The Rebel’s Daughter (32 page)

William observed Helena with a
half-mocking smile, his high-backed chair positioned so close to
hers that their toes almost touched. He had a habit of staring into
her eyes as if she were the only person in a room, daring her to be
the first to look away. When she could forget his sheer masculine
physicality, he was excellent company; he often sought her out for
fascinating discussions on any subject that came to her. Helena
experienced a heady sense of her own feminine power during these
sessions, exchanging banter in flirtatious verbal
jousts.

“
That’s enough of the absent master Woulfe,
or I shall become quite jealous,” William commanded them with a
glint in his eye. I would prefer to discuss more entertaining
subjects.”

“
Such as
what, William?” Phebe enquired, one brow raised.

William paused, one ankle crossed over the
other, swinging his foot gently. “Helena, I hope you’ll allow me to
escort you to the Pleasure Gardens at Fox Hall when the sun decides
to shine. They are particularly pleasing in the
Springtime.”

“
Will we
ever have a Spring?” Phebe pulled her shawl tightly round her
shoulders. “Master Evelyn told me the other evening that this
winter had been unusually mild, but I disagree. I’m constantly
freezing, no matter the fires are lit every day.”

“
You
haven’t answered me, Helena,” William said gently.

“
In
regard to what, sir?” Helena feigned interest in a piece of
embroidery. She hated needlework with a passion, but the activity
gave her a focus. “Oh, the Gardens. That would be most agreeable. I
shall have to seek permission from my brother first.” She peered up
at him through her lowered lashes, and so intent on being coy, she
pricked her finger.

“
Never
mind mincing about the Gardens all day, William,” Robert snorted.
“What about I purchase a commission for you in the Navy? A
respectable enough life for a man.”

“
Eh?”
William tucked in his chin and regarded his father with a mixture
of surprise and horror. While Robert was busy calling in every
favor he possessed to find gainful employment for his son, the
object of all this industry had so far expressed nothing but ennui
at the prospect of work.

“
His
Majesty was Lord High Admiral when he was a young man.” Robert
tried again. “You have to have some ambitions for your future.”
William wrinkled his nose and waved the suggestion away, not
bothering to respond.

“
The
uniform would be so flattering, do you not think?” Alyce pointed
out with mild regret.

“
You are
not enough of a gentleman, William,” Robert jabbed the air with the
stem of his pipe, “nor are you rich enough to be able to idle your
life away.” He snapped his newssheet and dipped his head to the
printed page again, dismissing his son with a shake of his
head.

Helena looked down at her sewing. From what
she knew of his activities, William did exactly that. His days
spent wherever young men went, to bet fortunes on the turn of a
card or the progress of a louse up a wall hanging.

Then there were the lengthy drinking sessions
in the public rooms, or the nights he joined a group of affluent
young fops in one of the private rooms upstairs; catcalling from
the balconies to passersby below, until Robert called an outraged
halt to their rowdiness.

William got to his feet with a sigh and
wandered to the window, where he stood staring at the street, his
hands held loosely behind his back. After a moment, he appeared to
make up his mind and turning on his heel, and bowed to the ladies,
saying he was off to visit a coffee house.

“
Which
one, Will?” Phebe asked, following him out.

Helena suspected she did so to retain his
attention, but they were at the door before he answered, so his
reply was inaudible.

When he had gone, Celia sidled up to
Helena and perched on the edge of a chair. “I cannot understand
you, Helena. How can you remain so unmoved, when every female who
lays eyes on William, falls instantly in love with him?”

Helena smiled. She had seen those ladies
he charmed, then immediately forgot, hanging on the fringes of his
company at gatherings, hoping to rekindle his interest. If he
noticed their existence at all, his eyes would skim over their
earnest faces with a vacant smile, and they would forgive him, call
him a rogue, and sigh after him.

“
I like
him very much.” Helena shrugged, pretending to wrestle with an
intricate stitch. “Though I beg you not to misunderstand his
attentions. He is only flirting with me, there is no real
attachment.”

Pouting, Celia fiddled with the box of
sewing threads at Helena side. “You would settle him down,” she
whined in her petulant voice. “I know he spends too much time
gaming, and drinking and…” Helena arched an eyebrow, and Celia
whispered, “…yes, well, probably whoring too.” Her light tone
indicated it a minor fault. “However, if you and William were
married…”

Helena whipped her head round to stare at
her. “Married?” she said in a fierce whisper. “Whatever makes you
think he would…I mean, that I would…”

Celia wasn’t to be distracted. “You would
be perfect for him. Your practical sense would enable you to mould
him into a stable and respectable husband.”

Helena did not reply, one hand hovering in
midair as images of a life as William’s wife paraded through her
head. A future filled with worry over paying the servants, keeping
creditors at bay, and hiding the playing cards loomed into her
head. Then the face of a vapid redhead she had seen in his company
flashed in front of her eyes. She stabbed the linen viciously with
her needle.

“
It
simply will not do, Celia.” Helena’s gaze went to Robert in the
chimney corner, his head still bent studiously to his newssheet. In
an opposite chaise sat Alyce, in black lace over scarlet silk, her
brow creased in concentration over a novel.

“
I
suspect your matchmaking is the result of you having spent this
morning in the company of your betrothed.”

Celia”s deep flush proved her
right.

Master Ralf Maurice called at Lambtons almost
daily, making it clear he could not wait for them to be
married.

Helena observed them together with wry
amusement, intrigued that a pleasant, but undistinguished and shy
man, had overnight become Celia”s romantic dream. The bride-to-be
tripped around the inn with a beatific smile, bestowing goodwill on
everyone. Phebe, exasperated with her sister’s cloying
sentimentality, flounced out of the room whenever marriage was
mentioned.

