Anne comes into the room. Her veil is folded back over her cap.
I sit down. “Anne, surely you aren’t involved in all this?” I notice Jonathan eyeing the door, which she has left unlocked behind her.
“I’m Flo,” says the plump woman to Cedric, “and you’re the Cockleshell Man. I’ve heard of you.” She hands the basin and cloths to Cedric. “Here you are, Cockleshell Man. I don’t want to interfere with your patient. I’ll see to these other poor souls.”
Anne puts her hand on my arm. “Flo, I’m borrowing this one for a minute. We have matters to discuss.” I stare at her, so familiar, someone from home. Her chin trembles, and I wonder for a moment if she does after all have to hand us over to the torturers. “Beatrice, my dear,” she whispers, “these are terrible times, and I am sorry for you. Would you come with me? There is someone who wants to talk to you.” She leads me a little way back down the spiral staircase, and into a chamber with tapestries on the walls and a long settle with tasselled cushions, by the hearth. A man is standing with his back to me, at one of the slit windows. Anne closes the door behind us. “He rode straight to my house, when they let him out,” she says. The man turns. It is John.
Chapter 29
He is white and shocked-looking. He is still dressed in the clothes he wore to travel to Lancaster with me. It seems a long time ago now. He looks exhausted, as exhausted as I am. When was it we both last slept?
I hear Anne go out of the room. John rubs his hand over his face. “How are you?” he asks.
“Well enough. I thank you. How are you?”
He shakes his head and looks away, as if this conversation were ridiculous. I look at my hands, because something is happening to them; they are shaking. I hold them out to him. They are filthy, and my wrists are bruised raw. Now I seem to be shaking from head to foot. “I am glad you are safe,” I tell him. “I am sorry for what happened.”
He strides across the room, then hesitates. I hold out my arms to him. We are dirty, smelly, weary beyond belief and a mess, but we are the same mess. We wrap our arms round each other. “Oh…” I shake my head, press my face into his neck, bang my fists on his back. “I was so worried about you. I was so worried.”
He says into my hair, “You are insane. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me what you were going to do?”
“I don’t exactly know, John. I truly don’t. Perhaps because… you see… you are respectable, John. You are not like me and my family, natural lawbreakers. You have a reputation to preserve. I don’t think I can marry you, for fear I may always have to do the sort of thing that would bring you disgrace.”
He kisses the top of my head. “That is nonsense. I think what you mean is that I would hinder you, that you might not have the freedom to which you are so accustomed, if you were to marry me.”
“No. No, that is not the case. It has simply become very clear to me that you will never become bishop if you marry me, and I cannot have that on my conscience. I cannot have another person’s future… another person’s advancement… on my conscience.”
John leads me to the settle and sits me down amongst the tasselled cushions. “I suddenly fear that you might be serious about this, Beatie. Surely you cannot be. Not… not after all we’ve become to one another.”
Sitting down is the undoing of me. I feel sleep rolling over me in great, dizzying waves. “Oh sweetheart, surely it’s all beside the point anyway, because I have to run away to Scotland now.” I lean my face against his shoulder. His clothing, dusty and grimy from the events of the past few days, suddenly seems to have the whiff of the dungeon about it. I jerk back. “Did they put you in the dungeons?” I ask in horror.
“No! Heavens no, thank God. Though I did go in there. They let me go in there, to speak to the poor souls still imprisoned.”
I look up at him. I have a sense of throwing away all that is good in the world. “John, I am so sorry for the ways in which I have wronged you, and I am so glad that I’ve seen you before I go north. Tell me what happened to you in Lancaster.”
He pulls me back against him. “Oh, I had a disagreement with the soldiers we’d argued with earlier. I think they must have followed us up the hill. They were looking for trouble, and they found the matchlock you’d hidden in the bundle of clothing in the back of the cart. When they tried to take it, it went off, and they arrested me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought the matchlock, and I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening to you.”
“You were busy with Robert. No…” He stops me from speaking. “Of course you were. Anyone with any humanity would have been. I would have been if the soldiers hadn’t turned up.”
