A Web of Silk

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘Master Brockley, as I said, if you would lend a hand, we can put this out of sight and then I shall bring out the drawings I have prepared for St Mary’s window. I say drawings, plural. I have given you a choice.’

  With the chest safely hidden in a cupboard, Stagg returned to the table and pulled out a drawer from under the top. It was a big drawer and so were the sheets of paper he lifted out of it. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘They represent the detailed stage on which you saw Dirk Clarke working. Dirk and I took great care with these. It is not every day that I carry out a commission for a relative of the queen.’

  He pushed the things on the table aside and spread out the drawings. ‘I was particular over choosing the colours,’ he said. ‘In fact, I rode to Hawkswood village the other day to look at the church again, to get an idea of how the light falls and what colours have been used in the other windows. I saw, Dr Joynings, that you have had the damaged window secured with wooden boards. It makes part of the church very shadowy. I must say, the sooner the new window is in place, the better! Now, what do you think?’

  We all studied the examples before us, and there was no doubt that Master Stagg was a gifted craftsman. There were six alternative designs. For me, however, one stood out; and I was pleased when Joynings pointed to the same picture and said ‘That one!’ and Brockley said ‘I think so, too.’

  I nodded. It was conventional enough in some ways, but there was a sensible restraint. The demons who were leading the damned to hell were not too monstrous, and the damned were depicted as a flock of goats. They had human faces, but their expressions were sad rather than terror-stricken.

  I smiled in approval. ‘Master Stagg, you can go ahead at once. I have to be away soon, probably during September. I shall be staying at Knoll House, in the household of Master Frost, quite likely for two or three months, but it isn’t far and I can return at any time to see the new window put in—’

  ‘Master Giles Frost?’ Stagg looked surprised. ‘I have met him! When he first came to Surrey to look at Knoll House, he approached me to do some work there. It has a little private chapel and one of the stained-glass windows had two cracked panes, which I replaced for him. So you would like me to go straight ahead and get the window made and installed?’

  It was agreed.

  As we were walking back to the Tun Inn, Brockley said: ‘He strikes me as a very good craftsman, who loves his trade. Though, dear heaven, how he can talk!’

  We were on our horses and had started the ride home when I felt the first sense of uncertainty. It formed a curious picture in my imagination. I saw it as a smooth, slender, silvery snake gliding through my mind. I couldn’t understand where it came from or what it portended.

  It was simply there, a feeling that something was not right, that something in the meeting we had just had with Master Stagg had been false, contrived. I could not identify it, but the feeling was strong and unpleasant. And there was nothing I could do about it, not until its meaning became clear.

  But it was a long time before that happened – and understanding came too late.

  EIGHT

  Unwanted Assignment

  ‘We shall need the coach,’ I said, as I helped Dale fold dresses and pack them into a big basketwork hamper. ‘You and Sybil can travel in it with the luggage. Brockley and I will ride. We’ll want our horses during our stay at Knoll House, since we’ll be living there for some time. Eddie can drive the coach.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you can’t just visit two or three times a week, ma’am, if it’s to give lessons in embroidery. It isn’t that far.’

  ‘No, it’s only about nine miles,’ I agreed. ‘In fact, I expect to do it the other way about and visit Hawkswood two or three times a week. I’m staying at Knoll House because Walsingham wishes me to be part of the household. You know why.’

  I had not told my entire household about the assignment that Walsingham had given me, but I had mentioned it to my close associates. I usually did. The Brockleys, Sybil and Wilder could all be trusted. I didn’t always tell Gladys but she invariably found out, and I gathered that this was one of the times when she knew all about it without a single word from me.

  ‘What sort of a household is it? We don’t really know, do we?’ Dale grumbled. ‘Will you want court fashions there?’ She held up an elaborate brocade gown. ‘Should I pack this? And do you want those big open ruffs and the best jewellery – your long rope of pearls and the gold earrings and all?’

