Virginia Henley - Unmasked

  "Yes, darling. London is not the pleasurable place it once was. It has been transformed into a Puritan soci­ety, all piety and no wit. Attending church thrice weekly is the highlight of a drab existence. The Velvet Cavendish we present to the outside world will wear plain and sober garments. Simple dresses in dark brown or dull grey, with white collar and cuffs, will be worn beneath modest cloaks and sheer linen caps. But of course it will be a facade. When you are at home you may go mad with a little color. Oh, nothing low-cut or overtly feminine, God forbid," Christian said with exquisite sarcasm, "but perhaps slippers with rosettes, rather than sensible square-toed shoes with those infernal buckles! Ah, good, I've made you laugh."

  "It feels good to laugh. Though when I was a child, my governess taught me that it showed a lack of breeding."

  Christian hooted. "When you were a child, you were so willful, your governess could teach you nothing."

  "You remember me!" Velvet was aghast.

  "You were so deliciously precocious, how could I forget? You came by it honestly enough—your great-grandmother was Bess Hardwick. Now, there was a woman, but that's another story for another time. Now, where was I?"

  "You were telling me that London is puritanical."

  "Exactly. Just remember that everything is consid­ered a sin and anything enjoyable is forbidden. They still allow sex, but not for pleasure—there must be no joy in the act. Oh, I've made you blush. You must get used to my irreverence, darling—I have a flagrant fondness for it."

  Montgomery's first stop in London was at the gold­smith's in the Temple, where he presented the draft and opened an account in his own name. He decided to find out how Samuel Lawson felt about the way London was being governed.

  "Is business good, Mr. Lawson?"

  "My business as moneylender thrives. Alas, that means that London and the country are drowning in debt above their eyes. The people are doubly angry— not only are they ruled by the military, but they are being forced to pay for it."

  "You believe the ordinary people have grown re­sentful of the military regime and long for a quiet life?"

  "The old form of government was better," Lawson murmured.

  Lord Montgomery walked all about the city, famil­iarizing himself with the streets and districts, looking for the best place to open an office. He decided on Salisbury Court, where he rented a narrow house with an office on the ground floor and furnished rooms above. It even had a stable nearby to care for his horse. It was conveniently located, not far from the Temple and within a short distance of the Thames at Blackfriars.

  Next he went to the barber. Long lovelocks hinted at Royalist sympathies, yet he refused to get his hair cropped in the ugly Roundhead style. He compromised by having it shortened and clubbed back neatly with a black ribbon.

  Montgomery, needing a new wardrobe, observed the fashions. Men's clothing seemed to fall into three categories, with Parliamentarian army uniforms pre­dominating. The other extreme was the severely plain, sober costume of the Puritan fanatic with square leather shoes and black steeple hat.

  He visited the law courts and the wool exchange and decided to dress like the professional class. He or­dered a black suit and a dark grey, whose jackets were shorn of all trimming. The breeches that came to the knee were worn with tall riding boots. His shirts boasted no lace, but had plain cambric neckbands.

  He kept his ears open wherever he went and heard rumors of so many plots against Cromwell's life, he reasoned some of them must be true. He also heard gossip that the Protector was in failing health. I have certainly used my ears. Now 1 will use my eyes. I shall go to Wliitehall and see for myself.

  He went for a ride along the Strand to observe the layout of Whitehall. The area around the Old Savoy Palace was thick with soldiers and he realized he would never get past the guards.

  Before he returned to Salisbury Court, he stopped at a secondhand shop on Cheapside. For the sum of six shillings, he bought a military uniform that had be­longed to a Parliamentarian lieutenant. He searched through a box of brass buttons and paraphernalia until he found a captain's insignia. That night before he re­tired Robert patiently stitched on the new badges.

  In the morning when he put on the enemy uniform, he did not feel like a traitor. Instead, he felt a mild ex­hilaration at the challenge that lay before him. The uni­form is sadly lacking when compared with a Cavalier uniform, but I think it will pass muster. He fastened on his own sword, saluted his image in the mirror and walked down to the Thames.

  The watercraft going upriver had few early-morning passengers. He got off at the Old Palace Water Stairs and walked briskly along the path that led to White­hall Palace. He gave the guard on gate duty a piercing stare, which prompted the soldier to straighten his shoulders and salute the captain.

