Read sample Exile's Return

Chapter 1

Agnes Fletcher gripped the windowsill as a distant clock struck twelve, marking the fall of the executioner’s axe.

James Ashby, the third earl of Elmhurst, was dead.

She closed her eyes and prayed that death had been swift.

Taking a deep breath, Agnes turned to face the room. The cold draught that rose between the ill-fitting floorboards of the inn lifted her skirts as she walked across to where the two children were playing a noisy game of knucklebones.

‘You cheated!’ seven-year-old Elizabeth, the eldest of the two, exclaimed.

Four-year-old Henry hurled himself at his sister, issuing a loud and high-pitched disclaimer that rang in Agnes’s ears, jarring her nerves.

‘Stop it!’

Something in her tone made the two children fall silent.

They looked up at her, their eyes wide and mouths open in surprise. Agnes rarely raised her voice.

‘Why are you crying?’ Henry asked.

Agnes dashed at her cheek, where the betraying tears streamed from her eyes. She dropped to her knees and gathered the two now-silent children into her arms.

Dear God, what is to become of us?

‘Your father … ’ A sob caught in her throat.

Lizzie stood rigid in the circle of her arms.

‘He’s dead?’ Lizzie’s voice cracked.

All Agnes could do was nod in reply as the tears coursed unchecked down her cheeks. Henry began to wail and burrowed his golden head into Agnes’s shoulder.

They had gone to visit James yesterday, the last visit permitted by the authorities. Perhaps, she had thought, as James went down on his knees to hold his children for the last time, it would have been easier on them all if they had stayed away. The memory of James’s fair head bent over his children filled her eyes again.

He had risen to his feet and taken her hands in his. ‘Agnes, dear Agnes,’ he had said. ‘Tomorrow I die, and you are all the children have left. You must fight for them. There is no one else.’

No one else except James’s cousin, Tobias Ashby, but for once Tobias’s malevolent shadow stayed away. Even he had the decency to allow father and children this last farewell.

There had been so much she wanted to say to James, but the words stuck in her throat. He smiled, a soft sad smile, and picked up a book from the table.

‘Take this,’ he said, pressing it into her hands. ‘A memento of me, and our affection for each other.’

Our affection for each other.

He had kissed her, a soft kiss on her forehead, and she had gathered up the children and walked away from him. He would never know how she had longed for him to take her in his arms, and for the kiss to be that of the lover she had known, not a dear friend.

The tread of heavy boots on the gallery outside the room brought her back to the present. Agnes jumped to her feet, wiping the last of the tears from her face and straightening the children’s collars as she waited for the knock on the door.

Three burly soldiers entered, followed by someone she had come to know well in the past few years; Captain Septimus Turner, Tobias Ashby’s ever-present second in command. Turner scanned the room before bringing his gaze to rest on the woman and the two children who cowered behind her skirts.

‘Madam, it is my unhappy duty to inform you that the traitor James Ashby is dead,’ Turner said, without a flicker of emotion on his face.

Agnes tightened her grip on the children’s hands. Henry shrank back and Lizzie buried her face in the bunched skirts of Agnes’s gown, muffling her sobs.

Taking a deep breath, Agnes gathered her courage to ask the question that had kept her wakeful for too many nights.

‘What is to become of the children?’

Turner glanced at Henry and Elizabeth with cold, dispassionate eyes.

‘You will be summoned to Whitehall when your petition has been considered by the Committee. In the meantime, you are to remain here. You are not to leave London.’

‘I can only pray that will not be too long,’ Agnes said, thinking of her empty purse. ‘The children should be returned to their home as soon as possible.’

Ignoring her, Turner turned to his men. ‘We have the traitor’s personal possessions. Where do you want us to put them?’

Agnes’s resolve buckled at the sight of the familiar metal-bound box that James had taken with him into the Tower. Only her need to stay calm for the children steadied her.

‘Well?’ Turner demanded.

She waved vaguely at a dark corner of the inn room. ‘Over there. Tell me … was it … quick?’’

The man considered her for a moment. ‘I was not present, but the Colonel assures me he died bravely and in the love of God, madam.’

Of course, Tobias would have been there.

Agnes straightened and replied in an icy tone, ‘That is of no comfort.’

