Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  "It is important to me," said the woman, and he noticed that her left hand was closed in a tight fist and there was a ring on one of the fingers. He felt sudden sympathy for her.

  "Send for them, then."

  "The first is the host of the Goat in Chains, but he is not here presently. But there is his son; and there is also a certain tradesman, a butcher by trade, but known amongst his neighbours as a godly man and an honest and frugal one."

  Sim wondered vaguely, with one eyebrow raised, what she could possibly have that would be of interest to a butcher. A bag of herbs to be hung up in his shop against the flies?

  "Well, send for one or the other, and let's have an end to this." He gestured to the Clerk of the Market's boy. As he did so he noticed that the room seemed to have quite a number of people in it, all, he presumed, on necessary business, although some were glancing with interest at him and the woman seated with her back to the room.

  Anthony Eaglestone - Tony Eaglestone, the butcher - came in looking warily at the people in the room and took a seat beside Meg. They acknowledged each other by a nod. The butcher had taken time to remove his apron and was dressed in working clothes of plain grey woollen cloth.

  Sim wasted no time. "Do you know this woman seated next to you?"

  Tony nodded, and then said, "Aye, sir, I do."

  "How do you know her?" asked Sim.

  "I ... she has made items for me, that I requested and had use for and all to my satisfaction, sir," said Tony. He looked confused and curious.

  "What things?" said Sim.

  Tony wriggled about and looked down. His face began to turn red. He said in a low voice, "They were ... personal things, sir. Personal for me, like."

  Sim wore a confused frown. He knew that this look could be intimidating, and he found that helpful.

  "Personal things? Item?"

  Tony's shoulders flinched slightly, "Well, it's of no importance, sir, they were nothing of importance."

  Sim began to enjoy himself. "But I do find them of importance," he said. "Come, Eaglestone - is it not Eaglestone? What were they? Tell me, man, this might have greater importance than you think."

  Tony's face looked hunted. "Well, sir," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "since you ask, there was a special salve, for ..." he cast Sim an agonised glance.

  "Well?" said Sim.

  "Well - since your honour asks, it was a salve ... for me corns."

  "Corns?" said Sim, more loudly than he intended.

  "Aye, corns. On me feet," said Eaglestone, quietly in a welter of embarrassment.

  Meg looked coolly at Sim as if to say, "Well, will that suffice for you?"

  "This salve was made for and collected by you?" Sim desperately wanted to ask whether it had worked, from curiosity and devilment.

  "It was delivered to me."

  "By this woman?"

  "By Cornelius, on occasion ..." Tony's face was filled with consternation as he realised what he had said. Meg rolled her eyes and sighed.

  "Cornelius? I thought, Madam, you said your serving-man was called Matthew? Is this another servant?"

  "Well," said Tony, trying to make amends, "in a manner of speaking, I suppose."

  "Is he away, like your other servant?" asked Sim. How many followers did this one woman have?

  "No," said Meg, with another sigh, "he is not."

  "Where is he, then?" asked Sim. "If he is in Guildern, I think I wish to speak to him."

  "He is here," said Meg, "and not just in Guildern. He is in this room."

  "Where?" said Sim, looking round.

  "Here," said Meg, and reaching down to the floor, she lifted up the sleeping Cornelius, who woke up and yawned. She set him on the trestle in front of Sim, who for a shocked instant, thought he was looking at a small black imp, before realising that it was a dog. There was a sound of muffled laughter in the room.

  Sim looked at Cornelius, who looked back at him with little interest. Then, his nose began to twitch and he turned and saw Tony Eaglestone. With a yelp of pleasure he leaped at the man who had provided him with so many good treats and licked him on the face. He gave Sim another superior glance and jumped over onto Meg's lap and settled down.

  Sim was heartily glad that George was not there. For a moment, he and Meg looked at one another. Then he said, leaning forward so that the curious ears in the room could not hear them: "Madam, another word to the wise. Your little dog shows a keen intelligence. There are some who would call it uncanny. I did not see him with you when you entered the room."

