The countess sniffed. “I am already perfectly well aware of this,” she said, “since my husband’s most recent letter was delivered some days back. Is that all you have to say? Have you any information regarding my other son Gerald?”
“Not got nuffin on him, yer ladyship, him not being much known to me personal, and not being mentioned in my message. But I’ve more on Lord Ludovic to say.” Kenelm searched in his memory for other snippets of information. “Fact is, his lordship’s done written to me too, yer ladyship, and did ast me special to come here. Says as how his legs is a flea’s bite better and can get around a step or two wiv a stick when he has to, like for the privy and suchlike.”
“Very well.” The countess deigned to smile slightly. “That’s good news. If you report to Hamnet, I shall instruct him to pay you a groat for your troubles.”
Kenelm frowned. “I’s a wealthy man, yer ladyship, and ain’t come for no payment. It were a favour to his lordship, wot ast me to see you.” He bowed again, conscious of scrutiny. “And wanted especial for me to tell his news to a Mistress Alysson, wot lives here as a maid.” He took a deep breath. “Indeed, I’ve a neat little paper, sealed and scribed, to give into her hand from his lordship. But this Mistress Alysson Welles has gone, proper disappeared, my lady, and ‘tis a worry, for his lordship was real urgent on the matter. See my girl Alysson Welles, he says, give her my letter an’ tell her everyfing in case she don’t know it all yet. An’ I got the innkeeper to check on the words too, just in case I got it wrong, seeing as I ain’t no expert on the reading of stuff.”
“I have no idea what you are gabbling about, my man,” said her ladyship. She was rigidly straight backed, and appeared to be both uncomfortable and affronted. “I refuse to listen to prattle about the servants. I thank you for your information regarding my son, but you will now leave at once.”
“An’ my nevvy Clovis,” insisted Kenelm, not moving. “Just a little lad, he is. Lord Ludo sent him here to look after the lady. Mistress Alysson that is. And they’s both up and gone.”
“I imagine you therefore have your own solution,” said her ladyship, white lipped. She clapped her hands. “Hamnet, see this creature off the premises immediately. Give him a groat and throw him out.”
A slow starting spring moved into a mild May, with blossoms in the breezes and the young fledglings flying their nests. Somerset lay placid under the fitful sunshine, its pastures green between the wild flowers, the hedgerows rustling with burrowing things, and the clouds parting to clear starlit nights.
The sisters Ilara and Dulce were not accustomed to male visitors, but their fears regarding Alysson overcame any other considerations. Kenelm and Ellis were invited in immediately, were asked to sit, served light beer and offered a dish of luxuriously expensive raisins. “It is utterly perplexing,” Dulce said, leaning forwards earnestly to face her unexpected visitors.
“And utterly terrifying,” Ilara said. “Our dearest Alysson is such an innocent and inexperienced young girl, most gently brought up and quite unused to the ways of the world.”
Kenelm regarded the two nervous women, and decided that the ways of the world would mean something quite different to them than they did to him. “It’s the Lord Ludovic has ast me to find her,” he said with a reassuring smile. “That is, not that he knows she’s even bin and gone. But I feel it my responsibility, if you understand me ma’am, since his lordship is so mighty interested in her wellbeing.”
“Indeed, the concern appears to be mutual,” Ilara admitted. “Dear Alysson was preparing to travel to London nigh on two weeks back, and had already paid for cartage with a local carrier. Young Clovis was to travel with her as escort, masquerading as her brother. It was all set. Alysson was first to arrange her departure from the castle, then come here for the final night to collect the packages and money she would need while staying in the great city.”
“But she did not come,” sniffed Dulce. “We waited and waited, and the next morning we set off to the castle to enquire. We were told she had left the previous afternoon and not been seen since. We immediately asked for Clovis, since we knew Alysson’s plans regarding him. Yet we were informed Clovis had accompanied Alysson when she left, and neither was any longer employed at the castle.”
“It was most upsetting,” said Ilara. “And we have hardly known what to do since. The carter left without her and we’ve been to the village many times, walking through the woods searching for them both. Finally we decided to ask the sheriff to assist us. He has promised to do so, but he’s a busy man, and we fear he doesn’t take us as seriously as we would like.”
