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Game, Set and Match
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London
When George Goring entered the study, his father-in-law was seated behind his desk and focused on the paperwork in front of him.
George waited a few seconds and then cleared his throat.
Richard Boyle, Earl of Cork, and now the King's chief Minister in all but name, looked up and smiled at him.
"George, so good of you to come on such short notice. How is Lettice?"
George cleared his throat again. Damn it, stop being nervous. Yes, Richard Boyle has power now to go along with his riches. But you've treated Lettice well. Mostly. "As well as can be expected, Your Lordship, given her health. She is off to Bath again with her cousin, Joan Gwyn."
"Ah," Boyle said. "And Grey Brown?"
George winced. In 1631, he had become bored with life on the Boyle estates in Ireland and had borrowed two thousand pounds. Then ridden off to seek adventure in Scotland and England, leaving his new wife in her father's care. The choice grey gelding he left with had been called Grey Brown.
"Very well, Your Lordship. I have him quartered here in London."
"Excellent!"
Boyle's look turned speculative.
"You know, George, my new secretary, Edward Hyde, speaks very highly of you."
"He does?"
Boyle smiled. "Oh yes. He says you have wit, courage, understanding... and ambition uncontrolled by fear of God or man." Boyle picked up the letter opener on his desk and began to twirl it on his fingers. "He also thinks you excel in dissimulation."
"I assure you, My Lord . . ."
Boyle sliced the letter opener through the air.
George's throat constricted.
Boyle laughed. "Relax, George. I didn't ask you here to make an example of you. Instead, I have a proposition for you." Boyle motioned Goring to sit.
George sat down heavily. "A proposition, your Lordship?"
"Indeed," Boyle said. "You've met Arthur Jones, the new Viscount Ranelagh?"
George nodded. "Of course, sir."
Arthur Jones, Viscount Ranelagh since his father's death by the outbreak of plague that had struck the city of London in 1633, was the husband of Boyle's fifth daughter, Katherine. Jones had become the butt of many jokes when his wife had gone on an extended trip to Grantville in 1632 with friends she had made among the Acontian society in London.
Without him, and without his permission.
Few blamed Katherine herself. As John Leek had told George, Jones was considered one of the foulest churls in Christendom whose best point for Katherine would have been that he was dead drunk every night and thus not awake to beat or abuse her.
"I've met him, Your Lordship, but we do not, uh, move in the same circles."
"Tactfully put, George. Tactfully put." Boyle considered George for a moment, then sat back in his chair. "George, have you ever read Fenton's translation of Guicciardini's History of Italy?"
"No, sir, I can't say that I have."
"You should, George. You should. He makes some very astute observations about political conditions that are relevant to England. For example, Fortune is a very fickle goddess, George. But men of virtue, such as myself, can always find ways to turn her intervention to advantage."
George shook his head. Where was Boyle going with this?
"Arthur, Viscount Ranelagh, has decided to attempt a reconciliation with Katherine."
"Really, Your Lordship? Arthur is going to Grantville?"
Boyle shook his head. "Not Grantville, Brussels. That is where my Katy is now. Assisting the Secretary of State of the Republic of Essen in negotiating a treaty with Fernando's Netherlands." Boyle begin playing with the letter opener again. "Katy and I have been in contact for some time. In fact, my youngest son, Robert, is visiting her right now. Although I believe he is still in Essen at the moment."
"Brussels," George said. "I have a number of contacts in Brussels."
Boyle smiled. "Exactly!"
"You want me to accompany Arthur to Brussels? Assist him in his attempt to reconcile with Katherine?"
Boyle's smile broadened. "Indeed. And I would be grateful, George. Are you still interested in one of Lord Tilbury's regiments? I think I can get you a troop of horse cavalry. Should be worth at least three thousand pounds a year."
George nodded. "That is very generous, Your Lordship."
"Worth it to me, George, especially if you can act as a mediator between Katy and Arthur. Not that I hold out that much hope for a reconciliation, you understand. Kate seems happy with her position, and Arthur seemed somewhat rigid in his own thoughts on the matter."
"I understand, sir. I will do my best to persuade Katherine to return to England with Arthur."
Boyle's smile turned grim, and he shook his head. "Oh no, George, that would not do, not at all."
George cocked his head. "Sir?"
"England, George, think of England. Kate has made many excellent contacts in Essen. She knows the governor general, Louis de Geer, who is a personal friend of the emperor, Gustavus Adolphus. Her closest friend, the up-timer Nicki Jo Prickett, is the principal research scientist for the Essen chemical company. And the Prickett woman has taken an interest in educating my son, Robert."
"Why is that, sir?"
"Apparently, in the other universe from which God delivered Grantville, Robert was the most well-known of any of my children. In fact, he was considered the father of modern chemistry there."
