by Ann Swinfen
‘Before we set off,’ Anthony said, ‘I think I will tell Henry what we are about, if you do not object, Tom. It would be as well if someone knew where we are going. In case something should go wrong.’
I nodded. ‘A good plan.’ I sounded casual, but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Many things could indeed go wrong. And if they did, Anthony could be debarred, I could be dismissed as a student, and John could lose his job. We were embarking on a criminal act.
When Anthony returned from seeing Henry, John and I stood waiting. Wearing a gown, John looked quite different and could easily pass for a young law student, one of straitened means, who could only afford an old and shabby gown. If we were questioned by the librarian, Anthony could pass him off as one of his students, but I doubted that the librarian would bother.
‘Henry will come down to Chancery Lane at dusk,’ Anthony said as we set off. ‘Just in case. He might bring some of the other fellows as well.’
I was alarmed. ‘We do not want to start a major disturbance.’
‘Henry is a sensible man. He will not make trouble if no trouble is needed.’
The librarian at Lincoln’s Inn greeted us pleasantly and did not seem surprised either at our return or at the addition to our numbers. I supposed that, since Lincoln’s had such an excellent library, he was accustomed to visitors. We made our way to the scroll room and took the time to check whether there had been any changes since our previous visit. We would look very foolish if we broke into Blakiston’s chambers while all the while the charter was concealed here instead.
We had skirted well round the door to his chambers on our way to the library, but out of the corner of my eye I had seen the lawyer I took to be his junior going up the steps. So business was still afoot there. I hoped fervently that the junior or the clerks had not been set tasks to carry out while their master was dining away.
Time dragged as we pretended to be busy, but at last the light began to fade. Blakiston must have set out for Inner Temple by now, but we needed greater dark before we attempted our break-in, or we would certainly be seen. That is the problem with communal life. Your every move is observed by someone. Our plan suddenly seemed hopeless and I was on the point of telling Anthony that we should abandon it, when I noticed it had grown considerably darker. Great masses of grey clouds were building up overhead.
‘Storm coming,’ Anthony murmured. ‘That should favour us. People will stay indoors. There’s a clump of trees near Blakiston’s building. I suggest we withdraw there.’
We bade the librarian a pleasant good evening and sauntered out into the court. It was empty, everyone having hurried to take shelter before the storm broke. We slipped into the shadow of the trees and waited. My stomach churned with the suspense, and I found the palms of my hands were sweating.
‘I think it is dark enough now,’ I said. The other two nodded agreement.
As we had planned, John ran lightly over to the steps leading to the chambers. If the door was secured, he would try to open the lock before we joined him. Either it was already unlocked or else he had freed it very quickly, for we soon saw him beckon us before slipping inside. Anthony ran across and I limped after him.
We had been worried about how we should be able to see in order to search, without showing a light that would bring someone to investigate. The shutters were closed, but no shutters fit perfectly, there is always a crack through which a sliver of light may be seen. John had found a candle lantern with moveable panels at the side, so a small beam of light could be directed where one was searching. We did not ask whether he had borrowed it from the same thief who had taught him to pick locks.
The outer office looked just as it had done when we had visited it before. There were neat piles of papers on shelves, though no sign of a scroll. I remembered Anthony’s theory of hiding something in plain view, but there was nowhere here that a scroll could lie innocently. We moved through to the inner room, Blakiston’s private office. Between the two rooms, a staircase led up to the floor above, where he must have his living quarters. My heart sank at the thought that we might have to search there as well. How long would it take?
The inner room, like Anthony’s office, held both a locked coffer and a strong box. While John prodded at the lock of the coffer, I quickly checked the desk, but there was nothing here but writing materials and a note about bills owing to the Inn for dinners. Behind me I heard a satisfying click as the lock of the coffer sprang open. Anthony and I turned our attention to it at once, while John moved on to the strong box. To my dismay I saw that this had not one, but three locks.
‘We’d best try to leave these papers looking as undisturbed as possible,’ Anthony said, gesturing at the coffer.
I leaned over as far as I could, propped on my crutch, and took the lamp from John to shine down into the coffer.
‘I can’t see any sign of a scroll there. It’s all neat stacks of flat paper.’
Anthony took the lamp from me. Leaning over, he ran his hand carefully down the sides of the coffer, between the papers and the wood, then between the stacks of paper.
‘You are right,’ he said, passing the lamp back to John. ‘Everything is too smooth. No scroll there.’
As he lowered the lid of the coffer back into place, I heard one of the strong box locks spring open. John freed the second one quickly, but the third was either jammed or it was a more complicated lock. I was sweating freely now, although the darkening storm had brought a wave of cold air and I could hear rain beginning to drum against the window shutters. At least it should keep the Members indoors. They must have finished dinner by now.
At last the third lock snapped open and John gulped and grinned. He was sweating as much as I was. He sat back on his heels and wiped his face.
‘Can you lock the coffer again?’ I asked. ‘We want to leave everything as intact as possible.
He nodded and crawled across to the coffer, not bothering to get up. Anthony lifted the lid of the strong box and we both peered in.
