by Lucy Jago
The back door opened and a florid face stared down at her.
“What the…?” Cess shot inside and waved at the farmer to shut the door quickly. He did so, staring at her as if a ghost had just entered.
“Your mother’s near dead from worry about you,” said Joliffe.
“You’ve seen her?”
“Aye, she accused me of leaving you in Yeovil,” he said grimly, indicating that Cess should sit in the only comfortable chair. He leaned against the fireplace wall, still watching her closely.
“I’m sorry,” said Cess. She sensed that Joliffe was prepared to listen to her. Here was another outsider, like herself. She explained briefly what had happened to her, William, Jasper, and Edith, and saw his face transform with every sentence, from disbelief to shock, outrage, and fear. As she described William’s piteous state, he pulled up a stool and sat heavily upon it, his head in his hands. “It is hard to believe what I say, but I swear it is true.”
Joliffe looked up at her and she saw that he did not doubt her. “That bastard,” he said, hatred on his face. “See these bruises and scratches?” They had faded since Monday but were still visible. “A gift from Drax Mortain and his demonic bird to persuade me to give up the lease on this land. I couldn’t understand his sudden interest in farming, but now I see it’s because the priory cellars are just there.” He pointed behind him and seemed to shudder at the knowledge that, even as they sat there, robed men were inflicting indescribable misery on their young victims just a few measures from his home.
“What can I do? Can we storm the place?” he asked.
“You and whose knights?” Cess smiled ruefully. Neither of them had many allies in the village.
“Peter Barlow?”
“It’s not enough. But we are gathering people, friends of Edith, and then your help will be crucial. For now we need food and saltpeter.”
Joliffe raised his eyebrows. “Saltpeter? Got time to preserve some meat?” he said, puzzled.
Cess giggled. “No…but I’d better not say more.”
“As you wish,” he said amiably, hauling himself up from the stool and trudging off into another room. He returned a few minutes later with a large sack and a trencher of bread on which was some butter and a wedge of cheese. He put the sack by the door, gave Cess the trencher, and poured them both a cup of ale from the sideboard.
“I doubt you can carry more than that. Come back when you run out. All the saltpeter I have is in the blue clay jar.”
While Cess ate, Joliffe tied the top of the sack with a piece of twine he cut from a loop at his girdle. He then cut a second piece of twine, took a key from above the back door, and tied the string around it. He handed it to Cess, who put it around her neck.
“Let yourself in with that if you need to. I’ve got something to show you.” He led Cess into a chamber that led from the main hall. In the far corner, to one side of the fireplace, he lifted the rush mats on the floor and showed Cess a small hole in the old oak planks. Joliffe inserted his finger and the board lifted. He pulled it out and showed Cess a dark space.
“This is the priest hole. Space for three, four at most.”
“Are you a Catholic?” asked Cess in surprise as she stared into the tiny space and shivered in horror; it would be like hiding in a coffin, like being buried alive.
“My folks were. Devout. I lost my faith in God—” He stopped abruptly, glanced at Cess, and frowned. “Never mind.”
He walked with her to the back door. “If I get a chance, I’ll tell your mother I’ve seen you. If I can do more, you let me know. That bastard deserves to rot in hell.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, sir,” said Cess simply. Her face showed the gratitude she felt.
With the heavy sack over one shoulder, Cess was nearly in the forest when a foot shot out from some brambles and someone was upon her. Cess bucked and punched, managing to turn over, but a knife was held to her throat and she quieted. When she saw her assailant’s triumphant face above her, she nearly laughed.
“Amelia! What are you doing?”
“Catching a witch’s accomplice,” she said. “I knew I could do what the whole village failed to do,” she sneered. “Stealing food, I see?” she said, eyeing the bag Cess held. “Come with me—there’s someone who wants to meet you.”
Cess could tell from her cousin’s superior tone that she meant someone important, like Viscount Drax Mortain. “No, Amelia, you don’t know what’s going on.”