  Meg said, also in a low voice, "He is intelligent, and excellent company and has some agreeable tricks and ways. He is very good at hiding behind me or in the folds of my gown and so you may not have noticed him. I can even carry him here in my sleeve. Did you ever have a dog, Master Cantle?"

  Sim looked surprised, but could not be annoyed at her question. "Indeed, Madam, my sister and I have always had pet dogs and so has our cousin. I take your point. Ours too, used to amuse our family with tricks and ..." He broke off. "However, not all view it in the same way. I hope that is clear?"

  "Very clear," said Meg.

  "Now, I must be about other business. That is all." Sim stood up, afraid that he might laugh out loud if he did not leave. His encounter had left him feeling surprisingly cheerful. He was almost grateful to the puritan Surveyor of Highways. Almost.

  Chapter 10: By Moonlight

  "It was a sight to see, George," said Sim, reaching for the decanter again. "I'm sorry you were not there. Sir Humphrey Mussard, who came to meet us outside Guildern, where he had spent the night, was mounted on a good little grey pad and dressed in all his finery ... y'know ... his sleeves so wide and slashed, with gold showing beneath; a ruff the size of a mill wheel around his neck, yellow as a dandelion; gloves of the softest kid with his rings flashing gold over the top ... all tinselled up in the sunlight; bowing us a welcome ..."

  George settled back into his chair, ready for a good story.

  "... and he had a train of serving men dressed in like colours to accompany him as though he were some belted earl, or worse ... a few eyebrows raised there, you'll appreciate ... and then he must alight from the gentle little ambler so that he could mount the destrier that one of the serving men was on and ride back with us to Guildern ..."

  "Destrier?" queried George.

  "Well, so Sir Humphrey called it, affecting some antique posture ... and so he mounted the destrier, a monstrous heaving snorting bull of a horse ..."

  "I can imagine."

  Sim was providing lively gestures to accompany his words: "... mounted the destrier, with a little difficulty, but only losing his hat twice and damaging the feather in it somewhat. Whoops! And once in the saddle, with his steed ..."

  "Steed!"

  "... his steed clamped under his two legs, which hung down like pipes on either side; and the most fantastical clocks upon his stockings, you can't imagine, George. That meant he had to wear shoes of course ... his calves might have been the better for a little padding ..."

  George snorted.

  "... well, the horse starts gambading as he's in sight of the town, or so he would have us believe, Sir Humphrey with one hand upon his hip and the other with reins held high in the air. And with a "Ho!" and "Hup!" the pair are off down the road ahead of us, but I swear, George, I could see no difference in what that horse performed and the bucks that Pommely used to give when he wanted rid of us ..."

  George was crying with laughter.

  "Then, just when it was a point of some wonder with us all as to whether the horse would gambade Sir Humphrey into the next county, it tires of Guildern and decides that it would rather return home ... and so back he comes past us again, with a "Ha!" and a "Ho!" and a "Hurgh!" but I think the last word was rather wrung from him by the bucking of his horse. And through all this the horse was farting so loud that our fellow Justice John Marten jested they were firing a nine gun salute to welcome us."

  "Sim, I feel much the better for t
hat," said George, wiping his eyes. "But what was he thinking? A Quarter Sessions? Did he think to impress us, or the Under Sheriff, who knows him all too well? Or the inhabitants of Guildern town?"

  Sim shrugged. "You know Sir Humphrey. Snipt-Taffeta, they call him. He misses no opportunity to impress - and the inhabitants of Guildern were impressed, after a fashion. He certainly gave them the best show they've seen in many a year and I think some of them are still laughing. But, no, I fear that someone of our acquaintance - I do not know who - might have suggested to him that a Sergeant at Law from London, who had recently bought a country seat in our county, was staying to witness how we transact our sessions. So Sir Humphrey saw an opportunity to impress him by leaving town early in the morning and then arriving with us all in train so that our visitor could witness his horsemanship. And, despite the best attempt of Sir Humphrey's horse to ruin our arrival, we did impress, I believe. Between Justices and servants we must have been fifty strong. Alas, there was no visitor ... perhaps it's as well, since Sir Humphrey ended by being led into Guildern by his serving man, somewhat out of sorts. You should send him a word about lessons, George."

