Helen Dickson - Conspiracy Of Hearts

Looking into her questioning eyes, Andrew began to regret speaking of so grave a matter which would only trouble her. ‘I came because I wanted to see you and Father. I miss you both greatly. The information I have is not all that reliable. Indeed, what is these days?’

‘But how did you learn that something is afoot in England when you live in Rome?’ Serena asked, determined to glean as much information from her brother as she could before he left her.

‘The king’s chief minister, the Earl of Salisbury, has an energetic network of spies everywhere—not only in Flanders and Spain but also in Italy—so we do hear of the occasional conspiracy being hatched in England. The treacherous intriguers abroad provide a rich source of information for Salisbury in exchange for pardons and their own advancements. There are Catholics in England who hold on to the hope of liberalisation in the wake of the treaty with Spain, but there are those who are impatient and will not be quiet and will do whatever they can to bring about change.’

‘And would you have them be quiet?’

‘Yes. England and Spain were at war for many years and now we have peace. The diplomatic solution must be allowed to prevail over the Catholic situation in England. I believe we should trust in God to bring about toleration in His own good time. Be vigilant, Serena. Should you hear of any conspiracies being hatched, I beg you to persuade father to distance himself. If not, then I fear that he and any conspirator will be crushed and not escape with their lives.’

After bidding him a fond farewell, Serena, deeply troubled, watched her brother go on his way. There had been a deep concern in his eyes, a warning when he had told her to be vigilant.

Eliza Nugent, the housekeeper at Dunedin Hall, which was a rambling rose-coloured brick house situated on the outskirts of the village of Ripley, between Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick, threw her arms up in despair when she caught Serena sneaking out of the house when it was almost time for Sir Henry’s guest to arrive.

In the five years since her mother’s death, Serena had changed in a way that worried Eliza. Her wilfulness would lead her into trouble one day if Sir Henry didn’t set about finding her a husband soon. Perhaps if he’d spent as much time guiding her along the path of goodness and beating the waywardness out of her, as he did on religious matters and travelling across to Flanders to see young James, then perhaps she would have turned out as her dear departed mother would have wished.

‘Upon my soul,’ Eliza scolded, ‘where do you think you’re off to? Your father wants you here when the marquess of Thurlow arrives.’

Serena threw Eliza a cross look, which relaxed into a sweet, disarming smile as she set about trying to placate her. Eliza would be outraged if she knew the reason that drew her towards the village. The ageing housekeeper would go directly to her father with the information, who would be equally outraged and order Serena to her room immediately.

‘Don’t fret so, Eliza—and please don’t lecture me,’ Serena complained with a toss of her lovely head. ‘The marquess should have arrived hours ago and I will not sit about waiting for him any longer. I won’t be gone very long, I promise.’

‘But it’s almost dark.’

‘I’m going to the stables. I want John to saddle Polly first thing in the morning. It’s hoped that the marquess will buy two of our horses, and I suspect that he and Father will be in the saddle early to try them out before leaving for Woodfield Grange. Lord Payne has invited them to take part in the hunt, and it’s expected that a large party from nearby Coughton Court—which Sir Everard Digby has rented for a few weeks—will attend.’

Horses, after his religion, were her father’s abiding passion. Possessing some prime horseflesh, he was immensely proud of his large stable, which was envied and praised by many in the surrounding counties. He was also an expert horseman, who adored his gun dogs and his falcons.

Sir Henry was also a devout Catholic who had led an eventful and troubled life, having frequently wielded his sword during the reign of Queen Elizabeth in the hope of improving the Catholic lot. This and being a leading recusant—a man among many others of his faith who refused to submit to the authority of, or comply with, the Protestant religion—had resulted in hefty fines and frequent spells of imprisonment; on one occasion when he was confined in the Tower, torture was applied.

However, his spirit remained undimmed, and his crusade for toleration and liberty for Catholics to be allowed to practice their religion openly in England went on. Serena wished he would take Andrew’s advice and be more acquiescing, trusting in God to bring about the conversion in His own good time.

An additional worry was the apprehension she felt each time he went to Flanders. Ostensibly he went to visit James and some of his friends, who chose to live there in order to practice their religion freely, but Serena was uncomfortably aware of his close association with a widow, a Mrs Davis, whose husband had left her a wealthy woman with two children.

According to Andrew, who had met Mrs Davis on the occasions he had passed through Flanders, she was hankering after a proposal of marriage from their father. But he was as reluctant to leave England and his horses as Mrs Davis was to leave Flanders and her freedom to practise her Catholic religion unhindered. Unless a compromise was reached, this was how things would remain between them; secretly Serena, not wanting to see another woman take her mother’s place, hoped it would stay that way.

After leaving John, foolishly and heedless of any dangers, Serena took the darkening lane to the village, all thoughts of her father’s guest, the marquess of Thurlow, banished from her mind. The man was a stranger to her, definable only by his name; the only interest he aroused in her was because he might want to buy two of her father’s magnificent horses.

The name of the man Serena wanted so much to set eyes on blazed through her like a comet. Her mind had been in a whirl ever since Eliza had let slip earlier that Thomas Blackwell had returned from fighting in the Low Countries. Prolonged and boisterous celebrations to welcome his return were taking place in the White Swan in the village, and would no doubt go on well into the night.

Thomas Blackwell lived at Ashcombe Manor on the outskirts of Ripley. It had been a year since Serena had last seen him, when she and her father had been invited to his home and she had looked into his eyes. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in all the years of their living in close proximity to each other, and yet that one look, that stirring of pleasure, had spoken volumes. From that moment her life had changed. She had become aware of her womanhood for the first time.

On reaching the village green Serena paused, hoping Thomas would still be at the White Swan. Sounds of laughter coming from the inn across the green beckoned her and she ran towards it, cautiously entering a passageway at the side of the building from where she would be able to observe the occupants in the rooms without being observed herself. The stale odour of ale pervaded every corner of the crowded inn, and light from a guttering lamp inside the taproom was dim as Serena took her place in the shadows out of sight. The air was hot and fetid and she scanned the faces of the men inside the room, recognising some, others strangers to her.

But she only had eyes for one man, whose mere presence commanded the attention of all present. Charismatic Thomas Blackwell exercised an extraordinary influence on his contemporaries. He possessed the kind of qualities that captured the hearts of men and women alike. Almost six foot tall and well proportioned, his deep brown eyes and persuasiveness and charm drew the eyes of the village girls and set their hearts aflame. But he was also wild and hotheaded, swaggering and boorish in his arrogance and opinionated ways, and Serena, dazzled by his masculinity, could not imagine the ferocity of his violence if provoked.