by June Francis
The horses were still where they had left them, their heads drooping a little. John put his hands together for Louise to put her foot in, and she sprang into the saddle. Peter was helped up behind her before John vaulted on to his horse. They were out of the courtyard in minutes and riding up Burford high street and on to the old packhorse way that ran along the crest of the hill.
Louise followed, having no idea where they were going, or what had happened to her sister. The news that John’s wife was dead kept playing over and over in her head.
It was Peter, hanging on tightly to Louise’s belt, who demanded to know where they were going.
‘Yorkshire,’ said John briefly.
Both Peter and Louise stared at him. ‘Yorkshire!’ they both exclaimed, almost in unison.
‘I’m taking you to your grandparents for Christmas.’ He smiled. ‘They haven’t seen you for an age.’
‘I’m glad about that.’ The boy grinned. ‘But where shall we stay tonight, Father?’
‘There’s an inn a few miles on. We’ll stop there.’
The boy seemed satisfied but Louise was not. ‘Why did you not stay and confront Dykemore and this Bradshaw? It is likely from what you said that they are out to cheat you. And you could have asked him about Marguerite.’
John stared at her, and he hesitated before saying in French, ‘You forget the guards. I couldn’t fight four men single-handed. And besides I wanted Peter completely beyond his reach, and Yorkshire should be far enough at this time of year. It was a different matter leaving him in Burford when he was in Master Fulcombe’s care being trained to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps — because it was one of the few things that Dorothy and I agreed on, and she stood up to her uncle about. I don’t know how much of what Peter said you were able to understand, but Dykemore would try and use my son as a weapon against me. I want him safe before I confront the pair of them.’
‘What about Marguerite?’ Her expression was anxious.
‘Perhaps she never arrived there.’ He addressed Peter. ‘Did you hear of a French maid calling at your mother’s house? She’d be in the company of a youth. They were sent to help in the house.’
Peter shook his head.
Louise fixed John with her gaze. ‘Then how can we find her?’ she demanded.
‘Only by going to Yorkshire,’ he said emphatically. ‘Harry only told me what you already know — that I’d find her in Wat Fuller’s house. He never told me the name of the man who brought her to England.’
‘So I have to go to Yorkshire with you,’ she said slowly.
‘Ay!’ His expression revealed little of his feelings. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you but you’ll have to put up with my company a while longer. I only pray that my brother doesn’t prove awkward about giving me the information once he sees you again.’
‘What do you mean?’ She was puzzled. ‘Surely he will have no objection in telling us the name of the man?’
‘One wouldn’t think so,’ he said lightly, forcing a smile. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find your sister sooner or later. Now let’s ride.’ He dug in his heels and urged the horse on.
Louise followed, wondering when her search would end.
CHAPTER TEN
THE journey had been long and tiring, but the intimacy that was still forced upon Louise and John each night was tempered by the presence of Peter. Even so she sensed a change in the man: he seemed preoccupied, which she supposed was natural in the circumstances. He has lost a wife and, despite what he had told her about Dorothy, she almost expected to see some evidence of his regretting her death, but if he was he kept his emotions well hidden. She was uncertain how to behave towards him now. There was a struggle going on inside her because after being in his company so much her feelings towards him had warmed and deepened instead of abating. Even his handling of his son drew her admiration. Her English lessons had continued and he had involved the boy in her teaching, which helped to take his mind off any sense of loss he was suffering.
The further north they had travelled the colder it had become. Now they were beyond the borders of Derbyshire and in Yorkshire itself. With a great deal of curiosity Louise stared about her at countryside that seemed to consist mainly of hills. So many hills, some dotted with sheep, others wooded. There were great swathes of moorland but few towns. They passed Knaresborough with its castle held in the King’s honour, set high on its knoll overlooking the river Nidd.
‘My cousin Hugh has a manor not far from here,’ said John, easing his shoulders.
‘Will we be staying there?’ asked Peter eagerly, turning on his perch behind Louise. ‘It’s ages since I’ve seen Nat and Dan.’
