Rebel Heart Read online

  'Which way do you intend going?' Elinor asked, reminded of the reason she was with him.

  'It is not yet arranged. Probably from near Dover.'

  Elinor was silent, and soon Sir Talbot ordered the rowers to turn round and take them back.

  'Must we go back under the Bridge?' Elinor asked.

  'No, we will land first, have some food at the George, which is but a step away, and meet them above the Bridge.'

  On the way to the George they passed another inn called the Talbot, and Elinor remarked on it.

  'Would you not prefer to eat there?' she asked with a laugh.

  'It was wrongly named when it was rebuilt,' he replied. 'Ten years or so after the Great Fire another destroyed both of these inns. It used to be called the Tabard, and Chaucer's pilgrims set out from here on their way to Canterbury.'

  'Chaucer? Oh yes, Kit had a copy of the poem, but Aunt Elinor forbade me to read it.'

  His lips twitched. 'How wrong of your aunt! But I prefer the George. Here we are.'

  The coffee room was crowded, but Sir Talbot was served at once. Elinor was hungry after the hours on the river, and scarcely looked up from the pie she was eating when, with a murmured excuse, Sir Talbot rose to his feet and walked across the room.

  'On your own, dearie?' she suddenly heard, and found a large, red-faced man had slid onto the bench beside her. His hand crept round her waist and he was dragging her towards him so that his breath, thick with strong, unfamiliar sweetish fumes, enveloped her.

  She struggled to free herself, turning instinctively towards Sir Talbot, to find him striding towards them, his eyes glinting and his mouth set in a hard straight line.

  'By your leave!' he snapped, seizing the importunate fellow by his coat collar and almost choking him as he hauled him to his feet. 'Be off with you!' he ordered, and the man, despite his height and brawny build, bit back a reply and slunk away.

  'Damnation!' Sir Talbot said quietly as he resumed his seat.

  Elinor's attention was partly on a man leaning against the wall across the room.

  'That man, over there. Isn't he the one we met – '

  'Forgive me for leaving you,' Sir Talbot interrupted smoothly. 'You should not be so plaguey beautiful, my dear. Now eat your food, we must not keep the watermen waiting for fear they desert us.'

  *

  Elinor opened her mouth and then shut it. Perhaps it was no coincidence he had again met the man from Vauxhall. It was his remark that she was beautiful which had astonished her. He had made it plain he did not find her attractive, and she soon realised he had spoken for the benefit of the other customers, several of whom had observed the big man's overture to Elinor.

  Sir Talbot hurried her out of the George and back to the boat, chatting about the city as they were rowed across the river. 'Shall we go past Whitehall, and see the Abbey at Westminster?' he asked, and Elinor eagerly agreed. The huddle of roofs of the sprawling Whitehall Palace fascinated her.

  'It does not look like a palace,' she exclaimed. 'I expected one huge building, but many of these are little better than peasants' hovels!'

  'They are little better. The Palace, apart from that tall building, which is the Banqueting Hall, was burnt down twenty years or so since, and as the Hanoverian prefers St James's Palace it was never rebuilt. It was in front of that Hall, which he himself employed Inigo Jones to build, that the first King Charles, my King's grandfather, was murdered.'

  Elinor cast him a covert glance. His expression was grim and she, who had never cared overmuch for political quarrels, and had never understood what force had made her brother risk everything so that one man rather than another should sit on a throne, began to wonder whether all men cared more deeply for these matters than the more personal ones of home and family. Was Francis the same?

  At the recollection of Francis she sighed, and Sir Talbot turned solicitously towards her.

  'Are you weary? Would you prefer to return now?'

  'No, thank you. I would like to see what is to be seen while I am here. Shall I ever have another opportunity?'

  He ignored the bitterness of her tone and turned towards the Abbey. She forgot all else in admiring the stately walls, and strolling through the Park observing the fashionable throng similarly engaged. Sir Talbot was describing how this had delighted the second Charles, who had mingled freely there with his subjects, when Elinor heard her name called. She swung round in astonishment, and stared disbelievingly at Francis, surrounded by half a dozen soldiers.

  *

  'What are you doing here, with that rogue?' Francis demanded furiously. 'Did you go willingly with him? Rosa would have it so, and methinks she was right! I can scarce believe it!'

