A Web of Silk

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘Quite right.’ Brockley came over to us, followed by Gladys, hobbling arthritically, who made an uninvited comment. ‘Quite wrong,’ she said, causing us all to stare at her in astonishment. She stared back, sharp dark eyes gleaming from either side of her beaky nose. ‘I can deal with sleepy maidservants and a crowd of men, easy as winking, indeed I can. Just give me the word.’

  ‘Please,’ said Eleanor. And once again, the big grey eyes brimmed with beseeching tears – the tears that seemed to come to her so easily. ‘It means so much to me. Please. Please. Please!’

  And that was the moment when I forgot to be a respectable middle-aged lady, and became again the adventurous young woman I had once been.

  It was a mistake.

  We had provided ourselves with a good supply of clothing when we set off to stay at Knoll House but, as is so often the case, found we had left behind things that we would have liked to have had with us, including gowns that we missed, clothes ideal for autumn weather, and extra underlinen and the like. Brockley had been regretting a favourite doublet and its matching hat. After we left the church, we went back to Hawkswood House not only to have a little refreshment before starting for Knoll but also to collect and pack these items. We didn’t stay to see the window actually installed, though Gladys did, saying that Dr Joynings would bring her home when it was done. ‘Only, don’t you leave afore I come. You’ll need me.’

  We took our time, fortifying ourselves with ale and warm chicken patties, before collecting the fresh clothes, along with a few other items that I had instructed Brockley to fetch. I was aware all the time that although Brockley did what I asked him to do without comment, he was silent and tight-lipped. Presently he came to my room to announce that he had finished packing, and because his room overlooked the courtyard had seen Gladys come back, riding behind the vicar.

  ‘Joynings went straight off again. I heard him calling goodbye to someone, and Gladys has gone to the kitchen. I looked out and saw where she went. To prepare her wretched potion, I suppose. I’ll start carrying things down if you have anything ready …’

  And with that, his bottled-up feelings burst into words.

  ‘Gladys almost rules this house. It’s time we were on our way but – oh, no! – we have to wait until her potion is made and we can’t set off until it is. Madam, do you really intend to go through with this? Yes, I’ve fetched those wine kegs up from the cellar as you asked, and told Eddie to harness Rusty to the cart. Madam, I realize that it isn’t my place to criticize anything you do or plan to do, but I have to say it. Are you really set on this course of madness?’

  ‘It was sensible to choose Rusty,’ I said calmly, pretending that I hadn’t heard the fury in his voice. ‘He is our quietest horse and the kegs mustn’t be jolted. Eddie can drive and bring the cart back home.’

  ‘That wench Eleanor,’ said Brockley angrily, ‘turns the fountain on to order. Dear God, those great big grey eyes full of tears! They’re as mournful as the North Sea in a rainstorm. By the sound of her betrothed, he isn’t a man who will be patient with such a weak link.’

  ‘Meaning that it might be as well if he did break it off?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Brockley tersely. ‘So must we go through this … this performance?’

  ‘I’ve given my word,’ I said.

  And so I had. Stagg had drawn me, Eleanor and Gladys away from the others and guided us into the chapel. Brockley tried to come too, but Stagg waved him back. ‘This is a private matter, my man!’ Brockley looked angry but we could hardly create a noisy scene in a church and in the presence of the vicar and the workmen, so he couldn’t interrupt the ardent pleas for me to spirit the chest out of Knoll House.

  The onslaught was like a verbal trident. What with Gladys – I think under some perverse impression that I would welcome her assistance – kindly offering to assist the business with a poppy potion, Stagg anxiously coaxing me, and Eleanor weeping as she pleaded with me, I finally gave in. Eleanor’s tears in particular distressed me. She made me feel I had no choice. I now wished I had been more resolute. Indeed, I had been wishing that ever since we left the side chapel with Eleanor earnestly thanking me and still weeping – in gratitude this time – and came face to face with Brockley. He understood at once that I had given in and his expression told me what a fool I was. I should have told Gladys to mind her own business and treated both Eleanor and Stagg with a healthy mixture of reason and callousness. I had done none of these things.