“Oh? On the contrary, I would say I am one of the few people who do know what’s going on.”
“You’re wrong, Amelia.” Although she wasn’t sure how Amelia’s play for Drax was progressing, it was the only subject she could think of that might stop Amelia in her tracks. “You’re being a fool. I saw you with Drax Mortain in the maze. He’s just playing with you.”
Amelia stopped poking Cess with the knife and stared coldly at her. “What of it?” she said loftily.
Cess growled in frustration. She dared not tell Amelia anything of what she knew, for the little sneak would go straight to Drax Mortain.
“Anyway, how would you know he is ‘playing’ with me? What are you up to?” Cess said nothing. “Well, if you won’t talk to me, I’m sure the viscount will loosen your stubborn tongue.” Amelia jabbed the knife at Cess again, to force her down the hill, but took only two paces before finding herself pulled back. Her fine, new wool cloak was caught in briars. Amelia pursed her lips and clucked crossly at the damage the thorns were inflicting on a prized possession.
“Untangle me and don’t try to escape, because I shall scream the place down and stab you.”
Cess could not help admiring Amelia’s determination. She carefully separated the cloak from the tiny thorns, taking her time so she could think. She had to get away.
“Where have you been hiding?” Amelia demanded.
“In the forest.”
“You are with Edith?”
“No. Did you not know that the shack has been wrecked and she has been chased away?”
“Well, yes, I heard, but what of it? There are other places she can hide.”
Cess looked at Amelia doubtfully. “I have searched all over and could not find her,” she said.
“Hurry up!” snapped Amelia. “And you, I suppose, are too frightened to return to the great house? The money you earned at market turned your head, did it? All spent? A witch and a thief—what good company you must be for each other.”
“I spent not one farthing, Amelia. I did not run away, I was taken like those boys who disappeared.”
Amelia did not deign to reply to such obviously tall tales.
“I will make a bargain with you,” said Cess, holding her ground. It was clear to her that Amelia was determined to sacrifice Cess in order to advance her cause with the nobleman. She could not help feeling sad that her cousin cared so little for the friendship they had once shared.
“You are in no position to bargain, dear cousin.”
“Amelia, we both know that if we fight, you will be hurt too. I know things that could help you.”
“I have no need of your help,” Amelia huffed dismissively as if she were already mistress of the Montacute estate.
Cess looked skeptical. “You are a village wench, and Drax Mortain one of the most powerful men in the land. Don’t you think it might take more than a pretty face to win him over?”
Amelia scowled. “What do you know about such things?” she replied scathingly.
“Edith taught me much,” said Cess tantalizingly. “I know how to make heart philters that turn a man’s lust to love.”
Amelia was unable to disguise her interest, and Cess could tell she was weighing up her claims. If Edith really was gone, then catching Cess proved nothing. Far from taking Cess to Drax, it might be better to keep her away so that Amelia might prolong the intrigue surrounding her cousin and keep herself in the forefront of Drax’s mind.
“I am not a fool. You will prom
ise to make the philter but will not do so and will never return here to bring it to me,” said Amelia.
Cess paused and pretended to think hard. “If I give into your keeping the most precious thing I own, to be returned to me if I fulfill my side of the bargain, will you agree?”
Amelia laughed, the sweet sound so at odds with the spiteful, determined face. “Cess, you have nothing precious. You are a bastard!” she squeaked.
But Cess knew without doubt that her singularly vain cousin would not be able to resist the jewel, once she had seen it.
“Let me see what you have and then I will decide,” said Amelia imperiously.
Cess feigned reluctance as she opened her purse. The unhappier she appeared giving up the jewel, the more delighted Amelia would be with it.
“You are wearing a purse!” gasped Amelia. No peasant girl should do so. Even a yeoman like Amelia would be reaching above her station to wear one outside her skirt.
