Marigold Chain (28 page)

‘
I’ll see
to this one,’ he said. ‘You start on the rest.’

By the time he
had found a key which, with only a little forceful persuasion,
opened the locked drawer, Matthew had searched through the contents
of two others, replaced them and begun on a third. Alex lifted out
a sheaf of documents and laid them on the desk-top while he
examined the interior of the drawer for false panels. He found none
and turned his attention to the papers.

They proved
extremely interesting and he subjected them all to a swift
scrutiny, pausing every now and then to read, but when he reached
the bottom of the pile he shook his head in response to Matt’s
enquiring glance, replaced them tidily and locked the drawer
again.

‘
Fascinating,’ he said regretfully, ‘but not what we’re
looking for. I wonder if Arlington and Coventry know they’re being
watched.’

‘
Are
they?’ Matt’s hands continued their methodical work.

‘
Oh yes.’
Alex gestured to the locked drawer. ‘Reports in minute and tedious
detail. Where they go, who they see, who they sleep with – and so
on. Perhaps Simon is writing their memoirs.’

‘
Aye. And
perhaps he isn’t.’

Alex did not
reply. For a moment he stood, deep in thought, then said, ‘There’s
somewhere else I’d like to try. You finish off here – I’m going
upstairs.’

Matt looked up
sharply. ‘Have you gone daft? Simon’s out of the way at Court but
there are servants here somewhere.’

‘
I’ll be
careful,’ shrugged Mr Deveril. ‘And, if the worst comes to the
worst, I can always bob them on the noll.’ And was gone.

Cat-like, Alex
crossed the hall and set his foot on the stairs, one hand lightly
skimming the bannister and his mind engaged in summoning every
submerged recollection of Deveril House. And, as he climbed, the
details came clearly back so that he was twelve years old again,
automatically stepping over the place where there was a loose
board, adjusting his stride for the trip-step and raising his arm
to avoid the carved newel at the turn in the staircase. Then he was
at the top.

He paused for
an instant, listening, then turned unerringly to the left, moving
soft-footed along what he knew to be a wide corridor but of which
he could see nothing. It was pitch-dark; black as total blindness
but it did not matter. Alex kept close to the right-hand wall,
running his hand along it to count doorways and then side-stepping
around the place where a huge china vase had always stood. Idly, he
stretched out his fingers and smiled as they met the cool, glossy
surface of it. He moved on to the next and stopped, searching
delicately for the latch; then he found it, lifted it, went in.

There was light
here, a little, fading in from windows whose curtains had not been
drawn but he knew without looking that the room was empty. Other
senses, less defined but no less real than those of sight and
sound, told him that there was no danger here; nobody in the vast
bed, no one waiting in the shadows. Only emptiness.

He moved
unhurriedly to the wainscoting covering the far wall and stood for
a while staring at the intricate frieze-work. Then he ran his hands
over the upper row of carved devices, counting again to find the
section he wanted. A second later the long fingers closed on one of
the bosses, twisted it to the left and Alex stepped back to watch
as a portion of the panelling in the lower tier slid smoothly back
to reveal a dark cavity.

He needed light
now and drew from his pocket a small piece of candle and a
tinder-box. Then, shading the flame with his hand, he stepped into
the recess.

It was a
priest’s hole, small and cleverly concealed, its existence known
only to the immediate family. The Deverils, so his father had said,
had never had occasion to hide a priest in it; but they had used it
for pretty well everything else – from mistresses to contraband.
And it was just the place, thought Alex, to hide a dirty secret …
if you happened to have one.

There was
nothing there save a shelf containing a miscellany of objects. Alex
began sifting through them, sensibly leaving till last a small,
battered and obviously locked casket. And then he heard footsteps;
even, unhurried and approaching. In a breath, the candle was out
and Alex was across the room to stand behind the door, listening.
If this were Simon returning unexpectedly, he had no mind to be
trapped inside the cache. But the footfalls passed on and receded.
Alex allowed his lungs to relax and went back to work.