  "I do not think Sir Humphrey would take it well, since he feels himself to be superior to most of us in every way."

  "He did not take well to the spoiling of his entrance into Guildern. No indeed. It set him into a black humour. In fact ... there is something that concerns you in this, George."

  "Concerning myself? How?"

  "Sir Humphrey was given a copy of your warrant, as is right; he read it through and flicked it with his hand. He said ..." Sim paused and looked at George, "... he said that your views on the horse muster were well known ..."

  "Which they are!" interjected George. "I've made no secret to anyone that I do not understand how our crown commissioners expect us to raise horses of the best quality for our nation while at the same time we must hand them over, whenever required, to be used we know not how, by we know not whom, for military purposes ..."

  Sim held up a hand. "I know it all cousin, we've discussed it frequently enough. But, with regard to Sir Humphrey, he indicated that perhaps it was no bad thing in your mind, that a valuable horse might disappear for a while, in case the commissioners were to ..."

  "What!" said George, looking at Sim in amazement. "That I would deliberately ... is that what he intended?"

  "I do not know what he really intended, and perhaps it was just a passing mood. Certainly there were many others of our acquaintance there and they all cried shame. This was while we were taking some refreshment before proceedings. I do not think anyone took it seriously. We all know Sir Humphrey after all. He has these moments of spite, but they pass like vapours in the air. He is feeling his age and we should remember that he was a fine swordsman and an authority in his youth. But I do not think that he will haste to provide help in your search."

  There was a pause. George looked flushed with irritation.

  "I know what is in your mind, George," said Sim. "No-one worked harder than you did for the county muster of horses when the threat of Spain hung over our nation ..."

  "Sir Humphrey seems to have forgotten that!" said George acidly. "If he ever noticed it in the first place ..."

  "Let it be, cousin," said Sim. "Do not follow him in behaviour. As I said, he was cried down and he ended up looking the worse for it. Perhaps I should not have mentioned it."

  "Well, then, I will leave it. For I have more important things to think about than the prattle of Sir Humphrey Snipt-Taffeta Mussard."

  "A drink on that," said Sim, relieved. He had intended to tell George about the meeting with Meg, but it would wait for another time. It was too good to tell in a hurry and soon he would have to ride for home.

  * * * * *

  Peter had almost allowed himself to believe that nothing more would come of his encounter with Jostler. He had no knowledge of what had happened at Sir George Paston's stable and he was not sure that he wanted to know. He tried to ignore the slight pricking of curiosity that he felt. He had a superstitious feeling that if he showed any interest, even to himself, somehow it would cause a reappearance of his fear and perhaps even Jostler himself. So he put it from his mind as best he could and hoped that the horse would be restored to Sir George.

  He also tried to put thoughts of the woman at the inn out of his mind. That was slightly easier, for with spring coming there were things that he could do in his little garden plot. There were Tyger's kittens to look forward to and the geese would come back seriously into lay, further reducing his dependence on the outside world.

  It was whilst he was working outside in a burst of warm sunshine that he caught sight, out of the corner of one eye, of a moving spot of white amongst some old umbrel stalks that lined either side of the path that led to his gate. He straightened up and saw that it was a man in an aged white tunic moving at a purposeful walk, into which he threw a half trot every now and then, towards his home. The man was plump and red faced, with a fuzz of white beard from which a ruddy coloured nose protruded. This was such an arresting sight that Peter carried on watching as the man approached. He did not know this person. Probably a new client - and yet, there was something about him that did not make this seem likely. He looked around occasionally as though checking that no-one followed him and he had the air of a man with something of significance to impart.

