But it was nothing compared to the dread Lily was experiencing. "And Tristram went with them," she said.
"Well, the young master overheard them takin', mistress, and he said he had a right to be there too. Besides, Farley said 'twould be better if there were three of them, one to be the ghost and two to play the dragon. And ye know Master Tristram's been so awful upset of late, mistress, what with the reverend talkin' of . . . well . . . you know the way he carries on about . . . well . . . you know . . ."
"Yes, about the children of sin being more easily led into the evils of this world than those of God-fearing parents," Lily said, and suddenly she wished Farley and Fairfax had invited her along, too, for she'd love to see the good reverend's face when the ghost started moaning his name.
"You said Tristram is to be the ghost?"
"Oh, yes. Ye see, Fairfax found this old boar's head, and they've fixed it up to look like a dragon's head. Fairfax is goin' to wave a torch before him, like the dragon's breathin' fire. Then Farley, who'll be underneath the blanket behind Fairfax, will be carryin' Master Tristram on his shoulders. Ooooh, mistress, ye know what they did? They got the breastplate and helmet from the suit of armor in the hall, and they put it on Master Tristram. they even got the shield and sword. 'Twill look just like St. George fightin' the dragon, what with Master Tristram swingin' that sword and the fire roarin' from the dragon's mouth," Tillie said excitedly.
"I just hope Tristram doesn't behead Fairfax by mistake," Lily commented, thinking that if anything went wrong, which it was certain to since Farley and Fairfax were involved, then they were all going to be in very serious trouble.
"And Farley's goin' to cry out the reverend's name, and maybe even name some of them fine folks of the village. Half the village is likely to be at the church this eve, seein' how they be preparin' the dragon fer the procession. Day after tomorrow will be the festival, though I s'pose if Farley gets caught we won't be goin' to the feastin', or walkin' in the procession," Tillie worried, then suddenly cried out and rushed over to the window.
"Whatever is wrong?"
"Can't ye hear it? Oh, no!" Tillie wailed, wrapping her arms around her middle as she rocked back and forth on her heels.
Lily listened, expecting to hear the sound of angry villagers coming up the lane and shouting for the blood of Farley and Fairfax Odell. But all she could hear was the nightingale's singing. " 'Tis just a bird complaining about the darkness."
"Just a bird? 'Tis a cuckoo!" Tillie cried with a sniff of despair. "And I heard it call at least six times! Oh, what am I goin' to do? I'll never marry now! Not fer six years. 'Twill be too late by then!" Tillie cried.
"Tillie, hush!" Lily said, trying to calm her, but Tillie kept crying, and her wails were growing louder by the second.
"Tillie, please. Hush! Do you want to disturb the whole household? I tell you that was a nightingale. Not a cuckoo," Lily entreated her, wondering what difference it made whether it was a nightingale or a cuckoo. "Now, come over here and let me dry your tears," Lily cajoled, her arm around Tillie's shaking shoulders as she led her toward the tub. Dipping her handkerchief in the rose-scented water, she dabbed it against Tillie's cheeks.
Tillie sniffed back the tears still threatening. "Are you certain 'twasn't a cuckoo?"
"Of course I am," Lily reassured her. "But why are you so alarmed, Tillie? And what is this about never marrying? After all, you are still a very young woman. There will be plenty of time for you to wed."
" 'Tis the legend. Maire Lester used to tell it to me. She heard it, and she never wed. I've heard his cry now, and six times. I won't marry fer six years, if at all. It'll come true, I just know it! I'm never goin' to get married," Tillie bawled.
"Of course you will, but even if you didn't, well, would that really be all that bad? You will always have a home here at Highcross. Besides, you're worrying for nothing. I thought you and Farley were certain to wed before the year was out," Lily said, trying to be helpful, but when she saw the expression on Tillie's face, she realized she'd said the wrong thing.