  Aghast at the fury in his face and his bitter voice, Elinor glanced at Sir Talbot. He was standing negligently, an amused smile on his lips, his eyebrows slightly raised.

  'No. I did not – Francis, did you know Kit was alive?' she asked urgently.

  'Kit? What nonsense is this? He would have written if he were, but it's far more likely he was killed after the battle at Preston. Better for him if he died, traitor that he was!'

  'No!' she protested. 'He is in France.'

  'So that was the bait, was it? I thought you'd have had more sense than to believe such nonsense. Seize him!' he ordered suddenly, and his companions grasped Sir Talbot's arms and speedily removed his sword.

  'I've a room nearby,' one of them, a hulking, broken-nosed fellow offered, leering at Elinor. 'Let's go there to question them.'

  'Thanks, Jamie. We'll force the truth out of the rogue.' Francis nodded, and took Elinor's arm in a firm grasp.

  'What do you mean to do?' she demanded fearfully.

  'There's no need for you to be afraid, you're safe with me now. But tell me, did he harm you? If he did he will pay for it a hundred times!'

  *

  Chapter 7

  The soldiers were marching Sir Talbot along at a rapid pace, towards a huddle of mean looking streets beyond the Abbey, and Francis drew Elinor after them. Jamie led the way past a few disreputable looking men into a ramshackle building. Elinor, almost stumbling over a body lying half across the doorway, gasped in dismay. It was a young girl, with broken teeth and sunken eyes, and beside her lay a scrawny infant. The baby was naked, filthy, and covered in sores. It wailed feebly in between ineffectual tugs at its mother's flaccid breast. The girl clutched an empty, unstoppered bottle, and the same sweet sickly smell Elinor had encountered from the man at the George assailed her nostrils.

  'What ails them?' she asked in dismay, bending over the girl.

  'Drunken sots!' Francis exclaimed, pulling Elinor away. 'Come away, they are probably riddled with disease and certainly verminous.'

  'But what is it?' Elinor persisted as he guided her up a couple of flights of rickety stairs.

  'Geneva,' he replied shortly. 'It's cheap and gives them oblivion.'

  'But cannot anyone help? There is far more poverty here than ever I dreamed of in Norfolk.'

  'They choose it, or haven't the wits to escape from it,' he said impatiently. Seeing her shocked look he squeezed her arm. 'Don't fret. When we've rid ourselves of Jacobite plotters we'll have energy to deal with such matters. Forget it, you cannot help them.'

  They had reached Jamie's room. It was sparsely furnished but clean and tidy. Sir Talbot was standing beside a table, his arms bound, and guards to either side. He smiled encouragingly at Elinor.

  'Your friends have rough manners,' he said lightly.

  'Hold your tongue,' one of the soldiers said, striking Sir Talbot across the face and leaving an angry red mark.

  Sir Talbot, unflinching, eyed his attacker disdainfully.

  'Barbarians,' he commented.

  'You'll sing a different tune when we've done with you,' the man promised viciously. Then as a church clock chimed he looked up. 'We're on duty soon, I'd forgot. Shall we take him back with us?'

  'There's a garret we can lock him into,' Jamie offered. 'What will
you do with the wench, Francis? Want to use my room?' he leered.

  'I'll take her back to my lodgings, I'm not on duty until later. We'll deal with that cur in the morning,' Francis said crisply.

  *

  They hauled Sir Talbot out of the room, and Elinor felt bereft, fear of what they intended for him churning at her stomach. Francis took her arm and led her down the stairs, ignoring her questions until they were approaching the Abbey.

  'Now you are quite safe. Tell me what happened,' he said gently. 'Why did you leave home with him?'

  'He – Sir Talbot – is Kit's friend,' she began hesitantly. 'He said Kit lives in France and had sent him to fetch me.'

  'If Kit is alive why did he never write?' Francis asked in scorn.

  'He did, but the messenger did not arrive, and since then Kit has been away. Francis, he said you knew about Kit!'

  'I? Elinor, what nonsense! I know you love Kit, rebel though he is, and if I'd known he was still alive I would have told you. But how could I have known?'

  'I don't know,' she admitted.

  'Did you believe him? Did he try to pretend he had proof?'

