Silence And Shadows Collection

Chapter 2-3

In Richmond House, I waited in Frances’s drawing room looking out from the large mullioned and transomed window down onto the deserted privy garden with its white marble statuary, and the bowling green rimed with frost still, where shadows lingered. No one played in winter, of course. I turned when the doors opened for the duchess with a footman following close behind, carrying a tray holding wine and sweetmeats piled high in a crystal dish. I moved to her, bowing to kiss her hand. ‘Duchess.’ Her gown was of dark blue taffeta, the skirts pinned back to show silver and white striped petticoats. Her golden hair was curled in tight ringlets falling over her forehead. Strangely, I did not notice her pitted skin only the lucent amethyst of her eyes, feeling a sudden stab of tenderness for her.

‘I must say I am surprised to see you this morning, Raphael. I thought all you young ones would be yet abed, having caroused long into the night. Some of you certainly did, for I heard it myself.’

‘We are of an age, Frances.’ I said when the door closed behind the servant. ‘And I left early.’

She led me to a green upholstered couch close to the fire, inviting me to sit and poured the wine herself, handing me a glass before sitting beside me with her own. ‘So how goes it with Susannah? That you left early suggests not well.’

I took a long drink of claret. It was excellent, naturally. I told her then of my fears about Carter and recounted the incident in the courtyard. ‘Villiers is a vicious brute.’

She tilted her head. ‘You’re not alone in that opinion, my dear.’ She drank her wine, looking pensive. ‘He’s a new favourite of Buckingham’s, but I doubt even he could save him had he been seen to draw his sword with intent within the palace precinct and the King decide on treason … and George Villiers’ star is waning anyway, I think.’

Another Villiers? Were they all related? Christ. ‘What a pity then that he did not.’ Examining those words, I found I felt no guilt over them. What was it about the man that made me dislike him so? Hearsay and appearance only. Yet his encounter with Carter had served only to confirm my prejudice.

She sighed. ‘As for Samuel.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘I know only they were childhood friends. He is a delightful young man. The King has always been very taken with him.’

I frowned in puzzlement. ‘The King? How so?’

She smiled. ‘His father is Admiral Rupert Carter, another close friend since the exile, made viscount after the restoration. Sam’s a portrait miniaturist too. Richard Gresham tutored him alongside Susannah. Sometimes he visits other courts on Charles’s privy business, though that must be kept between us.’

She had a wonderful smile. I wished I had seen it in her full glory. And did Susannah know of Carter’s work for the King? ‘As you wish, Frances.’ I stood. ‘Well, I should tell you I’m here with a purpose beyond intelligence gathering. I have something for you.’ When I began to unbutton my waistcoat, I watched her eyes widen and a slight flush appear upon her cheeks. However, she did not avert her gaze and, Christ help me, I began to feel the first stirrings of arousal. ‘A necklace, in fact,’ I said to remove any ambiguity. I was soon glad my own blushes were harder to discern, especially when I had to root in an unseemly manner in order to extricate the velvet bag from the body belt beneath my shirt, a process entirely new to me. By this time, she was laughing with some abandon, especially watching me trying to tidy my disarray.

She rose and took the bag from my hand, shaking the necklace out and holding it up to the light. ‘It is quite lovely, Raphael. Better than I could ever have imagined from that heavy old stomacher broach.’

‘I’m glad you’re content with it.’

She lifted her face for me to kiss before I left, which I did with a strong urge to move my lips onto hers. When she smiled, I felt certain she knew it. Had she felt the same? ‘I shall send a note when I have more for you, so you may tell me if it is convenient to call upon you. Forgive me for not doing so today.’

When I walked again beside the bowling green on my way towards the Park Gate, I cursed myself for not bringing my coach to King Street as the sun had now entirely vanished behind massing clouds and the air was mightily chilled. I looked up, fearing snow but not, I prayed, before I reached it. I settled my Brandenburg more closely and increased my pace.

It was then I spotted a figure a little way ahead and a moment later realised it was Susannah. Sadly, my first instinct was to turn around and leave the palace by a different gate. Walking yet faster, I was soon upon her. As I was about to announce myself, she stopped and spun around, leaving me to all but cannon into her. I grasped her upper arms to steady her. ‘Forgive me, Signorina. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

She frowned, shaking her head, and pulling out of my grasp just as small flakes of snow began to fill the air.

‘I have my coach nearby. Might I offer you a ride home, now the weather has turned?’ She looked uncertain for a moment, but I watched pragmatism win the day upon her face. ‘Henrietta Street, is it not?’

Looking a little alarmed, she nodded.

Why had I not asked her where she lived? Christ. For I had no reason to know it. Or none she was aware of. I wished I had been more circumspect. What would she think if she knew of my conversations with the duchess where she had been the central topic?