"So what do you want me to do in Brussels, Your Lordship?"
"Try to keep Arthur from making an ass of himself—and a fool of me—if you can. If Arthur agrees to join Katy in Essen, that would be best. But in the end, if necessary, it would be much better if Katy were a widow." Boyle looked into Goring's face. "Don't you agree?"
George nodded. Now the light was finally dawning. "Of course, sir. I agree completely."
Coudenberg Palace, Brussels
It was only after their second bout of lovemaking that Fernando and Maria Anna began their usual pillow talk.
"I missed you," Maria Anna said.
"And I missed you, my love," Fernando said. "But it was only eight days, after all."
"Only eight . . ." Maria Anna's head came off Fernando's chest. "Why, I'll . . ."
Fernando laughed. "Just kidding, my dear, just kidding."
"You better be," Maria Anna said. She pinched him and Fernando yelped.
"So tell me about your trip," she said, settling her head back down on Fernando's chest. "Were the Portuguese bankers in Antwerp more accommodating this time?"
"Oh, yes, much more accommodating," Fernando said. "They also seemed interested in sounding out our position on Brazil. A number of the merchants want to start mining gold in the Minas Gerais area."
"Gold? In Brazil? I thought rubber and sugar were the most important products in Brazil."
"They probably are," Fernando said. " But once again, it's information from Grantville that is driving up interest. The merchants in Antwerp have discovered that a thousand tons of gold were taken out of Brazil in the late seventeenth and on into the eighteenth century in the up-time universe. Many of them want us to mount an expedition as soon as possible."
"Wonderful." Maria Anna sighed.
"And you?" Fernando said. "What did you do while I was away?"
"Meetings, meetings and more meetings," Maria Anna said. "At least the treaty with the Republic of Essen seems almost complete. Hainhofer's assistant for technical matters, Katherine Boyle, has been very helpful. We've actually become quite close. I'm looking forward to meeting her friend."
"Friend?"
Maria Anna nodded. "Nicki Jo Prickett. An American. She's more our own age, unlike the women I was with on my trip across Germany. It will be interesting to see how her perspective differs from theirs. She's also bringing some up-time tennis racquets and tennis balls. I've had the court in the Warande garden redone to the same measurements as an up-time court." She smiled. "It's been fun to see how the sport evolved."
Fernando laughed. "You've been practicing, haven't you?"
"As well as I can. But the cork balls we use just don't give the same bounce as an up-time ball, according to Katherine. And you don't use the walls at all. But another reason I want to talk to Prickett is the company that she and Katherine want to establish in Brussels, with my help."
Fernando began stroking Maria Anna's hair. "What kind of company?"
"A cheese and chocolate factory."
"Cheese I can understand, I know you love cheese. But chocolate? I thought you hated chocolate."
"Only the kind I tasted in Vienna. It was very bitter. But Katherine assures me that the chocolate I tasted will bear very little resemblance to what 'Royal Maria Anna's Cheese and Chocolate Factory' will produce here in Brussels. After our tennis match on Thursday we will go to Essen House to sample some of their products. I'm looking forward to it."
"Perhaps I should come along."
Maria Anna laughed. "I don't think you'll have time. You'll be spending your hours soothing the feelings of the Brussels guilds about the Essen treaty."
Fernando growled. "They seem to have forgotten what Isabella and Albert did to them in 1619."
"I don't think you'll need to go that far. But they certainly don't feel the same way about us as they did the archdukes."
"Hmmm . . . 'Royal Maria Anna's Cheese and Chocolate Factory.' It does have a certain ring to it." Fernando's hand moved lower on her body. "But all this talk of food has made me hungry for something else."
"Fernando! Come here, you beast!"
Inn of the Silver Swine, Brussels
"Bitch! Harlot! Have you read this?" Arthur Jones thrust the letter across the table.
George shook his head, then pretended to read. "No, of course not." Ha! Not only have I read it, I helped compose it, you sniveling twit.
Three weeks in the company of Arthur Jones had been the most trying of George Goring's life. It wasn't just that Jones was a drunk. He was a talkative drunk. A whiny drunk. One who demanded the attention of all those around him (especially his new best friend, George Goring) so he could itemize in enormous and nauseating detail the endless wrongs done to him by his enemies. The list of which seemed to extend from his own father to his wife to nearly every human he had ever come in contact with.
Boyle is going to owe me a brigade for this. George looked up from the letter. "So, she offers a judicial separation I see."
"Judicial separation!" Arthur sneered. He tilted the tankard of beer and swallowed three times before slamming it back on the table. "And won't that make me a laughing stock at court." Arthur poked the letter in George's hands. "The whoresome bitch even refuses to see me. She'll deal only with you."
Arthur belched. Then smiled. "We'll see about that, my friend. Indeed we will."