  'He had Kit's ring.'

  'Which he could have stolen. He had no letters?'

  About to say Sir Talbot dared not carry papers she paused. That would condemn him as a spy, and she could not betray him, for he had saved her life and cared for her when she had been ill.

  'Just the ring and a message.'

  'Where did he say Kit lived?'

  'In France somewhere,' she replied, inexplicably reluctant to confide in Francis. He might mention it to his officers, and if the story were true, caution warned her not to reveal anything which might harm Kit.

  'It's weeks since you ran away. Did you accompany him willingly? And where have you been?' Francis demanded. 'Why did he not try for France if the story is true? It's easy enough to bribe a man to take a boat across the Channel.'

  'I didn't go willingly!' Elinor protested. 'I was a prisoner. We were shipwrecked in the storm, we had to swim ashore and I had an ague. We had to come through London then. We stayed with a friend of his, an actress called Belinda. I escaped and tried to find you, but he caught me again. There was nothing I could so. Besides,' she added quietly, 'his story might have been true. He knew I was Kit's sister, and I am certain he knows Kit.'

  'But he would have brought a letter. Kit would have written to your uncle. There must be a deeper motive. Kit took his money to France, didn't he?

  'Yes. But what else could he have wanted?'

  'Has he suggested marriage?'

  'No!' she replied vehemently, recalling the pretence they had been man and wife at the house of the Dutch woman. 'He does not even think me pretty!'

  'Either he is a fool or you are too trusting,' Francis remarked sceptically. 'Did he not try to bed you? If you were together so long I'd be surprised to find him too cold blooded to desire you.'

  'No, he did not!' Elinor protested fiercely.

  'You would inherit Kit's property if he were dead,' he pointed out calmly. 'That could be his motive if he knows Kit is dead.'

  'But Kit is alive and married, so I could not,' she insisted.

  'You have only his word. Doesn't the fact he has Kit's ring make you suspicious? Kit would never give that to anyone.'

  'Unless he intended it to identify Sir Talbot and make me trust him,' she explained, but found herself doubting the explanation.

  'He said he would take you to Kit? Why should Kit, if he is alive, suddenly wish you to join him?'

  She sighed. She had longed to ask Francis to deny the plot to entice Kit back to England, but now Sir Talbot was helpless, a prisoner in the hands of Francis's unpleasant friends, she dared not explain this without betraying him. There were still doubts in her mind, she discovered, but she would not give his captors a reason for torturing him. Yet how could she discover the truth? Only Kit could resolve the difficulty, and only with Sir Talbot could she hope to find him.

  They had been walking towards the river, and Francis helped her into a boat.

  'We'll go to my lodgings where my friend's wife will take care of you,' he explained.

  'But what will happen to Sir Talbot?'

  'You surely cannot care about him after he abducted you?' Francis asked in amazement, and Elinor quickly shook her head. She did not, in any way, but it would perhaps be worse for Sir Talbot if Francis thought he had any cause for jealousy.

  *

  As they were taken once more along the river Francis was silent and Eleanor had time to reflect. To her bewilderment she realised that when she had been in the other boat she had been happy, despite the uncertainties facing her. Now she was apprehensive, when the meeting with Francis should have made her relieved and happy.

  'How did you trace us?' she asked suddenly.

  'One of the villagers saw you riding off with him. The dolt did not tell us until the next day. Fortunately Rosa could describe the fellow and someone else recalled seeing him a few days earlier in Yarmouth. Then we had some luck, hearing of a strange boat moored near the shore. I followed this on the chance it was for him, and we lay in wait. It was ill luck he slipped the net. When did the boat founder?'

  She explained briefly, omitting all mention of having passed as Sir Talbot's wife, or the fact that he had kissed her in order to mislead the innkeeper. They left the boat and walked some way to the respectable looking house where Francis had rooms.

  'You can remain here tonight,' Francis explained. 'I have to be on duty, but Mary Fletcher will take care of you, and in the morning we will be married.'

  'Married!' Elinor exclaimed in some dismay.

  'You cannot go home unwed after what has happened!'

  'But it was no fault of mine,' Elinor protested. 'I see no heed for haste.'

