He ducked through the doorway and was about to step into the yard when he saw that the horse and cart were standing right in front of the kitchen, the side of the cart hard against the door. He frowned. He was certain he had tethered the horse securely near the courtyard gate. What was it doing across there?
Tenney was about to hurry out, when he caught sight of someone coming towards him. He groaned. Leonia was skipping across the courtyard. He prayed that Beata had already hidden herself in the cart, for he didn’t know how he would smuggle her into it with the girl watching. Rolling the stolen clothes he was carrying into a bundle, he tried to step around Leonia, but she barred his way.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘Who says I’m going anywhere?’ Tenney avoided her gaze, though he could feel her great owl-eyes searching his face.
‘So why did you harness the horse, if you’re not going somewhere?’
‘A few errands, is all. Wood and other things want fetching.’
‘Can I come?’ she said brightly.
Startled, he looked at her. Her eyes were shining with excitement, as if she’d been promised a rare treat.
‘Master Robert’d not take kindly to his daughter riding about with—’
He broke off. The horse was neighing and rolling its eyes. It stamped and half reared in the shafts, straining against them. Then Tenney saw the reason. Smoke was curling from under the kitchen door and billowing out from beneath the cart. But though the horse was evidently panicked by it, for some reason Tenney couldn’t fathom, it wasn’t pulling away from the door.
He stared at it stupidly. Then, dropping the bundle, he shoved Leonia aside and sprinted across the courtyard. He tried to drag the horse forward, but the creature wouldn’t budge. It twisted its head as if someone far stronger had hold of the bridle and was pulling it back. He caught sight of Leonia, standing in the doorway watching, her eyes fixed on something by the horse’s head. She was witching the horse! Briefly, Tenney felt himself bewitched too. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move or think. Then Godwin’s words flashed into his head. Desperately, he scrabbled in his scrip for the monkey’s paw and flung it on the ground between himself and the girl.
He expected a flash of light, a cry of fear or rage from the girl, but nothing happened. Leonia began to laugh, her eyes flashing with mockery. The horse was neighing shrilly in fear and trying to kick out. But it was held fast.
Tenney snatched up the whip that lay ready in the cart and brought it down as hard as he could on the horse’s flank. It reared and shot forward as though suddenly released. It was all he could do to grab the terrified beast before it bolted to smash itself and the cart to pieces against the wall. It took him several long minutes to bring the terrified creature under control.
Tenney tore back to the kitchen and wrenched open the door. A billow of dense smoke sent him staggering backwards. He scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles, frantically trying to clear them. Then he saw Beata, lying on the threshold, her arm outstretched and limp, her head curled onto her chest. With a cry of anguish, he dragged her out into the courtyard.
She lay unmoving, her face white, dark smudges of smoke around her nostrils and mouth. He hauled her into a sitting position, supporting her chest against his forearm as he thumped her back, willing her to live. ‘Come on now, lass. Don’t leave me, not now. Where would I be without you to mither me? I need you, lass, I need you!’
Frantically he pummelled her back again, trying to make her draw breath. But she didn’t stir. She flopped forward across his arm, like an old pillow. Kneeling on the flags of the courtyard, still wet from the rain, Tenney rocked her lifeless body back and forth, howling like a child.
But then came the sweetest sound in all the world: Beata gasped.
Master Robert was adamant that birds must have stuffed the wet straw into the vent to build a nest. He’d never paid any heed to the habits of creatures that did not make him a profit and, in consequence, he had little notion of when birds nested. The only thing that puzzled him was why Beata had remained in the kitchen when it was filling with smoke, but he concluded that it was further proof of her madness.
Sister Ursula, who had arrived with a lay sister to report Beata’s escape, told him the mad were cunning and sly. It was, she said, a blessing that Beata had been rendered insensible. In her jealousy of poor Mistress Catlin, God alone knew what she might have done. She’d doubtless gone into the kitchen to find a knife or an axe to butcher the entire family. The good nun crossed herself fervently. They’d had a lucky escape. The Blessed Virgin had surely been watching over them.