Turner’s gaze met hers and for a brief moment some emotion, anger or amusement, she could not tell, flashed in his eyes.

He inclined his head and half turned for the door. ‘I reiterate, you are not to leave London, Mistress Fletcher.’

‘Am I under arrest?’ Agnes raised her chin, cursing her lack of inches.

The man shook his head. ‘No, but we will know if you try to leave and it will do your cause no favours.’

Agnes straightened. She could not imagine any other outcome other than safe return home to Charvaley. She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘And where would we go, Captain Turner? I have no money and no friends who would take us in.’

Not if they did not wish to incur the wrath of the children’s only other living relative, Colonel Tobias Ashby. Tobias had been high in favour under Cromwell. Of course, since the Lord Protector’s death, the world had shifted on its axis, and she considered the betrayal of his cousin may have been Tobias’s attempt to keep in favour with the new regime.

‘I will pray to God and put my trust in this Committee. I would remind you that I am the children’s aunt and closer by blood than the Colonel,’ she continued.

Turner regarded her without expression. He had no interest in hearing her plead her case; his loyalty lay entirely with Tobias.

He inclined his head. ‘You will receive word when you are to appear before the Committee. Good day to you, madam.’ He jerked his head at his soldiers. ‘Come.’

The door slammed closed behind them and Agnes’s resolve failed. She sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she wept. This time the arms of the two children circled her, as they added their tears to hers.

Chapter 2

Daniel Lovell stood at a window in the makeshift audience room, looking down at the canal below, along which a barge laden with wool, probably from England, made its leisurely way. A steady drizzle of rain ran down the lead panes of the windows, adding a general bleakness to the morning.

No one paid him any heed. Behind him, the courtiers, dressed in their finery, jabbered like parrots. A parody of a king’s court, Daniel thought. Up close the frayed cuffs and patched linen of those same courtiers bore testament to the reality of life lived in the shadow of an exiled king.

When his ship, the privateer L’Archange, had docked in Le Havre he could have taken ship for England, but he had come to Charles’s court in Bruges for one reason only. The person he sought would not be found in England, not in the tumbled ruins of Eveleigh Priory. If his brother, Kit, were still alive, he would be here with the King. If not, at least here he could find someone who could tell him where Kit — or his grave — could be found.

Below him, the barge passed, and his thoughts were interrupted by the crash of a door opening. A sonorous voice announced the arrival of His Majesty. Daniel turned to face his King, sweeping, like the others, into a deep bow.

At the age of eighteen Daniel Lovell had gone into battle beside this man; both carried with them dreams of honour and glory and the rightful avenging of the deaths — no, murders — of their fathers.

At the end of that bloody day at Worcester, the King had become a fugitive in his own land and Daniel, nursing a wound to his right arm, had huddled against the tomb of King John in the great Cathedral of Worcester, a prisoner like the hundreds of others who had survived the battle. With the cold stone pressed against his face, he had hoped that no one would notice the shaming tears of humiliation and fear.

His idea of vengeance at the age of eighteen had been ill-conceived and vague. The naive boy who had donned his father’s armour and taken up his sword had died that day as surely as if a sword had pierced his heart. Eight years of exile had honed his bitterness like a blade and now he carried it on his shoulders like a carrion bird, picking at the shreds of his memory.

As he rose from his bow and looked into the dark, lined face of the King, it struck him that this man, only three years his senior, still had that indefinable aura that had inspired those who had answered his call all those years ago in the belief that they could vanquish Cromwell and regain the throne. But, like Daniel himself, the hopeful boy the King had been in 1651 had gone. Exile had aged Charles Stuart beyond his years.

Pausing only to acknowledge the presence of his most loyal subjects, the King strode the length of the room and slumped down on a high-backed chair, placed throne-like against the far wall. Charles scanned the room as if looking for someone.

A parody of a throne, in a parody of a court, Daniel thought.

‘Where is the man my cousin sent?’ The king demanded.

Daniel had presented himself to Sir Edward Hyde earlier that day, bearing letters from the King’s cousin, Louis XIV of France. Now Hyde’s gaze sought out Daniel standing at the window.

‘Come forward, Lovell,’ he said.