  Without hesitation, Montgomery strode into the palace grounds as if he knew exactly where he was going. When he passed knots of Parliamentarian sol­diers, he nodded curtly and moved on. He entered Whitehall with other uniformed men and made his way to the kitchens by following his nose. It was a busy place filled with cooks, cooks' helpers and scullery boys. The clattering noise of pots, pans and crockery made it necessary for the kitchen workers to shout above the din. He spied a plump woman in a striped apron. She was sitting at a table eating her breakfast.

  He winked at her. "May I share your table, madam?"

  She beamed. "And anythin' else ye fancy, luv!" Her glance openly admired his broad shoulders. "What are ye doin' in the kitchens, Captain?"

  He bent toward her in a confidential manner. "In­specting."

  Her mouth dropped open. "The cooks? The food?"

  He put his finger to his lips. "A certain high authority has voiced suspicions."

  "So that's why Old Noll's food trays come back untouched. He thinks we're poisoning him!"

  "Softly, my dear—I have found no evidence of any­thing untoward in my investigation so far."

  She pressed her lips together in consternation. "I should think not. Here, let me get ye some food that I was in charge of cookin' this morning. Ye can taste it yerself."

  She jumped up and came back in no time with a trencher piled with gammon ham, eggs and kidneys. "Tuck into that."

  Robert enjoyed his breakfast. I must remember to hire a cook, "My compliments, ma'am, this is excellent. Per­haps he sends his food back because it's cold by the time it gets to him."

  "Well, he is way up on the third floor, but Sergeant Bromley always keeps his food warm with silver cov­ers."

  "I shall go and have a word with him. Remember, not a hint to anyone. This is between you and me."

  Montgomery made his way into the adjoining kitchen and filled a jug with boiling water. Then he carried it up to the third floor of Whitehall. He looked along the corridor and saw a door that was guarded by a soldier. On the floor against the wall was a tray with silver covers. Montgomery stopped at the door, looked down and shook his head sadly. "Couldn't eat again?"

  "Same every day, Cap'n."

  Suddenly the door opened. Without missing a beat, Montgomery spoke. "Sergeant Bromley, to save you a journey to the kitchens, one of the cooks prevailed upon me to bring you hot water."

  "Thanks." Bromley took the jug and motioned his head to someone inside. "He's bilious again."

  "Would you like me to go for a physician, Sergeant?"

  Bromley shook his head. "He's seen 'em all. He's at prayer at the moment—spends hours on his knees. I have to go—I think he's callin' me." The sergeant shut the door.

  "Is there a garderobe on this floor?" Robert asked the guard.

  He pointed the way. "At the end of the corridor."

  Montgomery walked to the end of the hallway, turned and sat down on the staircase to wait. He wanted to get a good look at Oliver Cromwell. Sooner or later, nature is bound to call.

  In about an hour, Montgomery's patience paid off. As he heard someone come down the corridor, he stood up and stepped into the shadow of the stairs. Light from the hall wind
ow illuminated a man whom Montgomery recognized as Cromwell. His tall figure was stooped and his pallor was a sickly yellow as if he was jaundiced. It was his eyes, however, that gave Greysteel pause. He'd seen the look before, in battle on the faces of deeply religious men who had convinced themselves they were the chosen instruments of God. Cromwell's eyes burned with a fanatic light like those of a man on his last mission who knew he was going to die.

  That night, at his desk in his new office, Mont­gomery sat for a long time, trying to bring himself to write the report to General George Monck as he had agreed. No matter how he rationalized it, it went deeply against the grain to help the enemy in any way. In the end he reached for a quill and put down on paper his honest view of what he'd heard and seen in London. When he finished, he reread the letter. "My words are slanted against the Parliamentarian govern­ment, but if such a report makes Monck unhappy, he shouldn't have chosen a Royalist for his agent."

  Greysteel felt an urge to write to Charles and tell him that Cromwell was ill. He wanted him to know that the people of London were sick and tired of the military dictatorship and some spoke of monarchy in a favorable light. He decided to wait until he knew more. The last thing he wanted to do was give the king false hope.

