Nothing stirred. The side gate opened on to a path which led away across a meadow to join a lane at the far side, making the shape of a T. From where we stood, we could just make out the hedgerow that was the boundary on the far side of the meadow. There was no sign of anyone at all.
‘He’s not here yet,’ said Brockley, stepping back. ‘Or he’s given us up.’
‘We’re a little late,’ I said. ‘But I warned Eleanor that we couldn’t be precise about time. He said he would be here from two o’clock and that he would wait. He must have been delayed.’
‘I don’t like this,’ said Brockley. And then, with a horrid jerk in the pit of my stomach, I realized that I could see his face much too clearly. I turned to see why and discovered that a lantern was shining on us both.
‘Good evening, Mistress Stannard, Master Brockley. Or should I say good morning?’ said the voice of Giles Frost. He stepped forward. ‘Perhaps,’ he said politely, ‘you would care to explain the meaning of this?’ He pointed to the chest and then leaned down to flip the lid back. I had not padlocked it, thinking that Master Stagg would want to verify the contents. Frost lifted the wrapped bundle out, opened a fold of wrapping and peered at the salt. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said softly, as he replaced it in the chest. ‘What can be the meaning of this?’
The question was rhetorical. I knew it, and knew that something dreadful was about to transpire. Brockley said steadily: ‘Master Stagg knows the meaning of this perfectly well. He is coming to receive these things, which belong to his niece Eleanor and which he says have been stolen from her. They are a bridal gift from Master Stagg himself.’
‘What a remarkable story!’ said a second voice, and Stagg himself appeared, emerging from the shrubbery and holding up another lantern. Other shadowy figures followed, resolving themselves into Barney Vaughan, Susie and the Hambles.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ said Frost affably. ‘You were quite right, Julius. It is amazing, but you were perfectly right.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I said sharply.
Frost, incredibly, said: ‘Julius warned me that you might attempt to steal this. He overheard you planning it, after he – somewhat carelessly, I fear – let you see it when you called at his workshop, where it was then being kept. I found it hard to believe but after all, Mistress Stannard, you have embarked on a most expensive project, to replace a big stained-glass window at the Hawkswood parish church. I can believe that you have need of extra funds.’
‘I’m not in the habit of ordering work I can’t pay for!’ I snapped. I wanted to say more, to end what was surely some frightful confusion but I couldn’t find the right words. My tongue was hindered because my ears were telling me things I couldn’t believe. And therefore couldn’t refute. I had never in my life been so bewildered. It was as if the very ground beneath my feet was dissolving into water and I was sinking, drowning, in its depths.
Brockley, however, still seemed to be in possession of his wits. ‘Master Stagg there,’ he said, ‘told us that the chest and its contents had been stolen and were likely to be found here. He asked us to search for it and his niece Mistress Eleanor desired it to be retrieved for her. She wanted no scandal because her betrothed would object very much to such a thing.’
Stagg, unbelievably, said: ‘Pooh! What a taradiddle!’
‘Because of Master Stagg’s suspicions,’ said Frost, ‘a watch has been kept on you. We know you have prowled about at night. Many a night, Mr Hamble and Barney here have been on guard to see what you were about. Then when Dr Lambert told me that he had found you in the attic, examining the chest, our suspicions hardened. And tonight, you were glimpsed taking wine to the servants. Very suspicious. I alerted Vaughan and the Hambles here, and Susie too. She has been on guard at her window – from which this side gate can be seen. Thank you, my dear; you performed your part excellently well. I had also instructed Dr Lambert to be on watch at his window, and he saw you creep out from the great hall. I was in the garden, and Barney was upstairs, hidden in the attic. He followed you down.’
‘I said I heard a noise!’ I managed to speak at last. ‘But we thought it was snoring and rats.’
‘One rat anyway.’ Brockley said, with meaning.
‘You watch your tongue!’ said Mr Hamble, and Mrs Hamble clicked hers in audible disapproval.
