The Dandelion Seed

by Lena Kennedy

  ‘Good,’ Rolly’s white teeth showed in a happy smile. ‘Yes, we will go home to Betsy. She will know where your wife is,’ he said.

  Thomas smiled affectionately at him. ‘Come on, then,’ he dug his spurs into his horse’s flank. ‘Let’s get going.’

  They set off at a fast gallop towards the inn at Hackney. As they rode over the rickety bridge which crossed the River Lea, the sun hung like an orange ball in the sky. The little brook, a silver strip, went babbling past the tall building of the Duke’s Head as the shadows of the evening played hide and seek around the ivy-clad walls.

  Rolly’s suntanned face beamed as he pointed towards his old home. ‘Here we are, sir, there is the inn. I’ll bet Betsy will be pleased to see me.’

  As they approached, they saw a little man dressed in a blue striped apron and whistling merrily as he swept the flag stones in front of the inn. With great agility Rolly sprang from his horse and yelled out: ‘Betsy, I’m home!’

  The man in the courtyard looked up with his mouth open. Then, dropping the broom, he darted inside like a rabbit into its warren.

  Katy was behind the bar polishing the pewter tankards when Chalky came belting in and crouched down beside her. ‘I’m not in,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You ain’t seen me today.’ He held on to her dress with one hand and gave it a hard tug. ‘Go on Katy,’ he pleaded. ‘Do try to get rid of them.’

  Rolly’s huge shape had darkened the doorway and Katy looked up in amazement at the sight of this flamboyant figure whose black-and-gold suit was still dusty from the long ride. Rolly’s big mouth gaped open as he saw another woman behind the bar. After all, he had been so expecting to see his beloved sister Betsy.

  Katy looked up at this stranger with amusement. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ she asked sharply.

  Thomas who was only a step behind Rolly, took in the situation at a glance. The inn had changed hands. It was clean and bright and shining, and this tall, dark young woman standing with a jug in her hand was not Rolly’s sister. He stepped inside and bowed graciously to her. ‘Pardon the intrusion madam, but I believe we have come to the wrong inn.’

  ‘Who were you looking for?’ Katy asked. ‘Did you want a glass of ale?’ Katy’s business sense was always there.

  ‘Might as well,’ replied Thomas, seating himself on the bench at a scrubbed wooden table and motioning Rolly to be seated.

  Katy came round from behind the bar, tall and regal. Her shining hair was tied up under a white lace cap and she wore a neat black dress with a locket of gold about her neck. She is certainly a striking-looking woman, thought Thomas, as she placed the two foaming tankards of ale on the table and stood looming over them waiting for the money.

  Thomas handed her a coin. ‘Is your master at home, madam?’ he asked.

  ‘If you mean my husband,’ Katy returned imperiously, ‘he is not. And may I ask what you require of him?’

  ‘We are looking for Elizabeth, a fair buxom person. She is the sister of my servant.’

  Katy looked incredulously at Rolly who was almost choking as he quickly gobbled down the ale. With a glance behind the bar where the sweating Chalky grovelled, she leaned over and grabbed hold of his collar. ‘Come out, you fool,’ she said firmly. ‘They came to ask about Betsy.’

  Avoiding Rolly’s gaze, Chalky emerged from behind the bar. He looked quite ashamed and very nervous of Rolly, who stared at him with narrowed eyes. ‘This is my friend,’ Rolly said to him through clenched teeth as he introduced Thomas.

  With a wry grimace Chalky seated himself opposite Thomas to face the music. His quick mind was working out the best way to tell Rolly of the death of his sister and still remain alive himself. Taking a deep breath, he told the visitors of the demise of poor Betsy and of how he had looked after her. In a very plausible manner, he told of the care he had taken of her and then of the magnificent funeral he had given her. ‘As gawd is my judge, sir,’ he whined, ‘never a hair of that gel’s head would I have harmed. Thought the world of me, she did, and very fond of her, I was too.’ But as he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his coat, Rolly put his head on the table and blubbered like a baby.

  Thomas had almost fallen asleep. The warmth of the room and the strong ale were almost too much for him. It had been a long tiring day and Chalky’s whining vice seemed to be fading farther and farther away. He felt his eyes closing as he sat there trying desperately to stop his eyes closing.