I smiled, offering my arm though before she took it, she raised her hood. Had I left Frances but minutes later, I would have been unaware of her ahead of me without that gleam of flaxen hair like a beacon in the gloom.

It felt odd walking with a silent companion. The King believed she had chosen it. Could this be true? Perhaps one day I might find out. I glanced across at her now, but her face was hidden by her hood. Looking down, I saw she wore buskins of fine leather and glancing over my shoulder, saw our sooty footprints side-by-side across the dusting of snow. How intimate they looked. I began to talk to fill the silence, telling her of my commission and all the work needed to create the necklace I had just delivered to the duchess. I was glad to see her nod from time-to-time, so I did not feel I talked entirely to myself.

When she slowed as we walked through the park, I followed her gaze to the canal where a crowd had gathered. ‘What’s happening, I wonder?’

She raised her eyebrows, a slight smile playing on her lips.

‘Shall we investigate, Signorina?’

She nodded and we set out across the frost-crisp grass, now powdered with snow. As we drew closer, the sound of cheers and shouted wagers reached our ears. The crowd parted then, revealing a resplendent figure now mounted on the most extraordinary horse I had ever seen, prancing on the canal bank. The animal was pure white with black spots scattered across its head and body and a magnificent white mane and tail of astonishing thickness and length. The man himself was no less impressive, dressed in gleaming jade satin with extravagant quantities of silver lace, he had fine almost feminine features and waves of his own glossy light brown hair flowing down below his shoulders. He seemed a source of light with snow flurries billowing around him. ‘Is that Monmouth? What can he be doing?’ But as I spoke, he walked his horse down onto the frozen canal to the cheers of his companions.

Susannah scribbled on her pad, smiling. ‘James is ever the daredevil.’

And her smile was indeed as lovely as her sister’s. Monmouth rode the beast a goodly distance along the wide frozen expanse before turning it up onto the bank again, laughing and galloping back – his mount’s white tail streaming out like a banner – to where his friends waited, and the sound of cheers and shouted congratulations rang out. The horse, white against white, had seemed an insubstantial thing, a streaking dark swarm of giant bees, its rider carried on empty air.

Susannah shook her head, still smiling, and pointed back towards the path. Once inside my coach, she lowered her hood. ‘He’ll do anything if challenged to. He’s been so since first coming to court,’ she wrote. ‘Sam and I rather hero-worshipped him then,’ she added.

Somehow knowing this gilded figure – the King’s most beloved son – was her childhood companion, made me more aware than ever of the gulf between us, leaving me at a loss for what to say. I settled, eventually, for a banality. ‘I hope you are not too chilled?’

She wrote, ‘You have my gratitude, Signor Rossi. This is not an afternoon for walking far.’

‘You would not take a hackney?’

She pointed at her notebook and then to her mouth.

I understood her difficulty in finding a coachman who could read. ‘Glad to have been of service.’ I tried to think of something more intelligent to say. ‘What brought you to Whitehall today, Signorina?’ I fear it fell a little wide of the mark.

She gave me a cool stare, before writing. ‘A commission to deliver. How long have you lived in England? This is not weather you are much accustomed to, I imagine?’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Approaching two years, now. It doesn’t often snow in Florence. But I’m told the winters here are much harsher of late?’

‘That is so.’ The coach rounded the corner into Henrietta Street, the rattle of the horses’ hooves quieter now over lying snow. ‘Here will do,’ she scrawled.

I rapped on the wall for Rory to stop, which he did expeditiously, and was soon there to let down the steps from beneath the carriage. I climbed out first, taking her hand to help her alight. She smiled again and nodded to me before raising her hood and hurrying away. As Rory already looked half-frozen, I felt it inconsiderate to linger long enough to see which of these fine houses was hers, so quickly climbed back inside allowing us to be on our way, once more.

Susannah: Diary: January 10, 1676

Though it is but days since I last wrote here, it feels much longer to me. I needed time to order my thoughts when so much has happened.

I fear I must write of another encounter between Sam and James. He had told me of their confrontation in the courtyard on twelfth night on our carriage ride home. I could not help but wish James had drawn his sword and brought down the King’s wrath upon his head. How unfortunate the damnable Catherine had to be within earshot.

Where do I start with their next clash? I suppose I can only write it as I witnessed it. Yes, this time I was there. We had just left the drawing room after enjoying a glass of wine and private conversation. I had been interested to hear how taken he was with Raphael Rossi, and he found my speculation of a possible liaison with the duchess interesting but unlikely. We did, I’m ashamed to say, have a small wager on it. He agreed, of course, that if true it seemed a foolhardy enterprise for the duchess who, since becoming widowed some years before, had lived at court by the King’s generosity. It was then we heard a chilling shriek echoing up from below. My first thought was Penny, until I recalled she was again with Kitty at Whitehall.