  "If I write reports to both, I will be acting as a dou­ble agent." His jaw hardened. Being a double agent was no more palatable to him than being Monck's agent. He melted the sealing wax on the letter and locked it in his desk drawer.

  Velvet looked at her reflection in the mirror. Though most females would have thought the dress of plain grey cambric with starched white collar and cuffs ex­tremely plain, she was most grateful that it was new and fitted her perfectly.

  She picked up the silver hairbrush and fashioned her unruly red gold hair into neat ringlets and pinned on a sheer linen cap. She hurried downstairs to take breakfast with Christian.

  "Good morning, darling, you look lovely." Oh, dear, you look like a little milkmaid rather than an aristocratic Cavendish. Your years of penniless exile robbed you of your confidence. I must build up your self-esteem and try to re­store some of that delicious precocious attitude you dis­played as a child.

  She watched Velvet eat, bemused that she seemed to relish plain bread and honey. "My dear, you have the most radiant complexion. Your skin is translucent and seems to glow from the inside. What is your se­cret?"

  Velvet flushed, pleased at the compliment. "I use cold water. Mother told me about using glycerin distilled with rose water when she was a girl. I wish I had some."

  Her wants are so simple. "Well, we have glycerin and the garden is filled with summer roses. Go out and gather some."

  "Oh, thank you." She wiped her mouth and folded her napkin.

  Christian watched her through the back windows of the breakfast room. Odsbodikins, you'd think I'd given her the crown jewels.

  Montgomery had learned the Dowager Countess of Devonshire was living at her grand house in Bishopsgate, the one where her late husband had entertained royalty on a lavish scale. He turned his horse over to a groom at the carriage house and went up the front steps. He presented his card to the butler.

  "I'm here to see the Devonshire steward on busi­ness, but first I'd like to pay my respects to the dowa­ger countess if she is receiving."

  "Very good. This way, my lord." The butler showed him into the library and in less than two minutes the dowager appeared.

  She gave her visitor a quick appraisal and liked what she saw. The gentleman had a commanding pres­ence, which set him apart. She glanced at his card. "Lord Montgomery?"

  "My father is Alexander, Earl of Eglinton. I'm here to pay your steward for some sheep we recently ac­quired from you."

  "Ah, Robert, you were a captain with the Royalist army." I have a flagrant fondness for military gentlemen.

  Velvet came into the library, her head bent over a flower basket. "Christian, it is such a pity that these lovely cream roses have specks of soot on—" She looked up and saw the dowager had a male visitor. "Oh, I beg your pardon...." Her voice trailed off as she stared. The man had a military bearing with a ram­rod straight back and broad muscular shoulders. His face was dark, hard and lean, and his grey eyes were so compellingly direct, a shudder ran down her back. He was the most powerfully attractive male she had ever seen and her physical response to him was im­mediate and profound.

  Robert took one look at the female and felt as if time stood still. His heart too stopped beating momentarily and then began to thud. The young lady before him in the simple gown, carrying a profusion of cream roses, was a vision of sweet innocence. She had the face of an angel; he'd never seen anyone as lovely.

  "Velvet, darling, this is Captain Robert Mont­gomery—"

  His dark brows drew together. "Velvet?"

  Her green eyes widened. "Greysteel?"

  Chapter 4

  “Of course!" Christian's face lit up as she realized why his name was so familiar. "Greysteel Mont­gomery is your betrothed!"

  Velvet's cheeks turned crimson. "He is no such thing!"

  "It was so long ago. You were only about seven— perhaps you have forgotten," Christian suggested.

  "Yes, I have forgotten." No, I never forgot. That was the day I decided to name myself Velvet and realized I was in love with Charles. Your first glance told me you wanted to beat me. You were forced to betroth me because of my fam­ily's wealth, and you hated me for it. Now that the wealth is gone and you don't wish to be reminded of the betrothal, you still hate me.

  "Perhaps you have forgotten, Mistress Cavendish. I was a thirteen-year-old youth. My looks have changed considerably."

  Velvet stared at him haughtily, desperately trying to mask her physical response to him. Though there was no trace of youthfulness left in the dark, hard counte­nance, she could never forget the mesmerizing grey eyes, which had the ability to look into her mind and read all her secrets. Moreover, the arrogant devil knew she hadn't forgotten him.