  The wily Chalky realised that he had the situation in hand. ‘Prepare supper!’ he called to Katy.

  Katy stood watching this charade with a smile playing about her face. With her dark eyes inscrutable, she obediently went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the travellers.

  ‘You are travel weary, sir,’ said Chalky. ‘I beg of you to stay and partake of our hospitality.’

  ‘Might as well,’ said Thomas, rising. ‘Conduct us to your guest chamber. We will wash and come down late for a meal.’

  Chalky bowed low and showed them upstairs, chatting and laughing all the while. But Thomas and Rolly were too weary to listen. They washed and lay down on their beds for a rest but in the end slept through the night, without even appearing for a meal.

  The daylight filtered through the leaded casements and the flowered curtains fluttered in the breeze when Thomas awoke the next morning. He had had a strangely disturbed night, with many vivid dreams. He was slightly embarrassed by these dreams for they had been quite intimate and about himself and Marcelle. He dreamed that they had lain beside the brook together and he had held her close, as he had always wanted to. The soft, sweet feeling of love still lingered now as he opened his eyes and looked over the room. There was something very familiar about it, he thought. He eyed a light on the shelf where a little blue sandlewood virgin stood. This must be the room in which Marcelle had once slept. Some old trick of fate had brought him back here. Did the secret lie in this room?

  Thomas sat up and looked around him. There were just the plain painted walls, a fireplace, and this dingy-looking four poster bed – nothing of interest. The little blue virgin provided the only spot of colour in the room, and she smiled at him, it seemed, with familiarity.

  On a trestle bed in the corner was Rolly. He was lying on his back with his great feet sticking out past the end of the bed. Thomas picked up his boot and threw it at his servant. ‘Get up!’ he called irritably. ‘The day is almost gone.’

  Rolly staggered to his feet and was pulling on his breeches just as Chalky knocked on the door and sidled in.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Nice day,’ he began conversationally. ‘I’ll get some hot water for you in a tick. Now, what would you like for breakfast?’

  Thomas looked distastefully at this cringing little man. There was something very unattractive about him. ‘My man will wait on me,’ Thomas replied shortly. ‘Have your wife prepare a meal and in half an hour I will be down.’

  Chalky scuttled off. ‘Sour-faced bastard,’ he muttered, as he scrambled downstairs. ‘I wonder how Rolly got in with him.’

  Katy was in the kitchen and not in too good a temper. She was pregnant again and suffering from morning sickness. Sitting in a tall chair at the table was Sam, Chalky’s son, banging a wooden spoon. His father immediately went over to play with him.

  ‘Never mind all that larking,’ said Katy sharply, ‘and give me a hand with these breakfasts. I hope those two are going to pay?’ she added.

  ‘Of course he’ll pay. What a suggestion!’ retorted Chalky.

  ‘Well, seeing as that great oaf was a relation of Betsy’s you might be trying to ease your conscience,’ she added spitefully.

  ‘Don’t know what you mean, Katy.’ Chalky looked indignant. ‘I took care of Betsy, didn’t I?’

  ‘Not arf, you didn’t,’ replied the truculent Katy. ‘Helped her to break her bloody legs, you did.’

  ‘Now don’t be so nasty, love,’ said Chalky woefully, as he scuttled off to lay the table for their guests.

  An hour later, Thomas
and Rolly sat in the window seat enjoying the well-cooked meal that Katy had produced. Rolly seemed to have forgotten his sorrow that morning and was tucking into the good food with one eye on the toy he had been playing with all morning. It was a little artificial bird in a cage. At the turn of a screw, it twittered and flapped its wings and sweet music came from it. It was a very valuable toy, for the cage and bird were engraved in gold, and it had been a gift for Betsy. Rolly played with the toy and his infectious loud laughter affected the others around him and soon they had all joined in. Even Thomas managed a wry sort of smile.

  Sam cooed loudly at the little bird and Chalky stared at it fascinated. ‘Ain’t it marvellous!’ he said. ‘Who thought of that? Clever bloke I reckon. Look, Sam, here he goes,’ he called as the wheels could be heard whirring within.

  Tall and graceful, Katy served the meal with amusement in her dark eyes as she surveyed the scene. ‘I wonder what Chalky is so scared of,’ she thought to herself as she looked at her husband. Her swift hands swept the dishes from the table and she caught Thomas’ eye.