Dulce sniffed. “Sheriff Simples made some unnecessary remarks about the inconstancy of young women,” she said. “Of course, he doesn’t wish to cause affront at the castle, and fears to offend the countess. He inferred that Alysson had run away with Clovis.”
“Most foolish,” murmured Kenelm, sipping his beer. “Only a right silly bugger would think such a thing.” Ellis wriggled silently and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Ilara nodded. “But what can you do, Captain, that the sheriff cannot? We have no idea where to start.”
It was a sunny afternoon as the captain, pink and proud with a sweet faced lady at his side, strolled into the village square. It was not market day and the green was noisy with children. A gaggle of housewives were discussing the butcher’s daughter who had recently created a scandal by smiling at the young corvisor. The knife sharpener was wheeling his whetting stone and shouting for business, and the butcher was running out with his knives. A small goose boy was crying in the shadows of the village oak tree because he had lost his clogs in the pond while chasing his geese, and stubbed his toes on the fording slabs. He would have preferred to be playing with the other children kicking a pig’s bladder across the scrubby grass, but knew his father would beat him if he did. The geese gathered around him, clacking in apologetic sympathy.
“It’s anyone wot works up at the castle we wants,” Kenelm informed Ilara. “Someone wiv a bit o’ inside knowledge as it were.”
“Indeed. Dulce and your young boy will go straight to the tanners out by the forest ditch, and then to the cook’s daughter, Beatrice Shore. She was quite friendly with Alysson once. We should aim for Mistress Barnes.” Ilara nodded, pointing along the pathway. “She’s the brewster at the castle and a dear soul, but she still lives in the village with her mother and is often home on a Wednesday afternoon to keep her company, for that’s when the old woman has her weekly purge. Then there’s Mistress Tenby who is a most important personage, being in charge of all the female staff up at the Hall. She’d never deign to confide castle secrets to us I’m afraid, but it’s her sister lives in the village. She often picks up a good bit of gossip and is only too happy to pass it on. There’s also George Wapping, the gong farmer. Not a man I would normally consider associating with of course, but I hear he’s been working at the castle lately for they’ve had trouble with the cess pit overflowing and the latrines blocked.”
“Right then,” said Kenelm. “I shall take my lead from you, Missus, seeing as how your head’s well set on them shoulders. And I’m mighty obliged for your help and condescension.”
Ilara’s smile glowed. She was deeply concerned for Alysson, but had never walked closely beside a personable gentleman before, nor received gratitude and compliments from one. She was fully aware that the villagers were staring at them, either openly or surreptitiously. She patted her hood, tucked in a wisp of curl, hid her smile and breathed deep.
But Mistress Barnes was not at home after all. Her ancient mother mumbled toothlessly about wort and mashing malt and seemed to have no interest in life at the Sumerford castle beyond the brewing and the ale, complaining that it was not done as thoroughly as when she was a girl in the same profession, and that now the sieving was bare boulted and the barme too frugal.
From there Kenelm escorted Ilara towards the prim stone house where Mistress Tenby’s sister lived. Only the small maid was at home. �
��My mistress is away, Mistress Ilara,” the girl said, wiping her hands on her apron. “She went off to stay with her brother in the north. Meant to go for Easter, she did, but what with spring coming late and the roads still being iced, the trip was delayed three weeks. She’s not yet back.”
“That leaves the gong farmer,” sighed Kenelm. “An’ I can’t proper see as how a man wot clears the muck from the pits is gonna know about a lady’s maid.”
“He’s a man that likes to know everyone else’s business,” said Ilara. “So may be quite useful, or I would never even consider speaking to him. We needn’t stay long if he has nothing to tell us.”
George Wapping’s small thatched croft was pretty with dogwood and crab-apples. A red haired, large muscled and amiable man, he was at home and delighted to receive unexpected guests. He offered a cold fusion of herbs and mace spiced with ginger, and invited the captain and Mistress Ilara to sit at the table, hurrying to bring the best stools and wiping them down first with his sleeve.