John exchanged glances with Louise. ‘We’d best break our journey. There’ll be no moon tonight, and although Father’s manor is not far from Hugh’s I wouldn’t recommend the ride over the fells in the dark.’
‘Will there be many people in your cousin’s house?’
‘And how am I to know that?’ He smiled. ‘But it is Christmastide, so it’s likely that my cousin will have family and friends gathering for the days of feasting.’
‘What if your brother called there and told him about me?’ Her hazel eyes were clouded.
His brows knit together. ‘It depends on what he told them — if anything. But does it matter? Your father had you play the part of youth for your own safety. So cease your fretting, Louise.’
‘It’s not that easy not to be concerned.’ Her hands twisted restlessly about the reins. ‘They might question why I’m still dressed like a youth. They probably will not like me because I’m French. As well as that my English is not good and I have an accent.’
‘A charming accent.’ A slight smile eased his mouth. ‘And we don’t have to tell them that you’re a woman if they don’t know. It’ll only be for the one night. If you can pass muster with Peter then why worry about my cousin and his family?’
‘Do you really think Peter doesn’t know I’m a woman?’ she asked in French.
He shrugged. ‘If he does, it doesn’t bother him. But he’s asked no questions about you, beyond why you are travelling in my company. My telling him about your sister seems to have satisfied him.’
Louise fell silent, annoyed with herself for caring whether John’s kinsfolk liked her or not. Why should she care? Yet she knew the answer but did not like admitting it.
They came to a valley and John paused at the top of a hill to gaze down on a huddle of grey stone buildings. ‘My cousin’s house.’
‘It looks so forbidding,’ said Louise, shivering in the chill wind that blew over the bleak landscape.
‘That is because it’s fortified. The Scots have been known to raid as far south as this. Although there’s been little trouble from that quarter for some years because their King James is a guest — to put it politely — of Henry of Lancaster.’
‘And less politely?’ she asked.
‘He’s a hostage. The King’s father had some difficulty when he took the throne from Richard, and the Welsh and Scots took advantage of it. Trying to keep our neighbours out of England is how Henry learnt his siege craft.’ He set his horse in motion down the hill.
They cantered up to a gatehouse, passing under its stone archway to enter a cobbled courtyard. A hound bounded forward, freeing a flurry of barks, only to be sent about its business by an elderly groom, who stopped and stared at them. A slow grin split his ruddy face. ‘Your double be here, Master John. And your father and mother! Staying here for all the twelve days of Christmas and hoping you’d get here in time.’
Louise exchanged a quick look with John but before he could speak a door opened at the top of a flight of stone steps that ran at an angle up the side of the wall of the house. A man came out, followed by a woman. They froze when they saw the riders, and it did not need John’s cry of ‘Mother? Father!’ and his swift descent from his horse to tell Louise who they were.
The likeness to John was there in the face of the upright figure coming down the steps, his hand gri
pping his wife’s, steadying her as they reached the bottom. He had need to release her as John swept his mother off her feet and into the air and kissed her. She scolded him for being away so long, but hugged him as she did so. He set her on the ground and embraced his father. The two men began to talk.
John’s mother turned towards Louise and Peter. She was small but neatly made, dressed in a creamy woollen gown and deep blue surcote. Her headdress and veil were crisp and white, and the curls that peeped out from beneath appeared to be spun from silver. ‘Is that my grandson I see?’ Her tone was one of disbelief. ‘I did not look for such a surprise.’ She hurried over to them, her arms held wide as Peter dismounted, and he suffered himself to be kissed and hugged in like manner to his father. Questions about his being there, his health and his studies were heaped upon his head. Her arm went about his shoulders as she hurried him over to his grandfather.
Louise dismounted unaided, such happiness delighting even as it saddened when she considered how she and Marguerite only had each other. Seeing the groom take the reins of John’s horse, she decided that she might as well leave the family alone a moment and lead her mount to the stables. She was barely through the doorway when she collided with Harry.
For a moment neither of them spoke. His eyes, so like John’s, were surveying her from her fur-framed face to the mud-splatted hem of the russet houppelande. ‘So my brother’s arrived,’ he said at last. ‘But why you, Mam’selle Saulnier? Couldn’t he bear to let you go?’
