The Licence of War (11 page)

Mistress Savage entered, immaculately dressed, and dropped a curtsey. “Your ladyship,” she said, “how kind of you to call, but I am afraid that your son is not here.”

“I came to speak with
you
, Mistress Savage,” said Lady Beaumont. “I am to return to Chipping Campden on the morrow, but first I must have satisfaction on an issue of concern to the Beaumont family. Laurence informed me that he wishes to marry you. As a woman of the world, surely you understand – that cannot be.”

“A woman of the world?” Mistress Savage repeated.

Lady Beaumont abandoned subtlety. “He may do as he likes with you as his mistress, but you shall not be his wife.”

“You speak as if I had insisted on that privilege.”

“Was it not your idea?”

“No, your ladyship, it was his, and his ideas are his own on almost everything, in my experience. Please, be seated.” Mistress Savage took the other chair. “Though I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, I can tell you that I never once asked to be his wife.”

“I see,” said Lady Beaumont. “Do you know of his father’s ill health this summer?”

“Yes. I trust his lordship is fully restored?”

“He is, but the apoplexy could recur, with any untoward shock or distress. Our eldest daughter is now a widow because of this war, and our sons’ lives are at risk. His lordship is most anxious to ensure the continuance of his line, before he dies.” She glimpsed a puzzling sadness in Mistress Savage’s eyes, and went on, encouraged. “If you truly care for Laurence, you will break off this … attachment, and let him marry honourably, as he should.”

Mistress Savage was silent for a while. “Your ladyship,” she said, at length, “I have the utmost respect for your family. And if you think I am trying to inveigle my way into your son’s heart for the sake of a title or riches, or both, you are wrong. I have my honour, too.”

“A woman’s honour is a different thing, and from what I have heard, yours was lost long ago.”

“Since we are being so very plain,” Mistress Savage rejoined, “I must argue with your definition: what
you
call a woman’s honour is like a piece of property, which may be freely given, bought, or stolen from her depending upon circumstance. Her true honour is
indeed
a different thing.”

“And this is pointless talk. Will you break with him?”

“Not on your bidding.”

Lady Beaumont got up to leave. If Mistress Savage remained obdurate, she would have to appeal to a higher authority.

Seated in his reception chamber at Christ Church, his small figure dwarfed by his ornate armchair, the King was reading a letter. He
looked up distractedly as Digby and his father were shown in. “M-my lords,” the King acknowledged them, in his slight Scottish burr. “I have j-just received this d-dispatch from my nephew Rupert.” His stammer was more marked than usual, Digby noticed; he must have had worrying news. “He is urgently requesting m-more ammunition for the g-garrison at Newport Pagnell,” the King continued. “He says that if the t-town falls to the rebels, the lines of c-communication between London and the North will be swiftly reopened, much to our detriment.”

“His Royal Highness is ever in a hurry,” Bristol murmured.

“You mention London, Your Majesty,” said Digby. “Our Mr. Violet was briefly there and has returned with heartening reports of the quarrels in Parliament over its alliance with the Scots. Those of its Members who would choose freedom of conscience over the dictates of the Presbyterian Church are restive, and some are so hotly against the ecclesiastical state ruling in Edinburgh that they might be prepared to split with the Scots-loving Presbyterians –
if
they could be assured their liberty of worship.”

“My Lord Digby, what c-common ground have I with these independent sects, apart from an aversion to the Scottish K-kirk?” inquired the King, sitting forward. “As Head of the English Church, I cannot tolerate every stray sect in my kingdom, especially when their beliefs defy the principles upon which our Ch-church is founded.”

“Perish the idea, Your Majesty! Yet if you were to demonstrate a certain flexibility of mind, you might woo some of these freethinkers to our side.” Digby cast him a winning smile. “We have had stranger allies.”

“But did they not recently sign their Solemn League and C-covenant with Edinburgh?”

“Your Majesty, that agreement is tenuous,” said Bristol. “Edinburgh may consider it as a guarantee that the rebels will impose the Kirk’s Presbyterian rites throughout England, but many in Parliament view it as a contract entered into simply to obtain military support for the war.
They have no real intention of carrying through on their religious promises.”

