Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2

by Felicity Pulman

  “What about your thieving brother?” Serlo gave her another shake. “You had until nightfall to find him—and the young lord. Where are they?”

  “I don’t know where they are, Master Serlo. I wish I did.”

  “There, Master Serlo,” Cecily said. “You have your answer. She knows nothing.”

  Janna groaned inwardly. Had Serlo noticed Cecily’s slip? If so, he gave no sign of it. “You will stay here under lock and key until your brother returns,” he said sternly.

  And if he doesn’t return? Janna dared not ask the question.

  “Master Serlo, may I suggest you consult my lord Hugh before locking up this—this youth,” Cecily said quickly, trying to make up for her mistake.

  The reeve frowned, seemingly puzzled by her intervention. “With respect, my lady, this matter does not concern either my lord Hugh or you,” he said coldly.

  Cecily looked at him with dislike. “Nevertheless, I will put this matter before my lord as soon as he returns,” she said firmly.

  Janna’s mouth twitched in a smile. It would seem that Cecily had some iron in her spirit in spite of her fragile appearance. Her smile vanished as she heard Serlo’s reply.

  “And I will keep John safe under lock and key until that time.”

  Despite Cecily’s continued protests, he dragged Janna across the yard and pushed her into the barn. His shove sent her flying into the darkness. She fell against a pile of hay, feeling the hard ground graze her knees through the fabric of her breeches. She heard the snick of the latch as it came down to hold the door fast, and then a frantic howling. Bones was shut outside, and not happy.

  “You’ll be sorry for this!” Cecily’s threat came loud and clear through the wattle-and-daub walls of the barn, and so did her next words: “Come on, Bones, you come with me.”

  The sounds of whining faded into the distance. Janna kept silent. She didn’t know if Serlo was still outside, but she knew that calling out wouldn’t change his mind. She would not demean herself further in his eyes.

  It was pitch black inside the barn. Janna couldn’t see at all. She scrambled to her feet and stretched out her hands, planning to explore her prison. But the barn was crammed full of hay and she quickly found there was nowhere to go. She sat down to consider her situation. While she hoped that Hugh wouldn’t believe her capable of theft, it was perfectly possible that he might lay the blame on Edwin. Thanks to the travelers, Hugh now knew Edwin’s circumstances, while Janna was the only one who could speak for him and try to clear his name. In all conscience she wondered if she could or should, when Edwin had been so quick to help himself to Janna’s own possessions.

  A hot wave of shame flooded Janna’s cheeks. She was ready to believe the worst about Hugh’s intentions toward his young cousin, while expecting him to believe the best about her. But whatever he thought, she knew she couldn’t count on him to interfere with Serlo’s decision to imprison her, so it was really up to her to help herself.

  Meanwhile there was Hamo to consider. As she was not going anywhere soon, she might instead ponder where the child might be held prisoner, if prisoner he was. But try as she would, she could think of no place that hadn’t already been searched. Her thoughts took a different tack. Was she making too much of Hugh’s relationship to Hamo? Did the theft prove that no-one wished Hamo any harm? She’d already discounted the notion that the child had merely run off in search of his dog and become lost. But could he have become trapped somewhere; or fallen to his death, or drowned in the river and been washed beyond the boundaries of the search? Or was he lying somewhere, bound and gagged—or even worse, already dead?

  She shook her head, trying to dismiss her fear. She needed a cool and logical mind for this. Worry over Hamo was taking her nowhere. Once again, she was haunted by the thought that she’d seen or heard something that might shed some light on the child’s disappearance. She sat quietly, trying to free her mind of worry so that memory might take its place. The knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. She was trapped and, if Serlo kept his word, she would face the forester, and mayhap even the shire reeve, in the morning. Face them alone, without Edwin.

  Suddenly angry, she punched her fist into the hay. It wasn’t fair that he’d run off without a word, leaving her to face this mess on her own. Where could he be? Once he’d recognized Master Siward, would he have hurried off to Winchestre on his own, not knowing that the travelers themselves planned to go there? It seemed unlikely. Edwin knew she wanted to go to Winchestre. He would have told her his plans; he would have taken her with him because his own safe passage lay with her and with their story.