Three leather
pouches of gold and some jewellery; a bundle of letters tied with
fraying blue ribbon which proved to have been written by Alex’s
mother to his father. After the first, he did not read these but
simply glanced through to check no other paper had been lodged
amongst them. Then he sat for a time, turning them gently in his
hands and forcing down his revulsion at the knowledge that he must
leave them here in Simon’s possession. Finally he laid them
reluctantly back on the shelf and picked up the box.

As he had
expected, it was locked – but not for long. Alex put down his
collection of keys, the appropriate one thoughtfully segregated,
and began to inspect the contents. More letters; this time from a
variety of senders. He went through them, reading each with rapid
concentration and laying it back in the box just as he had found
it. They were all much the same; letters dating from the time of
the Commonwealth, all of them showing clearly where Simon’s
allegiance had lain during that time and all of them perfectly
useless.

He dropped a
letter into the box and picked up the next, starting to read
dutifully but without much hope. And then the air left his lungs
and his stomach clenched. He stared at the signature, he re-read
the letter; and then he stayed where he was, deep in thought, until
the candle guttered and died, leaving him alone and blind in the
dark.

He moved then,
slipping the letter into his pocket and performing by touch the
necessary actions that would leave everything as he had found it.
He restored the remaining letters to the box, locked and replaced
it; as best he could, he scraped up the warm, soft remains of his
candle, then rose and stepped out into the room, closing the panel
behind him.

When he
re-entered the library, Mr Lewis was standing on a chair diligently
inspecting the rolls of parchment on one of the shelves and it was
not until Alex rose up beside him out of the shadows that he knew
he was there. Matt’s eyes, as he looked down, were full of relief
but his words were at odds with them.

‘
I see
you didn’t rush. I wondered if you’d maybe found a woman up
there.’

Mr Deveril
grinned, his face aesthetically pale in the strange light.

‘
Perish
the thought. These days I’m a damned monk – see my
robes.’

‘
Or,
right now I’m a damned burglar – see my noose?’ Matt asked crossly.
‘Let’s go.’

‘
Exactly,’ said Alex pleasantly, ‘what I was about to
suggest. Though not, perhaps, in those exact words.’

It was not
until they were at the riverside looking for a boat which would
take them home that Mr Lewis finally brought himself to ask the
obvious question.

‘
Did you
find anything?’

Alex gazed
across the water in rapt contemplation of the Surrey bank.

‘
Something, you might say, and nothing,’ he replied vaguely.
And then, grinning, ‘Come home and
I shall
light a candle of understanding in thine heart which shall not be
put out.
’

To which,
thought Matt irritably, there was no answer at all.

*

Not
surprisingly, Chloë knew nothing of these activities and, during
the first days of July, was as busy as she could have wished – and
far too busy to wonder more than seven or eight times a day what
Alex was doing. It had been arranged that the Queen should leave
for Tunbridge Wells on the ninth for a stay of at least three weeks
and Chloë suddenly realised that this meant she would be unlikely
to return to London until the beginning of August – and August, of
course, was when she might expect to see
The Black Boy
again. Weighing the situation
carefully, she came to the conclusion that, since she needed
storage space for the merchandise, it would have to be found
now.

Accompanied by
Mr Lewis, taciturn and disapproving of her stubborn insistence on
visiting the wharves herself, Chloë set off on a round of enquiry
and inspection and finally found what she wanted; a dry, sturdy
warehouse hard by the Three Cranes in the Vintry. Chloë paid its
owner two months’ rent and Matt heaved a sigh of relief.

On the eve of
her departure, Mr Deveril sought her out to take a business-like
farewell. The formality of his manner made him a stranger.
Certainly, this was not the man who had lent her his strength,
understanding and unspoken sympathy on the night they had learned
of Danny’s death. Nor was it the man whose mere presence could make
her heart leap into her throat and whose kiss had made her blood
sing. She wondered what he was thinking … and realised she would
never know.