I was very angry by now, and also afraid. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I expostulated. ‘Master Stagg knows very well that he and his niece Eleanor asked us to find the chest and bring it out of Knoll House for them! Why he is now pretending otherwise, is beyond me. What is the point of all this nonsense, this denying of things that Master Stagg knows are true?’ I stared straight into his face. ‘How can you pretend that you and your niece didn’t ask us to do this for you, and why did you say you were not friendly enough with Master Frost to be able to visit his house? You know you said that. My maid Fran Brockley and my gentlewoman Sybil Jester know, too.’
‘Servants, dependants, all such people will naturally take their mistress’s part and accept what their lady tells them,’ said Frost dismissively. ‘I am happy to let Mistress Brockley be, though no doubt she will be questioned when this matter comes to court. As for Mistress Jester, for her I feel great pity, for I believe her to be a truly honest woman and tomorrow she must wake to realize what a wasps’ nest of dishonesty she has been living in. I intend to rescue her and protect her as far as I can from any unpleasant consequences. She has been taken advantage of in a most cynical and improper manner. I mean to look after her and give her the protection of my name. I …’
‘No!’
Susie’s outraged shriek cut across the darkness like the screech of an owl or a streak of lightning. She darted forward and seized Frost by the arms. ‘You promised me you hadn’t meant it when you said you meant to marry. You promised me! Only yesterday you said that all right, you’d thought of it, but the Jester woman had said no and you’d changed your mind! You swore that to me! You promised! And I’ve sat up at night, never mind how tired I was, keeping watch on these people for you. You …!’
‘Susie, Susie! What are you about, child? Is this the way a young maidservant behaves? Come here at once …!’
Mrs Hamble hurried forward and tried to drag Susie away from Frost. Susie held on, shaking his arms, crying aloud. The next words she screamed shook everyone. ‘You can’t throw me away! You can’t, you can’t, I’m carrying your child!’
Mr Hamble had joined his wife and between them they hauled Susie away from Frost. Then we heard exclamations from the garden and there were more lanterns waving and figures like ghosts in pale flowing garments running towards us, and the twins, their white dressing robes billowing over their nightgowns, were there.
‘What’s happening?’ Joyce panted. ‘We heard such strange sounds from our room. People hurrying about, voices calling … And then we looked from our window and saw lanterns. What’s going on?’
‘Susie, what’s wrong?’ Jane, gentle and compassionate, had gone to the frantic maid, who merely wailed all the more.
Into the uproar, I said again, and very loudly: ‘What is the point of all this nonsense, this denying of things that Master Stagg knows are true! What’s it all about? Why are you lying, Master Stagg? I want to know why!’
It was Susie who replied, in a voice in which hysteria was mingled with a wild laughter. ‘Stagg? His name’s not Stagg! I’ll tell you who he is …!’
She stopped, perforce, because Frost had reached out and grabbed her, slamming a hand over her mouth. ‘Be quiet, you silly wench!’
‘Silly wench is right! That’s just what she is!’ shouted Stagg. ‘She’ll make up any daft tale now out of spite, say anything with no sense to it. That’s what silly wenches do.’ He stepped forward, looked down into the open chest and then, in his turn, lifted the salt out and put back its wrappings. ‘Well, I’m glad to see this safe. It’s a pretty thing and I wouldn’t have liked Eleanor to miss it. Lovely workmanship. These little dra
wers work as smoothly as cream.’ He flicked at the drawers, which did indeed slide in and out with ease, and silently.
Inside my head a horrid realization exploded. I remembered how Walsingham had spoken to me of Simeon Wilmot, the leader of the gang who had kidnapped my son and tried to turn me into an assassin and been hanged for it. Simeon Wilmot, with the agile fingers – those unnaturally long fingers – that could flick through a deck of cards as if they were made of water.
Simeon Wilmot who had a half brother called Anthony Hunt. In my brain, Walsingham’s voice spoke. I have heard that this man Hunt has made threats against you. He apparently wants to avenge his brother.
The very first time I saw Julius Stagg, I had noticed how elegant his hands were. Those same elegant hands were testing the smoothness of the spice drawers now, before my eyes. Those tapering artistic fingers too were unnaturally long and very, very agile.