“
William
might very well offer for you, Helena, if you gave him sufficient
encouragement,” Celia suggested huffily.

Helena held up an imperious
hand. “I don’t want a husband. Well, certainly not yet, at any
rate.”
And
not that one.

Chapter
20

When Tobias returned to London
with a companion, that the self-conscious stranger in the taproom
was
definitely not Aaron Woulfe.

“
I have
invited Master Foe to take a libation with us,” Robert explained.
“Phebe and Alyce will be down shortly, for had I failed to inform
them, they would insist I repeat whatever Master Foe says over
nuncheon.”

By the time the ladies appeared, Tobias had
confirmed what Helena had already guessed. Aaron was still in The
Hague.

Helena took the empty seat, which happened
to be beside William, and like the others, putting the stranger
under close scrutiny. Master Foe appeared to be in his
mid-twenties, with a swarthy complexion on a long-jowled face that
threatened to turn to fleshiness in later life. His chin and nose
were both sharp, and there was a mole beside his full mouth.
Definitely insignificant beside the handsome and colorful Tobias,
his wool coat looked as if it had been made for someone broader.
His linen, if frayed, looked laundered, although shadows of old
stains remained.

“
It was
kind of you to attend us here, Master Foe.” Robert said in an
obvious attempt to put the man at ease, but this proved unnecessary
when the newcomer returned his look with pride and not a little
arrogance.

“
Er,
actually, sir.” Foe gave a cough. “I returned to London from The
Hague last year.” His gaze darted round the room, as if the word
itself might rouse Troopers from the corners. “I was eager to
return to my wife. I also had some pressing family business
requiring my attention. Master Woulfe, cognisant of my distress,
gave me passage money he could barely spare.”

“
You
were not afraid of the soldiers?” Helena asked.

Foe
’s eyes clouded. “I feared being brought
to account for my involvement, certainly. In fact, my name is on
the Petty Jury List for Cornhill Ward. I’m in the process of
negotiating with a Master Penne to have it removed for a…a
consideration.” He blushed. “Which ah, Master Woulfe has provided,
since his fortunes have altered of late.”

Helena rolled her eyes, fixing the
newcomer with her fiercest glare. “Why has my brother not come
home?” She tried to appear calm, but her anger was well-nigh
tangible.

Foe turned admiring eyes on her, then
flinched. “I believe, Mistress, from the letter Master Lumm brought
me, that Master Woulfe feels the loss of his mother and his uncle
keenly. He will take time to recover from the dreadful
news.”

Helena clamped her lips together
to stop the angry tirade that sprang onto her tongue.
Did Aaron think he
was alone in his grief? What about her? And Henry?

Foe rested his elbows on the table and
steepled his fingers. Helena wondered for a moment if he was
preparing a prayer for them all, but instead he said, “Master
Woulfe feels the time is not yet right to return to England, not
when our present Monarch still occupies the throne.”

“
He’s
not coming back at all?” Helena regarded him with disbelief, though
the truth was right in front of her. Aaron hadn’t sent this man to
prepare the way. He had sent him as his replacement.

“
Has
Master Woulfe been presented at the Prince of Orange’s Court?”
Alyce asked, revealing rather more décolleté than their guest
seemed comfortable with.

Foe flushed and looked away. “I am
reluctant to reveal Master Wolfe’s specific plans at this stage.
For security reasons, you understand. However I have been told the
Prince of Orange keeps a close eye on the situation in England,” he
stammered. “Though it is widely believed he is not
unsympathetic.”

“
And how
does that concern my brother?” Helena demanded, her patience
wearing thin.

Foe
’s eyes filled with righteous fervor. “As
it should concern every Anglican!” He scanned each face in turn.
“The King’s closeness to French Louis; a standing army in
peacetime, his promotion of Papists into high office. All these
events indicate he intends bringing the country back to Rome. By
force, if necessary.”

“
I
disagree,” Robert said, indignant. “I know no one in London who has
found life more difficult as an Anglican, since the
succession.”

“
Perhaps, sir.” Foe gave him a superior smirk. “Though
Catholics seeking office in court and Parliament have found it
considerably easier of late. One would think we didn’t have such a
thing as the Test Act.”

“
Actually, Father, “ William ignored his mother’s warning
glare, “Evelyn complains of seeing Popish pamphlets on the streets,
yet no moves have been made to have them banned, or the publishers
imprisoned.”

Robert looked about to respond, but
William had not finished yet. “The King is aware his preferment of
Catholics is making him unpopular. His attempts to have that very
act you mentioned repealed, Sir, proves that.” He turned to the
circle of faces. “Master Foe may be right. King James may well be
arming himself against his subjects in order to force his religion
on the country.”

William turned toward Helena with a slow
wink she pretended not to see. Was his fanning of the political
flames been to impress her, or to annoy his father?

“
There
is also the fact King James keeps over thirteen thousand soldiers
in barracks.” Foe held up a finger to emphasis his point. “Their
regiments should have been disbanded after the rebellion. No, he
retains them to put down any objection to his Papist
schemes.”

While the company absorbed this thought,
Robert took the opportunity to whisper an instruction to a server
at the door. The man scurried away to comply.

Helena bit her lip in frustration. It
seemed Master Foe and Aaron had been closeted with their fellow
fugitives for far too long, with time lying heavily on their hands.
The only use they appeared to have made of it was to imagine plots
and counter-plots coming out of Whitehall against the entire
Protestant world.