“It is only for ease of carrying now I have no home.” Cess shrugged, taking out the pendant, being careful not to show the knife. She could grab the athame and fight her cousin, but she knew that was not the answer. This way, there was a possibility Amelia would keep quiet about meeting her so as to keep the pendant and the potions. She handed the pendant to Amelia as if it were a favorite kitten. Amelia tucked her knife into her girdle and took the jewel. Her eyes opened wide in awe as she ran her fingers over the valuable gems in their gold setting.
“You stole this,” she breathed.
“I did not,” replied Cess indignantly.
“How did you get it, then?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Amelia looked sharply at her cousin but did not bother to argue. Nor did she ask whom the portrait depicted, and Cess decided not to enlighten her.
“Very well. I will strike this bargain with you. Leave the philter by the stile tomorrow night, and I will return the jewel. If you do not, this jewel is forfeit.”
Cess nodded and disappeared into the forest as fast as she could. She had a feeling the pendant would not bring Amelia any more luck than it had brought her.
C H A P T E R 18
Jasper followed closely behind Edith. She moved as quickly as a fox, slinking along hidden paths, stopping frequently as if to sniff the air and listen. Edith had warned Jasper that it would be a long walk, for they would circle the house at a distance and only approach it from the south, where trees gave cover. On every other side there were bowling greens, lawns, ponds, or formal gardens, and they risked being seen. His only weapon was a curious white-handled knife she had given him. Jasper’s fear was kept at bay by the elation of being outside and, at last, doing something positive to hasten the end of this nightmare.
The moon gave good light and they made fast progress. Edith kept far enough from dwellings to prevent dogs barking. He knew Cess was out there too, not far away. When he thought about her, he noticed that he no longer felt the urge to slap her. She was stubborn and headstrong and had got herself involved in matters way above their heads, but he grudgingly admitted that she was, at least, interesting.
They crossed a little brook and skirted several long strips of cultivated land. Eventually they came to an avenue of elm trees, which they crossed, and continued through a loosely cropped meadow to the orchards on the south side. They saw a lantern near the house. The night watchman was making his rounds. Edith opened a wicket gate that let them into the orchard, closing it carefully behind her. The densely packed trees and low branches made the way dark and difficult.
Suddenly Jasper spotted a pale shape partly hidden by a tree. It was moving. He ran to warn Edith, but fell over a body in the grass. Guards! They must have been waiting for them. He lay winded, hearing grunting as the guard placed the heavy butt of his pike on his back. Edith was approaching, but how could she fight the guard?
“Are you hurt?” whispered Edith, pushing the great weight off Jasper’s back. He turned and saw that the pike butt was the trotter of a huge sow, who was nuzzling him with interest. All around he saw other pale shapes sprawled on the ground or coming to see what was happening.
“We must go, in case they make a noise,” whispered Edith, pulling Jasper to his feet. He was pleased that the darkness hid his blushes. He hoped Edith would not mention to Cess that he had been floored by a pig.
At the corner of the orchard they looked over the fence to survey the stables beyond, a long building of two stories. The lower floor contained the stalls for the horses and rooms for tack, bedding, and feed. Above was a low-gabled dormitory for stable boys and grooms. Cess had warned them that the grooms often stayed awake late, playing cards, and were sometimes still at it when she began work. On this night, no candlelight shone through the shutters, nor was there a guard or dog stationed outside. The night watchman’s lantern was nowhere to be seen, and so Jasper let himself out through the wicket gate and ran to the stable door. Edith remained in the orchard, keeping watch.
Close to, Jasper could hear snoring coming from inside. It was a human, not a dog. He lifted the latch using both thumbs so as to make no sound, and poked his head around the door. It took a few moments for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. The only light came from the moon through a single open shutter. Jasper saw that this part of the stables was separated from the rest by a wooden partition that ran from floor to ceiling. From the left-hand wall jutted a mezzanine floor supported by two wooden columns, which would surely creak when he walked on it. He could see the top of a number of barrels and sacks—the fireworks, he presumed. Sprawled on a heap of straw at the bottom of the ladder leading up to it was a sleeping man.
