But luck was against us. After supper on the day when Frost rode away, Brockley returned from seeing to our horses with depressing news, which he imparted to us after quietly asking if we would all gather in the Brockleys’ room.
‘I’ve been talking to the grooms,’ he said. ‘Two of them, that is. The third wasn’t there. He has fallen ill with the same rheum that afflicted the valet and so, apparently, has one of the menservants in the house. The groom is in bed in the loft over the stables, but the other man is abed in the attic and likely to stay there for some time. If you are determined to make the search at all, we shall have to start elsewhere. Do you want to begin tonight after all?’
‘I’d rather not begin at all, but the chest and the salt are very valuable and I have promised to look for them. I feel obliged to do so,’ I said. ‘Damn!’ I added crossly.
Brockley’s face at once became disapproving. ‘And please don’t look at me like that,’ I said, even more crossly. ‘I have to watch my tongue when I talk to Master Frost and know I must be careful with him. But I expect to feel at ease with my own people.’
‘I beg your pardon, madam.’
‘I grant it.’ And now I just sounded weary. ‘We will make a start tonight. We’ll start with the ballroom. I don’t believe it can possibly be there, but if we’re going to search at all, let’s be thorough.’
‘And quiet,’ Sybil put in. ‘The way all the stairs here creak!’
Late in the night, equipped with two lanterns, with great caution we descended the back and only stairs to the floor where the family and the Hambles slept. Because of the creaks, it was necessary to let our weight bear down slowly with every step. Once there, we crept along the passage to the front stairs and tiptoed down them. We reached the entrance hall without mishap, and without going anywhere near the kitchen where the spitboy slept. We paused for a moment, taking our bearings. The darkness pressed on us, huge and unnerving.
The skies had been overcast earlier, but as we entered the ballroom a nearly full moon shone out through a break in the clouds and threw the mullioned pattern of the windows across the wide wooden floor. The shadow of a small tree just outside, tossed by the wind, rippled across it, looking like the shadows of little hands fluttering at the window. I shivered. The floor had been thoroughly swept – Mrs Hamble kept the maids up to their work. There were very few places where a stolen chest might be hidden, but we examined a cupboard in the wall opposite the door from the hall and peered about on the dais, more in the spirit of being thorough than in hopes of finding anything.
Then Sybil whispered: ‘But didn’t I say what about under the dais?’ So we turned back and crouched on the floor in order to examine the timber panels that were the supports. Brockley crawled right round the dais on hands and knees but finally got up, shaking his head. ‘It’s all solid. There are no little doors leading under. It would make a good hiding place if there was any way in, but I don’t think there is.’
We left the ballroom. In the hall, there was just the cupboard where the silver candlesticks stood. Brockley opened it and revealed two sets of bowls and dishes, one set silver and the other pewter (for a change).
‘Great hall next,’ I whispered.
Here there were the sideboards to examine, but we had already caught glimpses of their contents and we were not surprised to find no sign of the dowry chest. There were no other possibilities. I signalled to the others to follow me and led the way to the door into the chapel.
‘Surely not here!’ whispered Sybil. ‘I don’t think we ought to search here!’
‘Nor do I!’ Dale muttered.
‘A lot of people would feel like that,’ I said. ‘And that would make it a good hiding place. Come along. We are doing no harm.’
At heart, I didn’t like the idea either. Churches and chapels can have a strange feeling after dark, as though the prayers that have been said and the ceremonies that have taken place there have left a residue – a kind of echo that sends a frisson through one’s mind and body. But I stepped forward firmly and search we did, peering into a tiny lobby that seemed to do duty as a vestry, while Brockley once more crouched down, this time by the little altar, to see if there was a cavity. There was, but it was empty. We found nothing.
‘Upstairs,’ I said softly as we crept back into the great hall. ‘Front stairs. We’ll do the master’s bedchamber and his study tonight. We’ll have to manage the other bedchambers somehow by day.’
