The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

vain did the exiled Royalists try to cheer him with descriptions of how difficult they were making life for the Parliamentarians envoys.   Ashley merely shrugged and remarked that making Oliver St. John go about armed to the teeth with a couple of body-guards in attendance wasn’t going to solve anything.   Then, leaving his compatriots muttering darkly to themselves, he left on the next leg of his Odyssey.
    Arriving in Paris amidst the rain and wind of early March, he gave Sir Edward Hyde an unvarnished account of how matters stood in Scotland and received, in return, a gloomy picture of the latest obstacles being set in the way of his fellow agents in England, coupled with an alarmingly long list of recent arrests.   Amongst these was a name worrying enough to set Ashley scouring Paris for the best-informed and most elusive spy he knew … which was how, two painstaking days later, he ended up in the crowded pit of the Th éâ tre du Marais.
    By the time he arrived, the play was already well under way.   A florid, middle-aged actor was engaged in verbose seduction of a well-endowed actress somewhat taller than himself and demonstrably past her first blush.   The female half of the audience appeared enthralled; the gallants in the pit brimmed with boisterous advice – of which ‘Get a box to stand on!’ seemed generally the most popular.   Colonel Peverell sighed, shoved his playbill unread into his pocket and started looking about for One-Eyed Will.
    The theatre, which had originally been a tennis-court, was smarter than he had expected owing to a fortuitous fire which had caused it to be largely rebuilt some six or seven years ago.   Lit by a huge chandelier, the proscenium stage was wide and deep with a good-sized apron surrounded by footlight candles.   The old spectators’ galleries had been replaced by comfortable boxes – though, from most of them, it was only possible to watch the play by leaning over the parapet.   Jostled on all sides, Ashley stood in the pit, systematically scanning faces until, in one of the front off-stage boxes, he recognised the distinctive black silk eye-patch and mop of wild dark hair belonging to Sir William Brierley.
    Since he was in the company of two other gentlemen and a lady, Ashley hesitated briefly and then, shrugging, started elbowing his way in their direction.
    With the mischievous restlessness around him fast approaching its zenith, this was not easy.   On stage, the statuesque heroine swooned into the arms of her would-be seducer, knocking his wig askew.   Undeterred and clasping her to his manly chest, the hero delivered another epic speech and attempted to haul her to a couch.   Predictably, the wits advised him to make two trips.   Casting his well-wishers a venomous glance, the actor concluded his speech and exited stage-left with a swish of his cloak to an accompanying chorus of stamping and whistles.
    Purposefully but without haste, Ashley pursued his winnowing course, vaguely aware that, on the stage, a girl costumed as a maid-servant had skimmed out from the wings to fan the recumbent leading-lady with her apron.   The pit, now well into its collective stride, suggested various other ways of reviving Madame d’Amboise.
    ‘Get her corset off!’ shouted one.
    ‘Fetch a bucket of water!’ yelled another.
    ‘Send for the Vicomte de Charenton!’ howled a third.
    The pit roared its approval and, this time, even the boxes shook with laughter.   Stuck between a fat fellow reeking of garlic and a world-weary slattern peddling oranges, Ashley reflected that he’d known quieter battle-fields and wondered how the actors stood it.   Just now, for example, the girl playing the maid was still kneeling beside the leading lady.   Neither showed any sign of trying to carry on with the play which, until the noise died down, was probably wise.   Then, just as Ashley sucked in his breath prior to fighting his way closer to One-Eyed Will, the girl rose swiftly