  "I'm sure the Earl of Eglinton considers the be­trothal null and void, as does my own father, after all these years."

  "It matters little what they consider." Greysteel set his jaw. "It is I who will decide about our betrothal."

  "You must be mad!" She defied him.

  Her words stung him. She had made it plain she hadn't wanted him then, and she didn't want him now. Set yourself against me and you will lose; your objec­tions only make me more determined.

  "My lord, do forgive Velvet. She doesn't mean to be rude."

  "Of course she does. She'd like to run me through with my own sword, but she doesn't quite dare."

  "You read my thoughts exactly, sir," Velvet said sweetly.

  Christian eyed the pair of antagonists with relish. The sexual sparks between them heated the air. "Lord Montgomery, may I suggest that you come to dinner Wednesday night? Perhaps you two can settle your differences—or continue your duel. Either would be vastly entertaining, I warrant."

  "I would consider it an honor, my lady."

  "An undeserved honor," Velvet murmured with disdain.

  A discreet tap on the library door interrupted them. As the steward entered, Velvet took the opportunity to escape.

  "Here is Mr. Burke, my valued steward. This gentleman is Robert Greysteel Montgomery, the Earl of Eglinton's son, who fought with the Royalist army."

  "I am honored, sir. We are indebted to your loyal service."

  "Indeed we are," Christian agreed. "Though I make sure my family conforms with the law under Cromwell's rule, I am a Royalist sympathizer and keep in touch with the Stuarts."

  Greysteel glanced at Burke. "My lady, I admire your sentiments but hope you are aware of the danger in­volved."

  "I assure you the people I entrust with my commu­nications are reliable and cautious. Well, I shall leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Burke. I bid you adieu until Wednesday."

  Montgomery settled the account for the sheep and gave Mr. Burke his card. "I've opened an office in Salisbury Court."

&n
bsp; "A good location, convenient to the Temple and the river. It is a pleasure to do business with you, Lord Montgomery."

  "I don't wish to seem presumptuous, Mr. Burke, but I'd appreciate some advice. I have been thinking about leasing the mineral rights to some land I own in Der­byshire."

  "By all means. Her ladyship has coal contracts on quite a few acres in Derbyshire. I'll give you some names of companies that will be eager to do business with you."

  Christian went in search of Velvet and found her in the kitchen, meticulously washing the smudges of soot from the roses. "Leave the flowers, darling, and come and talk with me."

  Reluctantly, Velvet followed the countess to her fa­vorite sitting room and took a chair by the window.

  "Greysteel Montgomery is a most compelling man. He is heir to wealth, estates and an earldom. Is it his devilish dark, hard looks that repel you?"

  "Oh, no," Velvet denied quickly. His physical attrac­tion is so powerful it almost overwhelmed me.

  "Then I am at a loss. Why did you reject him?"

  "When Father proposed sending me to England, I asked him about my betrothal. He explained that be­cause my circumstances had changed considerably, the Earl of Eglinton would not be eager for his heir to take a wife who was without a substantial dowry." Velvet's cheeks warmed with humiliation.

  "Greysteel Montgomery is his own man, I war­rant ... doesn't give a tinker's damn what his father thinks. He may very well consider that your betrothal is still legal and binding."

  Velvet's blush deepened. "Don't you see? He knows of your wealth and, because I am living with you, thinks my circumstances have changed. I will be twenty-one on my next birthday—past the ideal age for marriage. Montgomery has no personal interest in me and I have too much intelligence to believe other­wise."

  "Didn't you see the way he looked at you? Why, he almost devoured you. Velvet, no man ever looked at me that way. Would you like to hear my story?"

  Velvet nodded shyly.

  "My father was Edward Bruce, Scottish Baron of Kinloss. As a reward for helping James Stuart attain the throne of England, the king promised him an al­liance with a rich and rising English house. The king himself added ten thousand pounds to my dowry and arranged for me to marry the Earl of Devonshire's son. I was twelve years old. William was eighteen and madly in love with Margaret Chatterton, a young household serving girl he had seduced. William adamantly refused to marry a twelve-year-old.