Virginia Henley - Unmasked by Virginia Henley

  Velvet's chin went up and her eyes flashed defiance.

  Christian drew herself up, standing tall and rigid. "Your dire warnings add impetus to our determination. See that the carriage is brought round immediately."

  "Very good, my lady, but I insist upon accompany­ing you." Burke scribbled a quick note, then went to the carriage house and gave Davis careful instructions. He told the groom's son, who often rode on the back of the coach as tiger, to hop aboard and entrusted him with the message.

  Christian, wearing her most elaborate hat with a de­fiant ostrich feather, declined Mr. Burke's help with a fierce glare as she stepped up into the carriage.

  Velvet hid a smile and graciously accepted the stew­ard's aid. As the coach entered London through the Bishops Gate, excitement began to race through her at the thought of adventure. She noticed there were not many soldiers about and wondered why.

  When the carriage slowed to climb Ludgate Hill, the young lad hopped down from his perch at the rear. Then Davis picked up speed again as they reached Fleet Street. Where it widened into the Strand, how­ever, other coaches and groups of people milling about impeded their progress. Mounted soldiers were push­ing their way through the crowds.

  "We should turn back, Lady Cavendish," Burke said quietly.

  "Retreat would be decidedly lily-livered. We shall press on to the House of Commons to show our sup­port. Tell Davis to turn here and station the coach be­hind the Savoy Palace. We shall get out and walk from there."

  With Mr. Burke close on their heels, Velvet and Christian, with the aid of her stick, pushed their way through Charing Cross and headed toward St. James's. It took over an hour to reach the palace grounds, which overflowed with thousands of raucous London­ers who had been rounded up by the military, calling for the overthrow of Parliament and for Richard Cromwell to resign.

  "Mad buggers," Christian shouted in alarm as she and Velvet were swept along by a tide of humanity that was out of control. "How will we ever get to the houses of Parliament?"

  "Parliament is dissolved, missus," a red-faced hooligan shouted. "Lambert's troops now occupy the house!"

  "Good God!" Christian cried. "London is under military rule!"

  A well-dressed, but frightened, man pushed Velvet aside. "The soldiers have looted the wine cellars at Whitehall!"

  Suddenly, a shot rang out. Without hesitation, Mr. Burke elbowed two people aside, grabbed the dowa­ger countess, wrapped his arm about her narrow shoulders and half dragged her out of the crowd. More shots were fired, and people began to screech and push frantically.

  Velvet found herself alone, surrounded by rampag­ing lunatics. Mounted men in uniform were trampling the crowds. She saw a horse with an empty saddle. It was rearing, its hooves wildly pawing the air, as it screamed in fright. Velvet's first impulse was concern for the animal. She darted forward, unafraid of the flailing hooves, and grabbed its reins. She tried to calm the frantic horse as those about them fell back screech­ing and shouting in alarm.

  "Velvet!" The deep, powerful voice rolled over her like thunder. Then she felt an arm like a steel band wrap around her waist. She was lifted into the air by the man who towered beside her as he mounted the terrified horse. He set her before him in the saddle. "Hang on!" he thundered as he concentrated on con­trolling the animal.

  By dint of will, Greysteel Montgomery forced the horse to obey him and it charged forward as the crowd in its path parted. "Christ Almighty, Velvet, what the hell is the matter with you? Were you deliberately try­ing to get yourself killed?"

  She looked at him in disbelief. How did he know where I was? What on earth is he doing here in the midst of this unruly mob? Then she saw his uniform and re­coiled. He was part of the detested Parliamentary mil­itary that was responsible for the chaos. In a blind fury, she smote his chest with her fists. "Put me down! We are enemies!"

  He ignored the blows. "Where is your coach?" he demanded.

  "You arrogant swine! You are wrong if you think you rescued me. I could have handled the horse," she panted.

  "I don't question your ability with horses. I ques­tion your judgment in dashing headlong into danger, involving yourself in affairs that are best handled by men. Where is your carriage? I won't ask; you again, Velvet."