She flushed. ‘Marguerite was not where you said she would be,’ she murmured, allowing a stableboy, who looked at her curiously, to take the reins from her gloved hands. ‘The man Wat has met with the burning death. Marguerite arrived there but Dykemore ordered her to be taken to John’s wife’s house. But she had died and Marguerite was not there, and now I don’t know where she is.’ Her voice was rough with unexpected emotion and weariness. ‘We need to know the name of the man you gave her to.’
‘Dorothy’s dead!’ His eyebrows almost disappeared beneath his fringe of black hair, and he seemed struck dumb. Then he murmured, ‘She’s dead, and you’re here still clad like a lad. Did the pair of you travel all this way alone?’
‘Peter came with us.’ She half lifted a hand then dropped it. ‘John will explain. But if you could tell me the name of the man who has Marguerite?’
He stared at her. ‘I never told you? The pair of you would have been better travelling south, my dear,’ he drawled.
‘What do you mean?’
He half opened his mouth but footsteps sounded outside and John entered. There was a moment’s silence before he said in that silky tone that Louise hadn’t heard for a while, ‘So you’ve found each other, then?’
‘If you mean Louise and myself — ay, brother,’ said Harry, a sudden gleam in his eyes. ‘To meet her so suddenly, looking so pretty, is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ drawled John. His smile came and went. ‘Has she told you about Dorothy and your godson?’
Harry nodded. ‘I’ll be out to see him in a moment.’
‘All right.’ John faced Louise. ‘Come. I want you to meet Mother and Father.’
‘But Harry was just — ’
‘Now! If you please!’
Her gaze went from one brother to the other. There was something about the way they were staring at each other.
John seized her arm and almost pulled her off her feet. She had no choice but to go with him.
His parents were not where she had last seen them, and her heart raced a little as he led her up the steps and into a large hall. Tapestries hung on whitewashed walls, already smoky with winter’s fires. It reminded her of the hall in the manor in Kent because there was the same noise and bustle, and children playing. Peter had already joined a group of lads sitting astride a great log decorated with ribbons and greenery. But coming towards her, accompanied by John’s parents, was a man who held a striking resemblance to Master Adam Milburn, only this man was taller and fiercer-looking.
‘Our host,’ whispered John in her ear. ‘His wife, Lady Jane, gave birth a week ago, and is still abed; that’s why my mother and my cousin Blanche are here. Mother believes you a lad, so best we stick to that at the moment.’
‘But — ’ began Louise, but he was already speaking.
‘M’sieur Louis Saulnier, this is my cousin, Sir Hugh Milburn. My father, Master Guy Milburn, and my mother Mistress Philippa.’
Louise received a stiff nod from the knight and his expression was frosty. She made the slightest of bows. He then excused himself. The hand she had extended was taken by Master Guy and firmly shaken. The blue eyes that smiled into hers wore a slightly questioning, amused expression. ‘Enchanté, M’sieur Saulnier. John has been telling us a little about you, and that you speak some English.’
‘Oui, m’sieur. God give you a good even.’
‘And you, lad. May I introduce my wife?’ Guy did not need to usher Philippa forward. She had already taken Louise’s hand and her green gaze was inspecting her carefully. She leaned forward and kissed her. ‘Harry told us that John had found him but not that it was because you told John you had seen him in Caen. I’m so grateful. My foolish son might never have plucked up the courage to come home if you had not helped John.’
‘I — was glad to help,’ stammered Louise,.
‘John told me also that you lost your home and your father, and you are looking for your sister.’ Her expression was warm. ‘You have my sympathies and I’m certain that my son will do all he can to help you find her.’
Louise involuntarily flashed a glance at John. He stared at her and there was only the slightest lifting of one corner of his mouth to reveal that he found the situation amusing. She doubted if his mother knew anything about her other son’s part in her sister’s abduction.
