‘I have already told Mistress Stannard that I wouldn’t let you try,’ said Brockley. ‘You’re my wife and I won’t have you caught up in this.’
Sybil said: ‘I can’t understand anything about this! Why should Master Frost steal from a friend? Why should they pretend they hardly know each other? I know I’m repeating what’s already been said, but …’
‘We’re going in circles.’ I cut her short. ‘And haven’t I said that perhaps by taking firm action we may find out what’s at the back of it? Anyway, it’s all arranged. Stagg will be there tonight, waiting outside the side gate. He’ll be there from two o’clock onwards. It’s settled.’
‘If only it could be done during the day,’ said Dale. ‘Then there’d be no need for potions and tiptoeing about in the dark.’
‘There are always people about,’ Brockley said. ‘Even when the attic is empty, people come and go. Look how Lambert suddenly appeared when we were looking for the chest! And early this morning I saw Mrs Hamble coming down the attic stairs, carrying a hamper. I daresay she’d been up to see what else still needs to be unpacked. No, we had better wait until nightfall.’
The timing had to be right. We had to choose a moment when the servants would have retired to their dormitory but were not likely to be already asleep.
After supper, Brockley remarked that it might be as well to prime the pump and slipped off to the kitchen to whisper to its staff that by order of Mistress Stannard, who realized that she and her companions must be causing extra work, a goblet of wine would be served to each of them before they went to sleep, and would they let the rest of the indoor servants know.
‘I told them that my mistress thought that you would like wine as a gift, as you are not allowed to have it as a rule, but a single goblet each wouldn’t do anyone any harm. I said I would take one to the kitchen for the spitboy and that you, madam, would yourself take a tray to the women servants, while I served the men.’
In my room, later, we set out the trays; red wine for the men, white wine for the women. ‘Most of the women would prefer the lighter wine, I should think,’ said Brockley. We took great care over positioning the goblets on the trays. ‘I think,’ Brockley continued, ‘that it would look best, madam, if we say straightaway that we wish to drink with our … guests. And we should then pour for them, as gracious hosts – we should just do it without discussing who is going to pour. But we must be very, very careful to pour our own wine into completely empty goblets and be sure we know which ones they are.’
‘You need a tiny mark,’ said Dale. ‘Something no one would notice but you.’ She looked at the trays. ‘Look, some of them are old and have little chips in the rim. And here’s one on Roger’s tray with a little chip off its foot as well. Put that one nearest to you, Roger. Like this.’ She moved the goblet with care. ‘And ma’am, here’s one with two chips on the rim, close to each other. That can be your marked one.’
‘Thank you, Dale,’ I said.
Brockley had moved to the window and was looking out at the sky. ‘It’s starting to rain,’ he said. ‘It may be a very dark night. Madam, you have only to walk across a passageway with your tray for the women servants, but I shall have to carry mine up those attic stairs in order to serve the men and can’t manage without light. I need a lantern but I shall have my hands full with the tray, so will need someone to light my way. Not you, Fran. I have said so from the start. Not even on madam’s orders.’
He turned and gave me a challenging look but I shook my head. ‘You are within your rights, Brockley, and I certainly shan’t try to insist.’ In fact, I never had any intention of letting Dale take an active part in the night’s adventure. She was too nervous, and I had visions of her stumbling on the attic stairs, letting her lantern slip from fingers sweaty with fright and setting fire to the house, or else bumping into Brockley and sending the tray down a flight of stairs with an almighty clatter and an overpowering smell of wine … No, it wouldn’t do.
‘Mistress Jester …’ Brockley essayed.
‘No,’ said Sybil. ‘I am not taking part in this, in any way at all. I think the whole idea is madness. And in any case, I can hardly believe that Master Frost would do anything so … so cheap as to steal a bride’s dowry chest, least of all when her uncle, who is giving it to her, is his friend. I have talked with him – or he with me, rather – and I can’t believe that he is that sort of man. There is something very, very wrong here. I am sorry, Brockley, but I will not light your way; and, Ursula, please don’t ask me to change my mind, because I shan’t. I can’t.’