We negotiated the stairs, once more, on tiptoe. They creaked all the same but not too loudly. When we arrived on the first floor, we halted. Because here there was another, quite unexpected, sound. Somewhere close at hand, somebody was sobbing.
‘Is that one of the twins?’ Dale whispered. ‘But why isn’t the other one comforting her? Or doing something, anyway? They share a room.’
‘It’s not coming from that direction,’ Brockley said. ‘It’s …’ He swivelled where he stood, like a dog trying to pick up a scent. ‘It’s … coming from Master Frost’s chamber!’
We stood still, looking towards the door of the room in question. A shaft of moonlight was shining on it. It was ajar.
‘We may need an excuse for being here,’ I whispered. ‘If necessary, I’ll say I was sleeping badly. I got up and took a lantern and thought I would fetch a book of verse I’d left in the parlour. Then I heard a sound and was alarmed and fetched the rest of you. All right?’
‘It’s a good story,’ said Brockley. ‘Let’s find someone to tell it to.’
This time, he took the lead, pushing the door of Master Frost’s bedchamber open wide and stepped boldly through, holding his lantern up to show as much of the room as possible.
It was a big room, furnished with a four-poster bed, two massively carved clothes presses, a chest – a big one, on which my glance fell greedily at once – and a prie-dieu. The four-poster was not empty, though its occupant was not its rightful owner.
As the lantern light swept the room, someone who had been lying face down on the coverlet, embracing the pillow as though it were a lover, turned over with a little shriek and sat up, staring at us with wide, wet eyes.
It was Susie. Who, judging by this, was most certainly Frost’s mistress.
‘Susie,’ I said, ‘what in the world are you doing here?’
She was trembling. Even in the feeble lantern-light, we could see that. But she spoke up bravely enough. ‘What are you doing here? This is Master Frost’s private room!’
‘I know,’ I said, and recited the tale I had planned just a few moments before. ‘And now,’ I said, ‘you had better explain yourself, young lady. You say this is Master Frost’s private room. Indeed it is. And you are the maid who attends his daughters. Mistress Jester and I, being guests of some station, have a degree of responsibility in his absence. And Mrs Hamble has a good deal of responsibility. What would she say if she knew about this? I suggest that you explain yourself to us and perhaps we won’t need to tell her. Why have you invaded Master Frost’s room? Why do we find you crying on his bed?’
She was pretty, pert and far from virtuous, but she was also too simple to pretend. ‘He’s gone away and I miss him, and before he went he told me he was thinking to marry again! But he wasn’t going to marry me – he said he couldn’t do that, our stations in life don’t match! He said he would give me a present and find a husband for me if I wished. He thanked me for my services … My services! I love him, I can’t live without him! I came to this room to remember, to imagine, to be with him in a way … I love him!’ wailed Susie and burst into tears all over again.
Brockley was inclined to berate her, but I shushed him. I went firmly over to Susie and half pulled, half lifted her off the bed. ‘Someone will have to tidy that up,’ I remarked in practical tones. ‘But not you. Come along, Susie, go back to your own room. Remember you will have to look after your young ladies in the morning. You will feel better when it’s daylight. One day you will marvel at yourself for this. You’re young, and Mas
ter Frost is far too old for you. Come now. Sybil, Dale, help me with her. Hush, Susie! Or you’ll wake the young ladies or the Hambles, or even Lambert! You don’t want that, now, do you?’
Limply, she let us take her from the room. Sybil and Dale led her back to her own bedchamber. Brockley and I, on the pretext of tidying the bed, stayed behind. We examined the presses and the outsize chest, of which I had great hopes. Here in his own room would be a very likely place for Frost to conceal his stolen goods.
But there was no sign of the dowry chest, either there or in the adjoining study. Sybil and Dale rejoined us when they had finally got Susie settled in her own bed, and we all went quietly up the stairs and back to our own rooms. On the way, Brockley said: ‘I never thought anything would come of this. The attics are the likeliest place. But how we’re ever to search those with another ailing manservant up there all the time, I can’t think. I suppose we’ll have to wait until he’s better, and hope this isn’t the start of an epidemic!’