"He won't wed me now that I've heard the cuckoo. Maybe he don't love me anymore now that we've-or," she cried shrilly, her fears worsening, "maybe something will happen to him tonight. He might get shot! Or maybe he fell into the river while crossing the bridge. And now no one will wed me! Not now that Farley's gotten me with child! The master will kick me out of the house. Reckon he'll be findin' out soon enough, what with that cook stickin' her porker's snout in my business all the time. Askin' me questions about why I'm gettin' sick in the mornin'. told her 'twas seein' her ugly face so early! I'll be run out t'village once they hears about it. Maybe they'll lock me up in the stocks. I'll be left on the village green fer all of them to jeer at and throw rotten eggs and cabbages at. Oh, what am I goin' to do, Mistress Lily? I got nowhere to go. I was born in the alms-house. I can't go back there. Oh, what am I to do, Mistress Lily?" she wailed, throwing her arms around a stunned Lily.
"What's wrong with Tillie? I could hear her crying all the way down the corridor," Dulcie said, waiting long enough for Raphael to enter the room before she closed the door behind her. "Do you want a bite of this tart, Tillie?" Dulcie offered, holding out the mincemeat tart she'd been hiding behind her back, willing to share if it would make Tillie stop crying.
"Praaack! Ye knaves and tarts! Ho! Villains, me pretty! Villains! Damn them all and sink 'em! Praaack!"
With a watery hiccup and an almost comical expression on her face, Tillie stared at the innocent-faced little girl and then at the sharp-tongued parrot and started to cry all over again.
"Did I do something wrong, Lily?" Dulcie asked, looking down at the soggy tart. "I snuck down to the kitchens and found some in the cupboard. I knew they weren't all gone like the cook said," Dulcie explained, going to sit before the fire, Raphael keeping close beside her lest she forget to share her prize with him.
"Will you tell me some tales, Lily?" Dulcie asked, taking a bite out of the mincemeat tart, then handing a portion to Raphael, who promptly swallowed it. "I want to hear the tale of the wild white horses and how they defeated the witch when they reached England. I bet the queen would like to hear the talk, too, Lily. How does it begin? 'On the isle of pines and palms, where the waves . . ."
The fire had burned down to glowing coals when Lily heard a footstep outside her door. Yawning, she stretched from her cramped position before the hearth, reluctant to leave it's warmth. She remained still, listening for the sound again, but there was only silence.
"Lily glanced over toward the bed, but all she could hear was quiet breathing. She'd finally managed to calm Tillie down, and unable to watch her return to the narrow mat she slept on in the servants' wing, she had tucked Tillie into her bed beside a peacefully sleeping Dulcie, who'd dozed off during her own telling of her favorite tale.
Unable to sleep until Tristram returned, Lily had curled up close to the fire. During the long hours that had passed while she waited, she thought of the conversation she'd had with Tillie, and of the conversation she would have to have with Farley Odell, the father of the child Tillie now carried. Tillie had said that Farley wanted to wed her. Although she had said nothing to Tilley, Lily had promised herself that she'd see that Farley Odell did exactly that.
Lighting a taper from one of the glowing coals in the hearth, Lily lit a candle and slipped out of her room. Making her way along the darkened corridor toward Tristram's room, she opened the door and stepped inside without knocking.
In the flickering candlelight, Lily could see Tristram sitting on the edge of his bed, his head bowed, his fingers clasped together tightly.
"Well? Aren't you at least going to say good night after I've stayed awake waiting for you to return?" Lily greeted him.
Startled, Tristram jerked his head up, looking as guilty as he should after a midnight raid on a graveyard. "Lily!"
"I am certainly relieved to see that you are in one piece. Can we say the same of Farley and Fairfax, your cohorts i
n the escapade?"
"You know?" Tristram asked with a sigh, but he sounded relieved.
"What happened in the village?" Lily asked him, moving to sit beside him on the bed.
"Oh, Lily," he said, his spirits momentarily lifting as he remembered, "I wish you'd been there. Farley rubbed this strange, glowing green, slimy stuff on the blanket, then he put it over Fairfax's head before he got behind. Fairfax had this boar's head, only you would have thought 'twas a dragon's. Then I was wearing a suit of armor, just like St. George, and sitting up on Farley's shoulders. We went running through the graveyard, Fairfax waving the torch, and I was slashing through the air with the sword, and Farley was moaning and crying and making this awful dragon's roar. You should have seen those villagers come racing out of church," he said nearly doubling over with laughter.