  Was he lying low then, waiting for Master Siward and his servant to leave so that he could safely show his face again? But where could he be? Back in the forest, with all this search for Hamo going on? It seemed unlikely. Where else could he have gone, and why had he not got word to her to help him, for he must surely need food and drink after all this time? Who else could he trust if not his traveling companion?

  A name came into Janna’s mind, and she frowned and sat straighter as she recalled Edwin’s earlier disappearances. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her forehead against them as she began to sift the arguments both for and against the only other person to whom Edwin might turn for help, and trust with his safety. She found that she could think of no arguments against, while everything confirmed her new suspicion.

  She jumped up, anxious now for action. She had to get out of the barn and find Edwin. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. A thin sliver of twilight filtered between the overhanging thatched roof and the top of the sturdy wooden walls, helping to faintly illuminate the contents of the barn. She peered at the hay piled behind her and then, with quickening interest, at the solid shapes of farming implements stacked beside the stout door that was now so firmly locked. She hurried to inspect them, hoping to find a sturdy axe to hack her way through, but there were only some curved sickles, which were the wrong shape for an attack on something as solid as the door. She turned next to a wooden plow with its iron cutting parts. She felt the coulter and share carefully, but they were fixed firmly into place and no good for her purpose anyway.

  She looked to see what else might be helpful, and saw several flails for threshing wheat once the harvest was in. Janna picked up the long shaft of a jointed flail, and jiggled it experimentally. Yes, it might work. It was certainly worth a try. If Serlo meant to keep her locked up, he should have given more thought to his choice of prison. And he should not have underestimated her need to escape! She tucked the flail under her arm and began to climb the pile of hay, sneezing ferociously as dust swirled and eddied around her.

  Her foot slipped; she grabbed a handful of hay to save herself. It came away in her grasp and she fell, landing awkwardly. She whimpered with pain but stood up to try again. Although hampered by the flail, she clambered up, but slipped once more just as she’d almost reached the top of the stack, and her breath jolted from her body as she crashed to the ground. For a third time she tried, and again after that, for she was determined now that Serlo would not find her still trapped here in the morning.

  Scratched and panting with effort, she at last managed to reach the thin crack of light that marked the division between the wall and the thatched roof. Janna knew she had to hurry for, once it was dark, the women and children would retire to bed rather than waste a precious rush light, even if their menfolk continued the search. Before that happened, there was someone she needed to see, and much for her to do.

  She pulled the flail from under her arm, and thrust the long handle into the thin crack between wall and thatch. Using all her force, she began to push against reeds and straw, levering the stick up and down so that they began to loosen. She sneezed and sneezed again as dust, spiders and earwigs sprinkled down onto her hair and shoulders, but she kept working until she had dislodged enough thatch to form a small hole. A quick slide down the hay to the farming implements, and this time she climbed with a sick
le in her hand, hooking it through the hay to give her extra purchase on her way up again.

  The small curved blade cut away the loose reeds one by one until there was a hole large enough to wriggle through. Wasting no time, Janna dived halfway through it and peered down. Plunging to the ground head-first would only achieve a broken neck, she realized. She wriggled backward until her feet rested once more on the piled-up hay, and turned around. This time, taking her weight on her arms and stomach, she thrust her feet first into the hole she’d made. She eased herself through, pushing until she could hold on no longer. She stifled a cry as her ankle twisted painfully beneath the weight of her body when she hit the ground.

  At least she was free. Janna stood up carefully, and took a cautious step. She sucked in a breath at the sharp pain in her ankle, and quickly shifted her weight onto her other foot. What she needed was a stout stick to lean on. She peered anxiously into the dusky darkness, half expecting Serlo to pounce on her once more. But everyone who was not out on the search had gone indoors for supper and to bed. Keeping to the shadows, Janna hobbled to the carpenter’s cottage as fast as her sore ankle would carry her.

