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Excerpt 5
(1520 words)
Luciano takes Richard Maxwell into his confidence … and asks a favour.
February became March and in London, the House
continued to prepare for the opening of Strafford’s trial on the 22nd.
It compiled the twenty-eight articles of impeachment – sixteen of which were
aimed at the Earl’s Irish policies – and then allowed the indictment to be
printed so it could be read by the public.
Meanwhile, crushed by the responsibility of trying to deal with the
rising Irish opposition, acting Lord-Deputy Wandesford succumbed to a chill and
died.
It was this, when he heard of it, that caused Richard
Maxwell to spend a little time pondering the Irish question and eventually,
towards the end of the month, to discuss the matter over dinner with Luciano
del Santi.
‘I suspect,’ he said at length, ‘that there’s going to
be trouble. The Irish supported
Strafford because he offered the best hope of curtailing the sale of land to
English profiteers. So the burning
question now, I suppose, is what line his successor will take.’
‘Quite. The
word in the City is that the Earl of Ormonde has been suggested but that he’ll
be rejected in favour of someone less likely to provoke Lord Cork and his merry
band of speculators.’ The Italian’s deep
cobalt eyes met Richard’s grey ones. ‘Do
you understand Irish politics?’
‘Does anyone?
What little I know comes from the infrequent bulletins Dorothy’s brother
sends us. He’s served under Strafford
for the last couple of years – and has presumably stayed on in Ireland to try
and hold things together.’
‘Yes? Then I
hope that he is well-paid,’ came the arid response. Then, ‘We spoke some time ago of Strafford
and you declined to comment. What is
your opinion now?’
Richard’s expression grew grave.
‘I don’t know.
I think he may have been sincere according to his lights ... and he
certainly doesn’t look like Black Tom Tyrant any more.’
‘No. He looks
like a sick old man.’
‘You’ve been to the trial?’
‘Yesterday. I
shan’t go again. I’ve seen what I wished
to see … and not even for the pleasure of hearing more of Strafford’s quite
masterly defence will I spend another hour on the public benches, squashed
between fellows swilling ale, eating onions and relieving themselves on the
floor.’
Richard nodded slowly but it was a long time before he
spoke. Finally, he said, ‘You admire
Strafford?’
‘I like precision and the ability to stick to the
facts. I respect the fair-mindedness he
applied to his role in Ireland. Yes. I
think it’s fair to say that I admire him.
Certainly, I wish him well.’
Luciano paused, smiling sardonically.
‘I enjoyed seeing the credibility of the prosecution being reduced to
pulp. But it can’t last. I’m sure Pym has something up his sleeve.’
‘He has.’
Richard stared carefully into space.
‘Secretary Vane has been a mite careless with his papers.’
There was another silence.
‘Let me guess,’ said the Italian with heavy
irony. ‘Harry Vane the younger – that
well-known, fire-breathing Puritan – has been rifling through his father’s
drawers. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And according to the notes of a Privy Council meeting
held in May of last year, Strafford suggested raising ‘an army in Ireland you may employ here to reduce this kingdom’.’
Luciano del Santi appeared supremely unimpressed.
‘Which
kingdom?’ he asked calmly.
‘Well, that is the crux of the matter. We all knew about the army Strafford was
raising to fight the Scots. But what if
there had also been some idea of using it here?’
‘Are you seriously asking me that question?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then either Pym’s a cleverer man than I took him for
– or you are a lesser one,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘Do you really
suppose that if the King was planning to unleash an Irish army on the undutiful
English there would be a record of it in Council? And any dozen words quoted
out of context can be made to sound incriminating. You know that. But your problem is that you also know what
will happen if Strafford is allowed to resume his position at the King’s
side. However … if you’re going to help
destroy the man, at least acknowledge why – and for God’s sake don’t try
placating your conscience with sanctimonious clap-trap. It’s not worthy of
you.’
For a long time, Richard stared back without
speaking. Then he said gently, ‘How old
are you?’
Amusement and perfect comprehension touched the
sculpted face.
‘Twenty-five.’
‘God help us, then, when you’re thirty,’ remarked
Richard feelingly. ‘All right. The truth is that Strafford needs to be
removed but I don’t like the way it’s being done. On the other hand, because I
put my country before the life of any one man, I’m unlikely to lift a finger to
save him. Is that better?’
‘It is, at least, honest.’
‘You set great store by that, don’t you?’
The dark brows rose.
‘It surprises you?’
‘No – not exactly.
It makes me wonder why.’
