Shadow on the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  I inclined my head, kept my eyes fixed on his lips where white spittle had dried to a crust.

  ‘The constable will deal with your brother.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but realised it would do me no good and closed it again.

  ‘Unruly tenants will not be tolerated.’

  ‘No Sir,’ I said.

  *

  I could not speak to Lady Katherine until it was time for her to retire that night. Mistress Binch kept me busy and Mr Grice would not let my mistress out of his sight. I was miserable, worrying about what would happen to Ralph. When I went up that night with Lady Katherine’s evening drink of hot mulled ale she was waiting for me, just inside her door, as I knew she would be.

  ‘What did he say?’ she asked. I knew she meant Ralph.

  ‘He hit one of the servants. And now Grice will send the constable to arrest him, all because of you and your tomfool disguises.’ I crashed the tray down on the table. ‘What am I going to do? Ralph blames me for lying to him.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Mr Grice,’ she said.

  But we both knew that was hopeless.

  I had a sudden urge to hurt her. ‘Ralph never wants to see you again,’ I said.

  I saw the words sink in and her eyes turn shiny. ‘Fetch me paper, I’ll write to him.’

  ‘He won’t read it. And anyway, I won’t deliver it. Have you no idea what you’ve done? Ralph says you’ve betrayed the Diggers and all he’s worked for, that it was you who roused up the villagers against him.’

  ‘It’s not true! You’ve got to tell him!’

  ‘He won’t listen.’ A wave of emotion engulfed me. I wanted to strike her. I choked out, ‘It’s my fault he says, for lending you my clothes. You’ve come between me and my brother, and I’ll never forgive you.’

  I blundered from the room. I could not trust myself not to cry. A sixth sense told me my mistress was calling after me but I did not turn.

  *

  In the kitchen I helped Mrs Binch wipe down the table as she always did last thing at night. My heart was heavy and my head buzzing as if it was a nest to a thousand bees. Ralph had always been my main ally against my sister Elizabeth and the world in general. He’d always had confidence in me; that I could do things other girls could. Now he was blaming me for this whole mess, and it hurt.

  I dragged the churns out ready for the morning milk and as I did so a little kitten nosed around the corner of the door then came and twined around my feet.

  I squatted and spoke to him softly and rubbed his gingery head. He pressed his nose into my hand. Such long whiskers for such a small creature. I found a few drops of milk in the churns and tipped them out for him. Before long he let me pick him up. He felt so lovely and trusting it brought tears to my eyes.

  A tap on the shoulder. ‘Lady Katherine wants you.’ It was Pitman.

  I dodged away from him. I could not refuse to go, so I tucked the squirming kitten under my arm and climbed reluctantly up the stairs to Lady Katherine’s room.

  She was sitting by the window in her nightdress, but stood when I came in. She had been crying, her eyes were puffy and her nose red.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I did not mean to be the cause of trouble between you and Ralph.’ She saw the kitten struggling in my arms. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Mistress Binch said we used to have a cat to keep down the mice.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but I wanted to keep him.

  ‘Let me see.’

  I placed the kitten on the ground and he padded towards her. She knelt and called to him, ‘Puss, puss!’ He went to her hands and she looked up delighted despite herself. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘He hasn’t got one yet. He’s only one of the farm cats. A she-cat’s just had a litter.’

  ‘I know, I’ll call him after the Digger leader, what’s his name?’

  ‘You mean Winstanley? It’s a daft name. You can’t call him that.’ I was still angry, unable to drop my irritation at her. Yet the kitten would melt anyone’s heart. ‘Anyway, just look at him, he’s so little, and Winstanley was a General for Parliament. Anyway Mr Grice would never stand for it.’

  ‘All the more reason.’ She tried to scoop the kitten up but he skittered under the drapes of the bed. ‘Here, Winstanley,’ she said.