"The Reverend Buxby tripped over that woman, Mistress Fordham, and she must have thought the dragon had her, because she cut loose with this horrible scream and grabbed hold of a shovel that had been left by one of the graves. The she swung around with it and caught the reverend smack in the middle of his seat. Sent him flying over the nearest headstone."
Lily tried not to laugh, but her shoulders were beginning to shake as she envisioned the nightmarish scene.
"Of course, that's when everything started to go wrong. Fairfax tripped, and the blanket caught on a branch and got pulled off," Tristram admitted, glancing over at Lily.
"So you were recognized."
"I think so, Lily," Tristram said dejectedly. "I heard someone call out Farley's name, and Fairfax is the biggest man in the village. Don't suppose he'd be hard to miss."
"You had the helmet on. They wouldn't have recognized you, Tristram."
"I dropped the shield. It has our coat of arms on it," he said glumly. "I guess I'm in a lot of trouble. Hartwell will have every reason now to send me away to school."
Lily placed her arm around Tristram's shoulders comfortingly. "You do realize that it was wrong for you and Farley and Fairfax to do what you did," she told him, wondering how their father or Basil would have handled this situation.
"They deserved it, Lily," Tristram responded. "Even if I do get sent away, it was worth it to see them all racing around like scared rabbits."
"I'm not excusing the villagers, Tristram. They've been unjust in their actions too, but that doesn't mean we have the right to even the score," Lily tried to explain.
"I think Father would have laughed tonight, Lily," Tristram said softly. "He wouldn't have let those villagers say things about you and Dulcie like they do. And he would have defended our honor, just like I have, only maybe I did it a little differently than he might have. I haven't done any harm to anyone. I just made those people feel like the fools they are. I don't think Basil or Mother would have been ashamed of me, do you, Lily?"
Lily took a deep breath, wondering how to answer that. She was searching her mind for an appropriate parable to tell him when a frightening bellow filled the silence, followed by high-pitched squealing and wild barking and cries of "Rape!" and "Murder!" and "Lily, help me!"
Lily nearly dropped the candlestick when she jumped to her feet. Tristram had already reached the door and was racing down the corridor to her room. A couple of steps behind him, Lily stumbled against him when she entered. And unable to move as they stared at the scene, they continued to stand in the opened doorway.
Tillie was standing on the bed, clutching to her breast the nightdress Lily had lent her and which was now torn almost in two. Her howls, coming between gasping breaths, were almost deafening and rivaled Cisco's screeching as he flew around the room, until finally coming to roost on top of the bed, where Cappie was clinging to the tall headboard and chattering non-stop. Dulcie sat huddled against the pillows, her black eyes full of wonder as she stared at Hartwell Barclay's bare legs protruding from the tub. Next to it, Raphael, who had a death-bite on one of Hartwell's slippers, was growling and pawing at the offending object that had dropped from his enemy's foot.
"He attacked me!" Tillie cried, pointing an accusing finger at Hartwell Barclay. "Out of the dark like some demon, he came! Jumps on the bed and pins me down. He tried to . . . to . . . well, I'll not repeat such a thing before young, innocent ears. He slobbered all over me! I thought at first 'twas Raphael, until he started talkin'," Tillie told them, but all the while keeping a watchful eye on the tub.
“Oh, Mistress Lily! He said terrible things, he did. And he thought I was you! He’s drunk, mistress. Said them Whitelaws wasn’t goin’ to get their greedy hands on his money. Nor was that Simon Whitelaw ever goin’ to wed ye. Said that after tonight ye’d marry him, or ye’d be a ruined woman! Said he’d see ye dead and buried before he’d let ye marry anyone but himself.”
“Lily?” Tristram said, eyeing the tub. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“I didn’t kill him! I’m no murderess! ‘Twas the dog! He jumps up on the bed when Mistress Dulcie started screamin’. Thought he was goin’ to tear the master apart, I did. The master started screamin’ then and leaps out of the bed. Then there was a funny noise, kinda like a splash, then a gurgling sound, and then I didn’t hear him again.”
Slowly, Lily walked over to the tub and peered over the edge.
“Oh, mistress!” Tillie cried. “Remember the Widow Hubbs and Dan Barber. Ye don’t think the master has drowned?”
Lily stared down at Hartwell Barclay’s pale face bobbing in the tub.
