by Alex Duncan
‘But highwayman or errand boy, if you have no ticket you’ll not be getting in. This here’s for the fine gentry what rules this land. This here will change the face of our country and bring back order and justice, just like here in Hope.’
‘Aren’t there any more…?’
‘None. You’ll not find another ticket for love nor money. There’s only one way a lad like you would find himself allowed into a place like this.’
‘How’s that?’
The lady leaned into him and tapped her finger against the side of her nose.
‘By invitation.’
◆◆◆
‘“You are cordially invited,”’ Rosie read from the piece of card in her hand, ‘“to the most important event of the century and one that will surely change the course of the next.”’ She turned the card over but that was all there was.
‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ she said. ‘Why are we even being invited to such an event? It doesn’t make any sense. We’re not gentry. This deals with…what was it?’ she drew her finger down the card until she came to the right place and read, ‘“our plans for all our futures”. That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing we’re usually asked to deal with, does it grandpa?’
The old man shook his head.
‘Followed by a ball courtesy of “Justice Brash”. He hardly sounds like a barrel full of laughs.’
The old man agreed. He was sat on the edge of the bed in her small room on the top floor of their new lodgings flicking through everything that had been included in their letter from the King. There were the invitations to the theatre, a great deal of money and the address of their lodgings for their stay in Hope.
‘And I don’t see why we never stay at the lodgings that have been put aside for us,’ said Rosie, flopping down into the small wooden chair by the bed. ‘I wager that the…what was it?’
‘The Hop Inn,’ said the old man without looking up.
‘The Hop Inn, that’s it. I wager that the Hop Inn is a fine lodging house, well presented and comfortable enough for the King himself. We were even provided with the Royal Suite and yet you always insist that we stay a mile or two elsewhere in the cheapest place you can find. I’m all in favour of a little rustic charm, but really…’ she slapped her hand down on the armrest of her chair and a small cloud of dust rose into the air.
‘We do not accept His Majesty’s generosity,’ he said simply, counting out the notes of money.
‘Not even on the odd occasion?’
‘Not even then. We use the minimum amount of money and return the rest, just like we’ve always done. Though I must admit,’ he said, throwing the money on the bed, ‘His Majesty has been particularly generous this time, even for him.’
‘That must mean we’ll have more need of pecuniary aid this time around. Though heaven knows what for. Perhaps I could…’ she reached for the pile of notes.
‘Rosie Versatile if you so much as suggest that you have need of a new dress or new jewels or new buckles for your shoes I’ll tan your hide.’
Rosie pulled back her hand and stamped her feet.
‘Oh, what is a young lady to do? You want me to fit in and then you give me no means to do so. This dress would barely suit a lady two years past and yet you insist…’
A knock came on the door and they both shot to attention. Rosie sat bolt upright with her ankles folded and her hands crossed neatly in her lap, just as a young lady of good breeding should do, and her grandfather pulled himself up. ‘Remember I’m Mr Homespun and you’re my ward, Miss Simply,’ he whispered, winking at Rosie, before pocketing the money, making his way over to the window and adopting a pose of mild severity.
‘Come,’ he called.
The door opened and their landlord stumbled in carrying two heavy looking boxes, one in each arm. He was a man of average height, with a strong build, ruddy cheeks and an agitated manner that Rosie felt was a little unsettling. He put down the boxes and wiped his hands on the leather apron tied round his waist.
‘That’ll be the last of it Miss Simply,’ he said, putting his hands to his waist and stretching his back out. ‘I must say I haven’t climbed those stairs so many times since I took charge of this here inn. You must travel with all your belongings at once, like a snail,’ he smiled.
‘I hate to be parted from anything Mr Steadfast, it’s true, but I’m most grateful for your help. We shouldn’t have managed without you, should we…Mr Homespun?’ she asked, turning to her grandfather.
‘We shouldn’t,’ the old man agreed, nodding his head to Mr Steadfast.
There was a silence for a moment, which Rosie quickly tried to fill.
‘We’re both so grateful to be staying here on the topmost floor, the view down to the town is very pleasant,’ she said, trying to sound as polite as she could.
‘The room is to your liking?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘it is both charming and rustic.’ She slapped her hand down once more on the armrest of her chair and the wood creaked. She held her smile and ignored it.
‘Yes, we like it here too, my son and I,’ said Mr Steadfast. ‘It suits us better than the town nowadays.’
‘You don’t like the town?’ asked Henry, stepping into the room.
‘Oh it’s not that we don’t like it Mr Homespun, we were once very fond of the town, very fond of it, it’s just that in recent times…’ he stopped and began to slowly wring his hands together.
‘What about recent times Mr Steadfast? Should we be wary of going down Hope Hill?’ the old man asked.
‘It’s not that,’ said Mr Steadfast, stopping the old man short, ‘it’s just…a better job could be done of running it is all I’m saying.’
‘A job for you perhaps?’
‘That’s not what I meant, it’s merely that…oh, I seem to be running away with myself, you are here for the grand event at the theatre I expect and will find the town most…agreeable.’