Jasper ran back to Edith and reported what he had seen.
“I shall send him into a deeper sleep,” said Edith, pulling a tiny clay jar from her purse.
“What is it?”
“A sleeping draught. It is not much used these days, for if it is wrongly brewed the sleep is permanent.”
“It kills? What’s in it?”
“It is a concoction of bile, opium, henbane, lettuce, bryony, hemlock, and vinegar diluted in wine. If I have the proportions right, he will sleep very deeply and wake feeling dizzy but remembering nothing, for it affects the memory and can give very strange dreams. Have you the ropes?” Jasper nodded.
Edith crossed to the stable as quietly as a shadow, and Jasper followed, waiting by the door. She knelt beside the snoring man, opened the pot, and tipped the contents slowly into the man’s gaping mouth. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and grunted. Edith put the jar away and beckoned Jasper, but before he could reach the stairs, the man sat bolt upright. Jasper’s heart flew into his mouth and he grabbed his knife, but Edith shook her head. The man glared at Jasper and then at Edith. His eyes were huge and bright, the pupils much larger and blacker than normal. Then, without a sound or hint of recognition, he collapsed back on the straw, eyes closed.
“Go!” whispered Edith.
Jasper raced up the ladder and began passing sacks and barrels down to Edith. He found a box of hemp fuses and three tinderboxes with large pieces of char cloth in them to set the fuses alight. There was also a strange wooden block drilled with holes, which Jasper guessed was to set the fireworks in to light. When he judged that they had all they could carry, he clambered back down the ladder. Edith roped as many barrels and sacks to Jasper as his legs could stand. She then tied several more sacks together and bent down to put the rope over her shoulders. With difficulty, she managed to stand up.
The man began murmuring and singing to himself as Jasper and Edith staggered out of the stable and into the orchard. The night watchman was on the other side of the house, the yard obviously not part of his beat but the responsibility of the poor dolt now moaning into the straw.
“Poor man,” puffed Edith once they were a safe distance from the house. “He is going to wake with the most awful pain in his head.”
“And on his arse,” panted Jasper, “if he’s whipped for allowing
a thief to walk right over him.”
Sir Edward was sitting watching the small flames of the summer fire in the vast fireplace. The morning was raining again and chilly, despite being May.
He was preoccupied by the information he had received about his son’s betrothal. If the information was correct, Drax was playing a very dangerous game indeed. His duty was to inform on Drax to the Queen, but he would do that only if he believed his son was truly a lost cause.
His reverie was disturbed by the sound of the outer door opening and a knock on the inner. His steward walked in.
“My apologies for disturbing Your Lordship.”
“Come where I can see you.”
Sir Nathaniel Davies moved around the high-backed chair to stand before the fire. “I am afraid there has been a burglary.” Nathaniel looked worried. “It must be someone who knows the place well.”
“What is missing?” asked Sir Edward, glancing at the fireplace.
“Fireworks,” said Sir Nathaniel. “The stable in which they were stored was raided last night, right under the nose of the guardsman who was posted in the room. A very large quantity is missing; it must have been the work of more than one thief.”
“Fireworks? What on earth could anyone want with those? It would be rather obvious if they tried to use them.”
“Indeed, sir, it is very puzzling. My first fear was that they could somehow harm the Queen, but on further consideration it seems improbable. It takes several minutes to light them and there is no way to direct them across the ground to hit Her Majesty.…I do not understand it.”
“Could the guard have been bribed?” asked Sir Edward.
“It seems more likely he was drugged,” replied his steward.
“Drugged? That would require skillful knowledge. He was not drunk?”
“It is hard to say, sir,” said Sir Nathaniel, shrugging his shoulders. “The man swears not, but he has a bad head on him this morning.”