  When the man arrived at the gate Peter was reassured by his visitor's cheery rubicund face and guileless air.

  "Be you ... Peter Siskin?" asked the visitor.

  "I am," said Peter.

  "A word with you, if I may?" said the visitor, smiling at him.

  "Of course - this way, if you please," said Peter, fairly confident now that this was someone who wanted his advice in some way. But there was something nagging at him in the pit of his stomach. A warning. A warning.

  Peter opened the door and gestured for his visitor to enter.

  "Please - be seated," he began to say, but the visitor shook his head. He looked around at all Peter's appurtenances.

  "No, I thank you. No time. I have a message for you from one who is known to you ..."

  Peter's heart began to thud, hard, and his hands began to tremble. He felt the sweat begin to break out all over his body. His visitor gave no indication that he had noticed these obvious signs of fear, but carried on in a cheerful manner, "This is the message: make sure that you advise a certain one that his property will be at the old barn at the edge of the Hanging Wood six miles to the south east of Guildern. D'ye know it?"

  Peter thought quickly, and shook his head. If he had known it, fear would have driven it from his mind anyway.

  "Ah well, this is how to find it ..." The Frater gave him clear, unambiguous instructions and then asked Peter to repeat what he had said, twice. "Thursday night. All's clear?"

  Peter nodded, wondering if he would be sick before his visitor left, or after.

  "Good man," said the Frater, patting his arm confidently. "Don't forget. Must be off."

  Peter, as if drugged, made his way to the door.

  "No, no need to see me off," said the Frater. "Geese fastened up? All's well then."

  He began to lift the latch and then turned. "Nearly forgot," he said, shaking his head. "The one who is known to you said I was to give you this." He held something out in his hand and Peter took it almost without thinking. He looked down at it as the Frater left, latching the door behind him.

  A small piece of partly burned straw.

  * * * * *

  Peter had thought long and hard about what to do. He had considered simply going to Sir George and confessing all, which he felt was what he should have done in the first place. Whenever he had convinced himself that this was what he should do, he was suddenly assailed by a vision of his house in flames, whilst he himself was at Oakenhall. He saw all his life destroyed, Tyger leaping through the fire in terror, or scratching at the walls in desperation, wondering where the man who had cared for her had gone; the gee
se screaming and cackling. He saw the orange light in the sky, the people of the town looking at one another and wondering what was happening. Or, worse, he saw himself in bed, suddenly awakened in terror by the flames that licked at his door, a shadow running off in the dark. He heard his own screams, knowing that it was too late, he was trapped by the wooden post they had rammed against the door whilst he slept.

  The morning after the Frater's visit, after a night of shadowy terrors, he decided that he must follow instructions. How to convince Sir George became the question that obsessed him now. How to convince him; and create a plausible means of bringing Sir George to the barn where his horse would be hidden.

  Peter knew many methods of divination. There were the sieve and shears, the Bible and the key and orris root or hazel wood used as a pendulum. Hazel was the best of all woods for divining, either for water or for missing items. With all of these, there were certain practices that would cause a suspected person to be the one who was chosen. The Bible and the key, in which names were placed in the hollow handle of a key and put on a certain verse in the Bible, which then moved when the key contained the name of the criminal, was very popular. Most homes had a Bible and a key.

  None of these seemed appropriate for Sir George, however. Peter did not know much about him, but he was sure he would not be a credulous person nor a particularly religious one.

  When he finally remembered the Constable, he wondered why it had taken so long for him to think of it. Suddenly this seemed a route to salvation, rather than further complication. It took a great deal of resolution for Peter to leave his home, although he told himself, rationally, that he had grace until Thursday at least. Nothing would happen until then and nothing thereafter unless he failed to fulfil his part of the bargain. And so, eventually, he set out to find Constable Follett. As he looked round his home he felt a sudden pang at the idea of its loss. It was so little, compared with what others had; but it was all he had, and it contained all his happy memories.