  She knocked on the door. It was opened by Bertha herself. Janna watched her closely, looking for any signs she might have missed when she’d questioned her once before. “I give you good night, mistress,” she said in a friendly fashion.

  “God be with you.” Bertha looked out past Janna’s shoulder, scanning the track that gave access to the villeins’ cots. “What are you doing here?” she asked, bringing her attention back to Janna.

  “I’m looking for Edwin.”

  “Why should you think I know where he is?” A scowl masked Bertha’s pleasant features.

  Janna wondered if she was going to have the door slammed shut in her face. She quickly leaned against it to prevent the possibility.

  “Several reasons,” she said cheerfully. “I always thought Edwin was shy with girls. I also know he kept away from them because, with no home and no prospects, he has nothing to offer a wife. He told me so himself. But now I’m not so sure.” She peered at Bertha in the pale light of the rising moon. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “Why should you think so?” Bertha cast a quick glance over her shoulder, perhaps to check on her family’s whereabouts. She stepped outside the cottage, forcing Janna to move away from the door.

  “Because you came over and sat with Edwin and me instead of with your own family at medale.” Janna noticed Bertha hadn’t denied the claim. It gave her the confidence to continue. “Because someone tidied Edwin up, and cut his hair far more neatly than he could have done himself. Because he knew that your sister wanted to dance with me, which meant that he must have met your family at some time. Because he wasn’t around when the haystack was fired and the rest of us were trying to put out the blaze. Was he off somewhere dallying with you, mistress?”

  Bertha’s lips clamped firmly together. Janna waited for her denial, but it still didn’t come. “Also,” she continued, wondering if she was being rash, building too much into Bertha’s parting remark after Janna had asked her to cut her own hair, “you know who—or what—I really am. Edwin would not have told you that unless he trusted you.”

  Silence greeted Janna’s remarks.

  “If it’s any help, I think Edwin cares for you too, mistress,” Janna said, remembering how angry Edwin had been when she’d passed on the cook’s gossip concerning Bertha. She’d misread the situation at the time, thinking he was upset about Gytha. But she was quite sure now that she was on the right track. “You were carrying a small sack when I asked you to cut my hair. That was food for Edwin, wasn’t it? You’re hiding him somewhere.”

  Still Bertha remained silent. Janna began to lose patience. “You can trust me,” she snapped. “Edwin does. We’re in this together, you know.”

  Bertha blinked. She opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again.

  Janna decided to help her out. “Do you know that Edwin and I are being blamed for the theft of some woolen cloth and two silver goblets? Have you seen any such things, mistress?”

  “No.” Bertha licked dry lips. “No, of course not!”

  “Then it would be good if Edwin came out of hiding to prove his innocence. As it is, I’ve been locked up in a barn for the theft and Serlo has threatened to report both of us to the forester and the shire reeve. I managed to escape, but the hunt will be on for me and Edwin in the morning,” Janna explained, as she noted Bertha’s bewildered expression. “Mistress, if you know where Edwin is, and if you value his good name, I beg you to take me to him now.”

  Still Bertha hesitated. Janna itched to give her a push, just to get her moving. She restrained herself with difficulty.

  “Did Edwin tell you about the visitors to the manor?” she asked instead, wondering just how far he had taken the carpenter’s daughter into his confidence. She was fearful that she might be jeopardizing his safety with her question, but she also needed something to convince Bertha to help her.

  Finally, Bertha slowly nodded.

  Janna decided to put her mind at rest, hoping that it would help her cause. “It is true that the travelers look for Edwin, but that is not their main purpose for being here. They are on their way to trade goods at the fair in Winchestre, and have only delayed their visit while their horse is lame. They are also helping in the search for Hamo.” The thought diverted Janna for a moment. “You don’t know where Hamo is, do you?”

  “No.” The answer came bold and clear.

  “No? Well, I am sorry for that. But we can both reassure Edwin concerning the travelers, for they have asked the lord Hugh about him, but he has kept our secret.”