“And Violet says that the main architect of the agreement may soon take his final bow upon the stage of politics – and of life,” Digby added. “Though Pym has slaved day and night to achieve his goal, he often cannot attend sessions in the House due to his sickness. When he dies, these cracks in the façade that he pasted over will resurface, and possibly widen. They might be exploited to our advantage.”

“And if the Highland Scots rally to your cause,” said Bristol, “they will threaten the rule of the Kirk on home soil. That could put paid to a Scottish army for the rebels.”

The King sat back in his armchair, stroking his beard.

“Ah well,” said Digby, “we shall have to see how events turn out.” He knew from the King’s expression that the seed was planted; now he had only to water it at judicious intervals. “Violet also reports that the citizens of London are being bled to the bone, Your Majesty. They are taxed on everything, and life has become a dreary affair, with fines and punishments imposed for the slightest breach of order.”

“The last measure I can understand,” the King said. “I hear of so much intemperate behaviour in Oxford: duels, drunkenness, improprieties towards women, and blasphemous language. Has Violet been in communication with our f-friends in the capital?”

“Yes, he has, Your Majesty. Despite our unfortunate venture in the spring with the Commission of Array, and the gaoling of some known Catholics, your friends are chafing for an opportunity to assist your cause.” Digby glanced at his father.

“A friend of ours there, named Major Ogle, reports the same, Your Majesty,” Bristol said. “He, too, is convinced that these independent sects are hostile to the Scottish settlement, and that Londoners in general are tiring of war.”

“Their womenfolk proved as much by marching upon Whitehall to call for peace,” remarked Digby.

“The gentler sex is oft the wisest,” the King observed. “ ‘Wise
as serpents, and harmless as doves..’ ” He stood, and picked up his silver-topped cane. “On that note, I am about to take the air with Her Majesty.”

“The skies promise rain, Your Majesty,” Bristol said.

“Then we shall walk in the covered passage by our two colleges.”

Digby hid mirth. According to gossip, the royal couple used it for more than walking; it was the one place they could be alone, away from their courtiers.

“Oh, my Lord Digby,” the King said, “my son Charles has asked me if Mr. Beaumont could instruct him in the art of writing ciphers – an apt study for a prince. Might you spare your agent, for a couple of hours here and there?”

“Why yes, Your Majesty. Mr. Beaumont is out of town for the nonce, but I shall apprise him of your wishes on his return.”

“Charles is very attached to him – after Rupert, of course! Charles worships his cousin as a hero.”

“His Royal Highness Prince Rupert is a hero to us all,” said Digby, assuming his smoothest tone.

“Prince Charles may have to wait for those lessons,” Digby confessed to his father, as they left Christ Church. “Violet was apprehended at once by the City militia and questioned about his outstanding taxes, so it is highly likely that Beaumont will be caught. I’m half tempted to let him pay the price for his disobedience.”

“Should he be examined, a great many inconvenient secrets might spill out. And what a price he’d pay, after eluding arrest once already this past spring. At the very least he would hang, George, as others did who were connected to that
unfortunate venture
, as you called it. Don’t forget he is
your
spy, and you have been painted as an arch fiend by Parliament.”

Digby rolled his eyes. “I thank you for reminding me. It would be a shame to lose him. I’d solve a different problem, however,” he went on, more lightly. “Lady Beaumont came to see me in some perturbation over his offer of marriage to Isabella.”

“Marriage?” exclaimed Bristol. “Has he gone that far?”

“He did promise her ladyship that he would not take Isabella to the altar until he had spoken with Lord Beaumont. She wishes me to work upon Isabella, so that he can be betrothed to the daughter of some neighbouring family – a Mistress Furnival. She went to talk to Isabella herself, to no avail.”

“Isabella is an ideal mistress, by any man’s estimation, not a suitable wife. She must realise that the marriage will never take place. She has had enough disappointments in life, but if love is blinding her to the truth, you have a duty to enlighten her.”

“You are in no position to speak of her disappointments, or of my duty to her. It is partly thanks to
you
that she was ruined as a girl and is now unsuitable for a wife.”

“How was I to know she would be seduced at that house?”

“My honoured father,” said Digby, stopping and turning on him, “you might as well have put a lamb in with a wolf. I was but twenty at the time, and even
I
could have predicted the outcome.”

