

1730

On a Lisbon wharf, Ram watched his boxes and bales being stowed aboard a London-bound wine bark.

"But for you, padre, I might never have come this far on my way home," he told Father Mateo in Spanish. "It saddens me we must part."

"Could I live in your heretic England, my son, or you share my monastery cell?" the old missionary chided. "No, tomorrow I must ride for Madrid and you sail on to your London."

Ram fell silent, remembering that last morning in Goa—and Chanda. Even as she was being carried to the funeral pyre, they had dragged him bodily aboard the ship, insane with grief. Only this priest's understanding had assuaged him, though at first their common tongue was solely Hindustani. Later, to occupy his mind, Father Mateo had persuaded him to learn Spanish from himself and Portuguese from their fellow passengers and the crew.

Half entreatingly, he said at last: "At least let me buy you two good horses. A mule is a slow mount for so long a journey."

"After forty years in Hindustan, the ride through Portugal and into my dear Spain will seem all too short," the other smiled. He pointed to a sign: Lynch e Cia, Wine Merchants. "Come, you must pay your passage money. This Senor Lynch is highly respected here, I learn, even though he's half an Irishman."

"Irishman?" Ram stopped dead. "You know I hate them all!"

"My son, because one has hurt you, you hate a whole race? Ramillies, my dear friend, I entreat you!"

Ram laughed grudgingly. "Well, since he's only half a one!"

Patrico Lynch proved genial and helpful, and once the passage money had been paid, he invited them both into his inner office for wine and cheroots.

Warmed by the w^ine and the merchant's hospitality, Ram said: "Dom Patrico, in India I picked up some fine gems which I now wish to dispose of. Are there dealers here who might buy some?"

"Indeed, yes," Lynch nodded. "But I'd say Amsterdam's the place for you; the Dutch now control the jewel trade. Yes, if you have gems of worth, I'd certainly advise Holland."

It meant losing a passenger aboard the bark—Ram's goods would go forward in it as arranged, however—but Lynch sent a clerk hurrying to a friend who owned a Holland-bound ship.

He was explaining that his father had served the French in the Irish Brigade, but had lost a leg in action, so had come to Lisbon and married the daughter of a vineyard owner, when a servant hurried in. There was, he explained, a Spanish gentleman who begged the honor of an interview with Dom Patrico. "His Excellence the Baron del Lago, a true grandee, senhor," he added impressively.

Ram rose. "Senhor, a thousand thanks for your trouble. I'll await news of the Netherlands ship at my inn. The good father must rest well tonight, for at dawn he starts for Madrid."

Bowing their farewells, he and the priest followed the servant out through the countinghouse. There, a man in dusty riding clothes and with military shoulders was staring through a window at the busy water front, indifferent to the movement around him.

The true grandee, Baron del Lago, Ram assumed. Baron of what lake? He followed Father Mateo into the street.

"So you've come straight from Rome. What news of James Stuart?" Patrick Lynch spoke in the Gaelic, though as one who used it seldom.

"He'll never stir again. That failure in Scotland broke his spirit," Brian answered curtly. "His apathy is heartbreaking."

"Why then do you still support him?"

"Who else is there—yet?" Brian shrugged. "But somehow England will be crushed; then we can all return to Ireland and raise a king of our own choosing, one of the ancient royal line."

Lynch's eyes flashed briefly, but dulled again. "The waiting's over-long. And why go to London, where you could be betrayed?"

"Because of Prince Charles." Brian's tone warmed. "True, he's only eight now, but there's a spark in him, if it's not killed by stupidity. The Queen's of fighting Polish blood, and though she can no longer stir James to fight for his rights, it's believed she'll transmit her spirit to their son."

"It's a great wait till an eight-year-old boy's grown."

"But worth the waiting. Now, when does your bark sail?"

"Two days at most." Lynch became curious. "I've always known you as Colonel O'Duane, so I take it this title is merely as a protection, eh? Good. There are many English spies in Lisbon."

"It's real enough. James was pleased to honor my services with a baron's patent. The territorial title comes from my stolen inheritance on Lake Corrib in Galway. But since I must earn my bread by serving Spain, I'm known only as Baron del Lago."

"Good! Now, suppose my supercargo becomes conveniently ill and you sail in his stead, using an alias? The work's simple and you need know merely what wines each London merchant is to receive."