  "It's behind the Savoy Palace," she hissed. "I kept your shameful secret about being a Roundhead, but now Christian and Mr. Burke will see you for what you are!"

  Greysteel turned the horse toward the river. There were hardly any people behind Suffolk House, so he spurred the animal across the lawn that sloped down to the Thames.

  At York House, Velvet spied her chance to escape him. She slid down from the horse and began to run. In a flash he was out of the saddle and after her. He snatched her up like a piece of baggage and slung her over his shoulder, clamping one arm about her thighs, while he clung to the horse's reins with his other hand, effectively controlling both.

  He strode forward with dogged determination until they arrived at the dowager's coach. Davis stood guard, whip in hand, while Mr. Burke plied Lady Cavendish with whiskey from his flask. "Stand aside," Greysteel directed Burke. When the steward complied, Montgomery tossed Velvet inside without ceremony.

  "Thank God you found her!"

  "God had nothing to do with it. Her flaming hair was like a beacon." He lowered his voice. "I'm head­ing north tomorrow."

  Mr. Burke nodded. "All depends on your success, milord."

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  "London was in chaos when I left. General Lambert dissolved Parliament and took over the house. The army has roused the rabble against Richard Cromwell to force his resignation."

  "The mob is not the people; what is the voice of the people?"

  "Military government is anathema to the general population, not just the nobility and gentry. The peo­ple are vehemently opposed to the overthrow of Par­liament. London's apprentices launched a petition and got twenty thousand signatures. They tried to present it at Guildhall the day I left, but were prevented by a troop of horse. Violence again broke out and people were shot. It is time for a decisive move on your part, General Monck."

  "A return to Parliamentary government is essential. I will issue a letter condemning the actions of my fel­low officers. My troops and I declare for the expelled members of Parliament."

  "Will you also declare for a restored monarchy?"

  "No. Not yet. When my letter arrives in London, General Lambert will rush his troops to the Scottish Border to oppose me. He will not be successful," Monck said calmly. "Tell me, how did Charles Stuart manage to move his Court to Breda in Protestant Hol­land without antagonizing Spain?"

  "He simply told them he was visiting his sister Mary. He set up headquarters in Breda, and the Princess of Orange brought her entire Court from The Hague to visit Charles and her younger brothers." Montgomery leaned forward. "General, if you put your power behind Charles Stuart and he regains his throne, he is prepared to name you commander of all military forces."

  "When I defeat England's General John Lambert, I will be the commander of all military forces."

  Montgomery doggedly pushed aside his impa­tience and pressed on. "As well, Charles will honor you with a noble title."

  "An earldom comes with estates, does it not?"

  Montgomery's grey eyes intensified. "He offers a dukedom." Greysteel reached into his doublet. "More­over, he has put the offer in writing and signed it." He proffered a sealed letter.

  When Monck reached out and took it, Montgomery knew he had him. You will not declare for Charles Stuart one moment before you are ready, you canny bastard, but declare for him you will!

  To save time, Montgomery boarded a Dutch mer­chant vessel in the Scottish port of Leith and reached Breda two days after the news arrived that Richard Cromwell's Protectorate had ended. Charles immedi­ately had a private meeting with Greysteel.

  "My siblings are celebrating Cromwell's downfall, but without Parliament, England will suffer under military rule."
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  "Not for long, Sire. Monck has sent a dispatch to London condemning the actions of the English mili­tary. He knows this will bring General John Lambert and his army north. Monck is preparing his troops to cross the Border."

  "Life has taught me there's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip."

  "Monck will prevail."

  "But will he call for a restoration of the monarchy?"

  "When the time is right. I give you my word that when George Monck is ready, he will call for restora­tion, Your Majesty."

  Charles looked skeptical. "When will he be ready, my friend?"

  "When he arrives in London. I pledge my life on it, Sire."

  Chapter 11

  “Charles is coming home!" Velvet dropped the morning paper and did a pirouette. She smiled at a beaming Mr. Burke, then threw her arms about Christian and the two ladies did a little dance of hap­piness. "Oh, I knew as surely as spring follows the long, dark winter that Charles would be restored as England's rightful king. I never doubted it for one moment!"