  Thomas looked back at her. He liked the look of Katy; she was a woman to like and respect, this tall beauty. What was she doing with this whining little rat of a husband? Thomas could not even bring himself to be civil to the man.

  ‘Go on, Chalky, take Sam out for a while,’ Katy commanded.

  Sam went reluctantly with his father. Really, he wanted to stay and look at the little bird that sang. But soon the inn was quiet again, when Sam had gone with Chalky to the brook and Rolly sat outside on the cobbles still playing with his toy.

  Katy lazily poured Thomas and herself a glass of wine, she then sat down facing him, her elbows on the table. ‘Come on,’ she said coaxingly, ‘let’s talk, I know you want to.’

  Thomas’ sad face softened for a moment. Here was a woman who was not only beautiful but also intelligent. He guessed that she was also very courageous. His admiration for her showed in his sad, deep-set eyes.

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Katy, wasting no time over niceties. ‘And what is that great oaf you are travelling with to you?’

  ‘That great oaf is my servant, and this is his home,’ Thomas returned quietly.

  ‘I know all that,’ Katy retorted impatiently. ‘But what is this air of mystery that surrounds you all? Even my husband is afraid. What is it? I intend to find out.’

  Thomas’ respect for her deepened. ‘Madam, we will perhaps be able to solve it between us. I met my future wife here some years ago when she was just a child and this was her home.’

  Katy’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘A girl? I never heard of one living here. There was Betsy, but she was Chalky’s stepmother. At least, so he says!’

  Thomas approached the subject of Betsy warily. ‘When did Betsy die?’ he asked.

  ‘Last year,’ replied Katy. ‘I married Chalky three weeks after she died. I remember, ’cos he told me he put the banns up the same day.’

  ‘You never heard her mention Marcelle?’ Thomas spoke the name very sadly.

  ‘No,’ Katy shook her head and pursed her lips in thought. ‘I don’t even remember hearing of her. As a matter of fact, Betsy was bedridden all the time I was courting Chalky. I thought she was an old lady, so I got a shock when they said she was only a few years past twenty.’

  Thomas relapsed into silence. Marcelle was remaining as elusive as ever; no one had heard of her. As he looked at Katy, he caught a glimpse of diamonds in the locket around her neck. On the front was a painted miniature which was surrounded by diamonds and set in gold. The sweet face of a child of about seven looked out at him. It was quite remarkable. There was no doubt they looked like Marcelle’s eyes, staring sad and sweet into his very soul. He closed his own eyes for a moment and then opened them quickly again. That little girl was Marcelle! She had the same thin nose and pointed chin and that unusual elf-like expression which was seldom seem in England.

  Katy had noticed the strange look on Thomas’ face as he stared at her and her hand went nervously to the locket as she twisted the chain in her fingers.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Thomas’ words came out sharp as a knife.

  ‘My locket, do you mean?’ asked Katy.

  He nodded.

  ‘It was a wedding present from Chalky. Why?’

  ‘Because I am almost sure that it is a miniature of my wife as a child.’

  Katy undid the clasp and placed the locket on the table. They both scrutinised it carefully.

  ‘It’s a pretty little girl aged about seven or eight,’ Katy spoke at last.

  ‘It is Marcelle all right,’ said Thomas. ‘I’m sorry, Katy, but your husband must know more than he cares to say.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Katy. ‘When he comes back he’ll talk, I’ll see to that. Anyway, why are you so worried over her?’ she asked.

  ‘She disappeared, as did her child, though separately. I intend to find out what happened to her or die in the attempt,’ Thomas replied emphatically.

  Katy’s face paled, ‘God,’ she said anxiously. ‘I know Chalky’s a rogue but he would not hurt women and children.’

  It was not long before Chalky came trotting back up the path with his son on his back. He glanced at the pendant on the table and took in the angry look on Katy’s face. ‘Gawd,’ he said nervously. ‘The cat’s out the bleedin’ bag, then?’

  ‘I am afraid it is, love,’ Katy spoke quietly. ‘I think you owe this gentleman an explanation.’ She whisked Sam away and left the room.