  Now Bertha looked thoroughly alarmed. Janna smiled grimly to herself. “Edwin is safe, but I beg you to tell me where he is, both for my sake and for his.”

  Reluctantly, Bertha stepped aside and beckoned Janna to enter.

  “He’s here?”

  Bertha nodded. She put a finger to her lips, warning Janna to silence, then led her through the carpenter’s workshop and into the room beyond. While Janna greeted Bertha’s surprised mother and sisters, Bertha picked up a bucket of slops containing vegetable peelings and assorted greens, and a small sack of grain. Beckoning Janna to follow her, she walked on through to a pen adjoining their cottage. In it were a pig and three small piglets, two goats and several hens. They crowded around Bertha as she walked in, clamoring to be fed, but she pushed past them and on to a small thatched cover at the back of the pen. A pile of wood was set under the thatch out of the weather. Janna’s confusion grew.

  “Edwin?” Bertha called softly. He peered around the wood pile with a cheerful grin, which quickly turned to a frown of concern when he noticed that Bertha had company.

  “Have you been here all the time?” Janna asked, astonished.

  “No,” Bertha answered for him. “He told me he was leaving the manor, and he showed me where he’d be—up a tree in the forest. You were right, John—Janna. I brought food to him there. But when Hamo went missing, I knew Edwin was in danger of being found and so I fetched him as soon as it grew dark.”

  “I watched you all go out to search for the boy,” Edwin chimed in. “I wanted to help look for him too, but I dared not come out of hiding, for the travelers were part of the search party. You know who they are? You know why I had to run?”

  “Yes, I know,” Janna reassured him. “I just wish you’d told me your plans.”

  Edwin gave a regretful shrug. “There was no time. But what about the boy? Hamo? Is he still not found?”

  “No.” The bell began to ring out its lonely message once more, confirming that the search continued. Edwin’s words had reassured Janna that he really knew nothing about Hamo’s disappearance, but that still left the problem of the missing length of woolen cloth and the silver goblets.

  “Some things have been stolen from the storage chests in the undercroft,” she said. “What do you know about them, Edwin? And do
n’t lie to me, either. You stole my purse from me, I haven’t forgotten that.” A shocked gasp, quickly suppressed, told Janna that Edwin hadn’t been entirely truthful with Bertha after all.

  “I don’t know nothing about stealing goods from the undercroft,” Edwin blustered, angry that Janna had shown him in a bad light. “What’s missing? And why should you think I had anything to do with it? I haven’t been at the manor for days. I’ve been up a tree instead!”

  “Shh, keep your voices down,” Bertha warned. “I’ll leave you two to argue while I feed the animals.”

  Watching Bertha empty the bucket of greens and slops, and throw grain to the hens, hearing the clucking, grunting and bleating as the animals fought one another to get to the food first, reminded Janna of her own chores when she’d lived with her mother. She felt a sharp pang of sadness. Their lives had been hard, she’d known discontent, but otherwise she’d been happy enough. But she’d lost her childhood the day her mother died and she’d come face to face with evil. She would never be the same again.

  Janna shook off her dark thoughts. While Bertha squatted to milk the goats, Janna began to tell Edwin what had been happening in his absence. Bertha joined in, ranging herself on Edwin’s side until Janna was convinced that they knew nothing about either the stolen property or the missing Hamo. They continued then to confer in low voices, with Janna trying to persuade Edwin to show himself while he and Bertha fiercely resisted all her arguments.

  “You’ve turned me into a fugitive!” Janna said hotly, when she saw he would not be persuaded.

  “You were a fugitive when I met you,” Edwin reminded her. It was true. But that didn’t help Janna now.

  “I’m supposed to be locked up in the barn, and I’m certainly not going back there! But I can’t leave the manor either, not while Hamo is still missing. What am I to do?”

  “You can stay here with me,” Edwin offered. Janna investigated the small space between the fence of woven wattle and the woodpile. It was barely large enough to hide Edwin.