‘I’ll light your way, Brockley,’ I said. ‘We’ll take your tray up first. I’ll leave you there and come down to see to the women servants.’
When the moment came, I nearly lost my nerve and almost called the whole venture off, but Brockley now seemed calmly assured about it. He had let Dale help by pouring the potion into the goblets and positioning our undrugged cups in exactly the right way. A goblet had been set aside for the spitboy, and we had drugged the lamb joints for the dogs.
‘I’ll deal with those and the spitboy first,’ said Brockley.
The expedition went smoothly. Brockley disappeared down the back stairs, with the spitboy’s drink in one hand and the lamb joints slung over his shoulder in a bag. In a very short time he was back, looking pleased with himself. ‘The spitboy,’ he said, ‘will have to enjoy his treat all on his own, poor lad. But he doesn’t seem to mind. And the dogs gobbled their meat as though they’d never had a square meal before. It was easy. Now, which tray is for the attic?’
‘This one,’ Dale said, pointing. ‘The one with red wine in the jug. And that’s your goblet.’ She touched the chipped one where it stood, just a little apart from the others. ‘Don’t make any mistake!’ she implored him.
‘Trust me,’ said Brockley.
Again, it was easy. We went up the awkward twisty attic stairs very slowly, with Brockley in front carrying the tray, while I walked just behind him holding the lantern up so that it would light his way. He had a second lantern on the tray, unlit, to use on his way down. I saw him safely into the menservants’ quarters, and then withdrew and went back to my room alone.
Now it was my turn. Dale handed me my tray. ‘Four goblets arranged two by two,’ she said. ‘Yours is this chipped one just a tiny bit out of line. I’ve put the potion in the others.’
‘Thank you, Dale,’ I said, and picked up the tray and made off with it, without giving myself a chance to think about it any more.
I had no stairs to worry about. It was only a few steps across the passageway to the door of the women’s dormitory. Balancing my tray with caution, I tapped on the door and it was opened at once by a middle-aged woman I recalled seeing about the house with armfuls of sheets and towels. This was obviously Cath. She smiled and stepped back to let me through.
I found myself in a long chamber with a row of three pallets along the far wall. Against the opposite wall there were clothes presses, and at the far end of the room a long table with ewers and basins on it. A number of candles stood about, flickering because the room was somewhat draughty. All to the good, I thought. Mary and Bessie were sitting on their pallets, looking expectant. Wine really was a treat for them.
I set the tray down on the table with my own goblet nearest to me and said: ‘Good evening to you all. I know that having guests in the house means extra work and thought a drink of good wine would be a graceful thank-you. As well as, and not of course replacing, your gratuities when we leave! This is a light white wine that I hope you’ll all like. May I share it and drink with you? I’ve brought a spare goblet.’
There were murmurs of ‘Yes, of course, ma’am, madam …’ Cath did seem doubtful about the propriety of all this, but young Mary smiled at me sweetly and Bessie, who had bold brown eyes and a knowing grin, said: ‘Shame we couldn’t have a proper party with the lads from upstairs!’ Which caused Cath to bark: ‘And shame on you, Bess, for saying such a thing! The master’d never
allow that sort of behaviour, and well Mistress Stannard knows it.’
‘He’s not so prim himself,’ Bessie said unrepentantly. ‘Ask our Susie! Well, she’s missing this, though I daresay she gets her share elsewhere.’
‘Stop it!’ said Cath sharply. ‘I’m sorry, madam. Bess here is too sprightly for her own good. May I pour?’
‘One is only young once,’ I said, smiling. ‘But allow me to serve you. I am your hostess this evening, after all.’
Yet again, it was easy. I poured their wine and handed the goblets round. I filled my own innocent goblet, took a seat on the end of Cath’s pallet, and drank and giggled with my guests-cum-victims. Then I said ‘Goodnight and God bless!’, gathered up the goblets and piled them on the tray, and took my leave. As I went out, I noticed that Mary was already settling back into her pallet and Bessie’s eyes seemed drowsy.