Both of the Versatiles looked at him, flushed and nervous, but Rosie kept her front, stood up and bobbed such a curtsy as would have pleased any gentleman.
‘I’m sure we shall find the town just as you say Mr Steadfast, most agreeable, now if you’ll excuse us, we really must be on our way…’
‘Of course miss, where are my manners, I’ll leave you and your guardian to your business.’ He turned to go but quickly turned back. ‘Begging your pardon miss but has my rascal of a son returned with your errand yet?’
On cue the sound of running feet could be heard on the narrow staircase leading up to the top floor. The stomping continued to come their way until Samuel Steadfast the younger came round the door and rushed into the room holding the wooden pallet filled with the goods they had requested. The young man stood a moment, bent over at the middle, catching his breath and Rosie put a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. She couldn’t help it but there was something altogether amusing about the lad. It wasn’t the way he looked, for if she was honest with herself she thought he cut a trim figure, topped with an attractive mess of mousey brown hair, but he had the appearance of someone who hadn’t yet had a chance to catch up with himself. His gait was gangly and awkward and when she had tried to share words with him on their arrival early that morning she found him brusque and a little rude.
‘I…I’m…’ he spluttered, ‘I’m…sorry I took so long. That hill seems to be getting steeper every time I climb it.’
He stood upright, only to be clipped round the ear by his father, who seemed to be nothing but embarrassed by him.
‘Good folk here ask you to do one simple thing and what do you do, dawdle around town, no doubt looking for mischief or some other nonsense. I’ve a right mind to send you back down that hill and leave you there.’
Sam looked ready to shout him down but took a deep breath and calmly gave a small bow to Rosie and her grandfather.
‘If I’ve caused any upset I’m sorry. Here’s everything that you asked for Miss Simply, Mr Homespun. If you need anything else you
’ll know where to find me and I’d be glad to help. Sorry again.’ He had bowed another three times before he’d finished speaking.
‘No need for an apology lad,’ said the old man, ‘if you got everything we asked for, you’ve done your job and that’s enough for me. Now Mr Steadfast I should like to dine. We can leave these two creatures of youth to themselves for the time being.’
Mr Steadfast held out an arm for the old man to lean on as he took small, cautious steps out of the room leaning heavily with his other arm on his cane. Rosie had seen this act a hundred times. Her grandfather could give a King’s stallion good chase on a bad day but always played the hobbling guardian with such aplomb she found herself feeling sorry for the aged and entirely fictitious Mr Homespun.
As soon as she heard them begin their descent of the stairs Rosie slumped back in her chair. It wasn’t easy acting as the oh-so-polite-and-perfect-lady-of-the-modern-world Miss Lizzie Simply and though she hated to admit it she knew the cover was a necessary one. As her grandfather never failed to remind her, a reputation wasn’t what they were looking for in their line of work.
‘Excuse my father miss, he can be quite a handful when he wants to be,’ said Sam.
‘He says much the same about you,’ she smiled. ‘Put the things down there,’ she brushed her hand lazily in the direction of the bed. Sam did so and looked around the room, taking in the trunks and boxes and more curious objects like a cross, made from some berries and a bunch of dried herbs or some such. He picked the cross up and inspected it.
‘That’s rue that is, and dill if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not mistaken Master Steadfast, I was unaware that errand boys had such a delicate sense of smell.’
‘Oh it’s not the smell miss, I can’t smell anything,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I fell on my face as a young’un and haven’t been able to smell a thing since. No, I just recognized them that’s all.’ He reached into the pallet and plucked out a sprig of vervain.
‘And that’s vervain.’
‘So it is,’ said Rosie.
‘You know what they say Miss Simply.’
‘No, Master Steadfast, what do they say?’
‘“Rue, vervain and dill, hinder witches from their will.”’
Rosie swallowed.
‘Where did you hear that, from some quack Apothecary?’
Sam shrugged in answer.
‘Luckily I’m not one for old wives tales Master Steadfast, the scents help me sleep.’ She snatched back the herbs and tossed them into the box. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’
‘Here for the event are you Miss?’ Sam persisted. ‘Just like everyone else? Town’s bursting with folk like you, all ready to hear of Hope’s big secret.’
‘That’s right, we’re here for the event, you’re as right as rain. Now if you’ll…’
‘All wanting to hear how a town as rebellious and vile as Hope is now so prosperous and so fine.’
‘That’s right, now if you’ll...’
‘Got tickets have you? Got nice invites on fancy paper? You two must be right proper if you’ve been invited. I heard only the finest folk in the land…’
‘If you’ll excuse me Master Steadfast but I have work to be getting on with!’ She didn’t mean to raise her voice but she couldn’t help it, the boy could hardly be tolerated.
Sam instantly recoiled and bowed low. ‘Of course Miss Simply…I’ll leave you to it...got things to be getting on with myself actually…got a lot to do…sorry again miss…always making a fool…sorry…’ his voice drifted off and he slunk silently out of the door, bowing as he went and closing it behind him.
Rosie thought she should go after him and apologise but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She would go and join her grandfather instead, perhaps he had learnt more about the curious town and the curious event that had everyone so excited from Mr Steadfast the elder.