"Agreed. I'll be in England some weeks, to urge our friends there to remain firm. In ten years Prince Charles will be ready."

"A lifetime," Lynch said wryly. "But I've no head for high policies, being a mere merchant. Which reminds me; in the cargo will be goods of a young Englishman just returned from Goa. He was to have sailed also, but now goes first to Amsterdam. You may have seen him leaving with a priest as you came in."

"He with the long hair and mustaches? Bah, bad enough to have to visit the Saxon's land, without being cooped up in a ship with one." Brian rose. "The years will pass swiftly now there's new hope for our cause, Padraic. Have faith!"

Damme, shall I never be warm again? Ram fretted, huddling over the blazing coal fire. He stared with fever-bright eyes through a window at the falling snow that obscured Spring Gardens and Whitehall.

London! He'd dreamed long of being here, and now that he was, ague was racking him. Teeth chattering, he poured another glass of

punch. He stared drearily through the other window at snow-mantled Charing Cross, past which coaches and chairs streamed, all carrying folk who were talking, laughing, having companionship.

In Amsterdam he hadn't felt lonely, for the diamond merchants there had gladly entertained him while bargaining for his gems. They'd bought the Ganesha necklace for a great price, and several other pieces. In fact, he was now a very rich man, with bills of exchange amounting to 63,000 guineas—but he had not one friend in London.

A tap, and the door opened wide enough for a serving maid to poke her head in and say breathlessly: "Please, sir, there's an orficer wants ter know if it's your pleasure to receive 'im, sir."

"Show him in!" Ram cried, pleasantly surprised. "Show him in, do!"

"Sarvent, sir, sarvent." A scarlet-coated man entered, bowing affably. "Couldn't resist the impulse, 'pon honor. Off duty awhile, so dropped in below and heard a Hindu gentleman was up here alone and not well. Harry Tapley, Baronet, at your service. Ensign in His Majesty's First Foot Guards. Charmed, yass eged."

"Ramillies Anstruther, late of the Austrian Army and India." Ram was so delighted he failed to see Sir Henry slip a coin into the maid's palm. "Polly, a fresh bowl—hot, mind—and fly!"

As the maid vanished, they examined each other amiably. Sir Henry was. Ram judged, a few years his senior, with a thin face, satirical eyes, drooping mouth and hands as slim as a woman's. His uniform was immaculate, its gold lace glittering, and his neatly powdered wig fitting as if it were his own hair.

"Draw up to the fire, sir," Ram invited. "I arrived but yesterday. Is the town always this cold in winter? I've small recollection of it, save brief stays in summer when I was a lad."

"Lard bless me, no. It can be devilish colder," the baronet smiled faintly. "But in April—May at latest—I'd not change it for Elysium. Curse me, but then the ladies ride in the park the day long and gather in droves to watch us parade. London females love a redcoat, sir, in spite of all Sir Bob Walpole can do to discourage the cult. Yass, eged!"

Polly returned, puffing, with a fresh and steaming punchbowl; whereupon Ram served his visitor and himself, his chills forgotten.

"What chance for service these days?" he asked eagerly. "I've been away so long, 'twas only yesterday I learned we have George the Second as King. Is any war brewing?"

"Lud, no," the baronet scoffed. "Bob Walpole will keep us from any, whatever the dishonor, so the fat Whig merchants can grow fatter. We'll have no war while he's Prime Minister. You remain in town long, sir? Despite the weather, there's much to afford diversion."

"A few days only. I start for Yorkshire when I've retrieved my goods from the customs." Ram refilled the glasses.

"Demme, this inn has the most aromatic punch in town," Sir Harry appreciated. He regarded Ram quizzically. "Dear sir, permit me to suggest your dress is demnably incommodious if ye wish to take the ladies by storm. Your hair and mustachios—^barbarian!"

Ram stiffened. True, his dress was hardly a la mode, having been made by an Ahmedpur durzi in perfect imitation of his original white uniform, even to a patch and some stains. As for the mustaches, he'd grown fond of them, and often by blackening them he'd passed for a native. But his flowing red-brown hair was his pride, and he'd be damned if he'd crop it short and wear a wig.

"There's been small time for fripperies where I've campaigned of late. WTien I was last here hair was worn natural by the young bucks, while older men still wore the Ramillies wig with no powder."