THIRTEEN
Unromantic Interlude
It looked as though Brockley’s hope was not to be fulfilled. The very next day, Dale fell victim to the complaint that had already felled three of Frost’s employees. It seemed to be a kind of chesty cold. Sybil and I looked after her, in the intervals of continuing with the embroidery lessons. Sybil and the twins had developed a beautiful design based on the parterre garden and I introduced the girls to the technique of couching, in which a group of long stitches are fixed to the fabric by other stitches laid over them, crosswise and close, to make a smooth raised surface.
We were not surprised by Dale’s illness since she was prone to this type of thing, and fortunately none of us succumbed. The maidservant Bessie did, but mildly and she was soon about again. Dale’s attack was also quite mild. She was out of bed and attending to her duties, albeit wanly, on the Wednesday of the next week.
The manservant in the attic, however, was not so lucky, and throughout all the time of Dale’s illness he remained in his bed and we had no chance at all of investigating the attics. But on the Sunday, we did not go to church and Brockley searched Lambert’s room and the Hambles’ quarters while Lambert was holding a service in the chapel. The twins and Susie all attended too and I made a hurried search of their rooms as well.
We found nothing suspicious, but by then we were all certain that if the chest was hidden anywhere, the attics were the place to look.
For the time being, however, we couldn’t. So on the Monday, when I was sure that Dale was recovering properly, I took a day off, left her with Sybil and rode with Brockley to Hawkswood, where we collected Dr Joynings, and went on to Guildford to look in at Julius Stagg’s premises and inspect the progress of the new window. I was pleased with what I saw and so was Joynings. The design was finished and the making of the glass panes under way. I had already had a chance to look at the examples of Stagg’s work in the Knoll House chapel and knew it to be good. Brockley and I accompanied Dr Joynings back to his home beside his church. We then rode on to Hawkswood House to make sure all was well there and talked to Adam Wilder and Gladys, who both asked what the new window would look like. Gladys was grumpy about it.
‘I shan’t ever get to see that window close to. I’ll only see it from inside the church, where it’ll be up over my head – too far off for my old eyes to see rightly.’
Stagg had explained that when the panes were ready, the window would be assembled in his workshop and brought to Hawkswood by cart – ‘A very slow cart, with a placid pony in the shafts and the window safely wrapped in lambswool.’ I promised Gladys that when the cart arrived, she could be there to see it unpacked. Before leaving, I gave both Dr Joynings and Adam Wilder instructions to that effect, as I did not know if I would still be at Knoll House. If I was, then I could not be certain of getting home at any given time.
On the following evening, Master Frost returned. It was a wet, windy day and both he and Vaughan came in looking damp, mud-splashed and tired. And in Frost’s case, irritable. In a loud, cross voice, he demanded hot water and clean towels, then withdrew, escorted by Vaughan, so that they could both become presentable. They presently reappeared, washed and barbered, Frost first and then Vaughan, who I suppose had had to remain damp and travel-stained until he had refurbished his master.
Vaughan was neatly beruffed and in a suit of black with shoes of gleaming leather and discreet silver buckles. His master was in a chestnut velvet gown trimmed with squirrel fur, an open-necked shirt and soft slippers. Yet it seemed to me that, though a recent invalid, the formally clad Vaughan looked the most refreshed. While Frost, despite his comfortable and informal clothes, still seemed irritable and weary.
Vaughan retired to the servants’ hall and Frost joined the rest of us in the great hall, where we were awaiting supper, and sat down by the hearth. Mrs Hamble brought him some mulled wine and his daughters hovered, anxious to soothe his obvious ill humour but not sure how. It was Sybil who, in her gentle, gracious way, commiserated with him on having to travel through such unpleasant weather and asked if his business in London had gone well.
‘Not too well,’ he told her. ‘The market for some of the goods I took to my brother is not as promising as we had hoped, and also I received news that there may be difficulty in obtaining more of the silks, which do seem to be popular. I shall face difficulties on my next voyage.’