Daniel squared his shoulders and stepped forward, bowing again to the King.

The King looked him up and down.

‘I thank you for your role as a courier, Master Lovell,’ he said. ‘I trust you found my cousin well?’

Daniel could afford to smile. His audience with Louis had been brief. On their return to France, the captain of L’Archange, Broussard had produced him as another trophy — the Englishman turned French privateer. It seemed to amuse Louis.

‘An English privateer on a French vessel?’ Louis had enquired with a cocked eyebrow. ‘We have heard stories of the exploits of such an Englishman. What do they call you … ? Ah yes; Le Loup Anglais.’

‘I assure you, a reputation undeserved,’ Daniel had responded.

On a ship of escaped slaves and convicts, the anonymity of a nickname, deserved or ironic, became part of the legend of L’Archange. However, in his case the nickname, “the English Wolf”, had been earned.

L’Archange needed to return to France for repairs, ending the career of the English Wolf. He had parted with the man who had saved his life, Broussard and his crew and had become once more plain Daniel Lovell, with letters bearing the royal seal of Louis XIV for his cousin Charles II of England.

‘Your cousin is a most interesting man,’ Daniel replied to Charles’s question.

‘Alas, I am something of an embarrassment to him.’ Charles’s hooded eyes seemed to recede further back in his skull at the thought of his cousin. ‘You look familiar, Lovell. Have we met before?’

The question surprised Daniel, reminding him once again that this man had the greatness of kings about him. ‘Once, briefly, a long time ago. At Worcester.’

The lines on Charles’s face settled into deeper grooves. ‘Ah … Worcester … ’

Daniel nodded, and for a moment they were both transported back to that moment when two young men had thought they were invincible. Behind him, the atmosphere in the room shifted, an indefinable rustling like the dried leaves of an autumn tree. There would be many here who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the King on that day.

The King waved a forefinger at Daniel’s face. ‘A legacy of Worcester?’

Daniel touched the scar that scribed his right cheekbone, which served as a visible reminder to all who saw him of that terrible day. Beneath his severe clothes, no one would see the other scars, the twisted scar on his arm and the lines that crossed his back and circled his wrists. Those too were a legacy of Worcester.

‘Hyde here tells me you have something of an interesting history. How did you come to be aboard a French privateer?’

Daniel hunched his shoulders, an almost unconscious habit he used to release the tautness of the scars that marred his back. He had been circumspect in how much he had revealed to Hyde and he repeated the story.

‘After Worcester, I was sent to Barbados,’ he began, conscious of a murmur rising in the room behind him. Barbados had been a death sentence and he had survived.

‘I escaped the plantation to which I had been assigned and threw my lot in with the crew of L’Archange. I have sailed with them these five years past,’ he said with a casual shrug.

A slow smile lightened the King’s saturnine countenance. ‘I assume you had little alternative, my friend.’

Daniel ducked his head in agreement.

‘I’m not sure our friends in London have taken too kindly to the predation on English ships,’ Hyde said.

Daniel fixed the courtier with a hard stare. ‘We carried lettres de marque from Louis. We were not pirates.’

The King’s moustache twitched. ‘A fine distinction, my friend. Has it made you a wealthy man?’

Daniel hesitated. The five years of privateering had netted him a comfortable sum. Sufficient to restore a life in England he had not known since before the war, but hardly a fortune.

The King laughed and held up a hand. ‘You do not need to tell me. Indeed, I do not wish to know.’ He leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and inclined his head. ‘So why have you returned now?’

‘I heard that Cromwell is dead,’ Daniel responded.

‘But you are still an escaped prisoner, are you not, and a privateer? No doubt there is a price on your head.’ The King leaned his elbow on his chair, stroking his moustache.

Daniel shrugged. ‘Possibly, but that is not why I am here, Your Majesty. I am seeking news of my brother, Christopher Lovell. He —’

A hush fell on the room, and the back of Daniel’s neck prickled.

‘Do you mean Kit Lovell?’ Hyde asked.

The breath caught in Daniel’s throat as the King frowned. ‘Lovell?’

‘You recall the man, Your Majesty. That affair of Gerard?’ Hyde leaned down to whisper in the King’s ear, and Daniel’s sense of foreboding trebled.

