The Little Shop of Found Things--A Novel

by Paula Brackston

  Lord Pemberton thought it beneath such a sought-after architect to run errands. “Surely a manservant can be found.”

  Samuel insisted. “A messenger will not suffice. The case for Alice’s immediate release must be presented along with Master Lovewell’s letter. Please allow me to see this thing done,” he said, addressing Master Lovewell.

  After that, everything happened quickly and amid a deal of flapping and bustling about, so that there was not a hope Xanthe could speak to Samuel. He was bundled out of the room by Master Lovewell, keen, no doubt, to have him back working on the house as soon as possible. Lord Pemberton volunteered to add his own signature in support, and Clara offered to show his wife the grounds while they waited. Mary took the first opportunity to scold Xanthe for not returning when she was expected and so landing the other servants with her share of the work. Through it all the mistress watched her closely, still holding the chatelaine pieces, still attempting to unravel the puzzle of how she had been duped, by whom, and exactly why. Mary was all for sending Xanthe back to work but Mistress Lovewell would not hear of it.

  “A moment, Mary. Step forward, girl,” she said to Xanthe, glancing at the door to make certain she was not overheard. “I know not the reasons behind your actions, nor do I care to know them. I am certain, in any case, that they are not borne of affection or duty for this household. I will not keep a servant under this roof if I cannot trust them. In short, I will not keep you. My husband has a soft heart, my daughter has a young maid’s fancies for entertainments. Neither is here to plead your case now. I would have you gone this day, this very hour. Collect your things and go.”

  There was no point in attempting to argue with her. Such a dismissal was unfair, it was unnecessary, and had Xanthe really been what she claimed to be it might have meant hardship for her, but she was only ever there because of her desire to protect her own mother, and now it was time to return to her.

  “I am sorry that you think so of me, mistress,” Xanthe replied, bobbing a curtsy and walking quickly out of the room. Mistress Lovewell might have been surprised that she did not fight for her position, might have wanted to question her further, and Xanthe was not going to give her that opportunity.

  Upstairs she had changed her sandals for her boots and nearly finished pulling her own faux medieval clothes on over her cotton skirt when Jayne ran breathlessly into the room.

  “Oh, it is true then! You are to leave, and only this minute returned! I had hoped so very much you would stay,” she said, tears brimming.

  “I’m sorry, Jayne, but don’t worry about me. I’m used to moving on often. I like it,” she insisted. “New places to see, new adventures.”

  “But … I shall miss you,” she said in a tiny voice, her lip trembling.

  Xanthe gave her a hug and then took three silver coins from her bag: a penny and two shillings. More money than the maid would see in months. “I want you to have these. Buy yourself a new dress for fayre days, and keep the rest safe. That way, if anyone ever treats you ill, you will be able to leave and take up another post.”

  This brought more tears, and it was a while before Xanthe could leave her and go downstairs. If she had expected any sort of farewells from the family she was to be disappointed. As she made her way down the stairs she saw them all walking in the rose garden, the whole matter no doubt already put behind them. Such was the lack of importance servants held in their lives. Looking up she saw Samuel galloping Raven out through the gates at the far end of the drive. Would that be the last she ever saw of him? She continued down the stairs and was about to go out the arched front door when something made her pause. She turned instead and entered the Great Hall. Samuel’s drawings of the screen were in place on the high table, all their alterations and additions included, reminding her of what it had been like to stand beside him and work with him, making Xanthe long to be that close to him again. She forced herself to focus on what she had to do. Glancing quickly over her shoulder she slipped behind the ornately carved chairs so that she could reach the wall hanging. The stitching on the hem of the tapestry was still loose from when she had undone it. She gave the thread a tug and it unrolled easily. Alice’s rosary felt cool in her hand, the smooth garnets gleaming even in the low light of the hall. She tucked it deep into her bag and was just adjusting the strap over her shoulder when Mistress Lovewell appeared in the doorway.

  They stood looking at one another. There was so much in that silence, so much that passed between them. She had seen what Xanthe had taken from the tapestry. At that moment, the mistress understood what Alice had done. Of course she had known all along about the girl’s beliefs, and now she realized that Xanthe knew so much more than she had admitted to. Was this the instant where Mistress Lovewell would denounce her, too? Was Xanthe to be arrested as a secret follower of an illegal faith? Would the mistress of the house go that far, even though she herself was once a Catholic?

  “Would it have been so hard to just let Alice be?” Xanthe asked. “You could have turned a blind eye.”

  “And risk my own family?” She shook her head slowly. “If you think my husband could protect us from prosecution you know little of how this world works. You see a man puffing himself up, surrounding himself with grandeur, playing the fool for minor nobles to ingratiate himself. Do not be quick to judge. I see a man who will do what he must to secure his family’s safety and their future. What manner of wife would I be were I to allow my past, my personal history, to undo all his efforts? What manner of mother would I be not to put my own daughter’s security above all else?”

  She was right, of course. Xanthe was in no position to criticize her. It was no good using her twenty-first century view of life to judge what the mistress did, what she had to do, in order to survive in a very different time. There was no more to be said. Xanthe hoisted her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the room, passing close enough to Mistress Lovewell to smell the lavender in the scent bottle that hung from her chatelaine, but she did not try to stop her.