It was true, he said, that the cess pit at the castle was somehow blocked and would need emptying. He had been up to inspect it more than a week back and had begun excavation almost immediately. However during the course of digging he had unfortunately damaged his wrist and the doctor had expressly forbidden him to work again for a sennight. Her ladyship was not best pleased, but had accepted the inevitable since bringing in another experienced man from the next village of Browny, would take even longer. The steward had kindly and secretly passed him a few pennies to tide him over while unable to work, and he was now sitting it out, counting his rosary beads each morning to plead for a quick recovery before his business was ruined.
“I don’t suppose, Master Wapping,” Ilara said, leaning forwards across the table, “you ever remember meeting a young maid at the castle, by name of Alysson Welles? She used to live with myself and my sister, and sometimes we came into the village together so you might have noticed her.” George squinted, trying to remember. “She is remarkably pretty and quite young,” Ilara continued. “Her hair is very black, though of course you would be unlikely to see that beneath her cap, but her eyes are quite unusual, being almost golden with green depths, like the forest in summer. Everyone remarks on her eyes.”
“’Tis the young Lord Ludovic has them eyes too,” nodded Master Wapping. “I’ve noted his eyes whenever I’ve met his lordship, though not being often of course. Is it his young maid you’re speaking of then? For they say the two are a match with eyes like that, though he is a great noble gentleman and pale haired, and her just a little servant lass with hair black as charcoal. But the innkeeper reckons his lordship had the lass live in the castle like a proper lady after she were hurt last summer, with her own bedchamber all to herself, and seen private by the castle medik and all.”
Ilara nodded eagerly. “Yes, certainly that is my dear Alysson. Now, this is most important, if you will consider carefully. Have you seen or heard of her lately, Master Wapping, within the past two weeks? She has quite disappeared you see, and we are dreadfully perturbed.”
Captain Kenelm sipped his mace and ginger. “Seems this innkeeper o’ yours knows all the prattle o’ the village. Maybe we’d best go see him instead.”
“Affleston’s a right knowledgeable man,” Wapping agreed. “You go talk to him whenever you wants, for he serves a good drop of ale into the bargain. But as it happens, I knows more’n a bit myself.” He settled himself more comfortably, elbows to the table. “For instance, I knows the Lord Ludovic’s bin pardoned by the king hisself, and will soon be home. He’ll be looking for his lady-love, I reckon.”
Kenelm sniffed. “Knows that myself, man. T’was me as got a personal letter from his lordship. Proper wax sealed wiv the Sumerford crest, and brought direct by a carrier all the way from Westminster.” He patted his doublet. “And here I’ve another letter from him special, if I ever sees her to pass it over.”
“Well now,” said Master Wapping. “In my profession, I don’t get to see the ladies much, but the young lads up at the castle, I chats to them from time to time. Them pages has more time to themselves, and skives off sometimes, pretending they’ve messages to bring outside so as not to get caught and beaten by the steward. One lad there was, name of Clovis.”
Ilara and Kenelm sat up very straight. “Go on,” Kenelm said. “Clovis is my nevvy, and was supposed to look after Mistress Alysson for his lordship. He’s gone missing too, nor hair nor heel seen for two weeks.”
“The lad told me ‘bout Lord Ludovic and his lady-friend a few times, as it happens,” nodded George. “I liked to let him ramble on. More savvy than some of them other pages, he were.”
“So where is he now?” demanded Kenelm. “Do you know?”
“Ah,” said Wapping, “I don’t rightly know, not to be sure. But I can tell you this. My brother Vymer, he’s always up at the castle, he is. A hard worker and a useful man, and they relies on him. ‘Specially the Lord Humphrey, him being a bit simple and needing a strong shoulder at times, and someone to help when he gets all muddled up and bothered. Vymer cares for the Lord Humphrey special like, and they’s been close for years. Now my brother, not that he tells me much as a rule, but he mentioned the other day as how I won’t be seeing the little lad Clovis to chat to no more. Can be a bit difficult, my brother, and likes to tease. Knew I was fond of the lad. Was maybe a mite jealous, seeing as I don’t get on with his own boy, Clovis being brighter and a sight better company that is. Vymer told me how he’d finished the little lad off for good. Not that I believed him at the time, but it’s true young Clovis ain’t been around ever since. He’s not been seen by no one, not me nor others neither, for I’ve asked.”