"Careful, Arthur," George said. "You're not in England here. And Katherine has some powerful friends who dote on her. I think it best if you let me handle the negotiations."
"Negotiations!" Arthur spat contemptuously. "What is there to negotiate? Either she comes back with me to England or I'll beat her bloody, I swear I will. And as for that American friend who is poisoning her mind . . . I'll kill that little conniving strumpet."
George had to sigh. "Arthur, that's why she left you in the first place." Although, truthfully, it was probably the mental abuse that drove Katherine away. God knew, George was sick of Arthur's company after only three weeks. And Katherine had endured him for over a year.
"Ridiculous!" Arthur said, taking another three swallows of beer. "I never used a cudgel on the trollop. Just my hands. Not even a fist. Slaps only. Nothing but light chastisement, George, I swear it."
Then, like a torch being thrust into a river, the anger and hate in Arthur's eyes went out.
Oh God, here comes the self-pity again.
"Please, George, please. Help me? I love her, George, truly I do. Help me convince her to go back to England with me. Please?"
George sighed again. "All right Arthur, let's work on your next letter."
A brigade? Even that was insufficient. Perhaps a barony as well.
"Let's start by you professing your undying love and devotion, Arthur."
Essen House
Nicki Jo Prickett was just beginning to climb down from the first wagon when Katherine Boyle emerged from the doorway and threw her arms around her.
"Nicki!"
Nicki laughed and hugged her friend. For a second her eyes watered. God, how I've missed you, my love.
Katherine squeezed her tighter, taking her breath. "Whoa! Careful there Katy. I'm a bit fragile after this trip."
A young boy jumped down from the second wagon and ran over to them. "Katy!" Robert Boyle jumped into his sister's arms.
Nicki laughed again. "Think he missed you?"
Katy kissed her brother on the cheek and then lowered him to the street. "I missed you both terribly. But we have to get the wagons unloaded as quickly as we can. The Brussels' city council is strictly enforcing its ordinances against blocking the streets the next two weeks, what with all the visitors coming to see the festival."
"Festival?"
Katy nodded. "The Joyous Entry of Fernando and Maria Anna as the new King and Queen in the Netherlands. Very Burgundian. And very useful in terms of its political utility. Isabella and Albert did it when they became the archdukes. Lots of theater, pageantry, triumphal arches, tableaux vivant, and so on. You'll love it."
"I'm sure." Nicki said. She sighed to herself. She loved her life in the seventeenth century, but there were times. . . .
Even with the help of the servants at Essen House the unloading of the wagons took almost an hour.
Finally Nicki and Katherine found themselves alone in the large kitchen.
"So, did you bring the tennis racquets like I asked you?"
"Of course," Nicki said, "and my last can of up-time tennis balls. But what's the story? I know you couldn't say much in your radio transmission given the limited time Hainhofer allows for personal messages, but still . . ."
"The story is, my dear, that you have a match tomorrow with the queen in the Netherlands. And she and I have been practicing."
Nicki couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh, great. You know I hate playing down-time tennis. Yuck."
"Oh, no. She wants to play it by up-time rules. She's even had the court behind the Coudenberg palace laid out according to up-time dimensions."
"Now that's different. Do I have to throw the game for political reasons?"
"Not at all. Maria Anna seems pretty reasonable, for a royal. In fact, I think she'd probably resent it if you didn't play your best."
Katy's face clouded. "But we have other problems, I'm afraid. Arthur is here in Brussels."
"Arthur?" Nicki tried not to frown. "Your husband, Arthur? What the hell is he doing here?"
"Attempting to get me to come back to England with him. He has my brother-in-law, George, the one who married Lettice, with him."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Stall," Katy said, "until we leave for Essen. I don't think he'll follow us there. George is clearly helping in that regard. He hasn't said so, but I think he has instructions from my father to keep Arthur away from me. He is acting as the go-between during the negotiations." She grimaced. "So-called negotiations. I even offered to admit to adultery so he could get a judicial separation. He was not inclined to accept, according to George."
Nicki reached for Katy's hand, worried. "Any second thoughts?"
Katy shuddered. "None. I know I've told you about Arthur, at least a little. But if you really met him . . ." Katy shook her head. "No, I don't want you to meet him. And I certainly don't want to see him ever again. He was horrid. Truly, utterly horrid."
Women up-time had been abused. But from Katy's stories, Nicki had learned that physical and mental abuse of women in seventeenth century England was much more the norm than it had been up-time. Unlike many Protestant states in Europe, women in England couldn't even get a legal separation unless they could prove the physical abuse was life-threatening, which was difficult to do. And of course, there were no shelters for battered women as there were up-time. So women just suffered. And endured. A few—a lucky few—with sympathetic relatives and enough money were able to escape their abusive relationships. But most didn't.
That ends the preview. Probably in the middle of a sentence. Sorry.