Sister Ursula declared she would take the crazed woman straight back to St Mary Magdalene’s and she assured Robert that Beata would henceforth be kept chained in fetters from which not even the devil himself could escape. Master Robert and his family could sleep soundly in their beds, for the tormented soul would never again leave the room in which she would be kept, much less the infirmary.
Tenney uttered not one word. He listened, head bowed, to all that they said. Then, without looking at any of them, he gathered the wheezing Beata into his arms and slid her gently into the back of the cart, tenderly propping her against a bale of hay to make it easier for her to breathe and covering her with his own cloak. He fetched a water-skin and held it to her lips. She drank gratefully, giving him a frightened smile.
Sister Ursula nodded her approval. ‘I shall ride with you.’
She walked round and stood expectantly by the front of the cart, beckoning to the lay sister to come and help her up. But Tenney clambered into the driver’s seat, flicked the reins across the horse’s back and turned the cart so sharply that Master Robert was forced to do the unthinkable and lay hands on a consecrated nun to drag her away from the wheel before it struck her. As the tail of the cart disappeared through the gate, Master Robert found himself shouting into thin air, demanding that Tenney stop at once. For the first time in more than thirty years, his manservant ignored him.
Tears running down his ugly face, Tenney kept driving, on and on through the streets and lanes of Lincoln, out through the city gate, down the long road until he was far beyond the sight of castle and cathedral. He was, if he had paused to think about it, a wanted man, a thief who had stolen a valuable horse and cart. That was a hanging offence. But Tenney had gone beyond thinking. He had to get the woman he loved away from that house of death. He would keep her safe, even if he had to cross all England to do it.
August
A rainy August makes a hard breadcrust.
Chapter 63
Sailors bought knotted thread from witches in case they were becalmed at sea. As each knot was undone so the strength of the wind was increased, but they took care never to undo the last knot for that would call up a violent storm.
Lincoln
Robert, closely followed by an armed linkman, strode along the quayside towards the warehouse, tearing open the heavy, ankle-length robe that was suffocating him in the afternoon heat. The houppelande was the height of fashion, with its high collar and voluminous folds, and as a cloth merchant Robert felt he should set an example by wearing it. But even he was forced to admit that it was the most damnably uncomfortable garment on a day like this.
The indolent breeze from the Braytheforde brought no relief. It merely carried the stench of the sewers and middens into every part of the lower town, for in this heat every green, slime-filled ditch was fermenting, sending out bubbles of noxious air. His foot slid on some rotting fish guts, sending up a great buzzing cloud of flies. The linkman caught his arm and managed to stop him crashing to the ground. Robert, embarrassed to be steadied as if he was an old man, shook off the supporting hand and hastened on until they reached the door of the warehouse, where he dismissed his guard with a small coin.
Wiping his sweating brow, he stepped inside. It was scarcely any cooler in the building, but at least he was out of the sun’s glare. He removed his turbaned hood and tossed it onto a stack of kegs
, glancing around. To his great annoyance the warehouse seemed deserted.
‘Adam!’
His son did not appear, but his shout brought the watchman hurrying from somewhere in the back recesses. He bobbed up and down in little bows as he scurried towards Robert, like a bird pecking for worms.
‘Master Robert . . .’ he panted, scarlet in the face from the heat. ‘I didn’t expect to see you, not so late in the afternoon. Last load’s been brought in. I was about to brace the doors.’
‘My so-called steward sent word to meet him here.’
The watchman looked around as if he wanted to be quite certain of Edward’s absence before he replied, ‘He’s not here, Master Robert.’
‘I can see that,’ Robert snapped. ‘And my son?’
The watchman shuffled uneasily. ‘He was here.’
‘When did he leave? He hadn’t come home when I left.’
The watchman looked increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I – I don’t rightly know. I didn’t see him leave. But the girl was here earlier. I saw her round the back near the stairs. I thought she’d come to fetch Adam. She’s been here before looking for him.’