“Sweet Mother Mary,” gasped Ilara.
Kenelm lurched up from his stool, leaning across the table and grabbing at the neck of Wapping’s shirt. “Wot is you talking about? You explain and quick about it. Wot’s happened to my little nephew?”
George detached himself. He was considerably larger than Kenelm. He shook his head. “No point getting riled up with me,” he objected. “I didn’t do nothing, and there’s no saying it’s true anyways. Besides, my brother Vymer, well there’s no telling him what to do, nor holding him to task for it afterwards.”
“Spit it out,” seethed Kenelm. “Wot happened to Clovis?”
“Drowned,” sighed Wapping. “Vymer reckoned he drowned the little lad. In the moat.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Permission had been given. For a few minutes before the prisoner was escorted from his cell to the execution block set on the sward by the Tower chapel, his father and brother would be allowed words with him, immediately after he had made his final confession and received the sacrament of penance.
Ludovic rode the litter from the Strand to the Tower. His father did not sit beside him, but rode his own courser, following across the city behind the two carter’s horses. Ludovic lay within the bumping, rolling cart, his eyes closed. It was the first time he had left his sick bed since departing the Tower himself a week previously, and he felt nauseous. Unused to the sweaty sway of the leather canopy and the lurch of the wheels on the broken flagstones, he concentrated, as he had once before, only on his breathing. The focus was controlled, and it worked. He did not allow himself to think of Gerald yet. He could not think of the unthinkable.
He had been carried into the hired litter by the Strand house steward, but he left it on his own feet. Much supported by his father on his right side, and leaning on a thick wooden stick at his left, Ludovic managed the three steps to the doorway leading into his brother’s tiny chamber in the Beauchamp Tower. The door was unlocked and opened for them. He stumbled in and a stool was set for him, the guards returning outside. Gerald was sitting slumped, head bowed, on the low bed. The priest was speaking softly to him.
Immediately Ludovic felt the old familiar menace of chill, the seeping damp of utter drear and the bitter threat of hopelessness. He and his father waited in awful silence as the priest con
cluded his prayer and left, the door pulled shut behind him, the lock grating to the twist of the great iron key.
Gerald sighed and looked up. He was shackled as Ludovic had been, and the small chamber was similar, furnished with the brazier and blankets that Ludovic had paid for months back. One candle glimmered, its light sinking in the gloom. There was no window but ice slipped sibilant beneath the door, whistling low across the old stones.
“I have no regrets,” Gerald said abruptly. The words were swallowed by damp stone, and sounded flat and dull and dead of meaning.
“I have many, my boy,” said the earl. “But they are all of my own failures, and do not degrade you, or your courage and loyalty. I did not come here to berate or criticise you, only to say goodbye, and give you my blessing for what it may be worth.”
Gerald looked away. “I have only one regret. That I failed to secure Prince Richard’s rights, or ensure his future. This is a miserable world of injustice and brutality, and I’m glad enough to leave it.”
“You attempted to bring justice, of a sort, into this sad country,” the earl nodded. “It was an admirable goal, and I do not call it misguided. Your family may not be alone in remembering your virtues and strengths, my son.”
Gerald smiled shyly and looked to Ludovic. “Strengths? Not many, I think. I weakened on the rack, and confessed before they broke my bones. You were stronger, little brother.”
Ludovic shook his head. “Not at all, Gerry dear. I was ready to admit anything they asked of me. A few minutes more, and I would have confessed. Luck favoured me. Simply that.”
“You deserve your luck, my dear, for you are innocent and I am guilty,” Gerald said. “The confession they prepared, which I signed, was close enough to the truth. And I’ve seen Berkhamstead, and asked him to carry on the fight. That’s inciting rebellion, isn’t it?” He frowned. “William has seen the prince several times, and is furious at his treatment. The poor wretch is shackled too, and quite alone, though his apartment is grand and comfortable, unlike ours. Too many prisoners, the cells all full, and our titles no longer grand enough. But at first Will says the prince went almost mad with loneliness, but it seems he’s recently discovered a friend.”
Sumerford's Autumn Page 45