‘But that won’t be until next spring, will it?’ I asked politely. ‘Did you not say that you lay your ship up in the winter? Perhaps things will have changed by then.’
‘And you will think of new ideas,’ Joyce comforted him. ‘You always do, Father.’
‘I daresay.’ He sighed and then smiled, stretching his feet towards the warmth. ‘I am a grumpy man tonight. I shall feel better when I have eaten. Shall we have some music after supper? I have hardly heard you girls play your lutes of late. I will hear you two this evening. Have you made good progress with your needles? Have you begun on the gold and silver work yet?’
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘I thought it best to practise all the basic stitches first, to lay a foundation of skill before tackling the art of gold and silver stitchery. It has its difficulties.’
‘But we are learning much about the art of design,’ Joyce said. ‘Father, I hope you will like the one we are working on – the one based on the pattern of the parterre garden. I have told you about it, I think. It’s full of colour. It would make a wall-hanging, either as an embroidery or even a tapestry.’
‘We’ve never tried tapestry work,’ said Jane. ‘It would be interesting!’
‘But to get back to this evening’s entertainment,’ said Frost, ‘what songs shall we have? Have you practised anything new of late?’
Jane looked worried. ‘I don’t know where my lute is. Joyce has hers, but yesterday I couldn’t find mine when I looked for it. I thought I might have left it still in the big hamper where Susie put my summer gowns. We hadn’t emptied the hamper yet. So I helped Susie to see to it yesterday, but the lute wasn’t there.’
‘There are still many things not yet unpacked, Mistress Jane,’ said Mrs Hamble, who had just brought in some more mulled wine, this time for all of us. ‘Moving an entire household is such a business! There are still some hampers and boxes in the attic, put there to be out of the way while the big items of furniture were being carried in. I fancy you will find your lute there, Mistress Jane. Perhaps it was remiss of me not to mention it before, and to leave things unopened for so long. I do apologize.’
Jane got up. ‘I shall ask Susie to go up and look for it.’
Across the room I caught Brockley’s eye and we exchanged silent messages. ‘No need to worry about the things in the attic tonight,’ I said easily. ‘You can use my lute. It’s dark now and it will be difficult for Susie to find things up in the attic, and not very pleasant, either. You and I can look for it together in the morning. I’ll help you, Jane.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll fetch my own lute now.’
We had a very
pleasant musical evening, even though it was disturbed at times by the sound of the wind hurling rain against the windows, apparently by the pailful, and the angry splutter when the downpour found its way down the chimney into the fire. I discovered that both of the twins were skilled with the lute and that Jane had an attractive singing voice, not loud but tuneful and clear.
We had finished our entertainment, and were thinking of saying goodnight, when Master Frost suddenly said: ‘I am intrigued, Mistress Jester, by this idea you are working on with my daughters, concerning an embroidery or tapestry design based on the parterre garden here. I would like to see it. Joyce has mentioned that it would make a wall-hanging. Are you planning it as a decoration in what, after all, is now my house?’
Sybil hastily began to explain that of course there would be no thought of hanging the finished pattern anywhere without his approval; it was just that it was likely, when finished, to be suitable for such a purpose.
Frost waved all this aside. ‘There is no need for apologies, Mistress Jester. I am sure you would never put up new decorations without my consent! In fact, I am most intrigued by what you have told me. May I see the design – is it far enough developed? Could you bring it to my study? Now?’
‘I have drawn it freehand and in colour,’ Sybil said. ‘We have only just begun to draw it in a form that is ready for the stitchwork. That is a more careful business. But my original drawing does give a clear impression of it, I think. I can certainly bring it to your study. But will the light be sufficient?’
‘Certainly it will.’ Frost strode to the door and shouted for Mrs Hamble. When she appeared, he said: ‘I want a good light in my study, at once. Bring two of those branched candelabra from the ballroom.’ She hurried away and he turned to Sybil, waving her to precede him through the door. ‘You fetch your drawing and I will meet you in the study. You know where it is by now, I suppose?’
A Web of Silk Page 13