As I crossed the passage, Brockley appeared from the far end of it, having just come down the stairs from the attic.
‘All well?’ I asked him softly. ‘No one seemed suspicious?’
‘No one. I handed the drinks round to our unwary friends and all went as smoothly as cream. Too easy by far. Let us hope things go on that way.’
SEVENTEEN
Mystery Unlocked
Since Sybil and Dale were not to take part in the business of removing the chest, only Brockley and I set out when the time came, just before two o’clock in the morning. We left them sharing my bed, with their heads under the covers. Dale whispered: ‘Good luck!’ as we started for the door. Sybil did not.
The house was silent as we crept into the passage and turned along it to reach the attic stairs. I had charge of the lantern and I made sure that it did not cast any beam under the door of the women’s dormitory. We moved noiselessly, not even whispering to each other, round the corner to the foot of the attic stairs and then up them. There were two sharp turns that had to be stealthily negotiated. We trod with the utmost care. Not that creaks mattered much, for tonight was once again windy and the whole house was creaking. At the top, we halted and listened. The sound of several people snoring in different tempos and various keys came reassuringly from behind the door on our right. We turned left.
Once inside the relevant attic, I swept the beam round and found the chest, which had been left out on the floor. I found something else as well.
‘Rat droppings!’ said Brockley with distaste. ‘I’m glad I’m not a manservant here. The brutes probably get into the sleeping quarters as well.’
‘They have cats downstairs,’ I said, ‘but maybe they aren’t good hunters. I must offer the family one of Whiskers’ kittens. Or Diana’s.’ Whiskers was a notable huntress, and her progeny took after her. We had kept one of her daughters and named her Diana after the Roman goddess with legendary prowess at hunting (though there was nothing of the virgin about our Diana), and between them mother and daughter kept Hawkswood House very free from vermin.
We went over to the chest. There it was, looking innocent, its padlock back in place and fastened. I stooped to use my picklocks. ‘We’re moving the salt first, I take it?’ I said.
‘Yes. I’ll carry it. You light the way. I can handle the salt on my own all right,’ said Brockley.
He lifted it carefully out and then set it down and looked inside the wrappings. ‘Just to make sure this really is the salt, and that nothing’s been substituted for it.’
‘Do you think that’s likely?’ I whispered, in surprise.
‘No, but we’re dealing with some curious characters,’ said Brockley. ‘I don’t want anyone making worse fools of us than we already are.’
But the salt was there, as expected. Brockley swathed it again and carried it out to the stairs. I followed. As silently as possible and slowly, for the sake of caution, he carried it down the stairs, while I shone the lantern from behind to show him where to put his feet. Once we were down on the second floor, we took it to the Brockleys’ chamber, empty now because Dale was spending the night with Sybil in my room. We put it in the clothes press then once more set out for the attic, and a few minutes later we were standing beside the empty chest.
‘Right,’ said Brockley. ‘Now, this is a bulky, awkward thing, but if you light my way and we go slowly we should be able to manage.’ He stooped, pulled the chest towards him and pushed his fingers beneath it to lift it. And then he desisted and muttered something like a curse.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Although it’s empty, it’s still heavy!’ Brockley straightened up and turned to look at me. ‘I should have realized. It’s good solid timber and it’s awkward to grip hold of, too. If Frost’s groom moved this on his own with the salt inside, well, he must be a good many years younger than I am and exceptionally strong at that. This needs two pairs of hands.’
I stared at him in dismay. ‘I can’t hold one end of the chest and manage the lantern as well. I haven’t got enough pairs of hands.’
‘If only we had some light apart from the lantern!’
‘Wait.’ I was trying to think, taking my imagination step by step. ‘If I go down first, on my own, to the first turn and put the lantern there, it will cast some light upwards. Perhaps just enough. Then we can work our way down holding the chest between us. I’ll take the lower end of the chest and go down backwards, first. Then when we get to the lantern, we’ll have to put the chest down somehow, while I go down to the second turn and put the light there … Do you see?’
‘It won’t be much of a light.’
‘Let’s test that first.’
