Read No Time Like the Past for Free Online

safely out of the way.
    Back down in the Hall, both Margaret and Edmund Lacey had also heard the sound of approaching riders. She uttered a small shriek and clung to him.
    He pushed her towards the stairs. ‘I will speak with him. Calm him down. Go upstairs and stay with the boys.’
    Her face was a mask of fear. ‘He will kill you. He will kill us both.’
    ‘No. He will be angry, but he is my brother. He will not harm me.’
    He should have listened to her.
    I wondered why he left the front door open, but that was just common sense. When an enraged Rupert Lacey eventually arrived, his mood would not be improved by having to hammer on his own front door for admittance. On reflection, however, they might have been better off barricading themselves inside and taking their chances. Angry was not the word to describe the burly figure striding through the open door, sword drawn.
    We all have our illusions about Roundheads and Cavaliers. Roundheads – right but repulsive. Cavaliers – wrong but wromantic. [1] Roundheads were bullying killjoys headed by the charmless Oliver Cromwell. Cavaliers served their king and were tall, handsome, well dressed, and charming.
    Not in this case. These two brothers were definitely doing things the wrong way round.
    In the brief glimpse I’d had of him, Captain Lacey was tall and slender, with fine, light-coloured hair and Rupert Lacey looked like your typical Roundhead. Short, square, blunt features, large hands. There couldn’t have been a greater contrast between the two brothers. Almost as great as that between the next generation of brothers, young Charles and –
    Oh, shit!
    I knew what this was about. Everyone must know what this was about. The physical evidence was there for everyone to see. Including Sir Rupert. He must have had his suspicions for years, but now something had happened – some stupid joke at his expense, maybe, we’d never know – and he’d left the King’s army, left everything, to come here today and – what?
    All right, it was a promiscuous age, especially amongst the aristocracy. Things would quieten down a little during Cromwell’s Commonwealth, but since football hadn’t really got off the ground yet, adultery was still the national sport. Lady Lacey, however, had made an unforgiveable mistake and if her husband killed her for it – and he would, by the looks of him – there wasn’t a soul in the land who would condemn him. Because she’d committed the cardinal sin. She’d played around before presenting her husband with an heir and you just don’t do that. The rules are very clear for wives – husbands, of course, can do as they please – but if you’re a wife then you do your duty. You present your husband with an heir – and possibly a spare, just to be on the safe side. Then, if you want to, you can have a little discreet fun afterwards, but there must never, ever, be any shadow of doubt over who fathered the first son. With titles, land, and money at stake, no one can afford any questions over the heir’s paternity.
    She’d broken the rules and she was about to pay the price. And possibly her children would, too.
    How strong must their passion have been for Captain and Lady Lacey to take such a risk? Was it love? Captain Lacey was a handsome man. Her husband wasn’t. Even from here, he looked boorish and bad tempered. Vicious, even. She’d married the wrong brother. Yes, this was probably love. She didn’t look like a strumpet and neither did Edmund; there was a war on and he’d abandoned his post and risked his life to warn her.
    I felt Peterson’s hand on my shoulder, and we inched backwards into the shadows with which St Mary’s was so liberally provided.
    Lady Lacey hurried up the stairs and around the gallery. She passed so close to me that her skirt brushed my face as I crouched in the shadows, and I could smell some sort of spicy orange smell from the stuff she rubbed into the folds to keep it fresh. I doubt she would have