  ‘Better pack them,’ I said. ‘And my other brocade gown. And some warm clothing – shawls and woollen shifts. I’ve never seen such changeable weather. One minute we’re sweltering, the next we’re shivering.’ I looked at the window, at the spatter of rain on the glass and the low grey sky beyond it. This was another unseasonably damp and chilly day. ‘I want to be prepared for anything … yes, Wilder?’

  My steward had appeared in the doorway of my chamber. ‘Madam, Master Stagg is here and he has a young lady with him. He seems put out and is asking to see you. He doesn’t want to tell me why.’

  ‘He’s brought a young lady?’ I was puzzled. If Julius Stagg had come to report a problem with the new window, he would hardly have fetched a girl along as well. ‘Where are they, Wilder?’

  ‘In the great hall, madam.’

  ‘Take them into the East Parlour, and tell Phoebe to put a taper to the fire in there. It’s laid. I’ll join them in a moment.’

  I waited long enough to give Dale a few more instructions about what to pack for Knoll House, and then went downstairs to the big parlour at the eastern end of the house. It was more formal than my favourite small parlour, but more domestic and would be more welcoming than the hall if a young woman was to be entertained.

  When I entered the room, my senior maid, Phoebe, was on her knees by the fire, coaxing it, and Gladys was also there – out of curiosity, of course, but armed with a tray of snacks and wine glasses. She was trying to offer refreshments to my guests, but wasn’t getting any custom. Master Stagg was pacing restlessly about, and as I came in he turned sharply with a swish of his damp riding cloak and showed me an unsmiling, anxious face. The young lady was over by the window, just standing there.

  I signalled to Gladys and Phoebe to leave us. Phoebe went at once, without displaying curiosity, but Gladys departed with visible reluctance as my two visitors came towards me, the girl hesitantly, lingering a little way behind Master Stagg. She was dressed for the weather in a long hooded cloak of pale blue. She had put the hood back, revealing light-brown hair gathered in a net at the back of her head, and I could see that she wore a narrow ruff. She had no farthingale, and her cloak hung straight.

  She was certainly young, seventeen or eighteen, by my estimate. She looked taller than she really was, because she was so slender and held herself so well. She had big grey eyes and her skin was fair, with a soft flush of health over her cheekbones and no spots or pockmarks. She was holding the cloak closed with her left hand and I saw that the hand was slim and fine, and that she was wearing a heavy sapphire-and-diamond ring on the third finger. She seemed very nervous.

  ‘My dear Mistress Stannard,’ Stagg said, ‘I must apologize for descending on you like this, and with such a strange request. It is nothing to do with the commission for the church window, all that is going as it should. But … I am so upset, I’m forgetting how to do things properly. I must first introduce you. This is my niece, Eleanor Liversedge. She is shortly to be married, as I think I told you. Eleanor, my dear, this is Mistress Ursula Stannard. I hope – I hope so much – that she can help us.’

  Eleanor curtsied and I said: ‘When I know what kind of help you need, I will of course do my best. Meanwhile, Eleanor, do please take your cloak off. This room is already becoming pleasantly warm.’

  I looked round and, as I expected, saw that Wilder was waiting attentively in the passage behind me. Phoebe had now joined him. ‘Phoebe, take my guests’ cloaks. Wilder, I have just sent Gladys away with the tray of refreshm
ents. Please send her back.’

  I turned back to the newcomers. ‘Let us all be seated, and then, Master Stagg, perhaps you will explain. All this seems so mysterious.’

  They surrendered their cloaks and took seats. The East Parlour was well supplied with settles and stools. They looked at me and I looked at them. Stagg cleared his throat. Eventually, he said: ‘It is so difficult. I now wonder if I should have thought of you at all, Mistress Stannard. It is only that you have a … a certain reputation … and by sheer, magical chance, you are I believe about to make a stay at Knoll House, with Master Giles Frost and his daughters.’

  ‘As you have made the effort to come to Hawkswood,’ I said, ‘the least I can do is make the effort to listen to what you have to say. So please say it. I take it that Mistress Liversedge here is concerned in some way?’

  For the first time, Eleanor spoke. ‘It’s about my dowry chest,’ she said.