She turned to the small mirror on the wall to check her reflection before dining and reached up to her bare throat. She then reached under her pillow. She then turned out each trunk in turn. She then turned out every box in the room and shook them until they were empty. She pulled the bed sheets off the bed. She scrabbled around in the dust on the floor. She even tried to pull up the floorboards. It was useless. It was nowhere to be found.
Her necklace was gone.
◆◆◆
There were many rooms underground. Some were no bigger than a pantry and some stretched out into an unseen darkness.
One such room was full of people, more than it was easily possible to count. Each one sat at a desk, one behind another behind another, and heavy chains joined them all together. There was barely enough room to turn or bend over or stretch and the darkness was absolute. Light paid no visits down there.
Each desk bore paper, a quill and ink enough for several sleepless days of work (if time had any meaning in such a place). There was a damp, sweaty, metallic smell clogging the air and only the slight sounds of coughing, wheezing, dripping water and the clinking of chains broke the quiet that sat heavily in that dismal place.
A guard walked down the corridor between the desks, holding a rope that guided his way, and put something down on a man’s desk. The man waited until the guard had gone before picking up the object left for him. It was cold and smooth between his fingers but he hardly noticed. He was more hungry and thirsty than he thought was possible and his mouth was filled with a sickly taste he couldn’t get rid of. He felt dreadful.
He turned the object over in his hand but it was damp and quickly slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. The sound such a small thing could make in such a place was almost deafening and echoed around the room. Wincing, he pushed himself as far back into his chair as he could, giving himself the room to stretch forward over his desk and reach down towards the ground. His fingers scuffed around in the wet dirt but there wasn’t the room to move about and he couldn’t find anything. Sitting up, the back of his hand grazed the chain around his ankle and the metal jangled.
The man stopped dead and held his breath. He slowly reached back down and put his hand around the iron chain. It was loose.
As gently as he could he held the pin on the shackle and pulled his foot off the ground. He was as careful as he could be not to make a sound and pulled harder as he felt the iron give and scrape against his skin. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut he pulled harder still and soon his skin tore and the flowing blood let the shackle finally slip off the bottom of his heel.
He didn’t look around, for there was only darkness and he didn’t pause to listen, for there were no footsteps to be heard. He only groped around in the dirt until he found the object that had fallen then stood up from his desk and ran into the darkness as fast as he could.
◆◆◆
Rosie sat on her bed with her face in her hands. She was surrounded by a mess. Every item she owned was spread around her, scattered about the room, but the one thing she was searching for was not to be found. Her necklace was gone.
How could she be so foolish? She’d gone through every case and every trunk over and over but there was no stone to be found. She threw her face into her pillow and screamed and kicked her feet on the bed like a child in a tantrum.
She must have left it in her room the night before. She must have dropped it whilst packing. She must have done. No, that was silly, she thought. She knew she’d checked it a hundred times, she’d never forget her most precious necklace. She’d never forget the stone.
Unless...
She sat up throwing her pillow across the room. Unless... No, why would any one want to steal it? No one knew what it was. No one knew what it could do. What would anyone want with such a plain thing when there were pearls and jewels to tempt the eye? Besides, she had left her room only once to go through her grandfather’s belongings. It was childish to feed her passion with so presumptuous a thought. No one had any reason to take anything of hers.
She lay back down
on the bed, but still couldn’t extinguish the only hope she had; that someone had stolen it and she could therefore get it back. But who would dare do such a thing?
She picked a neat lace scarf up from the floor and tied it around her neck, concealing the necklace’s absence and hurried out of the door and through onto the landing of the top floor. A maid, no taller than Rosie’s shoulder and as wide-eyed and fretful as a mouse, came from her grandfather’s room on the opposite side of the small landing and shut the door behind her. Rosie, in a flash, lunged for the poor girl and pinned her up against the door. The maid didn’t have so much as a moment before she found herself held around her collar, on the tips of her toes and looking across at a most determined and enraged young lady.
‘Have you and your quick little fingers been into my room today?’ hissed Rosie.
The girl’s eyes grew wider still.
‘Tell me, or so help me I’ll wring your neck like a chicken’s.’
The woman didn’t appear to be joking, thought the maid. Perhaps she was mad.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean miss,’ she said, trying to curtsy. ‘If you’ll tell me what’s wrong then I might be able to be of service to you.’
‘The stone you slattern, the stone! Where is it?’
The woman was definitely mad, concluded the maid.
‘I’ve come across no stone today miss. There’s a quarry over the next ridge west of here, you’re sure to find as many stones as you please over there.’
Rosie stared into the maid’s eyes, and the girl stared back at her, pale and flustered, until, satisfied, Rosie let her fall back against the door. The maid bobbed up and down several times and ran off towards the stairs as Rosie smoothed down her dress, passed a hand back through the black curls of her hair and followed her down.
The girl had escaped through a side door by the time Rosie had reached the ground floor of the tavern and walked into the simple dining room. All eyes turned her way. Rosie ignored their looks and searched the room until she spotted her grandfather sat at a small booth in the corner, alone. She wandered casually through the room and joined him.