‘Good God, I thought I knew your face.’ An unfamiliar voice came from the courtiers behind him and, the tension broken, Daniel turned to see the speaker, a trim man of middle height with light brown hair curling to his shoulder.

He too looked familiar, but Daniel could not immediately place him. There had been many visitors to Eveleigh during the long years of the war. He could have been one of many.

‘Sir, you have the advantage of me,’ Daniel responded.

‘Longley,’ the man replied with a bow. ‘Giles Longley. We played cards on the eve of Worcester — your brother, Jonathan Thornton, and I. Do you recall?’

Daniel stared at the man as small snatches of memory began to snap into place. A card game on the eve of Worcester. Kit and his friends playing their last hand before the battle that would decide their fates. They had tried to warn him but he had not heeded their words.

The arrogance of youth.

In the long years that had followed, he had often wondered what had become of them, the men that he had called the Guardians of the Crown. In his mind, they all lay dead on that field of battle.

If Longley still lived, then maybe there was hope for Kit?

Daniel swallowed. ‘A lifetime ago, my Lord,’ he replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the King glance at Hyde. Whatever private message passed between them, Hyde acknowledged it with a slight inclination of his head.

The King straightened in his chair. ‘You are welcome, Lovell. Welcome to my court and, God willing, soon to be welcome in a peaceful England.’

Daniel’s lip curled. ‘I am not so certain of the last sentiment, Your Majesty. As you pointed out, there will be some in London who would like to see me hanged for my alleged crimes.’

‘They’ll have to catch you first, my friend, and it seems you have your brother’s aptitude for evasion. Longley,’ the King indicated the dapper Viscount. ‘Take our friend Lovell and introduce him to the joys of this town. They do good ale, but not much else I am afraid, Lovell.’

Dismissed, Daniel bowed and left the room, his question unanswered.

Chapter 3

‘Tell me, Lovell, why have you come back now?’ Longley asked as a greasy and ill-tempered pot boy slammed down their ales, slopping most of it onto the table.

Daniel looked around the crowded taproom. A haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air, tinged with smoke from the huge fire that burned at one end of the room. A fug of unwashed bodies and boiled cabbage completed the picture. He could not have been further from the dens of Fort Royal in Martinique, and it felt good.

He took a draught of the excellent ale and considered his reply.

‘As I said, Cromwell’s dead. His son has fled to the Continent. The time is right for the King to return.’ Daniel paused. ‘For us all to return. How many years has it been since you were last in England?’

Longley sighed. ‘I’ve not been back since my own escape from Worcester. Is it really eight years?’ He took a swig from his tankard, brushing foam from his well-groomed moustache. ‘I long to return, but it is not quite so simple, my impetuous friend. We must see the King legally restored by the will of the people. Until such time we continue to bide here. Exile teaches you patience.’

Daniel smiled. ‘Patience has never been one of my virtues, my lord. I have paid my dues and I am no longer a raw youth hungry for his first taste of battle.’ He shrugged. ‘The simple fact is, I want to go home.’

Giles studied him for a long moment. ‘Longley will do … and no, you’re not a raw youth. I can only guess what you have endured over the last eight years. But why would you risk going back now? Why not wait?’

The questions surprised Daniel. It had not occurred to him to kick his heels within plain sight of England.

He considered his response. ‘Let me just say I have some unfinished business.’

‘Ah,’ Longley’s moustache twitched. ‘And that is… ?’

Daniel studied the older man. ‘I saw my father murdered in cold blood on the step of his own home, my lord. I cannot forget. I intend to find the man who gave that order.’

Longley’s mouth tightened and he set his beer down on the sticky table. ‘I counsel you now. The King does not want to see more blood spilled. If there is to be any reckoning, it will be at his hand. Who is the man you seek?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘It is none of your concern, my lord. I came here seeking news of my brother, no other reason. No one has yet provided me with an answer.’

Longley’s fingers beat a tattoo on the worn and stained tabletop. He sighed heavily. ‘I am sorry it falls to me to break the news, but your brother is dead.’

Daniel had long since learned to school his face to betray nothing, but his jaw tightened and the word seemed to come through stiffened lips. ‘Worcester?’