Philippa smiled. ‘But come and sit by the fire. You are chilled, which isn’t surprising after your journey.’ She patted Louise’s hand before releasing it. ‘It’s likely that we will have some snow before the New Year.’
‘It is very cold.’ Louise followed her, accompanied by John and his father, to the huge fire that blazed on the hearth in the middle of the hall.
‘Later you will be shown to your bedchamber,’ said Philippa. ‘We are a little crowded, and I did think to put you in with Peter, Dan and Nat, but John thought that perhaps, if you don’t mind a truckle in one of the turret rooms, that would suit you better. I will have a brazier put in it to warm it.’ Her pale brow puckered. ‘Perhaps Blanche will see to it.’
‘Blanche?’ Louise looked up from the fire.
‘Blanche is the daughter of one of my father’s cousins,’ said John idly, staring into the fire. ‘She was widowed a couple of years ago.’
‘And still mourns,’ said his mother, almost apologetically. ‘So you will pardon anything that she might say amiss, M’sieur Saulnier.’
‘Of course.’ Louise gave only fleeting thought to what this Blanche could say to her that would offend, while wondering why nothing was said about Dorothy being dead. But perhaps they did not expect John to mourn a wife who had almost caused his death.
‘She and Harry have already struck sparks off each other,’ said Guy drily. ‘But then, my younger son can always find something to argue about with anyone.’
‘Where is Harry?’ Philippa’s gaze ranged the hall. ‘Ah! He’s just entered and I think he has your baggage.’ She turned to Louise. ‘Do you wish to wash and change your clothes? I could have water taken to your room but it will be cold and there is little time before supper is served.’
‘In the morning will do,’ said Louise, unable to resist a glance at John. She would have liked nothing better than to put on something clean but knew there were only women’s clothes in her baggage. What was she going to do? She couldn’t wear the same garments for the next twelve days! What a ridiculous situation to be in!
Harry came up to them and placed the baggage at John’s feet. ‘I think you’d
best sort this out, brother. I don’t know who’s wearing what.’
‘I think when we left France you were wearing some of it,’ said John in honeyed tones. ‘And very well you looked in it.’
‘I’m sure — er — Louis would look better,’ responded his brother, smiling at Louise, who didn’t smile back. She was tired and fed up, was getting a headache, and wished nothing more than that she had never started this mad masquerade.
‘What are you two talking about?’ demanded their mother. ‘Anything that fitted either of you would certainly be too large for M’sieur Saulnier.’
‘It’s a private jest, Mother,’ said John, his eyes dancing as he put his hand through her arm. ‘Remember when we used to wear disguises when the mummers came and how we deceived you?’
Her lovely mouth lifted. ‘It doesn’t seem so long ago. Perhaps there’ll be opportunity for you to attempt to trick me again. No doubt Hugh will be having the mummers perform here during the twelve days of feasting.’
‘Nothing more likely,’ murmured Harry, glancing at Louise. ‘It’ll be entertaining and folk will get up to all sorts of japes.’
‘No doubt,’ said his mother drily, ‘but do remember, boys, that you are not children any more.’
Harry raised both eyebrows. ‘I’m not likely to forget it when dearest cousin Blanche is on the scene. Her disgust of me would grow apace.’
‘You deliberately set out to annoy her,’ said his father. ‘She is a devout woman and has lost a husband.’
‘Whom she cared for as little as John cared for Dorothy,’ said Harry. ‘She’s a hypocrite.’
‘She has a mind to play the part of a grieving widow,’ murmured Philippa.
‘She always did,’ put in John, looking beyond Louise’s shoulder. ‘And talk of the Devil — ’
‘Certainly, brother,’ said Harry wickedly, his eyes following John’s. ‘But more like a dove in appearance, don’t you think?’
Louise, who had been able to understand much of the conversation, stepped back and turned to see a woman coming towards them. She was dressed in grey and white, and her long fingers toyed with a large gem-studded crucifix on a gold chain about her neck. She was as fair as John and Harry were dark. Her pale blue eyes were large and fringed with barley-coloured lashes in a heart-shaped face. There was no denying she was beautiful, in a madonna fashion.