Brockley was also looking at them. Then he turned his head, put his mouth close to my ear and whispered: ‘Madam! Julius Stagg. Why did he choose that name? Think! If he’s really Anthony Hunt … Julius Caesar and Mark Antony. Stag. Hunt. Staghunt!’
I gasped. I now saw the yawning pit to which I had been led step by step and into which I had now fallen. And now the tricks that had brought me here paraded through my mind like a cavalcade of demon horsemen.
Someone had broken that window in St Mary’s. Why? To give Master Stagg a way into my life, and then bring the chest and the salt to my notice? He had probably broken the window himself.
And then … I had not summoned Master Stagg to replace the window. He had presented himself. He’d said he had got the news of the broken window when he met an acquaintance from Hawkswood. That might well be genuine, but if he hadn’t met the acquaintance no doubt he would have invented some other excuse. Of course! said the second demon rider, leering at me.
How did he make sure I would see the chest in his workshop? Or come to visit it? He had invited me. All along, he had been guiding me towards disaster, this disaster.
And then he had pretended that the chest had been stolen, and Eleanor had wept. She was in it too, and I had been fool enough to pity her! Oh dear God, I had …
I wanted to retch. I could have evaded the trap if I had had more sense. If I had held to my first decision and simply told Stagg that we had found the chest and left the rest in his hands, then we would have been safe. But I had not. I had let Eleanor’s tears move me. And I had let that something in me, that unregenerate part of my nature, which had run me into trouble so often before, rule me again. I had heard the call of the wild geese, and like a fool I had followed.
But Brockley’s mind was running on a different track. He was glaring at Stagg and Frost. ‘My son Philip was part of the plot that Simeon Wilmot laid. Is his death part of this? Did one of you kill my son?’
Silence can be an expressive thing. No one answered the question or even attempted an answer. No one said ‘What’s all this about?’ or ‘Who’s this Philip and what’s he got to do with anything?’ No one spoke at all.
It was enough.
‘I see,’ said Brockley grimly. ‘So you did. Why? Did you want him to help trap us, and he said no and then tried to warn us? And did you realize he was about to do so? And watch him and find that he was setting out to visit us, and take steps to see he didn’t get there? Am I right?’
At that point, Frost did say the words which an innocent man should have spoken sooner. He said: ‘What on earth is this man talking about? Who is this Philip?’ But he had delayed too long. And Brockley, as Susie had done a few moments earlier, sprang.
Vaughan and Hamble dragged him off. Mrs Hamble, clicking a shocked tongue, started to hurry Susie and the twins away. All three were in tears and Susie was angrily resisting. As they departed through the herb garden, Frost said to Stagg: ‘We must remember that Mistress Stannard is half-sister to the queen and her children are the queen’s niece and nephew. We shall therefore have to act strictly within the law. This isn’t a case for a local constable; in the morning we will send word to Sir Edward Heron.’
‘Quite. He will be shocked,’ said Stagg sanctimoniously. ‘What a terrible thing, that a connection of Her Majesty should behave in such a tawdry fashion. Stealing a bridal chest, indeed! Shameful!’
‘What hypocrisy!’ Brockley muttered, in the grip of Vaughan and Hamble.
After that, there was no more talking. Brockley and I were hustled away and marched back to our rooms. We protested all the way and Sybil and Dale met us at the door of my chamber, candles in hand and wide-eyed with alarm. Sybil said: ‘Giles, what is all this about?’ and was told not to worry, he would see that she came to no harm, and if she wanted to know the whole story, no doubt I would tell it to her.
I was thrust into the room, and Dale was roughly shoved into the one she shared with Brockley. Then the doors were locked on us.
I sat down wretchedly on the side of the bed. Sybil set her candle down nearby.
‘What happened?’
‘I have been blind,’ I said. ‘I have been the greatest wantwit in the world. Julius Stagg is Anthony Hunt, and from first to last this whole business of the stolen chest has been a scheme to ruin and discredit me. Or possibly to get me hanged.’
EIGHTEEN
Unknown Quantity
Throughout all this, my picklocks had remained safely in my concealed pouch and no one, it seemed, had ever thought to wonder how, when Dr Lambert found us examining the silver, we had managed to open the padlock.