‘A girl?’ Robert asked sharply. ‘What girl?’
‘Your stepdaughter, Master Robert. They go off together sometimes. I thought maybe . . . she’d come to tell him he was wanted at home.’
Robert frowned. ‘Are you sure it was Leonia?’
He’d been convinced Leonia had not set foot out of the house since her mother had cut her hair. No girl would venture out in public looking like that. Catlin had given her a voluminous cap to wear, but Leonia had stubbornly refused it. She’d come to the table with her head bare and her chin raised defiantly, as if she wanted her mother to be constantly reminded of what she’d done. Not that she had spoken a single word to either Robert or Catlin since that night.
The watchman considered the matter for a long time before he said, ‘Aye, I’m certain it was her. Though with her hair shorn and wearing those breeches, I thought at first she was a boy. She had such lovely hair . . . Physician cut it, did he, Master Robert, to keep her strength up?’
‘Yes . . . she had the summer fever,’ Robert said, grateful to be handed an excuse. ‘The physician thought it might lead to a fever of the brain if her hair wasn’t cut.’
‘Holy Virgin be praised that she’s well again, Master Robert.’
The sound of footsteps behind them made them turn. Edward sauntered through the door, and behind him four of the bailiff’s men escorting two sullen-looking captives.
When he saw Robert, Edward grinned. ‘I have a gift for you, Father.’
Robert’s hand clenched into a fist, which he might well have used had the watchman not been present. He struggled to control himself. He did not care to have his family business bandied around the city, which it would be if he told the young cur exactly what he considered their relationship to be.
‘You,’ Edward said to the watchman. ‘Shut the doors and admit no one.’ Turning to the bailiff’s men, he said, ‘Bring this pair up to the counting office. Then you can wait down here till we decide what’s to be done with them. There’s a cask of small ale in the corner. You can quench your thirst with that. This way, Father.’
Robert glared at his back, sure he was deliberately using the word to provoke him into losing his temper. Edward swaggered out into the bright sunshine again, up the wooden staircase outside and through the door to the open platform above the warehouse floor. He dragged two stools behind the table, seating himself on one and offering the other to Robert, with a wave. Robert felt his temper rising with every passing moment. The bailiff’s men pushed their two prisoners in front of the table, then clattered back down the stairs, desperate to ease their parched throats with the ale they’d been promised.
Robert, ignoring the proffered stool, studied the pair, who slouched before the table. Both men appeared to have been dragged there without warning. They were clad only in short, filthy breeches, their chests bare and greasy with grime and sweat. The older man had a crooked nose, probably once broken in a fight, for he had the muscles to indicate he might be handy with his fists. The younger one was evidently his son, for he had the same mud-brown eyes and hound-like face. Robert recognised them as boatmen who often delivered cargoes for the warehouse, but he’d never said more than a few words to them in passing.
‘What’s this about?’ he demanded impatiently.
‘Don’t ask me,’ the older man said. ‘We were just mooring up, same as usual, to wet our whistles in the inn, when he comes up and wants to know if I’m Martin of Washingborough. I says I am, and the next thing I know, we’re being dragged along here.’
‘And I haven’t had my dinner,’ the lad complained. ‘M’ stomach’s falling out of my arse and my throat’s that dry I could light a fire with it.’
‘Not dry enough that you can’t talk,’ Robert said, reminded of just how thirsty he was. ‘Well, Master Edward, I assume you must have some reason for dragging these men from their labours.’
‘Indeed I have, Father.’ Edward pressed his fingers together and rested his elbows on the table. ‘As you know, a good number of accidents have befallen our cargoes over the last months – bales falling off boats or being snatched, barrels being breached, not to mention a wagon being robbed on the road to York. I don’t take kindly to having my own kin cheated. I’d already guessed your overseer Fulk was behind it. He had to be in collusion with some of the boatmen. He was probably arranging for the cargoes to be transported elsewhere and sold on. He would’ve had contacts through his work here. But he’s hardly in a position to give us names now. So I’ve been making a few enquiries of my own among your tenants, Father, and found a woman who was only too willing to give us the name of one of the boatmen who was cheating us.’