  Brockley was now saying: ‘That chest is heavy even on its own, and with that salt in it very heavy. When it was taken to Knoll House, I doubt if it was carried up those awkward attic stairs with the salt inside. I fancy the salt was carried up separately. The chest is valuable too and part of the gift, or so I understand, so we’ll have to move them separately – up and down that narrow creaking, twisting stair in the dark, one at a time. I don’t like the idea!’

  ‘Nor do I,’ I said. ‘But I’ve given my word now, and with Gladys’s potion … How long does that damned potion take to prepare? I wish she’d got back from the church sooner! We’d better get our own things down to the cart, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll see to that, madam. And hurry Gladys up as well.’

  I looked with fondness into the face of the manservant who was also my friend and my comrade. ‘I know you don’t approve of this, Brockley. Why are you so willing to help?’

  ‘I have to help you,’ said Brockley. ‘I can’t leave you to undertake such a wild scheme on your own!’

  ‘It isn’t all that wild,’ I said, somewhat defiantly. ‘If Gladys’s poppy potion does what she claims for it – and it will because she’s given it to me when I’ve had a migraine and couldn’t sleep, so I know it works – then we should be able to get that wretched chest and the salt down from the attic and out of the house during the night without disturbing anyone. Stagg says he will wait for us, with a cart, just outside the side gate that leads from the herb garden. He’ll take the chest to Eleanor, and it will be there when her prim and proper suitor comes to see her. I wonder if her stepfather knows about all this? Stagg hasn’t mentioned him.’

  ‘As I’ve said before, there have been too many odd things about this business, far too many,’ said Brockley. ‘And this is just one more. Why are those two so anxious to get you to move the chest? If you had any sense at all, you’d leave it alone. If Stagg and his niece want that chest back, let them collect it. According to Lambert, Stagg does know Frost socially – they’re supposed to be friends. Stagg was lying when he said he had only been to the house as a workman and therefore had no chance of being able to search the house himself. Why did he lie? I’d like to know the answer to that.’

  ‘That may be it,’ I said. ‘I mean, if they are friends, Stagg may not want to issue a challenge, or an accusation. He just wants the chest to … to vanish from the attic of Knoll House and reappear in Eleanor’s home. In a way I can understand that. I’m sorry, Brockley. I’m committed now. I have to go through with it, even though you think I’m out of my wits.’

  ‘Not out of your wits, madam,’ said Brockley. ‘It’s just that you’ve heard the wild geese call.’

  SIXTEEN

  Drinking After Dark

  The Knoll House mastiffs knew us by now and, although they always bounded up to greet us when we went into the grounds, they would only bark when we returned from the outside world. All the same, the fewer chances we took, the better. I had made arrangements to deal with them. ‘I’ve been as thorough as I can,’ I said reassuringly to Brockley as we unloaded the cart. ‘I think – I hope – it will all go smoothly.’

  Eddie helped us carry our various boxes and hampers and the two wine kegs up to my room before leaving to drive the cart back to Hawkswood. Mrs Hamble and two of the maidservants saw us and glanced at our burdens with mild interest, but no one asked any questions. Dale helped us with the unpacking but there was no sign of Sybil. ‘Where is she?’ I asked Dale. ‘With the twins? Are they really still c
reating parterre patterns?’

  ‘They’re getting quite excited about their parterre embroidery,’ said Dale. ‘I believe Mistress Jester has pointed out that in making it they can practise all their stitches and the couching you have been teaching them, ma’am. They have started the actual embroidery and are working on it now. But Mistress Jester isn’t with them. Mrs Hamble fetched her. Master Frost wanted to see her about something.’

  Suddenly worried, I went out of the room and made for the back stairs, which had a window overlooking the gardens. There they were, Sybil and Master Frost, walking on the lawn, apparently deep in talk. As I watched, I saw that Sybil was shaking her head and pointing to the house as if saying she wanted to come indoors. Then she glanced up and saw my face at the window. I waved, and Sybil at once and decisively said goodbye to Frost and walked purposefully towards the house. I withdrew from the window and went back to our room. A moment later, Sybil joined us.