  I was startled and probably looked it, since I couldn’t imagine any way in which Eleanor’s dowry chest could concern me. Stagg said: ‘You saw it when you visited my workshop. I expect you remember.’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. But …’

  I broke off, because Gladys had reappeared with her tray. She was grumbling. ‘First you say go away, then Wilder says bring it back …’

  ‘Just hand the things round, Gladys,’ I said, as patiently as possible. It wasn’t Gladys’s job to carry refreshment trays about – not least because nowadays she limped on account of the rheumatics and was all too liable to spill things. But she sometimes volunteered all the same because of her incurable desire to know everything that was going on. Not witchcraft, just curiosity and determination. I didn’t really mind. Gladys had sometimes been helpful in unexpected ways.

  ‘Master Stagg, you were saying?’

  Before Stagg could reply, Eleanor said: ‘The dowry chest has been stolen. We’ve come to ask you to help us get it back.’

  ‘Stolen? But … what has that to do with Knoll House?’

  ‘We think,’ said Stagg, ‘that Giles Frost may have stolen it.’ I stared at him in astonishment.

  This time, Stagg and Eleanor accepted wine from Gladys and allowed her to put a platter of small meat pies and saffron cakes in front of them. In an undertone, I told her to sit down in a corner and stay quiet. Then I said: ‘I don’t understand. That is a very serious accusation. You will have to explain more clearly.’

  ‘I think I told you, did I not, that I recently did a small repair to the windows of the private chapel at Knoll House?’ said Stagg.

  ‘Yes, you did. But …’

  ‘In the eyes of Master Frost, I am not of the level of society that he would invite to dinner,’ said Stagg. ‘Though he might well receive Eleanor’s affianced. It’s a strange world! However, he did most graciously accept a casual suggestion from me that he might call in on the formal betrothal party that we held for Eleanor two days ago. It took place at my home in Guildford – I live above my workshop, as you know. Although Eleanor has been betrothed since she was thirteen, with the wedding imminent an official betrothal party seemed appropriate. Eleanor was to take the bridal chest and various other gifts home with her after the party. Well, Master Frost called in briefly, as promised, to drink the couple’s health.’

  At this point, he stopped, looking awkward. ‘And?’ I asked.

  ‘When I was at Knoll House, I was once or twice called into the house itself, to discuss details or to be paid. I was taken into their great hall for these things. I noticed that there were many ornaments and utensils of silver on display, and Master Frost told me that he has a great admiration for silver goods and collects them. He even admitted to being obsessive about it. And after the betrothal party …’

  ‘It would have been easy enough,’ said Eleanor.

  She had a clear voice, with curiously little expression. She didn’t sound angry, or distressed or bewildered. She just said the words she wished to say and showed no hint of her feelings. ‘I came in my stepfather’s wagon, which has a cover to provide protection from the weather, and after the party I was to take the gifts home in the wagon. There were quite a lot of presents and during the party we put them out on display, including the dowry chest that my uncle wanted to give me.’

  ‘People had given her jewellery and a set of bronze tableware and rolls of linen and silk … all sorts of things,’ Stagg added.

  ‘Master Frost was on horseback,’ said Eleanor, ‘but he also had a cart with him. He said that since he needed to come to Guildford to call in at my party, he was taking the opportunity to collect some goods he’d ordered in the town …’ Her voice trailed away and she looked to her uncle to continue.

  ‘Yes,’ Stagg said. ‘He told me that he had collected some gowns for himself and his daughters, and some furniture for Knoll House, and it was all in his cart. At the end of the party, my servants were going back and forth, taking Eleanor’s things to her stepfather’s wagon, and Master Frost’s groom – the one who was driving the cart – was helping them.’

  ‘They were all going back and forth,’ Eleanor said. ‘Master Frost had only to pick a moment when the groom happened to be collecting things from upstairs and the other servants were outside packing things into the wagon. He had only to say to him “Oh, that chest is mine, bring it down and put it in my cart.” It was heavy, but the groom was young and strong, and could manage. The man probably thought nothing of it, just did it because his master told him to.’ Eleanor’s tone did have a trace of expression this time. It was acid.

