Autumn said, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping to go to Paris.”
“Do not fret, sister,” her brother advised. “Mama will want you to acclimate yourself to France, give you time to get used to speaking French instead of English, have a wonderful and most fashionable wardrobe made for you and, like any good general planning a strategy, learn all she can about the current French court. Her wealth, and her grandfather’s French relations, will be invaluable to you, Autumn, which is why she wants you to meet them first. Trust Mama to do what is right, and I will wager a year from now, if not sooner, you will be a happily married young woman,” Henry Lindley assured his sister as, linking his arm in hers, they returned to the house.
It rained for the next week, and Autumn thought often of her brother Charlie, on the road north with his children. Actually, the weather would be of help to them, provided they didn’t catch an ague. Only someone in a great hurry, or in desperation, would ride in such weather.
The day before she and her mother were to leave for France, the Earl of Welk arrived, angrily demanding to know what had happened to his daughter’s children, and where they were now.
The Marquis of Westleigh welcomed the angry man into his Great Hall and then told him, “My mother will discuss the matter with you, my lord. I know little, if anything, but that my sister-in-law was murdered in cold blood by parliamentary forces. My youngest sister, Lady Autumn Leslie, was there and can tell you what happened that day, but you must speak gently to her. The shock of that day still pains her.”
The Earl of Welk was a spare man of medium height and sallow complexion. His severe black garb did little to alleviate an impression of meanness. He turned to the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk. “Well, madame?”
“My son and our grandchildren were here several weeks ago, but where they are now, my lord, I have not the faintest notion. I told Charles that I did not want to know, in order that I might protect his safety, and that of our shared grandchildren. Surely you can understand.”
“Your son is not fit to care for my grandchildren, madame!” came the angry reply.
“Indeed, my lord, and what makes you think such a thing?” Jasmine demanded in haughty tones. “My son is their father.”
“Your son is profligate, a wastrel,” the earl answered.
Jasmine laughed. “Even in his callow youth Charlie could neither be called profligate nor wastrel by any. And once he had met your daughter, my lord, once his heart was engaged, there was no one for him but Bess. He was loyal, loving, and faithful to her from the moment they met, and you, my lord, know it well.”
“My daughter would be alive had she not been wed to your son,” the earl responded.
“Your daughter spent the happiest years of her young life with Charlie and their children. She is dead not because of my son but because of the actions of one of your godly parliamentary troopers. They burst into her home and battered her majordomo to death. When Bess protested, this devil, without a word, shot her dead. My own daughter witnessed the entire incident and would, herself, have been killed had the captain of these men not entered the house. When he did, the trooper was stripping the rings from your dead child’s stiffening fingers. These are the creatures you and your ilk have loosed on England, my lord! Thieves and murderers of the innocent.”
“The Stuarts are not innocent,” the earl muttered.
“The Stuarts, for all their royalty, are like the rest of us, John Lightbody. They are human, and subject to human frailty. The king was a bad king, but he was a good man. You were not satisfied with deposing him. Nay, your ilk had to murder God’s own annointed, and then mouth piously to excuse your crime. Shame on all of you!”
“It is easy to see where your heart lies, madame,” the Earl of Welk said grimly.
“My heart, sir, lies in a tomb at Glenkirk with my husband, who died at Dunbar in defense of king and country. I espouse no cause, nor did my not-so-royal Stuart son. As to our grandchildren, as I have told you, I do not know where Charlie has taken them, but wherever it is, it is for their safety’s sake. Their surname would, it now appears, have made them targets of your godly parliamentarians. Given the way in which they treated Charlie’s little cousin, the Princess Elizabeth, I understand the necessity to hide his own children. Your people did not care properly for the princess. She died of exposure, for you would not allow her chambers to be properly heated; and she died of hunger, for she was ill fed. Is that a fate you wish for Sabrina, Frederick, and wee William, my lord?”
“In the care of my wife and myself, loyal citizens, our three grandchildren would be safe,” he told her.
Jasmine laughed scornfully. “You are truly a fool if you believe that, my lord. The children belong with their father, and that is where they are. Do not make an enemy of my son, sir, for one day, I guarantee you, the king will be restored to his throne, and when that time comes, you will be glad of a friend at court who is the king’s dearly beloved cousin.”
“The Stuarts will never return to England’s throne,” the Earl of Welk said.
Again Jasmine laughed. “Oh, but they will, sir. I do not know how long it will take, but they will return to rule England one day. Be certain you are not on their personal list of traitors.”
“I shall go to the courts!” the earl cried, frustrated.
“Go then. I’m certain your parliamentary courts will be eager to learn of the unjustified murder of an innocent woman by one of their soldiers, who then attempted to steal from her. Already two of the commandments you hold dear are broken: thou shalt not kill and thou shalt not steal. My daughter is not the only witness to this crime. Sir Simon Bates was captain to the troop that invaded Queen’s Malvern. He, personally, executed the soldier involved. He cannot deny it lest he perjure himself. Your godly officers would not lie, I am certain.”
“Madame, there is something wicked about you, but to my regret your logic is flawless. If you hear from your son, will you contact me?”
“Alas, sir, I will not be able to do so. My daughter and I leave for France shortly. I could not remain in Scotland, for my memories overwhelmed me. The dower house here at Cadby is mine, of course, and I thought to end my days here, but again, I am engulfed by my remembrances. My grandmother left me a small home in the French countryside. My daughter and I shall go there to mourn the loss of James Leslie. My son, Henry, however, will, of course, send any word to you that he receives. Do not wait for it, though, sir. I suspect Charlie will not reveal his hidey-hole to any, lest his children be endangered again.” She smiled sweetly at him and held out her hand for him to kiss.
He was dismissed and he knew it. His gloved hand took her beringed one, and his lips offered the customary salute to her rank. “I thank you, madame, for seeing me,” he said, “and I bid you good day.”
“Good day, my lord,” Jasmine replied. “My felicitations to your exemplary lady wife.” Then Jasmine turned and departed the Great Hall of Cadby.
The Earl of Welk turned to the Marquis of Westleigh. “Your mother is a formidable woman, my lord.”
Henry restrained a smile. “She is, sir,” he replied with the utmost seriousness.
“You will contact me?”
“Should I receive any communication from my brother, sir, of course,” the marquis responded immediately. Not that he meant to keep such a promise, but he