  ‘What was all that about?’ I asked her.

  ‘Master Frost was offering his hand and heart. Again,’ said Sybil shortly.

  ‘No!’ said Dale. ‘I mean … was he really? But surely you didn’t …?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Of course I didn’t.’ Sybil, visibly upset, burst out: ‘I wish we didn’t have to stay here!’ and then, obscurely, added: ‘I wish so many things were different!’ She stared round at the various objects we had brought from Hawkswood. ‘Whatever is all this?’

  ‘I’m wondering that, as well,’ said Dale.

  Brockley and I explained our plan, and the reasons for bringing some of the things that were now scattered about the room. The two kegs respectively contained a warm red Mediterranean vintage, and a thinner white wine from Germany. We had also brought a large set of earthenware goblets; a flask of pale green-tinged liquid mixed for us by Gladys, created mainly from the juice of a certain species of poppy; and two small lamb joints. John Hawthorn, the Hawkswood cook, had mourned aloud when I demanded these from his stores, and positively howled when I said I was going to feed them to the Knoll House mastiffs. ‘They’re beautiful joints,’ he protested. ‘Much too good for dogs!’

  ‘All these goblets!’ said Dale wonderingly, as I set them out on the small table at my side of the bed. ‘Aren’t they from Hawkswood?’

  ‘I can’t very well rifle the Knoll House cupboards,’ I said. ‘And in any case, here in Knoll House I’ve seen no nice brown earthenware cups. They’re mostly silver. Master Frost really does love silver! And pewter’s no better for our purposes. So I’ve brought some brown earthenware goblets from home.’

  ‘But why do you want brown goblets?’ Dale wanted to know.

  ‘Because they’ll conceal what we put in them,’ I said.

  Back at Hawkswood, when the potion was ready, I had conferred with Brockley and Gladys about my plans. Brockley had immediately thought of a snag. ‘It’s highly likely,’ he said, ‘that the servants we are trying to drug will invite whoever brings the wine to take a drink with them. I think I would. That could make things very tricky. We can’t just put the drug into the pitcher.’

  ‘We could fill the goblets beforehand and bring them in on a tray,’ I said. ‘It would mean preparing special goblets for us, without any potion in them – and we must make sure we know which ones they are.’ I paused and thought for a moment. ‘I’d better take the wine to the women, while you, Brockley, serve the men in the attic. We had better keep the rule of the house, about the men and women never entering each other’s sleeping quarters – except for Susie and the master, of course.’ Gladys emitted a wicked cackle and Brockley gave his rare, expressive, grin. ‘I imagine,’ I said, ‘that Sybil won’t want to deliver the women’s wine, and Dale probably won’t, either.’

  ‘Madam, I wouldn’t allow Fran to take part,’ Brockley told me. He was frowning. Then he said: ‘Filling the goblets in advance won’t be a problem with the women servants, they’re on the same floor as us. But I would have to carry a tray of filled cups up to the attic, up those twisty, awkward stairs, and some of the wine would spill. I don’t see how it can be done.’

  ‘There’s stupid, you are,’ said Gladys rudely. ‘It’ll be dark, and you’ll be serving by candlelight. Got eyes like cats, have they, these Knoll House folk? What you want is dark goblets, and we’ve got brown earthenware ones here. Take them along empty except for a spoonful of my poppy juice in the bottom of each. That’s all you need. It’s got no colour to speak of – you’d hardly see it in broad daylight, let alone by candlelight! All the goblets’ll look as if they’re empty. But yours would really be empty and you’d best take care you drink from the right one. It takes about half of the hour to take effect. There’ll be time to drink with the servants and get away before they even start yawning.’

  Now, in my room at Knoll House, I explained all this.

  ‘How many people do we need to give the potion to?’ I asked.

  Brockley looked at Dale, who said: ‘There are three maids, not counting Susie. The youngest one, Mary, always works in the kitchen. The other two, Bessie and Cath, help there but also clean and make beds, and such. Cath, the oldest one, is called the linen maid and she supervises the wash and does repairs. They all share the dormitory. Susie sleeps on the floor below, of course.’

