Edge of Destruction

PROLOGUE

   The Remains of a sumptuous dinner were spread across the table, and even at this late hour in the afternoon guests were still nibbling as they sat talking in the warm wood panelled dining room. At a signal from their host, the Earl of Daverley, the two liveried footmen withdrew, leaving the friends to relax and enjoy the comfort of their privacy.

   Elizabeth, Countess of Daverley, stretched her back restlessly and took a cautious breath, her eyes moving from face to face around the table. She loved entertaining and this winter meal, although a mere shadow of the magnificent gatherings that took place here during the summer months, reminded her of those days when the house would resound with animated discussion and laughter. People would converge from all corners of Europe to enjoy the atmosphere and stimulating company. But that memory elicited a sharp pang of regret. There would be no such gathering next year.

   Today there were just four guests at the table. Deborah and Sir Clive Dalwood were longstanding friends with whom there were no constraints or formalities. The Digbys on the other hand were a local family, neighbours with whom the Daverleys were just becoming acquainted. At this moment, Elizabeth’s husband John was in deep conversation with George Digby.

   Elizabeth turned back to Deborah, delighting in her enthusiasm and openness.

   “I can hardly wait to show you, Elizabeth. It is a complete redesign of our parlour.”

   She laughed. Debbie was an addicted spender, and love nothing more than promenading through the splendid arcades of the New Exchange, before venturing further afield to explore London’s unique workshops. And with a good-sized apartment at Whitehall Palace to decorate, Debbie’s flair for design could be given full rein.

   “Well, London has some of the best shops and markets in the world,” she said, warmed by her friend’s enthusiasm.

   “Indeed. And we’ve spent weeks scouring every outlet we can find, sifting through the bolts of material and quizzing the cloth merchants about expected deliveries. In the end we’ve chosen a Chintzy yellow for our parlour wall, and the upholsterers are installing it while we are away. We are also having complementary curtains and new covers made for the furniture.” A trace of anxiety touched her face, “I only hope the heavy work is completed before we return.”

   “Yes indeed. It’s no easy thing to live alongside workmen who are turning your home upside down. But you know, you are welcome to stay a while longer with us, if you wish.”

   “Oh, I know that Elizabeth,” Deborah squeezed her hands warmly. “But we can’t trespass on your hospitality any longer. You will soon have a very precious little bundle to occupy your time.”

   “That is true, but I’m going to miss your company,” she said with regret. She moved restlessly in her seat. She was finding it difficult to remain in one position for long now. The twins were due any day and she could hardly wait to be free of the enormous bulk that was compressing everything inside her and making breathing and movement so difficult.

   As she stirred John looked in her direction, breaking off his conversation with George Digby. She smiled reassuringly and rubbed her back. The concern faded from those magnetic brown eyes, and he nodded.

   Since his return a few weeks ago he had been a tremendous tonic, making her laugh and forget her cares and concerns. Moreover, he knew she needed to move to relieve the pressure, and he had become adept at finding excuses for her to do so. But his intervention was not likely to go down very well with Helen, who was watching him critically.

   “Perhaps you would care to pass me the claret my dear?” John asked softly. “I’m sure Digby would appreciate another glass.”

Across the table, Helen rose to her feet. “Allow me to fetch the bottle My Lord.”

   “No, no, Helen,” Elizabeth stood with a calm smile that belied the irritation she felt. “It’s perfectly all right, I will fetch it. I shall be glad to move about a little, as John knows.”

   “But it’s not right that you should…”

   “It is right,” she said sharply, and there was no mistaking the command in her voice. “It is exactly what I need.”

   George Digby leaned forward and placed his hand hurriedly over his wife’s in a gentle gesture of restraint. She rounded on him indignantly, opening her mouth to make a stinging reply, but he merely smiled in his customarily bluff fashion and patted her hand. “I am sure John and Elizabeth know what is best my dear. It would be ungracious of us to believe we know better.”

   Helen subsided into her seat, surprised beyond words. She was not accustomed to being rebuked by her husband, it was usually she who scorned and criticised him. But George had turned away from her and resumed the conversation that had been so abruptly interrupted. “I would be delighted to show you my plans for the water meadows John. They are the result of a great deal of research. Not as exciting as your telescope I have to admit,” he chuckled and rubbed his hands together, “but it has been engrossing. Last spring, I paid a visit to the Norfolk and Cambridgeshire Fens to examine the intricacies of Dutch water engineering.”

   “That must have been fascinating,” John leaned forward with genuine interest. “I remember marvelling at the Dutch achievements in Bordeaux some years ago.”

   Elizabeth made her way across the room to collect one of the bottles of freshly decanted claret from the serving table. Her eyes rose quickly to the mirror, and she saw the intense interest in his eyes as he spoke.

   She took the bottle to the table and set it by his elbow, and he smiled. “Thank you my dear,” then he resumed his conversation with George. “Their engineers had drained vast tracts of marshland, which is why we can enjoy this excellent claret now. Much of the reclaimed land was put to the vine.”

   George nodded. “I have heard about that. Our challenge, of course, is very different. I have drawn up plans to improve our water management and provide some irrigation for the higher ground. I would really value your opinion before I begin construction. I know you have an analytical mind and have been working on ideas of your own.”

   “Certainly. I’ll ride over to Cambden in a day or two and take a look. Now, allow me to refill your glass.” John poured the wine and glanced at Clive and Deborah, doing the honours with the relaxed ease of long friendship. Finally, his gaze fell on the silent figure of Helen Digby. “And you, Helen?”

   Elizabeth had returned to her place and eased herself onto her seat, leaning towards Deborah and confiding softly, “I shall be relieved when the waiting is over. This is becoming unbearably tedious.”