When I had finished explaining things to Sybil and she had drawn me to sit beside her on the bed with her arms round me and rocked me for a few moments, as if I was a grieving child, she said: ‘Can we join the others? Do you have your picklocks?’
I pulled them out. In a few minutes I had opened our door and let us into the Brockleys’ room. They greeted us wanly.
‘A fine tangle we are in now!’ Brockley said grimly.
‘Surely it’s not so bad?’ Sybil was calm and soothing. ‘We can prove that we were asked to retrieve the silver and that Eleanor and Master Stagg wanted it. Gladys heard them ask us! Heard Eleanor plead with us, and cry. She was there!’
‘And she’s about the least useful witness we could have,’ I said bitterly. ‘Old, devoted to us because we’ve saved her life once or twice, and with a bad reputation. She’s twice been charged with witchcraft, and every respectable physician and vicar for miles detests her. Even Dr Joynings doesn’t like her, though he doesn’t make a parade of it. And Heron doesn’t like me! It will be: “Ah, well, the testimony of grateful old servants with criminal pasts can’t really count for much.” And perhaps it’ll also be what Stagg said just now and he’ll say it again, oh so sadly, more in sorrow than anger: “What a shocking thing, such a tawdry crime for a woman of standing to commit …” And he may add: “Ah, but women in middle age do sometimes do strange things. We must plead with the law to be merciful.”’
‘But the law won’t be merciful,’ said Dale, trembling. ‘Ma’am … Roger …’
‘Those two,’ said Brockley, ‘will do all they can to see that the law moves fast, before anyone can intervene. And probably nobody can intervene anyway. Even Walsingham can’t just override the law.’
‘We need to get word to him,’ I said. ‘To tell him who Stagg really is.’
‘But will it make any difference?’ Dale asked, trembling. ‘Ma’am, if you and Roger are found guilty of stealing a valuable chest and an even more valuable salt … will you ever have a chance to explain what’s behind it? And if there’s only Gladys as a witness … what then?’
We were all silent. We all knew. It could be a hanging matter. If it was not, then it could be prison, a squalid cell for a very long time. It could be the horror of public chastisement at the cart’s tail. Even if we could prove that Julius Stagg was really Anthony Hunt, who had made threats against me, that wouldn’t amount to proof that Brockley and I were innocent of theft. Nor could we prove that Phi
lip had been murdered by Frost and Stagg. And Dale, my maid and Brockley’s wife, might well be dragged in too, no matter how we swore to her innocence. She knew it. She was crying now with fear, for herself as well as for me.
I thought of her, terrified, imprisoned, beaten, even … Oh God, what had I and the wild geese done? Even if she did escape accusation, she might still be left without Brockley. I thought of Harry, left without me; of Meg, grieving for me. Thank God, she at least had her good husband, George Hillman, to look after her.
My mind skidded wildly into the future that must follow my death or accompany long incarceration. Perhaps Meg and George would care for Harry until he came of age and could take control of his inheritance. If he had one; if my property wasn’t confiscated. If it wasn’t, then looking after my two houses, Hawkswood and Withysham, and the stud would be a heavy task for George Hillman … A good overseeing steward would be needed. Adam Wilder was getting on in years. Someone would have to be appointed …
I thought of my good, faithful, dear Brockley, dying or suffering because of his loyalty to me.
Because of his love for me.
Brockley was no doubt thinking the same things. And he was also thinking of Philip, his son, who had once betrayed us but had very likely lost his life because this time he had tried to warn us of our danger.
Dale had turned a tear-streaked face towards the window. She said: ‘It’s so dark. It’s as if the whole world’s died.’
‘It’s the dark before the first signs of dawn,’ said Brockley. ‘Daybreak will come before long.’
I wondered what it was like to see the dawning of one’s last day on earth.
After a while, I said: ‘That little Susie could be a witness for us. She was about to blurt out Stagg’s real name. She never actually said it because Frost stopped her mouth, but she must have meant that it was Anthony Hunt. What else could it be? What else would make Frost so determined to keep her quiet?’
A Web of Silk Page 18