  Outside the day was all crisp autumn freshness, with clear skies. The muddy road had dried out, now that the rain had stopped, and been hardened by frosts. Xanthe marched away from Great Chalfield sorry not to have been able to thank those who had helped her and say goodbye to them. She attempted to estimate how far Samuel would have traveled. When would he reach Salisbury? Raven was a swift horse, sure-footed and fit, but it was many miles to gallop. And would Alice still be there? Would Samuel get there in time? As she walked on it occurred to her that she did not know where she was going or what to do next. True, she had put right the injustice Alice had been accused of and cleared her name, but had all her efforts been too late to save her? She could not leave until she was certain Alice was free. Certain that she had rid her mother of Margaret Merton’s threat.

  As she was wondering how long it would take to walk all the way to Marlborough she heard the sound of a cart approaching. Turning, she found Willis driving the old wagon and the chestnut mare. He caught up to her and reined the horse to a halt.

  “Seems I have business in town this morning,” he said, holding out his hand to help her up onto the driver’s seat beside him.

  “My good fortune,” she said, smiling up at him as she took his hand.

  The journey was slow but definitely faster and less exhausting than walking would have been. Willis was a man of few words, and not given to taking them out for an airing often, but they passed the miles companionably enough. She felt he knew more than he would ever admit to and was being careful not to talk about anything difficult. Before he dropped her in the high street she handed him her flashlight, wrapped in a strip torn off her hem. She had a brief moment of panic at leaving something modern behind, but it was such a small thing, surely it would not matter.

  “For Peter,” she told Willis. “Tell him … tell him it is a minstrel’s lamp, so that he need not light a candle in the new hayloft to light his way. It is a secret, not to be shared, and it is a fleeting thi
ng so he must use it sparingly. When it no longer shines he should bury it out of sight.”

  Willis nodded, taking the parcel without examining it, though she suspected the minute she was gone he would be unwrapping it.

  “Fare thee well, mistress,” he said, touching his cap.

  “I shan’t forget your kindness,” she told him.

  “Nor I yours. Alice’s fortunes would not have changed without it.”

  She watched him drive the cart on toward the smithy’s, and then headed up toward the green. By the time she reached the front door of the Applebys’ house she was stupidly nervous. She knew Samuel would not have had time to get to Salisbury and back. She only hoped she would be allowed to wait for him.

  Philpott answered the door. He looked aghast at her muddle of clothing but let her in and asked her to wait in the hallway. She could hear voices, and then Master Appleby emerged from the sitting room.

  “Mistress Westlake, a pleasure to see you again.”

  She ducked an awkward curtsy. “You have heard? Of Samuel’s mission?” she asked. When he said he had not, she began to explain but he stopped her, summoning Philpott, instructing him to send mead, and offering Xanthe his arm to escort her to a seat by the fire in the sitting room. Only when Philpott had poured them both small glasses of the honeyed and herbed wine did Master Appleby let her tell him everything that had happened that morning at Great Chalfield. At last he sat back in his seat, nodding thoughtfully.

  “I have received no word of the girl having been moved. God grant Samuel is in time, which I believe he will be. In which case, with the letter bearing two such signatures, along with Samuel’s own testimony, I am certain Alice will be freed within the day.”

  “I can hardly believe it. At last,” she said, sipping her mead, feeling suddenly weary.

  “It is through your efforts, my dear. The girl has you to thank for her freedom. For her life.”

  She looked at him, trying to see in his face what he truly made of her. “It was what I came here to do.”

  “And now that it is done … you will depart?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “Samuel will miss you.”

  She looked away then, not trusting herself to speak about how much it would cost her to leave Samuel. Seeing that she was struggling to hide her emotions, Master Appleby put on a more cheerful voice.

  “As will we all. Indeed, I for one will lament the loss of your sweet voice. A gift. And I sincerely hope you will return soon to bestow it upon us once more some day not too distant.”

  She did her best to smile. “I would like that,” she said.

  As there was nothing left to do but wait for Samuel they fell to talking about great houses that they knew, and the wonderful furniture and craftsmanship within them. Philpott brought them food at one point, but she was still too keyed up to eat anything much and happy for the distraction of engaging conversation.

  It was nearly four o’clock when they heard hooves clatter under the archway beside the house, signaling Raven returning to the stables. Xanthe stood up, anxious beyond endurance to find out if Samuel had been in time and Alice had been released. She suddenly was horribly conscious of how drab she looked, her hair a mess, her clothes a hodgepodge of her own garments that looked even less authentic to her than when she had first put them together. She had not slept for hours and was suffering from something resembling jet lag, with all the flitting from one time to another. No matter the century, she was still vain enough and insecure enough to wish she looked better for Samuel.

  And then, there he was. Standing in front of her. His hat was dusty from the long ride. When he removed it his hair was wild and fell into his eyes. Eyes that he did not for one second take off her. She knew he said her name, but she scarcely heard it. This was the man who had held her in his arms and then watched her vanish. This was the man to whom she was close to losing her heart. It was Samuel’s father who cut through the moment to ask the burning question.