At the bottom, there was a layer of papers. There were three large bags, presumably holding coin. There was a heavy gold chain, such as aldermen wear.
And there, at the top, was a scroll.
I lifted it out. My hands were shaking so much I could hardly unroll it. What if we had run all this risk and it should prove to be nothing but some old will?
Old it certainly was. It crackled as I unrolled the first few inches and a sliver of parchment drifted off the outer edge. I read the opening words. I looked across at Anthony and nodded.
‘It is the charter.’
‘God be praised,’ he said. ‘Let us get out of here as soon as John has fastened the locks.’
He was about to shut the lid, when I laid my hand on his arm.
‘Wait! I know that seal.’
Beneath where the scroll had lain there were two letters, both with the same seal. I lifted them out.
‘This is the Dillingworth seal,’ I said. ‘No time to read them now, but I am taking them as well. They may cast some light on what part the Dillingworths play in all this.’
I stuffed the letters down the front of my shirt for safety, but the scroll was two bulky for that. John had locked the coffer. Now, with what seemed like agonising slowness, he secured the three locks of the strong box and slid his wires into his pocket. He got to his feet and brushed the knees of his hose.
‘Now, out!’ Anthony said. ‘But as quietly and carefully as possible.’
We crossed into the outer office and once we were standing beside the door, John dowsed the lantern. Anthony eased the door open a crack and we all strained our ears to listen, but there was nothing to hear but the rain. John gave a faint grunt. He thrust the lantern at Anthony and groped in his pocket. Of course, the outer door would need to be locked! I think we had all forgotten that.
Anthony and I eased our way down the steps and sheltered under the trees. A few moments later, John joined us. It occurred to me then – and it was
foolish of us not to have considered it before – that it would look very suspicious if we were to walk out of the gatehouse now, hours after we were known to have left the library. The same thought must have struck Anthony.
‘Wait a moment,’ he murmured, and slipped away.
‘John,’ I whispered, ‘if we cannot get out, would you be able to climb the wall?’
Lincoln’s Inn is surrounded by a brick wall, a wall I would once have been able to climb myself.
‘Easily.’
I handed him the scroll. ‘Take this. If anything happens, or we can’t get out of here, go over the wall and run to the Peacock Inn in Holborn.’ I felt in my purse for a few coins. ‘That should be enough for a meal and a beer. If we haven’t come by the time the inn closes, take the scroll back to your lodgings. I’ll come to you later.’
‘Right,’ he said.
Anthony slipped up to us. ‘The gates are locked. I’m a fool. I should have thought of that. We have taken much longer than I expected.’
‘John has the scroll,’ I murmured. ‘He’s going to climb the wall.’
I turned to John. ‘Go now. If you see Henry, tell him what has happened.’
He nodded and slid away into the shadows.
‘He should be safe,’ I whispered to Anthony. ‘I am not so sure about us.’
‘We can’t leave by the gatehouse. I wonder if there is some way out through to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’
‘If there is a back gate, it will be locked,’ I said. ‘I have been stupid. I was only thinking of getting the scroll to safety. John could have unlocked the back gate for us.’
We were already wet, but the rain was sheeting down even more heavily now, so I tightened the strings of my shirt. I did not want those letters to be soaked. They might be quite innocent, or they might not. I did not want them to disintegrate in the wet before I had a chance to read them. Even with the protection of the trees, our outer clothes were soaking.
‘We cannot stand here all night,’ Anthony whispered. ‘John must be over the wall by now. Let us go through the grounds to the wall next to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. There may be a low place we can climb over.’
He was giving me more credit than my due. I doubted I could climb over even a broken piece of wall. And it was likely the Inn took its safety seriously, if the imposing gatehouse was anything to judge by. The wall would be in good repair.
Anthony took my elbow and urged me forward. The storm meant that everything was darker than it would usually be at this time of night, and the ground was unfamiliar. We stumbled toward the path across the court which led in the direction of the Fields. I was glad of Anthony’s steadying hand, but the mechanical leg was serving me well. I could never have managed with the wooden prop. It seemed we might make our way successfully to the far end of the Inn. Perhaps we could conceal ourselves somewhere there and scramble over the wall after dawn. I was sure I could not manage it in the dark. The rain and wind had plastered my hair across my eyes and I raised my hand to push it irritably away.
Just as I did so, a light shone suddenly in my eyes. I covered them with my hand, confused. Where could a sudden light come from? Then I thought of John’s shuttered lamp. This must be another, and someone had opened the shutter to shine a beam of light directly in our faces.
‘Well now,’ a familiar voice said. ‘It is the crippled peasant and his lawyer friend. Just what are you doing, creeping about Lincoln’s Inn in the dark?’
Edmund Dillingworth. I felt his father’s letters crackle inside my shirt.
‘We have been working in your library,’ Anthony said boldly. ‘Ask your librarian. And I have my notes here. We have been accidentally locked in and are looking for a way out.’
‘Indeed?’ He laughed. ‘And how do you account for the fact that the library closed hours ago, before dinner, and you were seen not many minutes since, coming out of Bencher Blakiston’s chambers? We have been watching you, you see. Very curious, that you should spend so long there, when he is out this evening. And were there not three of you?’