In fact, when we carried out a cautious reconnaissance on the attic stairs, we had a little luck – or perhaps it wasn’t luck but the result of a past householder’s common sense. There were hooks in the timber wall at both the turns, which looked as if they were intended to hold lanterns and had been placed where they would cast light both up and down, above and below the turn.
‘We can do it,’ said Brockley. ‘We’ll get the chest to the top of the stairs. Then you go down and hang the lantern above the first turn and come back, and we’ll move the chest down that far. We can rest it on the stairs at the first turn, while you move the lantern down to the next. I think it will work.’
So far our night’s adventure had been easy, but this was not. We did have light, but there were still misleading shadows. Furthermore, not only was the width of the stairs narrow but they had narrow treads as well, and in these restricted circumstances the chest seemed to grow in size and bulkiness, tilting wilfully and slipping a little because my fingers were sweating. I had thought that Dale would have had sweaty fingers, but I seemed no better. We descended gingerly one step at a time, with a certain amount of whispered acrimony.
‘It’s leaning to the left, straighten it up … My left, madam, please!’
‘I can’t! My thumb’s caught against the wall … Ow!’
‘Don’t make such a noise! Hoist it up a bit …’
‘It won’t … Yes, got it! Now it’s steady … Oh, God, where’s the next step down …?’
‘Don’t lurch! I’m being thrown off balance.’
‘I’m not lurching on purpose! Brockley …?’
‘What is it? Why have you gone rigid?’
‘I’m sure I heard something!’ I whispered. ‘Up the stairs, behind us.’
For a few breathless moments we stood absolutely still, but there was no sound beyond a creak as a gust of wind swept round the house. And then, distant now because we were almost at the first turn, there came a faint snore and after that a scuttle of rodents’ feet.
‘That’s what you heard, rats and snores. Here’s the turn. Put your end down, madam, and move the lantern.’
‘There’s no point in addressing me as madam while you’re giving the orders!’
‘Just do it, madam!’ said Brockley through his teeth.
Eternity passed, punctuated by more irritable phrases, and muffled complaints of caught fingers and bumped elbows while feet wavered nervously in
search of shadowy treads.
But then, at last, we were down, carrying our burden out on to the passage. The next part was much less difficult because we were able to use the front stairs to get to the ground floor, and they were wide and fairly shallow. As we passed our rooms, Brockley had slipped into his to fetch a second lantern. It was easy enough to place lanterns in strategic places, and now we had two.
We reached the entrance hall without incident, set the chest down and then went softly back to fetch the salt. Candlelight showed under the door of my room, and as we carried the salt out into the passage Dale and Sybil peered round the door. ‘All’s well,’ I said softly before they withdrew.
‘If only nothing dreadful happens now!’ I whispered to Brockley.
‘We should be all right. I can manage this on my own. And you can light the way … madam,’ said Brockley and grinned, and once again, it was there, the secret rapport that we had so carefully, though not always successfully, hidden from Dale. For one long moment, in the lantern-light, our eyes met and things that might have been quivered in the air between us. But only for a moment. The past was the past, and the present had set the pattern for the future. We set off on the final stage of our exhausting expedition.
We carefully avoided going near the kitchen door. The spitboy was asleep in the kitchen, but Gladys had warned me that people could sometimes wake up after one of her potions. ‘If they want to ease themselves, like, or there’s a big enough noise.’
Instead, we carried first the salt and then the chest through the great hall and let ourselves out through the door at the garden end. The rain had ceased and the sky had cleared, but there was no moon tonight to help us. However, out of doors there was still some natural light and we could manage without lanterns. As we came through the great hall, I had held mine up for a moment and seen that the silver clock on the wall showed the time as twenty past two. We put the lanterns out and left them by the door. Then we carried the chest across the terrace and down to the lawn, and through the wet herb garden to the side gate. I stayed beside it while Brockley went back for the salt. We returned it to the chest and then carefully, quietly, I eased back the bolts on the gate. It swung open and Brockley stepped outside. In a low voice, he called: ‘Master Stagg!’
A Web of Silk Page 17