  It seemed such a big name for such a little cat that I began to giggle. Soon we were both laughing until our sides ached. After we had recovered she brought out a ribbon and I dangled it before him and we watched Winstanley try to pat it with his paws and chase after it when I pulled it out of sight beneath my skirts.

  When Winstanley settled to sleep on Lady Katherine’s bed, she went and sat on her chair by the window ready for me to unbraid her hair.

  I took out the brush and began to tease her ringlets into order. She sat very still, unlike the Lady Katherine I knew. In the looking glass on the stand I saw that her face was tired, empty.

  ‘I doesn’t make sense,’ she said. ‘I thought Mr Grice was for Sir Simon, for the King, but now I don’t know any more. I don’t trust him. He’s turned bitter. And do you know, I care not a groat for any of them – King, Parliament, all this fighting. It’s all just words. The only person I really cared for was Ralph, and now everything is ruined,’ she said.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. She had not cried when she was bullied by her step-father, or by Grice, but here she was crying over my brother.

  She turned and took hold of my hand. ‘Please – humour Grice and do as he says.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘Don’t give him the slightest reason to make you leave. If you go I will have no friend left in the world.’

  I was touched by this admission of friendship.

  ‘He says the King will lose to Parliament. Sir Simon fears Thomas will be transported or executed and his land forfeit to Cromwell. That is why we must transfer the estate to Grice. I could write to Thomas to protest, but the mail takes so long,’ she said. ‘And Thomas is useless, he will only do what Sir Simon wants. Sir Simon is as bad as Grice, I do not want to remind him of my existence.’

  ‘How can they be so certain Parliament will win?’

  ‘I don’t know. Letters arrive for Grice every day. I watch out in case there are letters from Thomas to tell me he is returning. But I have heard nothing.’

  It was time to confess. I did not dare meet her eyes. I said, ‘No letter has come from Sir Simon addressed to Mr Grice, I know that for certain.’

  She turned. ‘What do you mean?’

  I blurted out, ‘Mr Grice asks me to meet the messengers and bring all the correspondence to him. And there has never been a letter addressed to him from your stepfather. I would know, because I recognise his hand.’

  ‘But Mr Grice said –’

  ‘I know, but I think he has signed all those papers himself.’ I told her about the forged signatures. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Finally I confessed to her, ‘All your mail to your husband goes to him, and any mail for you never gets past Grice.’

  Now she stood up. I cringed, knowing what was coming.

  But she did not shout or rail at me. Instead she was thoughtful. ‘Why? Why doesn’t he want me to write to my husband?’

  I stood sheepishly and hung my head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you’re going to find out, aren’t you,’ she said, her old determination back. ‘You owe me that much. Go to his room and bring me his letters.’

  The thought of sneaking into Grice’s room made my palms sweat and my stomach curdle. What if he caught me? Servants caught stealing were branded, or worse. But when I went to look, Grice had already retired to his chamber. Rigg was stationed in the hall and told me to go back to bed.

  When I returned to my mistress’s chamber empty-handed she was not pleased. She paced the floor, and grew impatient with me when I tried to help her wash. To tell the truth, we were both like cats on hot bricks – except for Winstanley, who was curled up on the satin eiderdown like a little prince.

  *

/>   It was Tuesday, the night Ralph had arranged to meet Kate. I guessed my mistress might try to go out to apologise or try to reason with him. Whether he would even come – well, that I did not know. But I was determined to stay awake just in case.

  A single rushlight still burned above the fireplace, as she knew I was wary of the dark. It must have been after midnight when from the corner of my eye I saw the flash of sheets being thrown back. A moment later, when I half-opened my eyes, Lady Katherine’s bed was empty. I did not stir but watched her dark shadow move round the room. She was dressing. This time in her own riding habit. I saw another chink of light as she opened the door to the landing, but then closed it again.