Longley shook his head. ‘No. Kit Lovell survived Worcester. He may even have been a prisoner like yourself … but he managed to get away. I came across him in Paris the year after Worcester, but he couldn’t settle to an exile’s life and went back to London. He kept company with others like himself. I believe they used to gather in a hostelry in the Old Bayly. What was it called … oh, yes, the Ship Inn. How could I forget — they called it the Ship Inn Plot.’

‘The Ship Inn plot?’

Longley waved a hand. ‘That was one. Kit got himself involved in several plots to overthrow Cromwell and restore the King. None had the consent of the King, and mostly they were so foolish that even Cromwell laughed and set the plotters free.’ He frowned. ‘But even the Lord Protector’s sense of humour failed when John Gerard brought over a French assassin. They may have succeeded had it not been for a traitor in their midst who betrayed them. Your brother was one of those caught and hanged.’

The breath left Daniel’s body at the bald words caught and hanged and he looked away. His invincible brother, Kit, dead at the end of a hangman’s rope — an ignoble end.

After all the years of believing Kit dead, it was as if he had died all over again. He realised now, that there had always been the kernel of hope that Kit had survived, but now a hundred thoughts crashed together. What had become of his grandfather … his mother … his sister?

‘Hanged?’ he managed to say with a voice that cracked with emotion. ‘When?’

Longley frowned. ‘It would have been the summer of ’54.’

Daniel cleared his throat. ‘Another wrong to right when the King is restored, my lord?’

‘Indeed,’ Longley replied. ‘Those who died in the King’s name will be pardoned and those, like me, who had everything stolen from them will have it returned, but what we remember so fondly may be sorely tested by reality,’ Longley said. ‘What of your home? Cheshire, I believe?’

‘Eveleigh Priory, about five miles out of Chester, but as you say, the word “home” is an illusion, my lord. Parliament’s men, led by a man by the name of Tobias Ashby, destroyed it in ’48. My mother and sister were living in a few surviving rooms, reliant on Kit for whatever money he could spare.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘With my brother dead, I have no idea what has become of my family.’

Longley’s moustache twitched. ‘Have you had no contact with them?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘No. While I was plying my dubious trade as a privateer, I considered it prudent to leave my mother and sister in the belief I was still in exile or probably dead. How many times can you ask your family to grieve for one person?’

Longley considered him for a long moment. ‘Why would your family have believed you dead?’

Daniel switched his gaze to a far corner of the room. ‘They sent me to Barbados,’ he said. ‘How many return from that hellhole?’

Longley frowned and probably would have continued his interrogation had it not been for the appearance of Sir Edward Hyde, pushing his way through the patrons to where they sat in their dark corner.

‘You were not easy to find,’ Hyde complained as he sat down, unbidden, and summoned the tap boy for another jar of ale.

‘I wasn’t aware you were looking for us?’ Longley leaned back in his chair and picked up his ale.

‘The King has a mission for you, Lovell,’ Hyde said without preamble.

Daniel looked at the man. ‘But the King knows nothing of me. Why would he entrust me with a mission?’

Hyde’s moustache twitched. ‘Whatever else the King may be, he is a shrewd judge of character. Your brother had certain talents and there is a hope that maybe you have inherited them.’ He glanced at Longley. ‘You’ve told him?’

Longley nodded.

Hyde’s mouth tightened. ‘You’ll hear stories about your brother, so be prepared.’

Longley raised a hand. ‘Not now, Ned … ’

Hyde glared at him. ‘Why not now? It’s better he is prepared, is it not?’

Daniel looked from one to the other. ‘What stories?’

‘There are those who believe he may have been in the employ of Cromwell,’ Hyde said. ‘In fact, he may have been the one to betray Gerard and the others to Thurloe.’

Daniel pushed his chair back from the table, a white spark of anger flaring in his breast. ‘Kit? A traitor? Never! He was a king’s man to the bone.’

Hyde waved him back to his seat. ‘Calm yourself. I cannot say with certainty if there is truth to the stories; I merely repeat what some who were closer to the events believe.’

‘If he were indeed a traitor, why would they hang him?’ Daniel glanced at Longley.