“He’s dead, Lily,” Tristram said, startling Lily. “The constable is bound to come tomorrow morning or maybe even tonight, because of what happened at the church. He and a group of them villagers will show up here at Highcross, Lily, and demand that we all be brought to trial,” Tristram warned her, clutching Lily’s arm and trying to drag her away from Hartwell Barclay’s body.
“But he tried to attack Tillie. It was self-defense, Tristram,” Lily said, as if explaining to the authorities. “He was crazed with drink. He might have killed Tillie, or me, if I’d been in my bed,” Lily suddenly realized.
“Do you think they are going to believe us?” Tristram asked. “After tonight, they aren’t looking for much of an excuse to send me to Newgate Prison. Farley and Fairfax said that’s what would happen if we got caught. Oh, Lily, please, listen to me. They’ll think you murdered Hartwell. They’ll think you murdered him because he was your guardian. They’ll hang you, Lily,” Tristram pleaded with her, still pulling on her arm. “And they’ll take me and Farley and Fairfax away. What are we going to do, Lily?”
Lily stared at Hartwell’s body. “We’ll tell the truth, Tristram. We have friends, we’ll get help.”
“There is no one to help us. Valentine Whitelaw is at sea. Artemis is married now, and she’s back in Cornwall. She’s going to have a baby, Lily. She can’t come to help us. Remember the letter from Quinta we got just last week? She’s in the North Country. She’s going across the border into Scotland. She won’t even know they’ve hanged you until ‘tis too late, Lily!” Tristram cried, shaking Lily’s arm frantically.
“They mustn’t hang Lily! They mustn’t!” Dulcie cried, hopping down from the bed and flinging herself against Lily. “Are they going to take Tristram away? Are they going to hang you, Lily? Don’t leave me, Lily! Don’t ever leave me, Lily!”
“Who’s going to believe us, Lily? Who’s going to help us? No one. No one, Lily.”
“Oh, Mistress Lily! They’ll think I killed the master. They won’t believe me when I tell them that he attacked me. When they see that I’m with child, they’ll think he was me lover! They’ll think I murdered him ‘cause he wouldn’t do right by me,” Tillie said wildly, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking escape until they came to rest on Lily. “What are we goin’ to do, Mistress Lily?” she asked with a pitiful look. “What are we goin’ to do?”
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quiet over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.
SHAKESPEARE
Chapter Seventeen
“RARE PHOENIX BIRDS from the deserts of Araby! Goldspun silks and precious spices from the Kingdom of Kublai Khan! Marco Polo himself brought back this fine piece of jade from Kinsai! Oranges from Baghdad! Ivory tusks from Malabar! Musk, given to me by the black-eyed daughter of a Tartar chieftain! I, myself, have seen the wonders of the world! Come closer, fair maids and gentleman all, and listen to my tale of desert caravans and golden-domed palaces. And see for yourselves these priceless gifts!”
Overhead the summer sky was as bright a blue as the lapis lazuli held in the outstretched palm of a dealer in rare gems. Colorful pennants and flags, strung along the length of stalls and tents lining the narrow thoroughfare, seemed to dance to the dissonant sounds from drummers, pipers, and strolling minstrels strumming lutes.
True Thomas lay o’er yon grassy bank,
And he beheld a lady gay,
A lady that was brisk and bold,
Come riding o’er the fernie brae.
Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine,
At ilka tett of her horse’s mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine . . .
She turned about her milk-white steed,
And took True Thomas up behind,
And aye when’er her bridle rang,
The steed flew faster than the wind.
A fortnight earlier, on St. Bartholomew’s Day, the Lord Mayor of London, dressed in his scarlet gown, had read the proclamation that opened the revels of the Bartholomew Fair. With bells ringing and trumpets blaring, acrobats, jugglers, and dancers romped at the head of the procession of mummers, giants, and knaves dressed as hobbyhorses. Prancing to and fro into the crowd, they cajoled, bantered, and goaded, and singled out a likely dupe or two to be made sport of. Singers, musicians, and pranksters followed to keep the onlookers full of merriment and moving toward the booths of the fair. Horse peddlers, tinkers, and gold sellers; actors, palm-readers, and conjurors; fortune-tellers, herbalists, and mountebanks; strollers, beggars, and pickpockets awaited.
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