  She came over towards where I lay before the fire so I closed my eyes tight and pretended to be asleep. The hem of her gown brushed past my ear, I felt the floorboards slight movement as she passed. When I opened my eyes she was gone. I looked cautiously before sitting up. I crept out of bed and opened the door again quietly but Pitman was there as usual, his head nodding, his chair blocking her exit. So she hadn’t gone that way. Perplexed, I tried the door to her husband’s room again. Locked.

  I dressed in a panic, throwing on my skirts and bodice. The window was still tight shut. The kitten was scratching at the side of the fireplace and I went over to pull him away. A draught – a slight movement of air where he was scratching.

  I went down on my hands and knees in the hearth and saw a wooden door set back behind the lintel. It was painted dark grey to match the stone. When I looked more closely there was a hole in it near the shadowed top for my fingers. I pulled and it swung open.

  Beyond lay a dark passageway.

  The kitten disappeared into its gloom, but I could not go after him, not without a light. I was afraid of where it went, of being shut in. I took the rushlight from the mantel and shielding its glow with my fingers held it up inside the passage. No cobwebs, so it must be in regular use. A priest hole, perhaps. I had heard of these places where priests hid when they were fleeing King James’s men, in the time of my grandmother.

  This was it. How she got out. Down the narrow stairs I hurried, as quick as I dared.

  At the bottom of the stairs the roof grew lower. A shiver of fear rippled up my spine. I had to crouch to get through another small door. I put my eye to the hand hole and saw the lower shelves and familiar books of the library. Tentatively I pushed and the door hinged open until I emerged from the side of the inglenook into the empty room. It was only a few steps down the corridor to the back stairs to the kitchen. By the embers from the fire I saw the kitten had found his way there too and was waiting by the back door, his mouth opened in a miaow.

  There was barely a sliver of moon and the night was black as ink. I hesitated, heart hammering. But then I glimpsed movement on the drive.

  ‘Milady?’ I called, taking a few steps forward.

  The kitten shot away from me towards the stable, back to his family probably. I tottered into the darkness, with my rushlight cupped in my hands.

  They had said the broad oak, so she would go there first I was sure. But I doubted if Ralph would still come to meet her.

  I could see nothing. I crept my way around the side of the house, praying my eyes would soon accustom themselves to the dark. The oak was across the field in the patch of grass away from the house. I set off towards it, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lady Katherine’s petticoats.

  A gust of wind. The rushlight guttered, leaving me alone in the dark. Blackness dropped round me like a hangman’s hood.

  My chest constricted; I couldn’t breathe. Thoughts of the ghostly monk flooded my mind. Terrified, I swivelled to see what was behind me. The dark reflections of trees in the house windows were the only things I could see. They were like claws. Something brushed my face. I felt a scream come from my throat before I plunged back towards the safety of the house and in through the kitchen door. I closed it fast behind me, leant against it, panting.

  It was only a leaf, blowing from the tree. Only that; not ghosts or demons or witches. I knew that now. But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t steel myself to go back out there to that black silent world. Shame burned in my throat. Fifteen years old and still afraid of the dark.

  I poked at the dying embers of the fire, threw on some tinder and watched it flare up, casting my giant shivering shadow on the ceiling. My hands shook as I added more kindling to the growing blaze. Fires always brought me sorrow as well as comfort.

  I stayed there in front of the fire, unable to bring myself to go back up to Lady Katherine’s room, for I would have to go the way I came, through the tomb-like passageway, and I just could not. I would wait here, for Lady Katherine must come back this way.

  *

  A draught on my cheek made me sit up. Lady Katherine closed the door stealthily, but clutched her hand to her throat when she saw the fire lit and me before it waiting.

  She brought her hand to her eyes as if to disguise the fact they were red and swollen.

  ‘He didn’t listen,’ I said.

  Her expression told me I was right.

  ‘Did you ride out to find him? To the Diggers?’ She did not reply, but nodded her head. ‘I said he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t listen to me either.’

  She sat down on the stool next to me. ‘I told him I would give everything up if he would let me join them. But he turned me away. Cast me out in front of everyone. Jacob told me they never turned anyone away.’ Her words were choppy, as if they choked her.