‘Unlike his fellow conspirators, his execution was private, conducted on the grounds of the Tower itself. No one can say with certainty that Kit Lovell died at the end of a rope,’ Hyde replied.

Daniel shook his head as the enormity of what Hyde implied sunk in. It seemed impossible that his brother, the man he had known all his life would turn his coat, but if it were true, could Kit still be alive? Coming here had raised more questions than it had answers.

‘Enough about your brother. I told you we have a commission for you.’ Hyde dismissed the fate of Kit Lovell with a wave of his hand.

‘You know nothing about me,’ Daniel repeated.

Hyde glanced at Longley, who shrugged.

‘What we know is that, like your brother, you are dead, are you not, Master Lovell? According to the official stories, you were sent to Barbados where you died of a fever.’

So that was the story Outhwaite had put out.

‘Every second prisoner died of fever,’ Daniel said.

‘But you didn’t. You escaped, and I am curious as to how a dead man is sitting here having an ale with us on a chilly night in the Low Countries.’

Daniel looked from one man to the other. ‘I told you. I escaped … I was rescued by French privateers … that is all.’

Hyde shrugged. ‘It makes no difference. Since Cromwell’s death, the mood in England has changed. The time is right for the King to return but this, as you can understand, is no simple matter. There has been a group of men operating in secret with the King’s commission. They call themselves the Sealed Knot but they have been relatively ineffective since Penruddock’s uprising back in ’55. Earlier this year the King issued a second commission. Part of that commission was to organise simultaneous uprisings across the countryside, but the reach of the spy network set up by John Thurloe is long and we may as well have set up a town crier in the centre of London. The uprising in Cheshire was quickly defeated and unfortunately one of our key supporters, James Ashby —’

Daniel started and Hyde looked at him, his eyes narrowing. ‘You know the man?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘My pardon, I recognise the name Ashby, but the man I knew wore the uniform of Parliament.’

‘Oh, you mean Colonel Tobias Ashby? A cousin, I believe. He has done well in the favour of Oliver Cromwell.’ He shook his head, his mouth tightening. ‘He commanded the martyred King’s escort on the day of his murder.’

Tobias Ashby, that hard man of the Parliamentary forces who had issued the order to his men to shoot down Thomas Lovell in cold blood.

Murder and Tobias Ashby seemed to have much in common.

‘Who is this other Ashby?’ Daniel changed the subject.

‘James Ashby. You may know him as the Earl of Elmhurst of Charvaley Castle in Lancashire.’

Daniel frowned. He had vague recollections of his father talking about Elmhurst but he could not remember meeting the man himself.

Hyde shrugged. ‘He gave some nominal support to the King’s cause during the wars, but rumour is he was equally as forthcoming to those who came on behalf of Parliament. Whatever his true feelings, his home at Charvaley survived intact and unmolested. Like many we will encounter in the next few months, who trim their cloth to the wind, after the death of Cromwell, James Ashby professed his loyalty to the King, and being in a position of some influence and power in the north, the King named him in his commission. A few months ago his men captured a consignment of coin bound for York. Charvaley was used as the hiding place. It was to have been passed on to our agents, but Ashby was taken before the handover could be affected and we believe the coin is still at Charvaley.’

‘How much?’ Daniel enquired.

‘Four hundred new-minted Unites.’

Daniel let out a low whistle. A gold Unite was worth over twenty shillings.

‘Such a sum could buy a deal of loyalty,’ he said. ‘Do those sitting in Whitehall know that Elmhurst has the coin?’

Hyde cleared his throat. ‘We think Elmhurst may have tried to turn his cousin, Tobias Ashby, to the King’s cause. As a result, it is likely that Tobias Ashby knows or suspects that the stolen coin may be at Charvaley.’

‘If so, he misjudged his cousin. Tobias Ashby is certainly the man who denounced Elmhurst to the authorities,’ Longley put in.

‘And James Ashby did not protest his innocence and hand over the coin? Surely that would have earned him a reprieve from execution,’ Daniel said.

‘It would have availed him very little. During the taking of the coin, a personal friend of General Lambert’s was killed. Lambert made it known that an example had to be set.’ Hyde paused. ‘I have been informed that Elmhurst died yesterday.’

Longley looked up. This was evidently news to him.