As my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I became aware of more men standing behind Edmund. The rogues who had struck me down before, no doubt. Now another man ran up.
‘No sign of the third, Master Dillingworth.’
‘Then we shall just have to amuse ourselves with these two,’ he said. He gestured to the men behind him.
Suddenly they were upon us. Anthony went down first, for I suppose they thought I could give them little trouble. Then someone punched me in the stomach, so that I doubled up. Another kicked my feet from under me, and swore as his foot hit the mechanical leg. I was on the ground and someone was kicking my head. Apart from grunts, they went about their work in silence. Yet, just before blackness overcame me, I thought I could hear yelling from the direction of the gatehouse. Then I heard nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
Mercy
It was not long after Gideon had seen off the bailiff that Piet van Slyke began to take an interest in our land again. He had spent some weeks working over at Crowthorne, and Joshua reported to us regularly about the progress of the drainage works there. The man Ephraim, who had also taken part in our rescue of the confiscated stock the previous year, came over to the village with him from time to time. He spoke to me quite civilly, so I supposed he had overcome his antipathy to working with a woman.
One cold July afternoon Gideon and I were sitting with Alice and Rafe near the fire in Jack’s kitchen. They had moved back to Rafe’s parents’ house, but their time living with Jack had awoken the idea again that they might have a home of their own, especially with another child on the way. Having helped to build the new cottages, Rafe was now planning a simpler house himself, which he could enlarge and extend later. There was a suitable spot, just beyond the village green, on the nearer side of the new cottages, and it had been agreed he could build there. He had come to ask for help.
‘I would like to move in before winter, and before the new babe,’ he said. ‘Do you think we might have it built by then?’
‘Harvest will be late this year,’ Jack said. ‘What there is of it.’
‘Nehemiah and I will help,’ Gideon said. ‘Apart from the milking, things are quiet for now.’
I nodded. ‘Now is a good time. And if you ask the Dutchmen to help, you can have most of the work done before harvest, then move in before the winter. What do you plan?’
‘Something very simple at first,’ Alice said, getting up to steer Huw away from the dresser that held Jack’s mother’s best dishes. Huw was walking now, and he was also climbing. He would be up that dresser like a squirrel. Alice brought him back to the table and gave him his piece of slate and a bit of chalkstone, so he could scribble away.
‘We will have a big kitchen on the ground floor, large enough to live and eat in, like yours, Mercy.’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘We hardly ever use the parlour. I believe Thomas Bennington added it for Mary Dillingworth, but I doubt whether she ever had time to sit there and be a lady.’
‘Well, a kitchen is always the heart of a house. We will have some small storerooms behind, and perhaps a bedchamber for a servant girl, if we should ever have one. Then upstairs, two big bedchambers or three smaller ones. The size will depend on what we can afford to pay for timbers to build the frame. All the spare timber salvaged after the flood has been used to build the other new cottages.’
I felt a stab of guilt. Last year when the court officials had come to seize some of our stock as security for my father’s fine, Tom had sold our draught oxen to Rafe for coin, coin which he had used towards paying the fine, only to discover that Father was already dead. It was money Rafe had been saving to build a home for Alice and himself. The agreement was that we would buy the oxen back when we had the money, but in all our troubles since, that had not been possible. The only coin I had now was the small amount left over after the trading in Lincoln.
‘Rafe,’ I said hesitantly, ‘we have never bought
the oxen back from you, for we have never had the money.’
‘I know that, Mercy,’ he said. ‘Do not fret about it.’
‘But I do fret about it. You could build a better house if you could afford the timber. I do not have the coin, but I have this year’s fleeces. Suppose I give you enough fleeces to cover the cost of the oxen. Then you can sell them to buy the timber. Or Alice could spin the wool and sell that, it would bring in more profit.’
I saw that Gideon was smiling at me encouragingly, but I was aware, as perhaps he was not, that feeding the oxen over the winter would mean that more of the rest of the stock would need to be slaughtered at Martinmas.
‘You cannot do that,’ Alice said. She understood perfectly all the implications of my offer.
‘I can,’ I said. ‘All that is needed is for Rafe and me to agree on a fair exchange.’
It took some time, Rafe claiming I should give him perhaps three fleeces and I insisting that ten would be nearer the mark. He had none of his own to sell, for Master Cox still owned the stock, although it was Rafe who did all the work on their farm. In the end we settled for six fleeces, and I promised myself I would choose six of the best, for I wanted Alice to have a solid and roomy house – as roomy as possible – before the new baby was born.
We had just reached this point in our discussions when Joshua and Ephraim arrived, as they often did, to share a pot of ale with Jack at our yel-hus, for they said that the Crowthorne yel-hus was ever under the reproving eye of the Reverend Edgemont.
‘And what news of the drainers at Crowthorne?’ Jack asked. It was what we all wanted to know.
‘They have the mill almost repaired,’ Joshua said.
‘That must have cost them a few headaches,’ Gideon said, ‘from all that I have heard about the state of it.’
Ephraim grinned. ‘Aye, we did not leave them much of the machine. It was useless. They had to send for a new one, away to the Low Countries.’