  "You were more steadfast in your belief than I, dar­ling. I relegated mine to the realms of wishful thinking when dreaded General Monck marched across the Border from Scotland."

  "The Roundheads deserted General Lambert when they found out there was no money to pay them. Then like cowardly turncoat dogs they joined Monck's army. I hate and despise them all!" Greysteel Mont­gomery was never far from Velvet's thoughts. That devil joined Monck before any of the other cowards!

  "Monck arrived in London and became commander in chief of Parliament's forces. When he ordered the house to issue writs for an election, then dissolve, surely he knew a Royalist Parliament would be elected? He must be the stupidest man alive!"

  "Or shrewd and cunning as a fox," Mr. Burke mur­mured.

  "I shall have my Lion and Unicorn tapestry brought down from the attics along with the portraits of the Stuarts. Every Royalist can breathe easier, especially the landowners."

  "Father and my brother, Henry, and all the other ex­iles will be coming home!" Velvet declared happily.

  "My son, Devonshire, and his family will be able to move back to our ancestral home, Chatsworth. It is without doubt the most magnificent house in England. It was no easy matter keeping its ownership in the Cavendish family under Roundhead rule."

  "The king will restore Nottingham and Bolsover Castles to my father, and my brother, Henry, will get Welbeck Abbey."

  "I hope that doesn't mean you will go running off to Nottingham and other points north. The King's Court will be the perfect setting for beautiful ladies of noble birth."

  "How could you think I would leave London at such an exciting time? The shops, the fashions, the cus­toms, the people ... all will be transformed."

  "After a decade of Puritanism, Londoners will go mad!"

  "Quite," Mr. Burke concurred. "The streets will still not be safe enough for ladies to venture out alone."

  "Oh, please don't say that, Mr. Burke. We have been very good all winter, confining ourselves here at Bishopsgate since that dreadful night when we were caught in the rabble."

  "We shall take your warning to heart, Mr. Burke, but I remind you that we have had enough of Protec­tors!"

  Velvet pushed away the picture of Montgomery rushing to her rescue and forcing her to comply with him against her will.

  "Never mind, darling, you and Emma put your winter confinement to very good use concocting face creams and cosmetics and herbal hair rinses. Such things will be in high demand at Court."

  "The recipes are old-fashioned ... copied from Bess's journal or remembered from things my mother invented, using herbs."

  "London will be turned on its head. Everything fashionable will become declasse ... Everything old will be new. You'll see!"

  "My only regret is that Minette won't be coming home!" Velvet had received a startling letter from her friend that she was going to France to be married to the young brother of Louis, King of France. It was a political marriage, which her mother had arranged. "Still, she will live in a palace and be surrounded by luxury, so I shall be happy for her." Velvet placed her hand over her racing heart. "Listen! All the church bells are ringing. Oh, I cannot wait to see Charles again!"

  In his office at Salisbury Court, Montgomery picked up his newspaper and read the Declaration of Breda, which Charles Stuart had issued. Greysteel's mouth curved. It is designed to reassure the nation and remind it of royal tradition.

  The Declaration stated that history was brought about not by accident, but by the hand of Providence. The restoration of the king was not man-made, but an act of God. Faith, reconciliation and tradition would ensure civil order. Charles offered a free and general pardon to all the enemies of the house of Stuart, save those whom Parliament chose to except.

  Greysteel laughed out loud at Charles's shrewdness in emphasizing Parliamentary authority. "He is court­ing the members of Parliament and makes no mention of the king's traditional prerogative powers." He laid the newspaper on his desk and pictured Charles greet­ing the Parliamentary commissioners when they ar­rived in Breda. "Ods feet, they will shit themselves when they see their king in rags and tatters!"

  He heard the bell of St. Bride's Church begin to peal and he immediately thought about Velvet. "She will be ecstatically happy this morning." He crushed down his feelings of jealousy. It was a demon he must never acknowledge.

  The post arrived and Greysteel opened a letter from his father. His brows drew together when he saw that their head steward had written it.