‘We received the news only an hour ago,’ Hyde replied in answer to Longley’s unspoken question.

‘Then what is it you think I can do?’ Daniel enquired.

Hyde snorted. ‘Elmhurst had few close friends but he has left behind a mistress, a woman by the name of Agnes Fletcher. She is currently lodging at the sign of the Blue Boar with Elmhurst’s children. She is your key to Charvaley and the location of the King’s gold. You have a pretty face, Lovell, use it.’

Daniel laughed. ‘You put a lot of faith in me, Hyde. I am not possessed of a long history of charming the location of hidden treasure out of ladies. I am rather better at holding a knife to their throats.’

Hyde shrugged. ‘If you think that might work.’

Longley spluttered into his ale. ‘Hyde!’

Daniel drummed his fingers on the table. He cared not a jot for the fate of the late Earl or the missing gold, but were these men offering him a means to an end? It would be sufficient reward to look into the eyes of Tobias Ashby just before he killed him — as Ashby had killed his father — in cold blood and unarmed.

‘And what do I get if I am successful?’ Daniel enquired.

Hyde recoiled as if Daniel had made an importunate suggestion. ‘You mean a reward?’

Daniel narrowed his eyes. ‘I have seen my home destroyed, my father murdered, and in the last eight years, I have endured prison, torture, enslavement and worse in the King’s name. I am done with all causes except my own. If I am to undertake this mission, it will not be for love of the King’s cause alone.’

Hyde considered him for a long moment. ‘Find the King’s gold, my friend, and you will not find His Majesty ungrateful. He does not forget his friends.’

Daniel leaned forward. ‘Curiously, I felt somewhat forgotten when I was lying in chains in Barbados.’

Hyde harrumphed and Longley interposed. ‘Lovell, we understand that you may hold little love for the cause, but your assistance will hasten the process. If we can recover the gold left in Elmhurst’s possession, we will see the King restored within months.’

Daniel looked from one to the other. ‘Very well, but I would see full pardons for myself — and my late brother — and a restoration of lands and title, if they have been seized, as the price of my assistance.’

Hyde huffed out a breath as if he had been holding it in anticipation of Daniel’s response. ‘Of course, of course. Consider that done, my friend. There is a ship leaving Ostend on tomorrow night’s tide. Be on it.’

Daniel flashed the man a hard, contemptuous look. ‘I take no orders from you, Hyde. I am nobody’s to command, not anymore.’

Hyde rose to his feet. ‘Then don’t waste time, Lovell. Major-General Lambert and his Committee of Safety are trying to hold on to power in London. Elmhurst’s death was intended as a show of strength.’ He glanced at Longley. ‘Coming, Longley?’

Longley looked at his cup. ‘I will finish my ale, Hyde.’

Longley waited until Hyde had pushed his way out of the crowded inn, before setting aside his empty cup.

‘Don’t make an enemy of that man, Lovell,’ he said. ‘He will control the throne when the King is restored.’

Daniel looked away. ‘I do not seek to make an enemy of him, Longley, but I have no heart for the game of politics. I will do as I promised but that will be an end to it. My brother is dead and I have our family fortunes to rebuild.’

Longley nodded. ‘I understand. Now, if I may request a personal favour of you?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘If it is within my power.’

‘I have letters for my family in Worcestershire. Would you undertake to deliver them safely into their hands?’ When Daniel did not reply, he continued. ‘They are just family letters,’ Longley said with a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘My wife has seen me but a very few times in the last ten years. You will find Lady Longley at the home of her brother, Sir Jonathan Thornton, a house called Seven Ways near Kidderminster.’

Daniel nodded. ‘I remember Colonel Thornton from Worcester.’

Longley looked at him and shook his head. ‘Worcester seems a lifetime ago. I see no trace of the boy I met that night.’

‘He died in Barbados,’ Daniel pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I lodge at the Laine Marchant.’

‘I will deliver my missives to you there.’ Longley rose to face him, holding out his hand. ‘I wish you well, Lovell. Good evening to you.’

The men shook hands and Longley turned to leave. He took a few steps before turning around to face him. ‘And Lovell, if you do see my wife, tell her … tell her that I will make amends for these past long years.’