The Baltic War(87)

But, to his astonishment, Richard Boyle was both friendly and considerate.



"Yes, yes, Captain—Leebrick, is it?—I understand completely," said Boyle, waving down Anthony's attempt at an explanation. The earl jabbed a thumb at his two companions. Anthony recognized them also, although he couldn't say he really knew either of them. Sir Paul Pindar and Sir Endymion Porter, both prominent figures in court. In his few encounters with the men, he'd found Porter to be aloof but Pindar to be a civil enough fellow. Perhaps that was because Pindar's influence was due to the wealth he'd amassed as a major figure in the Levant Company and a moneylender to the crown, rather than pure and simple favoritism from the high and mighty.



Porter was considerably younger than the other two men, being in his late forties where the earl and Sir Pindar were well into their sixties.



"We happened by chance to be in the vicinity and saw the whole thing unfold," the earl continued. "No fault of yours or your men, it was obvious. The king—"



Boyle shook his head lugubriously. "Well, who's to say what motivated him? Most unfortunate. Had he simply stayed in place, the whole affair would have ended with no trouble. A splendid company you have, by the way."



Endymion Porter was frowning at the carriage. "The queen . . . ?"



"She perished in the accident, I am most aggrieved to report. Must have died instantly, however, so she didn't suffer."



The earl's head-shaking speeded up. "How terrible. His Majesty will be beside himself."



So he would—and beside himself did not bode well for one Anthony Leebrick, captain of the royal escort.



As much as he disliked asking for favors, Anthony saw no choice. He cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, my lord, but . . ."



The head-shake turned into a nod faster than anything Leebrick would have imagined. "Oh, yes, certainly. You needn't fear, Captain, I shall be glad to give the same testimony to the king himself." He looked a bit startled. "Well . . ."



"The king won't want to hear it, Richard," said Pindar quietly. "You know he won't, whether it's true or not. Not from you, not from anyone."



The merchant looked at Leebrick. "If you'll take my advice, Captain, I strongly recommend that you"—he glanced at Welch—"as well as your lieutenants, make yourselves hard to find for a few days. Once he recovers consciousness and discovers his wife is dead, I'm afraid His Majesty is likely to simply lash out at the most obvious and convenient target."



That was exactly what Anthony figured himself. "Yes, Sir Paul. But if I do that, I'm just likely to bring further suspicion on myself."



Boyle went back to head-shaking. "Only if you do it the wrong way, Captain. Go into hiding somewhere unknown . . . then, yes, certainly you'd draw suspicion."



The head-shake came to an abrupt stop, and a big smile appeared on the earl's face.



"But not if you place yourself in the custody of a respected public figure, and await His Majesty's pleasure at a well-known location. I'd recommend, in fact—"



"Richard!" said Porter.



The earl waved his hand impatiently. "Be done with your constant caution, Endymion. Be done, I say! Captain Leebrick, I recommend that you simply return with me to London—you and your lieutenants; Paul's quite right about that—and plan on spending a week or so at my residence there."



Anthony stared at him. The offer made him suspicious, simply because Richard Boyle, the earl of Cork, had no reputation at all for being a man given to goodwill toward his lesser fellows. Quite the opposite, in fact.



Apparently sensing the hesitation, the earl's smile became something vaguely predatory. "Oh, please, Captain. Surely it's no secret to you—is it to anyone in England, other than village idiots?—that I'm on no friendly terms with Thomas Wentworth." His mouth pursed, as if he'd tasted a lemon. "The earl of Strafford, as he likes to call himself now—but he's only an earl due to the king's favor. Which I daresay—"



There was nothing at all vague about the predation in that smile, now. "—is about to be abruptly removed. Indeed, I shall do my very best to see that it is."



Put that way . . .



Anthony felt his suspicions ebbing, at the same time as he felt his distaste for the earl of Cork rising. Given a choice, he'd far rather serve a man like Thomas Wentworth than Richard Boyle.



But he probably didn't have a choice, any longer. And when it came down to it, although he'd found Wentworth a good master, he was hardly what you'd call a personal friend of the man. It was likely true that the kingdom was about to be swept by another royal storm, and that Boyle would surge to the fore as Wentworth was cast out. Better to be in Boyle's good graces, then, than stranded as he now was with no friends at all in court.