  Lord Montgomery,

  I regret to inform you that the Earl of Eglinton suffered a fall from his horse while visiting one of the tenant farms. With the advent of the spring shearing almost upon us, your father urges that you return home with all possible speed.

  Greysteel saw that his father's signature, which he had scrawled at the bottom of the letter, was almost in­decipherable. He packed immediately. Over the course of the winter he had traveled to Edinburgh numerous times on the exiled king's business. Now that Charles was going to be officially restored as England's right­ful king and he and Monck were able to communicate without secrecy, Greysteel felt free to look after Mont­gomery affairs.

  The Earl of Eglinton, propped in the massive four-poster, made no attempt to disguise his relief that his son had arrived.

  "How are you feeling, Father?" He looks vulnerable for the first time in his life.

  "Poorly!"

  One side of the earl's mouth was drawn up, making him look as if he were smiling. Greysteel knew that he was not. His father made an effort to rise, then fell back in defeat because the limbs on his right side were paralyzed.

  "What can I get you to make you feel better?"

  "Sh-sheeing!"

  Greysteel realized his speech had also been affected. "Shearing?" he guessed, knowing that business mat­ters had always come first and foremost with Alex Greysteel Montgomery. He put a comforting hand on the earl's shoulder. "I'll oversee the shearing, Father. Rest easy."

  "Will... will—"

  "Will I what?" Greysteel prompted gently.

  The earl shook his head in exasperation and with his steely eyes indicated a leather case on the bedside table.

  Greysteel retrieved it and opened it up. Inside he found his father's last will and testament, along with many other legal papers, certificates and deeds. "I will keep them safe," he assured the bedridden man. "The steward is waiting for me. If you will rest, I will see to the Montgomery sheep."

  During the next three days, Greysteel spent countless hours in the saddle, overseeing the shearing of thou­sands of precious Montgomery's sheep at more than a dozen tenant farms. No easy task when more than half of the ewes were lambing. By midnight on the fourth day, he had personally aided in the birth of almost five hundred lambs. He grinned at the steward. "My respect for Father's endurance has risen considerably."

  "Aye, it's hard work and long hours in the spring."

  Montgomery stood up and stretched. "But most
re­warding."

  Though the hour was late, Greysteel looked in on his father and was relieved to find him asleep. He re­tired to his own bed and though he was physically tired, he was mentally wide-awake.

  He reached for the leather case and drew out the documents. Among them was his baptismal certificate and when he saw that he had been named Robert Greysteel, he realized that it wasn't just a nickname. He looked at his parents' marriage certificate and saw that it was dated only two years before his mother had died. Father has been without his wife for twenty-eight years. Though Greysteel had no memory of his mother, he was convinced that if she had lived, the Earl of Eglinton would not have become such a rigid, irascible and difficult devil.

  He picked up the betrothal contract signed by his father and Newcastle. It was a legal paper and, to Greysteel, completely binding. He thought of Velvet and a tender smile curved his mouth. She was all he wanted in a woman and he was determined to make her his wife. Without her, he knew, his life would be incomplete. God forbid that I turn into my father!

  He picked up the will and began to read. It con­firmed what he already knew, that upon Alexander's death, he would automatically inherit the earldom. As well, his father bequeathed all Montgomery holdings to him. He went over the list of familiar properties, and then his brows drew together as he read a new addition at the bottom.

  "Bolsover Castle!" Greysteel exclaimed aloud. "This has to be a mistake. Bolsover is owned by William Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle." Then he remembered that Velvet's father had had all his landholdings con­fiscated by Oliver Cromwell. "But Old Noll most cer­tainly wouldn't bestow any of Newcastle's property on Father." Greysteel searched through the deeds and sure enough he found one for Bolsover Castle.

  He read every word of the legal document and saw that Bolsover had been confiscated from Newcastle and granted to Charles Fleetwood, a Parliamentary general, for services rendered. Three years ago, Fleet­wood had sold Bolsover Castle to Alexander Mont­gomery for the sum of five thousand pounds.