Martin and his son had been listening without any reaction. Then it seemed to dawn on Martin what he was accused of. ‘I hope you’re not meaning me!’
‘Of course I mean you,’ Edward said. ‘Why else would I have had you brought here?’
Martin’s hand darted to the knife in his belt, but Edward had seen the movement, seized one of the measuring rods on the table and brought it down so hard across Martin’s wrist that the wooden rod snapped in two. Martin gave a yelp as the knife fell from his hand, spinning across the floor and coming to rest against Robert’s feet. Robert crouched and picked it up, wincing at the pain in his back, as he did so. He rammed the knife into his own belt.
‘If you’re going to question a man, at least have the sense to see he’s disarmed first, you imbecile,’ Robert snarled. ‘Get the boy’s knife too.’
Rubbing his bruised wrist, Martin glared balefully at Edward. ‘Whoever gave you my name was trying to cover their own tracks. I’ve lost a few cargoes, I grant you, but I can’t help it if those Florentines deliberately ram my punt and grab a bale. It’s them that’s the thieves. Master Jan, he was a proper steward, he was. He knew it was down to the Florentines. That’s why they pitched him into the Braytheforde, ’cause they knew he was going to lay charges.’
Robert grunted. ‘The quarrel my son had with the Florentines concerned the theft of a large sum of money and the confiscation of goods from their warehouse. I hardly think those men would bother with the price of a few barrels and bales when they’ve stolen thousands.’
‘Men’ll stoop to anything when they’ve a grudge just to annoy the other bastard. My neighbour, he let the pigs into our vegetable patch ’cause he swore I’d taken his hammer. And another time he—’
‘But as I understand it,’ Edward interrupted, ‘the thefts started long before Jan had any quarrel with the Florentines. Isn’t that right, Father?’
Robert, though still irked, was forced to agree.
‘So that brings us back to the deal you made with Fulk,’ Edward said triumphantly. ‘Was it you who stove his head in? Falling out among thieves, was it? Did he not give you your share of the plunder?’
Martin’s son, i
t seemed, had only just caught up with the conversation. He took a step forward, raising his fists. ‘Who are you calling a thief? My faayther’s no river-rat. Like he told you, bales just got filched, that’s all.’
Despite the meaty fist waving dangerously close to his face, Edward didn’t flinch. ‘Do you expect us to believe that a lad of your size, not to mention your father’s, simply stood by and let thieves lift the cargoes from your punt without putting up a fight?’
The lad opened his mouth, but his father seized his shoulder and hauled him back. ‘Way they work is, they ram your punt, push you into another boat. Then, when everyone’s distracted, arguing and trying to push away from each other, they swipe what they can while your back’s turned. If they’re on the outside of the tangle, they can get clean away, while you’re still trying to find a gap wide enough to push your quant into the water. They even work two boats sometimes, one to jam you in while the boat with the thieved goods on it gets far downriver.’
‘And I suppose this is all the work of the wicked Florentines, is it?’ Edward asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.
‘Them and others,’ Martin said sullenly.
‘What others?’
‘How should I know? I don’t go drinking with river-rats.’ He shot a furious warning glance at his son, who seemed on the verge of jumping in again. ‘Anyhow, who gave you my name?’
‘That’s not your concern,’ Edward said.
‘I’ve a right to know. Law says if there’s witnesses testifying against you, you’ve a right to know who they are.’
‘Only if they bear witness in a trial,’ Edward said.
Robert’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was certain that Martin and his son wouldn’t hesitate to steal the bark from a dog when its back was turned. But believing and proving were two different things and he wasn’t about to have these men arrested on the say-so of Edward and be made to look a fool when the charges were dismissed.
The Vanishing Witch Page 44