Tapley smiled disarmingly. "Powdering's regulation under this new Majesty, and 'tis most convenient to carry hair tied neat. Permit my barber to wait on you, and my wig-maker, my tailor and my boot man. They'll turn ye back into a true-born Englishman in a day, I vow."

Mollified, Ram agreed and was about to suggest the baronet dine with him when the latter rose.

"Curse me, but I must go. Guard duty tonight, demme. But tomorrow? I've some good fellows I think you'd find interesting, eh? Good day to you, sir. Charmed, eged, yass."

So Harry Tapley became Ram's mentor and guide, and next day went with him to Hoare's banking house in the Strand, where no royal duke could have received greater deference than Ram after he had deposited his bills of exchange. The baronet, impressed, swore he was a fine fellow and would be finer still once he was

dressed in the mode. So Ram gave himself up to fawning tradesmen until his wardrobe was, the baronet vowed, as fine as any man's in town. But, though he gave up his mustaches, he remained wigless, merely powdering his hair and wearing it tucked at the back in a buckram bag.

His goods now free of the Customs, he was puzzled how to transport them half the length of England, until Harry came to his aid.

"Just the man for ye! Lud, why didn't I think before? Bland's lately bought his discharge and desires to become butler to a gentleman of worth. He's married, but he'd go wherever needs be."

Joseph Bland, late sergeant of the First Foot Guards, was indeed what Ram needed. Past forty and with a bullet-gouged jawbone, he had served in all Marlborough's campaigns. And he remembered Howe's Foot well; he even recalled hearing that at Malplaquet its grenadier captain had taken his little son into action with him.

Though a householder, he would go wherever the "Captain" wished, providing Maria, his wife, and Young Joe, his gangling son, could be with him. That agreed upon, he took charge of Ram's effects, bought him a good stone horse, a hackney for himself and arranged that the precious baggage would go under escort of Steve Williams, a former dragoon, accompanied by Maria and Young Joe. He even bought Ram A Tour Through the Whole Island of Great Britain, by one Daniel Defoe, recently published, which detailed the route all the way to the North Riding.

The night before he left, Ram gave a supper for a dozen jovial fellows among his broadening acquaintanceship. All were soldiers and all dined and wined zestfully.

Later, muzzy and in high fettle, a lord, a colonel and Harry Tapley took Ram to a special house of call, kept by a most ladylike bawd, and where there were only four selected girls for their diversion. After a further repast, the lady of the house modestly withdrew and the four couples were left to entertain themselves. Soon the peer suggested that, as they were all friends, there was no reason to separate, so why shouldn't each pair perform publicly?

Ram's temples throbbed and his mouth was dry—a condition which his particular blonde baggage only increased by her simulated amorousness. But after watching the first performers—the colonel and his petite fille —sight of their pale white flesh brought memories

of an ivory-gold body. Suddenly the room became stifling and the whole business loathsome. What did these drunken, pallid wretches know of the arts of love?

Disengaging from his giggling companion, he emptied half his purse into her lap and the rest on a table. Then, with the excuse that too much drink had made him sick, he lurched out into the night and walked back through the darkness to his inn, hand on sword lest footpads pounce.

Chanda! Could he never forget her? He shuddered. What if this disgust of white-skinned girls prevented his ever wanting to marry?

Next morning, the March snow blowing in his face, he took the Great North Road, with Joseph Bland riding stolidly behind him.

In answer to his ringing, a man hurried from the gatehouse and unlocked the gates. Ram chuckled. "Eged, Abel! Don't you know me?"

"T'captain!" Abel Thornby gave a great grin. "Eigh, sir, we'm waaited for thee long, an' t'owd laady's rare grieved. Reet poorly she's been o' late, but now she'll have new loife, seein' thee again."

Ram's conscience twinged, though the roads had been so snow-choked he and Joseph had had hard going to get through at all.

"Come up later and tell me about yourself," he said, waving at a curtsying woman and three awed children who were watching him from the gatehouse door. "I see you've been busy since I left." He led up the driveway. The chestnuts were full grown now, their snowy boughs lacing overhead. Soon sight of a half-built house on a rise to the left made him rein in.

"Follow me." He and Bland rode toward it, the horses stumbling through belly-deep drifts. Though the building lacked a roof, it was clearly designed as a residence, with wings and outbuildings.