As it happened,
Alex’s thoughts weren’t entirely clear even to himself. When he’d
kissed her that night on the Falcon Stairs, he’d wanted more than a
kiss and known that he could probably have it. But Chloë was no
Sarah, to be taken and then discarded; nor did she deserve to be
irrevocably tied to him unless they were quite sure it was what
they both wanted. And even then, what he had said to Giles was
true; he was intemperate, intolerant and impossible to live with.
Unless … but he refused to entertain that idea. Only two things
were crystal clear. These days, the curve of her mouth or the tilt
of her head were suddenly a temptation they’d never been before;
and Chloë’s quick mind, forthright charm and innate kindness
clearly made her deserving of a better man.

Hiding his
doubts behind a screen of practicality, he began by asking a number
of questions about the safety and comfort of her travelling
arrangements before coming at last, and with some reluctance, to
the point.

‘
You may
possibly have been wondering about our annulment.’

Chloë,
who had been trying
not
to
wonder about the annulment, swallowed, met his gaze and found it
unreadable. ‘Yes.’

‘
Yes,’ he
repeated with a faint glimmer of his usual acidity. ‘I’ve done
everything I can – including signing the necessary papers – but, as
I believe I warned you, the wheels of the Church grind exceedingly
slow. Eventually they must ask to see you and when that happens I
imagine the end will be in sight. Alternatively, they may place the
matter before the King and if they do that – or have already done
so – it might be possible for you to move things along a little by
appealing to the Queen.’

‘
I see.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Is … that what you want?’

Forcing down a
sudden urge to admit that he had no idea, Alex shrugged and
maintained his indifferent façade.

‘
Not
particularly. You may do as you see fit. It makes little difference
to me since I’m in no hurry to resume my bachelor status. But it
occurred to me that – if and when your ship comes in and you find
yourself financially independent – you might prefer to find
yourself legally free as well.’

Chloë put a lot
of effort into keeping both face and voice neutral.

‘
Thank
you. Like you, I’m in no particular hurry … and I doubt the Queen
would help anyway. I know we’re looking for an annulment not a
divorce, but Catherine’s so devoutly Catholic that she may not
recognise the difference. However, I’ll bear it in
mind.’

‘
Do.’ He
paused and then, against his will, heard himself say, ‘I’m likely
to be rather busy while you’re away - but when you come back we
should probably talk.’

Just in time,
she stopped herself asking about what.

‘
Yes. I
imagine we should.’

‘
Then
I’ll see you in three weeks or so,’ Alex finished pleasantly. ‘In
the meantime, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or, in fact, a good
many things I would.’

On which
felicitous note, he took his leave of her.

*

For the next
week after Chloë had gone, in day after day of scorching heat, Alex
relentlessly pursued his enquiries. On the one hand, he continued
to follow the existing lines of information which kept him in loose
communication with Mr Beckwith and on the other, he and Matt
devoted a good deal of time and energy to the observance of Cousin
Simon. And then, on Monday the sixteenth, when the weather
mercifully broke in a hailstorm of epic proportions, a letter
arrived from Prince Rupert’s secretary.

Alex read it
thoughtfully, then went in search of Matthew.

‘
Do you
think,’ he asked, ‘that you can keep up the good work without
me?’

Matt surveyed
him with mistrust. ‘If I have to.’

‘
You have
to,’ replied Mr Deveril. ‘I’m joining the Navy. Temporarily, I
hope.’

‘
No doubt
you’ve got a good reason?’

‘
I have.
I’m summoned,’ said Alex, tossing the letter across to him, ‘to
render an account of our progress to His Highness. And since I’ve
nothing whatsoever that I can usefully tell him, you’d better pray
– as I shall – that I find him in a good humour.’

~ * * * ~