The Italian laughed with an odd mixture of mockery and
reluctance and reached for his glass. Green fire flared from the great emerald
on his hand and, idly watching it, Richard wondered how much he had drunk – how
much they had both drunk. He himself
felt pleasantly mellow and, though the shadowed eyes held a gleam of something
he could not quite name, del Santi did not look cup-shot either. But at the back of his mind lurked the
suspicion that they had arrived at a sort of crossroads; one from which there
would be no going back. He refilled his
glass and waited.
‘You wonder why?’ came the eventual response. ‘Of course you do. There’s a reason for
everything, isn’t there? And a reason
why – against every sensible tenet I’ve ever held – I’m now obliged to take you
a little way into my confidence.’ He
smiled wryly. ‘There’s a compliment in
that. I always swore I’d never trust an
Englishman. And, to be frank, I don’t
trust many people at all. Next to love,
trust is probably the most dangerous condition known to man – and as such, best
restricted. So I trust Giacomo who has
known me since I was sixteen and Selim to whom I owe my life; and now you … of
whom, unfortunately, I must ask a favour.’
‘I see,’ said Richard neutrally. ‘Regarding what?’
‘My sister. In three weeks’ time, I leave for Genoa. I
go there every year in April to acquit a financial obligation to my uncle. I can’t take Gianetta with me – and I can’t
leave her here because Giacomo can’t cope with her and Selim travels with
me. So I wondered if you might possibly
be good enough …’ He stopped, plainly finding it hard to ask.
‘To take her off your hands and place her in
safe-keeping at Thorne Ash?’ finished Richard obligingly.
‘Yes. It’s not
a small thing, I know … but there’s no one else I can ask. And at least she’s stopped throwing things.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.
Dorothy will want a written guarantee against damages.’
‘She shall have it.’
‘In triplicate.
Very well. How soon would you care to deliver Mistress Gianetta? Or are
you hoping that I’ll do it for you?’
‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead. First, there are other things I ought to tell
you – because if I don’t, certain things Gianetta may say will puzzle you.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite. To
begin with, she wants to force me into returning her to my uncle so that she
can marry his youngest son. I’ve no
intention of doing so – nor would my uncle wish it. Like me, he’s fully conscious that – he and
my father having married a pair of sisters – the relationship between their
children is too close to admit marriage. Gianetta, however, can’t accept that
having indulged her every wish since she was six years old and taught her to
look upon me as part of the hired help, our uncle can’t be brought round her
thumb this time. Consequently, I’m the villain of the piece.’ He paused and sipped his wine. ‘And that’s
why I have to tell you a long and not particularly edifying tale about the
ability of English law to do a man to death on the strength of little more than his nationality and
religion.’
The room seemed suddenly airless and Richard set down
his glass, aware that the turning point was upon him and that he wasn’t sure he
wanted it. He said, ‘I think you’d
better start at the beginning.’
‘Yes.’ A faint
frown entered the Italian’s eyes and he gazed down into the ruby liquid in his
glass. ‘After so long, it’s hard to know
where to start – or how to make you believe me.
But in the end I suppose the most I can hope for is that you’ll listen.’
‘I’ll listen.
Where does your story start?’
‘It starts here in London in the spring of 1615 when a young man left Genoa with his bride to set himself up as a goldsmith and money-lender in Foster Lane.’ A crooked smile dawned. ‘His name was Alessandro Falcieri … and he was, of course, my father.’
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stella Riley
Winner of three gold medals for historical romance (Readers’ Favourite in 2019, Book Excellence Awards in 2020, Global Book Awards in 2022) and fourteen B.R.A.G. Medallions, Stella Riley lives in the beautiful medieval town of Sandwich in Kent.
She is fascinated by the English Civil Wars and has written six books set in that period. These, like the seven-book Rockliffe series (recommended in The Times newspaper!) and the Brandon Brothers trilogy, are all available in audio, narrated by Alex Wyndham.
Stella enjoys travel, reading, theatre, Baroque music and playing the harpsichord. She also has a fondness for men with long hair – hence her 17th and 18th century heroes.
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You might also like
books written by Helen Hollick
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Thank you very much for hosting Stella Riley with an excerpt from The Black Madonna today, Helen. xxx
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for hosting The Black Madonna!
ReplyDeleteMy pleasure - good luck with the book Stella!
DeleteThis sounds really interesting, especially the line ‘Do you understand Irish politics?’ with the response,
ReplyDelete‘Does anyone?' How relevant, even today in 2023!