“Well
none
of us could have predicted that she would be fertile at so young an age,” retorted Bristol.

“And who decided that she should be submitted to some filthy witch for an operation that almost killed her? She could have had the child in secret and been none the worse.”

Bristol bowed his head. “What’s done is done, and you have been a faithful guardian to her since then. Bring her to reason. She will understand it’s in her best interests.”

“And offer her what, in exchange for relinquishing the prospect of marriage to the man she loves?”

“You could rescue her good name by getting her a husband – one who would not object if she continues as Beaumont’s mistress. It was your intention to find a match for her, and you should act soon, before the bloom is off the rose.”

“You contradict yourself. You have described her as the ideal mistress, not a suitable wife.”

“Don’t be facetious with me, George. We both know of a widower with heirs who would happily overlook her past and allow her the … liberty she might desire: our friend in the Vintners’ Company.”

“I have considered Sir Montague,” Digby admitted, peering up at the clouds; his father was correct about the rain. “And I have tried to suggest to her that her talents are wasted here in Oxford. Yet I cannot imagine she would agree to such an arrangement, unless Beaumont gives her more heartache.”

“George, think of what we are planning in London. Sir Montague is resourceful, but like Pym he is often ill. We may need someone to continue his work for us, if his health fails.”

“Dear me,” sighed Digby. “It is a game of chess. Which piece to sacrifice?”

“Oh, Isabella would not be in any personal danger. Remember how leniently Parliament treated the Ladies d’Aubigny and Murray. She would be titled herself, as Sir Montague’s wife.” Contemplating the match, Digby experienced a shade of guilt most rare in him. “Why not strike while the iron is hot – in Beaumont’s absence?” his father persisted. “Go and speak to her.”

“Very well – I shall try.”

“On a graver issue,” Bristol said, “will His Majesty deign to court the independent sects in Parliament? We know how immovable he is on matters of religious doctrine.”

“Were he not, he might have avoided a war. But this would hardly be the first time he made a promise he did not intend to keep.”

“And the stranger the ally, the less compunction he will have in breaking it. I shall encourage Major Ogle to pursue negotiations with them.”

“Yes,” said Digby. “In a few months, our efforts may bear fruit.”

“Niger is an enchanting little fellow,” Digby declared, tickling the cat’s silken ears with his fingertips. Isabella had greeted him at the door cradling it in her arms.

“Will you come into the parlour, Digby?”

“No thank you, my dear – I cannot stay long. What a pity the Doctor was not helpful as regards your inquiry, when he gifted you your companion.”

“It seems Beaumont was as secretive with him as with us,” she said tartly.

“Secretive is not the word for Beaumont’s conduct! I’d have been pleased for him to tell you I was sending him to London – after all, I told you myself. He lied to us. But you may be sure he confided in Seward, and that Seward is lying, probably on his request. Sometimes I think the venerable Doctor is the only person Beaumont trusts. He does not trust me, and … I tend to wonder if he trusts you.” Digby let fall a silence. “This business of his wanting to marry you – was he still asking, before he left?”

“Oh yes. And he had talked of his proposal to his mother. Her response was as he had expected. Can you believe – the day before yesterday, she came here herself and asked me to end our liaison. She is direct, I must admit,” Isabella said, smiling, “though she kept notably quiet about her scheme for his betrothal. How Beaumont would laugh. He considers it such a joke.”

“Does he? How odd … She came to see me, too, and I received a somewhat … contrary impression.” Isabella’s smile faded. “You must corroborate my account with Beaumont, but her ladyship told me that he has agreed not to pursue his suit to you until he discusses this other prospect with his father. And he acknowledged to her that his duty is first to Lord Beaumont.” Digby watched Isabella; she controlled her emotions so bravely. “Isabella, Beaumont is full of passion for you, as are you for him, and such feelings can cloud judgement. Think how many of us, carried away by the moment, make promises we can never hope to keep,” he continued, reminded of the King. “Beaumont wishes you to be secure in his love, and he means it. I once considered him incapable of love, but I was wrong. The trouble is that even if you defied his family and married him,
you could not give him what he wants. And in the recesses of his mind, he knows.”