Read Online Highwayman: Ironside by Michael Arnold - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Arnold
Ads: Link
presented itself, the people would flock to it like so many months to a flame.
"Not any proper ones," Grumm muttered, his mind evidently in tune with Lyle's. He inched closer. "What do we do now?"
"Find Mason."
"How?"
"He's a sober sort," Lyle replied, hoping he was right. "He'll be plainly dressed by comparison with the majority. And he's run to fat. Shouldn't be too hard to spot."
"Conspicuous by his banality. What if he knows Sir Ardell Early?"
"I'm in disguise. Besides, we took a nicely bulging purse from Early once, if you recall, and he was not too dissimilar to me in height and build."
"Then what?"
"Then I'll get him on his own."
Grumm jabbed him with a sharp elbow. "And then what?"
Lyle shrugged. "I'll think of something."
They moved into the crowd, buffeted by sweeping skirts as couples breathlessly whirled past. He noted the smells. Heady perfumes, lavender oil and rose water, all mingling strangely with the sweat and stale tobacco of the men and the smoke of the hearths. He extricated himself from the mad rush of the wide floor and eased through the bodies to the outer wall, where he turned to observe. It was surreal to see such flamboyance in these austere days, and he felt himself smile at the sight. The men at the apex of society, power-brokers like Goffe and Cromwell, would probably endorse this event for reason of political expediency, but the hearts of those that gave them their power - the radical Puritans at Whitehall - would give out on the spot if ever they knew what Cavalier pursuits went on in this far-flung part of their new Godly empire. He found the idea infectiously pleasant. But more than that, more than the idea of human nature pushing past the grey barriers of England's incumbent rulers, Lyle simply enjoyed the spectacle. The women threw back their heads and laughed, their forms elegant and their hair released from the coifs they would wear during the day. The men seemed freer somehow. No longer tethered to the stakes of probity driven into the nation by the Lord Protector and his formidable army. And there were jewels here too, glimmering, glinting garnets and rubies and sapphires. They winked at Lyle, dazzled him, and he beamed back. Because Alice would have loved an evening like this. She would have danced until dawn and burst with the sheer joy of it.
There were warnings too. Soldiers stood sentry at the four corners of the room, and he guessed there would be more patrolling the rest of the house. He steeled himself against the nonchalance such a lavish spectacle could engender. The waters in which he and Grumm paddled were infested with the most dangerous sharks imaginable.
"I'll take my leave," Grumm said after a short while.
Lyle looked across at him. "Aye." He reached for the green-swathed elbow as the old man went to move. "And Eustace? Take care."
"Gah!" Grumm hissed, shrugging him off. In a matter of seconds he had dissolved into the throng.
Samson Lyle remained in position for another hour, observing discreetly from behind his mask. Occasionally folk would nod to him, and he would return the gesture, but there was no challenge, and the grim sentries knew better than to accost Hippisley's guests without due cause. As the evening wore on, the energetic chaos of the early throws had given way to a more relaxed atmosphere. It was convivial, but more languid somehow, the men having drunk their fill of the best claret money could buy and the women resting their dance-worn feet beside the great tables that verily groaned with a feast fit for the old king. And yet of Sir Frederick Mason there was no sign. Lyle scrutinised every guest as they passed, searching for a man with the lawyer's portly frame, but, though a few came close, none matched the description well enough. He became increasingly frustrated, his plans apparently coming to nothing, and he moved away from the main crowd, slipping out through a small side door and into a quiet chamber that had evidently not been
"Not any proper ones," Grumm muttered, his mind evidently in tune with Lyle's. He inched closer. "What do we do now?"
"Find Mason."
"How?"
"He's a sober sort," Lyle replied, hoping he was right. "He'll be plainly dressed by comparison with the majority. And he's run to fat. Shouldn't be too hard to spot."
"Conspicuous by his banality. What if he knows Sir Ardell Early?"
"I'm in disguise. Besides, we took a nicely bulging purse from Early once, if you recall, and he was not too dissimilar to me in height and build."
"Then what?"
"Then I'll get him on his own."
Grumm jabbed him with a sharp elbow. "And then what?"
Lyle shrugged. "I'll think of something."
They moved into the crowd, buffeted by sweeping skirts as couples breathlessly whirled past. He noted the smells. Heady perfumes, lavender oil and rose water, all mingling strangely with the sweat and stale tobacco of the men and the smoke of the hearths. He extricated himself from the mad rush of the wide floor and eased through the bodies to the outer wall, where he turned to observe. It was surreal to see such flamboyance in these austere days, and he felt himself smile at the sight. The men at the apex of society, power-brokers like Goffe and Cromwell, would probably endorse this event for reason of political expediency, but the hearts of those that gave them their power - the radical Puritans at Whitehall - would give out on the spot if ever they knew what Cavalier pursuits went on in this far-flung part of their new Godly empire. He found the idea infectiously pleasant. But more than that, more than the idea of human nature pushing past the grey barriers of England's incumbent rulers, Lyle simply enjoyed the spectacle. The women threw back their heads and laughed, their forms elegant and their hair released from the coifs they would wear during the day. The men seemed freer somehow. No longer tethered to the stakes of probity driven into the nation by the Lord Protector and his formidable army. And there were jewels here too, glimmering, glinting garnets and rubies and sapphires. They winked at Lyle, dazzled him, and he beamed back. Because Alice would have loved an evening like this. She would have danced until dawn and burst with the sheer joy of it.
There were warnings too. Soldiers stood sentry at the four corners of the room, and he guessed there would be more patrolling the rest of the house. He steeled himself against the nonchalance such a lavish spectacle could engender. The waters in which he and Grumm paddled were infested with the most dangerous sharks imaginable.
"I'll take my leave," Grumm said after a short while.
Lyle looked across at him. "Aye." He reached for the green-swathed elbow as the old man went to move. "And Eustace? Take care."
"Gah!" Grumm hissed, shrugging him off. In a matter of seconds he had dissolved into the throng.
Samson Lyle remained in position for another hour, observing discreetly from behind his mask. Occasionally folk would nod to him, and he would return the gesture, but there was no challenge, and the grim sentries knew better than to accost Hippisley's guests without due cause. As the evening wore on, the energetic chaos of the early throws had given way to a more relaxed atmosphere. It was convivial, but more languid somehow, the men having drunk their fill of the best claret money could buy and the women resting their dance-worn feet beside the great tables that verily groaned with a feast fit for the old king. And yet of Sir Frederick Mason there was no sign. Lyle scrutinised every guest as they passed, searching for a man with the lawyer's portly frame, but, though a few came close, none matched the description well enough. He became increasingly frustrated, his plans apparently coming to nothing, and he moved away from the main crowd, slipping out through a small side door and into a quiet chamber that had evidently not been
Similar Books