   “It must be horrid being confined to the house, particularly when you are accustomed to riding freely every day. Have you been able to visit the village recently, to keep an eye on the hospital?”

   “No, and I miss it. But the administrators and Dr Gibson keep me well informed on progress. What I miss most, is interacting with the villagers and children.” She glanced across the table and smiled at Helen Digby. “But Helen is keeping me well informed, and I’m deeply grateful for that.”

   John joined the conversation at that point. “Are you still helping at the hospital, Helen?”

   “Yes indeed, My Lord,” she replied, clearly making an effort to respond with civility. “We have two of our estate children there at present. But the hospital has not been the same since Elizabeth stopped visiting.”

   “I will be back with you in no time,” she smiled and touched her stomach briefly. “I hope you have been seeing the benefits since your tenants began using it.”

   “Oh yes,” George replied enthusiastically. “It has done a great deal for morale on the estate. I only hope the positive impact will settle nerves through the wider county. The events of the last four months have had a devastating impact and I still hear rumour and suspicion whenever I ride beyond Cambden and Daverley.”

   The atmosphere in the room seemed to chill and Elizabeth shivered. Only three weeks ago a clever attempt had been made on her life. Three men masquerading as jewellery merchants had arrived and had drawn knives and attacked her. Luckily, their head footman, Croft, had brought refreshments and interrupted the attack, giving her precious moments to defend herself and escape.

   A wave of grief brought a lump to her throat. The dear old man had died a terrible death ensuring she could live, and she missed him deeply, as did everyone at Daverley. Debbie’s hand squeezed hers again discreetly, and their eyes met in a silent message of understanding.

   John’s voice was uncharacteristically strained as he spoke into the difficult silence. “The two surviving perpetrators are in the cells at Salisbury. Miles is interrogating them, and I don’t believe he will rest until he extracts some answers.”

   “I should hope not,” George exclaimed vehemently. Like many bluff and boisterous characters, he was blithely unaware of the grief and pain his words had stirred up. “Have you heard any news from him yet?”

   “No, nothing.”

   “Miles is a good man, My Lord,” George said reassuringly. “He will do everything he can. But it has been a difficult year for you, my friend. First, your maid was victimised horribly, and then the kidnap and burnings at the masque in August. I sincerely hope ’69 will turn out better.”

   Elizabeth could sense Debbie stiffening, and the hand over hers squeezed encouragingly. Debbie was the only one who knew what really lay ahead for the Daverleys. The situation was far worse than George Digby could ever envisage. Next year, she and John would be setting out for London to face a deadly threat.

   As far as George was aware, the problem began when one of their maids was the victim of a superstitious attack, that brought fear of witchcraft into the house. That escalated into the kidnap of a neighbours daughter as she returned home from the masque, and the perpetrators attempted to burn her at the stake. Bitter accusations of popery had been levelled against John, and his telescope and research notes had perished in the conflagration.

Fear and suspicion had rampaged across the county, only to be exacerbated by the recent murder attempt.

   Elizabeth knew, that no matter how their local Justice of the Peace, Sir Miles, interrogated the men sent to murder her, he would never extract any meaningful information, because they had been sent by Nexus, and were nothing to do with the earlier events.

   “These are dark thoughts,” John said sternly, catching George’s eye. “Let’s seek to brighten these gloomy winter days, rather than darken them.”

   “Yes indeed,” Elizabeth summoned every scrap of enthusiasm and energy she possessed to dispel the atmosphere in the room. “I have a suggestion to make. The couriers brought me a new batch of music yesterday afternoon, the latest songs and dances from court. I rather fancy trying some of them out. Why don’t we retire to the drawing room and have some fun singing and dancing! We can take our wine with us.”

   As the afternoon drew to a close and darkness settled over the late October landscape, Elizabeth watched the Digby carriage retreat down the long drive and disappear into a bank of fog. As it went, she pondered on the enigma of Helen Digby. Even though she understood why the woman behaved as she did, she simply could not share her view of men. And George was a dear and kind soul, if a little brusque and tactless.

   She felt John’s arms circle her and she relaxed into the embrace, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “I hope they reach home safely. It’s looking ghastly out there.”

   “They have only a few miles to go, and the road is good,” he said quietly.

   She smiled and turned to look up into his sharp featured face, feeling her spirits rise as she recognised the warmth in his brown eyes. “What were you discussing so enthusiastically with George Digby? I don’t know whether you observed Helen’s expression when she realised you were genuinely taking him seriously and enjoying his company, but it was priceless.”

   He smiled. “He may be a plainspoken man, but he’s very perceptive when it comes to engineering. He’s been working on a new irrigation system, and I am keen to see what he’s doing. He starts the trials this year, and if it’s successful then a great many landlords will be interested. We have fields that could benefit from his knowledge. He’s a good man and deserves to be taken seriously. In fact,” he brushed a red curl tenderly away from her forehead, “I might try to persuade him to write a paper on the project for the Royal Society.”

She laughed in delight. “If you succeed, Helen will be shocked to the very core. She doesn’t believe anyone could find George interesting, let alone value his ideas.”

   “I had noticed. She treats him with utter contempt and has taken a deep dislike to me. She certainly thought I was a scoundrel for letting you get up so many times during dinner.”

   “I’m glad you did. I was becoming unbearably uncomfortable.”

   “I could see that.” He watched the carriage disappear into the darkness, and he too pondered upon the disquieting impression he had received of Helen Digby. It was the first time he had spent time in her company, and he had instantly recognised her as the woman whose negative thoughts and dire warnings had so unsettled Elizabeth while he had been in London.

   Perhaps Mrs Piper could shed a little light upon the woman’s history and her desire to cosset and protect Elizabeth. He could not help but feel it was a harmful thing.

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