  ‘And the men?’

  ‘There are six who sleep in the attic,’ said Brockley. ‘The cook and his second and a junior cook, that’s three – the spitboy sleeps in the kitchen. Then there’s Barney Vaughan, who attends Master Frost, and two others. They do heavy jobs, like carrying buckets of water, fetching kegs up from the cellar and bringing in fuel. They also help serve at meals (you’ve seen them). That’s the six. There are three grooms but they don’t come into this, as they sleep over the stables. And the porter and his lad don’t come into it either, as they have a room in the gatehouse. But we’ll need a goblet for the spitboy. He’s bound to know about the wine being given to the other kitchen servants, and will very likely complain if he’s left out. So he’d better have a good night’s sleep like all the rest, even though we’re going to avoid going near the kitchen.’

  I counted on my fingers. ‘Three maids and seven men who need wine. Ten, and then you and me. We need a dozen goblets.’

  ‘You’re taking such a chance!’ said Sybil. ‘I do think …’

  ‘That I have lost my wits,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Brockley with emphasis. ‘The coincidence will be noticed. That the night we give treats of wine to the servants is the night when they all sleep amazingly well and the chest disappears. Someone will smell a rat. Someone will smell a whole colony of rats!’

  ‘Firstly,’ I said, ‘it may be quite a long time before Master Frost realizes that the chest has gone. Secondly, if and when he does realize, he may not connect it with any particular night. And I doubt if he will want to raise a hue and cry. After all, if he stole the chest in the first place …’

  ‘But why did he steal it?’ Dale burst out. ‘It doesn’t make sense! Not since him and that Master Stagg are supposed to be friends. And if they are friends, then why are they pretending they’re not? There’s something wrong – something very, very wrong! Someone’s been lying to you, ma’am. I keep on thinking that, over and over.’

  ‘Yes, Dale, I think so too!’ Sybil declared.

  ‘By taking this decisive step,’ I suggested, ‘maybe we’ll find out what it is that’s wrong. We’ve all felt from the beginning that something’s amiss. This may be our opportunity to get it out into the open – to unlock the mystery at last.’

  Brockley, Dale and Sybil all looked at each other.

  ‘Wild geese!’ said Brockley, once again, and the others nodded. Their expressions suggested that they regarded me as suffering from some incurable disease.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘You think I’m out of my wits. Perhaps I am. But will you do your part?’

  ‘I feel,’ said Brockley, ‘that as your loyal servants, madam, we should all refuse to un
dertake this, and in your best interests should lock you in your room until you come to your senses!’

  ‘Do that,’ I said calmly, ‘and when I have released myself with the help of my picklocks, I will dismiss all of you. Unpaid.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Brockley candidly, and then sighed. ‘I suppose we shall do as you wish. As always.’

  It was a pattern that I knew so well. At heart, Brockley was as enamoured of wild geese as I still was in spite of the years, even though I was no longer the passionate young girl who had eloped with my cousin’s betrothed by climbing out of a window and sliding down the slope of a lower roof into his arms. My lovely daughter Meg had come of that first union with Gerald Blanchard and I had never regretted it. And my wild streak had served me well both then and on other occasions too – it had led me into acquiring two fine houses and also led me into marriage with my dear Hugh.

  Besides, there really was a mystery here that needed explaining, and my scheme might achieve that. Perhaps I had been right to give in to Eleanor’s tears, after all.

  ‘I can’t take part,’ said Sybil. ‘I hope you don’t mean to ask me, Ursula. I can’t bring myself to do it, and you shouldn’t! You really shouldn’t! Nor should you, Brockley.’

  ‘If we don’t help her,’ said Brockley, ‘madam is quite capable of undertaking the whole thing herself! Though how she would carry that heavy chest down those attic stairs on her own …’

  ‘I wouldn’t find it easy,’ I said, ‘but I would manage it somehow. If need be, alone.’

  ‘I would do it wrong, anyway, I know I would!’ Dale looked as frightened as though I had already handed her one end of a heavy chest or a trayload of soporific goblets.