  Chalky sat down facing Thomas, his eyes on the locket. ‘I never nicked it,’ he began. ‘Found it, I did, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’

  Thomas passed his hand wearily over his brow. ‘I don’t care how you got it,’ he replied. ‘What I want to know is where you got it from.’

  ‘Down in the cellar,’ said Chalky brightly, pointing downwards with his hand.

  ‘You mean you found it there, but when? It is a miniature of my wife as a child and it may be a clue to her disappearance.’

  Chalky told Thomas of how he had come back to the inn cold and hungry to find his father gone and Betsy his mistress in charge.

  Thomas raised his eyebrows and looked very thoughtful. So this was old Sam’s son, after all. And since it had been Thomas’ own sword that had ended old Sam’s life, Thomas knew that he had to approach this subject very carefully.

  ‘Down in the cellar, in an old jar, that was,’ said Chalky, eager to seem helpful. ‘There was letters too. But I burnt them. Written in French, they were.’ He chatted on endlessly.

  Thomas was getting desperate. ‘Chalky, I must appeal to your honour. I have lost my wife and child. Think, man, how would you feel if the same happened to you? You must try to be honest with me. Did Betsy ever talk about Marcelle?’

  Chalky scratched his head. ‘Wait a bit. There was something, the day she died. She made me write a postscript to the letter, something about seeing Marci.’

  Thomas produced the letter. ‘Is this that letter?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it! I wrote on the bottom of it,’ Chalky added proudly.

  Thomas picked up the locket and stared at it. ‘This must have belonged to Marcelle’s mother,’ he said.

  With his lank hair hanging in his eyes, Chalky bent over to look at the little girl in the picture. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘She ain’t half like some poor soul I once saw in the churchyard last summer. Was on her last legs, she was. I got milk and bread for her but where she went, Gawd knows. I think I did see her again once, but I’m not sure.’

  But Thomas was reading Betsy’s letter again. There was nothing new to see, but he looked again at the scrawl at the bottom of it: ‘Saw Marci near the brook.’

  ‘Where is the brook?’ he asked Chalky.

  ‘Just down the bottom,’ he pointed out the back door. ‘It runs from the Lea past the inn, through the grounds of Brook House.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Thomas. ‘Let’s go and look.’

 
They walked beside the swift flowing brook which rippled and ran through the green meadowland. They followed its path until they came to the wooden stile from which the magnificent green parklands stretched out before them. They could see a house in the distance in the valley but the little brook left it behind, wandering on through the woodlands until it met the River Thames.

  ‘What house it that?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘That’s Brook House, sir,’ replied Chalky. ‘Posh place, it is, and a lot of royalty lived there.’

  Thomas nodded. ‘Yes, of course, I know it,’ he said.

  The November mist swirled about them and the air had suddenly become chilled. Thomas looked over the immense park towards the house, and a shiver came over him as if he were catching a chill. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘There’s no sense hanging about here in this cold air.’

  Both men looked despondent as they returned to the warmth of the inn. Katy prepared spiced drinks for them and they drank these sitting by the fire. Rolly and Thomas remained very quiet when Chalky left to serve at the bar.

  ‘Got to go, mate,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an awful lot of customers to see to, I have. I hope you will decide to stay the night.’

  Thomas was uncertain about staying. He had almost decided to leave that evening, having decided to make for France. It was possible that Marcelle had found her own family in France. Perhaps there was a chance that she had returned there. But he felt very tired and, besides, there was a fog coming up. It would be better to start early in the morning, he decided. ‘Come on, Rolly,’ he said with a yawn. ‘Let us retire and make an early start tomorrow.’

  So the two men left the warmth of the fire and went up to bed. Another day had been wasted and there was still no real hope of finding Marcelle.

  15

  Alone at Brook House

  The long warm summer weather had been kind to Marcelle; the outdoor life she spent in the gardens with the children had brought her back to good health in every way. The strength of her religious feeling gave her peace of mind and the love of the children brought great happiness. Yes, Brook House was her Garden of Eden while she was in the company of the son she loved so much – little Roger, so sturdy and strong – and young Elizabeth who clung to her skirts so lovingly. There was an affinity between the golden-haired Elizabeth and her beloved Miss Mouse. The rest of the household agreed that little half-blind protégée of the Brook family had never been so happy.