  ‘When I got home and everything was brought into my stepfather’s house, the dowry chest my uncle had given me wasn’t there. The chest itself had silver decorations and there was a silver salt inside and … And Master Frost admits to being a passionate collector.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure—’ I began, and was cut short.

  ‘Can’t be sure that Frost was the thief?’ said Stagg. ‘That’s just it. We can. As soon as I heard that Eleanor’s chest was missing, I started asking questions of people who had been at the gathering, and a neighbour of mine who’d been a guest said he had seen a chest being loaded into Master Frost’s cart. I was horrified. I didn’t want to start scandalous gossip, so I said that was all right, it was something I’d collected for him and been looking after until he could fetch it. But I was lying. It has to have been my niece’s bridal silver.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘But … er … I don’t see how I can help. I will if I can, naturally, but …’

  ‘You do have a certain reputation,’ said Stagg. ‘And you are going to stay at Knoll House. You will have opportunities to search the place. I doubt if he will put his loot out on display yetawhile. He would expect me to report it stolen, and perhaps have the news cried in public and the lost goods described. He would keep it out of sight for the time being, unless he is a fool.’

  ‘He sounds as if he is!’ I said with asperity. ‘To have the chest taken out of your house by his own groom on a public occasion, with witnesses everywhere, would have been very foolish indeed.’

  ‘But it happened,’ said Stagg. He added: ‘I know little of Frost. Does he have the reputation of an honest man?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, although Walsingham’s comments about Frost’s contacts with Spain wriggled wormlike through my mind. I added: ‘Surely, you yourself could …’

  Stagg cut me short. ‘I have no entrée to Knoll House. I was there as a tradesman, working in the chapel and saw little of the interior of the house. Master Frost called in at Eleanor’s party to drink her health, and to see and admire the gifts, as a gracious courtesy to an inferior.’

  ‘Or so we thought,’ Eleanor put in.

  ‘I see. Well,’ I said, ‘if I find it, what then? I inform you, I suppose, and then you will inform the local constable, or perhaps the sheriff, Sir Edward Heron. Then there can be an official search of the premises and …’

  Eleanor exclaimed: ‘No!’

  I looked at her in am
azement. ‘But why ever not? Isn’t that the natural course of events?’

  ‘Not this time! Please!’ Eleanor’s voice did now sound extremely expressive. In fact, it sounded urgent. Again, she looked appealingly at her uncle.

  ‘Her husband-to-be,’ said Stagg, ‘is a very serious and upright man, careful of his reputation and utterly repelled by the thought of any scandal in his family or household – or his bride. He …’

  ‘There is nothing scandalous about being the victim of a robbery,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s a misfortune, requiring sympathy!’

  ‘Martin doesn’t think in that way,’ Eleanor said. She was actually trembling. ‘The idea of the preparations for our wedding being mingled with constables and perhaps a trial, at which my uncle would have to give evidence and so perhaps might I, would horrify him. He might be questioned himself since he was at the gathering! And maybe my stepfather would be questioned – he was there too. It would be dreadful: there would be so much talk and gossip, and people saying things to each other and even sniggering across dinner tables or after church. You know what I mean – how people talk and find other people’s disasters comical and try to make something of it …’

  Her voice trailed away, but I found myself nodding my head. I did know. There are people like that. Plenty of them. However, I said: ‘But your betrothed is a Londoner, is he not? You will be going to live in London, and Guildford gossip won’t mean much there. Anyway, gossip dies away after a while, and this gossip can’t really harm you. You are the victim.’

  ‘But we might still have to go through being questioned,’ said Eleanor miserably, ‘and perhaps attend a trial.’

  ‘She means,’ said Stagg, patiently, as though he were addressing an idiot, ‘that her future husband would feel such distaste for the whole matter that he might withdraw from the betrothal. Betrothals are no longer legally binding, you know. I doubt if he could be compelled to honour it.’