  ‘Here, sit by the fire,’ I said. ‘We must whisper or we’ll wake Mr Grice and the servants.’

  She sat on a small stool close to the fire. ‘He was so cold. Not like the Ralph I knew. He said I would be a millstone around their necks. That a lady such as I would never have the strength necessary for such a hard life. Such a sneering tone he had. He never wants to see me again. He told me I was a curse, a bringer of ill-fortune.’

  ‘He’s hurt that we deceived him. And maybe he fears you will draw attention to them from the landowners and the Sherriff.’

  ‘You know him, you must help me, find some way to persuade –’

  ‘I can’t. And you can’t make me. Not anymore. Because I know something about you that nobody else knows.’

  She fastened me with a sharp look like a bodkin.

  I stood up to face her, hoping my hunch was right. ‘I know where you go at night in your husband’s clothes.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but her shifting eyes told me that she did.

  ‘I know who you are and what you do, that you ride out at night as the Silent Highwayman. You go out through the priest’s hiding place. You have no hold over me now, because I will tell Mr Grice unless you leave my brother alone.’

  ‘You know nothing,’ she said. ‘You are just a stupid deaf servant girl. Who would believe you?’ She swirled her cloak around her shoulders and swept out of the kitchen upstairs into the darkness of the house.

  I did not follow her.

  16. Mercenaries’ Gold

  The next day I was so tired I was almost asleep on my feet. Lady Katherine did not send for me, and I did not dare go up to her. But Grice’s man, Pitman, summoned me as I was elbow-deep in greasy dishes. I was expecting to get my notice and was prepared to be bold and ask for my wages. But when I got upstairs Grice held out a sealed letter.

  ‘Do you know The Green Man?’ he said, mouthing the words carefully.

  I nodded, still wiping my arms on my apron, and he passed the letter over.

  ‘Take this to Captain Wentworth and bring me his reply so that I know it has arrived. You may take the pony.’

  ‘Yes Sir.’ I stared down at the letter.

  ‘Go then! Wentworth at the Green Man.’

  I remembered to curtsey before going out of the room. As I passed I saw my mistress coming the other way so I hastily tucked the letter into my bodice and lowered my eyes.

  She did not speak as we passed and her icy look gave me a sharp pang under my
ribs. We could have been friends, if she’d really been Kate. Once or twice we had laughed together like friends. But I did not know how things lay between us now, whether she would keep me in her employ. I suspected not, and I feared that in the end I would get no reference and no other mistress would take me without one.

  There was one thing I did know though, and that was that I needed to find out what was in Mr Grice’s letter. I owed it to Father. Wentworth was a Parliament man – something I didn’t know until yesterday when Mistress Binch told me. I’d always assumed that the Captain was a Royalist and I hadn’t wanted to get involved. But now everything about Grice was suspicious. Why would Grice be writing to a Parliament Captain?

  I creaked open the door to the library and hurried to Lady Katherine’s writing desk. I feared the drawer would be locked, but it slid open easily.

  When I looked down I saw a pair of lady’s flintlock pistols nestled in an open velvet case – polished steel with mother-of-pearl handles. My breath caught in my throat. So these must be what my mistress used in her night-time raids. They were finely chiselled and engraved, quite beautiful. And probably deadly, I thought.

  I avoided touching them and took out her ladyship’s seal and some sealing wax and slipped it into my purse. Her seal would have to do – Grice’s own seal was on his ring and he never took it off.

  As I came out, my mistress was coming back with her embroidery frame and called after me, but I pretended not to hear and raced away down the stairs.

  I saddled Pepper and set off towards Wheathamstead, but instead of going straight to the Green Man I rode up to the common. The place was deserted. The trees were still, even the clouds hung motionless above. The houses had been abandoned half-built, and I had to search before I found Ralph, propped against a silver birch, his spade laid off to one side.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.