  'We are betrothed, and unless we marry your reputation will be gone. No respectable woman would ever speak to you again. With good fortune we can keep them in ignorance of what really happened. They can think I caught up with you and married you immediately.'

  'Then you did not go back?'

  'I sent a message I was following you. Your uncle will not have revealed the truth to anyone. You must see, my dear, that I cannot keep you in my lodgings unless we are married!'

  'I suppose not,' Elinor agreed uncertainly.

  'Do you not wish to marry me? Has that wretch given you notions you could do better, with his title?' Francis demanded.

  'Of course not! It is just so sudden, finding you again, when I thought I would soon be in France with Kit. How shall I ever know the truth?'

  'The only possible explanation is that Kit died. You are foolish to keep hoping.'

  She sighed. 'I suppose so.'

  'This is my room. The Fletchers live on the next floor. I will introduce you to Mary when I have fetched some food and you have been able to rest a while.'

  The room was spacious and comfortably furnished. There were several chairs, a couple of tables, and a wide bed in one corner. Francis led the way in and then turned to clasp Elinor in his arms. His hand forced up her face so that he could kiss her lips.

  'My love, it has been so long, and I sometimes feared I would never see you again,' he whispered.

  Elinor shrank from him, and he immediately released her.

  'I'm sorry, you must be tired and distraught after all the shocks you have had. You will feel differently tomorrow. I'll fetch a pie from the cookshop.'

  Elinor sank onto the nearest chair when she was alone. What would they do to Sir Talbot? Would they illtreat him? Murder him, even? Would his body one day be found floating down the Thames?

  She shuddered, and was relieved when Francis returned with a fragrant, spicy meat pie and a jug of ale. Some of Elinor's vague misgivings retreated as he chatted calmly of his doings and his life as a soldier. Afterwards he took her to see Mary Fletcher, a plump kindly woman who showed no surprise when told that Elinor had come to London and would be marrying Francis soon.

  'You can
share my lass's bed for a few nights,' she offered, and Elinor smiled gratefully at her.

  'I hope there'll be no need,' Francis said quickly. 'I'm on duty tonight, so Elinor can stay in my room, and I hope to be able to arrange for the wedding straight away.'

  'At the Fleet?' Mary asked with a shudder. 'I don't like the thought of a drunken old parson, in prison for debt, marrying folk. It doesn't seem right, I wouldn't feel properly wed.'

  'It's perfectly legal,' Francis said with a laugh, 'and if there's no other way we'll have to go there. I'll try to arrange some other way, don't worry,' he said reassuringly, seeing the distaste on Elinor's face.

  'Of course,' she murmured, trying to smile, and he departed.

  *

  Mary was palpably curious, but Elinor pleaded tiredness and escaped her questions. She lay sleepless in Francis's bed, unable to solve the puzzle of why the prospect of marriage with Francis now filled her with dread. Was it just fear for Kit, assuming that Sir Talbot's story had been true, or did it go deeper?

  Eventually she fell asleep, dreaming of Sir Talbot trussed like a fowl tossing on unruly waves beneath a partly collapsed bridge. She was with him, sinking, unable to breathe, and the ropes were binding her closely too, so she could not move.

  Struggling, she woke, and with a shock of dismay realised strong arms were holding her and her breathlessness was due to a mouth which covered hers. Then in the dim light coming through the window she saw it was Francis.

  'Wake up, darling, it's morning,' he said thickly.

  She managed to wriggle away from him, and realised with horror he was lying beside her on the bed, wearing only a shirt and his breeches.

  'Francis, what are you doing!' she exclaimed. 'Are you mad? Let me go!'

  'Don't be a prude, my dear. I'm going to marry you today, what difference does a few hours make? Elinor, you're so lovely. I always wanted you. Still do, whether he took you first or not.'

  Elinor had freed her hand and she dealt his face a stinging slap.

  'How dare you!' she gasped. 'I trusted you, but you're no better than a beast! You're drunk, too!' she added as she scrambled off the bed, clutching the coverlet about her, for all she wore was her chemise.

  'I'm sorry,' Francis apologised, remaining where he was and looking contemplatively at her. 'Elinor, you don't realise how a man is tempted, and when I thought I'd lost you for ever it went to my head to find you still there in my bed, to know I hadn't dreamed of finding you! Get dressed, I'll go and find a parson.'