  “Did you succeed in your task, Samuel? Is the girl freed?”

  Samuel took a breath and then said levely, “She is.”

  “The Lord be praised!” Master Appleby cried, calling for Philpott and the best claret in the house.

  “Oh, Samuel,” Xanthe said. “I am so relieved. So pleased!” She did her best to say the right thing, but all she could think of was how at last her mother was safe. Margaret Merton would not harm Flora now. The danger was over. She took a steadying breath and stepped closer to Samuel. Whatever he thought about her now, she would always be grateful to him for what he had done. “I can’t thank you enough for going to Salisbury,” she said. “Did you see Alice yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “How is she?”

  “Frail. In a state of confusion. I believe she thought her fate set and was almost unable to accept such a change in her fortunes.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I found her lodgings in the town. She was in no condition to travel. She will bide there until she is recovered from her ordeal.”

  “And then?” she asked.

  “She cannot return to Marlborough, that much is plain,” said Master Appleby. “Her position with the Lovewells is no longer tenable.”

  “But,” Xanthe protested, “her name has been cleared.”

  “Father is right,” Samuel said. “She would not be welcome there, nor would she wish to return.”

  “Then, what is to become of her? Have we secured her freedom only to send her into a life of begging? We can’t let that happen.”

  Master Appleby shook his head. “Once the girl has regained her health and strength, a new position can be found for her. I myself will write a letter of recommendation. And I will see to it that she has one from the Lovewells also.”

  “Mistress Lovewell will never agree to it.”

  “Perhaps not, but her husband is of a more … pliable nature.”

  Samuel said, “It would be better for Alice to begin life anew, somewhere her past is not known.”

  Philpott arrived with the wine and Master Appleby made a show of pouring it, passing round the elegant Italian glasses, declaring it a moment for celebration. As he chatted on giving Philpott instructions for the supper, Samuel and Xanthe stood looking at each other. She tried so hard to read his expression. What did he feel for her now? Did he regard her as some sort of ghost? Did he feel lied to, cheated, tricked? More than anything she wanted to be alone with him, to try to explain the inexplicable. They went into the dining room for supper, where Master Appleby, fueled by the wine, talked so much that all she and Samuel had to do was agree with him occasionally. By the look on his face, Samuel was finding the whole evening as difficult as she was. As the meal was being cleared away, his father said he would send for Grandmother Garvy again, as their guest would be staying the night in the house.

  “There is no need, sir,” she told him. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, but the time has come for me to leave.”

  “What? Now? As night falls?”

  “There is a late stagecoach leaving from The Quills this evening,” she said, hoping he was not familiar with stage timetables.

  “Samuel, talk to Mistress Westlake, make her see how much better it would be for her to leave in the morning.”

  Samuel shook his head. “The mistress knows her own mind and is in charge of her own destiny, Father,” he said, getting to his feet. “I shall, of course, escort her to the stagecoach.”

  Minutes later, after saying a warm farewell to Master Appleby, she found herself walking through Marlborough on Samuel’s arm. To anyone who cared to notice them, they must have appeared a normal couple, or good friends, taking the crisp autumn air, strolling through the little town like any other couple might. Except that they were neither normal nor natural. They were two people caught up in somebody else’s story. Alice’s story. And now that her world had been set right again, Xanthe no longer belonged in it. She had her own home in her own time, and she must
return to it. When they reached the inn Samuel turned to her.

  “I do not believe you will be taking the stage, even if there is one at this hour. Where is it you wish to go, Xanthe?” he asked, his eyes still guarding his feelings, his expression still unreadable.

  “There is only one place. Will you walk me to the blind house, Samuel?”

  “The jail? But…”

  “That place, that cruel little building, it is what connects us, you and me. I don’t expect you to understand, but that’s the way it is.”

  Suddenly, abruptly, he let go her arm and stepped back, cutting the air with his hand in a gesture of desperation and barely concealed anger.

  “So this is how it is to be? You are to vanish from my life a second time?”

  He kept his voice low, and there were few people close enough to hear their conversation. Even so, she glanced about, worried they would attract unwanted eavesdroppers.

  “Samuel, I—”

  “Without explanation? Without words that at least could go some way to stilling the teeming thoughts in my mind? Have I taken a witch into my home? Am I cursed to chase a phantom for the rest of my days? Will I only ever see your face again as you haunt my dreams?” He paced about, all the time keeping up a barrage of unanswerable questions and declarations of confusion and hurt. “You have appeared as if out of no place that ever existed, with your strange ways, your curious manner, your absence of family or past or present, it seems to me. All these things I dismissed, I excused, I refused to give weight to. Because I wanted you. I was drawn to you as a moth to a candle flame, knowing even as I stepped closer that I would be burned, perhaps even unto death, by that very strangeness, that brightness that lured me in. And now you are to melt into the night a second time, and I am certain it is not in my power to stop you.” He marched back to her then and took her in his arms, holding her so tight it took her breath away. “But stop you I would, if there were a way. I would pay the price, make pact with the very devil to keep you, my golden, shining, love. Tell me what it is I must do to have you stay. Only tell me.”