“I tried to find you afterwards. By the time I found out that they had taken you into the castle, everything was happening too fast to do anything about it.”
“Sweet Beatrice…” John gives something between a laugh and a sob. “For heaven’s sake, you do not always have to be rescuing people. At least, you do not have to be rescuing me.”
I touch the stubble on his chin. “You look like a bandit,” I tell him. “I would lock you up, certainly. What happened in the end? How did you get out?”
“They didn’t believe who I was, but the Vicar of Lancaster intervened and confirmed my identity. When I got out it was all over Lancaster that two Scots had been rescued.”
I interrupt him. “Do you know if the players were all right – Master Guinevere and the others?”
“I didn’t hear that they weren’t. I don’t think anyone knew they’d been involved. I just knew that the military were after you. I drove the cart straight to Anne Fairweather’s after they let me out, and told her what had happened, and then she and I rode straight over here. I knew that her Cousin Edward was the only person with the power to take you away from the soldiers and into his own custody. Whether he would do it was another matter, but Anne persuaded him.”
I think of Edward as I saw him in Anne Fairweather’s house, proud, aloof and pompous, and again as I saw him when he waylaid the soldiers, a man committing treason, with considerable flair and imagination moreover, in the name of love. “He would do anything for her,” I reply.
John looks down at me and we examine one another’s faces, every grain of grime, every salty eyelash distinct and precious. After a moment he continues, “Anne and I rode the long way round the bay, because of the tide. I was afraid we might not get to Edward in time. We saw your mother in Barrowbeck village and told her what we were doing. She was in the middle of having your henchman Michael, and Widow Brissenden, put into the stocks and pelted with rubbish. I think she would have had them stoned if Germaine had not restrained her.”
I have to compose myself for a moment before I can speak. I am too old to be crying for my mother, and anyway, there is no point. Eventually I ask, “So what now, John? Does this mean we are not to be interrogated by Edward?”
“I think he will let you all go. Robert and the other young Scot too. He will say he handed you over to local justice, or something like that, and they will think the worst, and his reputation for brutality will increase. I suspect he may have done this sort of thing before – extended undue mercy – because prisoners have disappeared from Castle Clough in the past, and no one has liked to ask too many questions. The family have a lot of power. They also have a Scottish connection, which might have some bearing.”
I take John’s face in my hands. “You do know I have to go, don’t you. I’m a wanted criminal. I have no choice.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course you don’t have to go. You can simply hide until it all dies down.”
“I’d be a danger to everyone, John. The soldiers think I’m a Scottish spy. I doubt they’ll bother Cedric, because he was barely involved, but what I did – well the law doesn’t forget that sort of thing, no matter how often the troops might change.”
“Is it Robert, Beatrice? Is it simply that you want to go to Scotland with him? If it is, just say so.”
&n
bsp; I go over to one of the slit windows. A chilly breeze is blowing in. A tiny whirlwind of pink petals spirals about on the deep windowsill. I glance back at John. “Don’t make it harder than it is. You saw what Robert was like. You saw the state he was in. I have to make absolutely sure he really does get away this time, so that there’s an end to all this. What I do afterwards… well…” I shrug.
Silence falls between us. Outside, sounds of castle life continue, men shouting, pots clanking, wood being chopped in the compound. From below comes a familiar whinny, and the rumble of wheels. I lean along the windowsill in amazement, and peer out. I am just in time to see the carretta disappearing below the angle of the wall. I turn. “It’s…” John has come up behind me. I hesitate. “It’s the carretta,” I inform him softly.
“Oh good. I’m delighted. And I apologise.”
“Indeed.” I watch his face until it is out of focus and touching mine. His chin is rough. I say against his lips, “You are not fit to kiss. I am already suffering considerable injury from the day’s doings, and do not wish any more. I am going downstairs now, to see what Father Leofric has been doing with my carretta.”
John kisses me anyway. I put my arms round his neck, hold his head, kiss him back, letting myself be imprisoned against the windowsill. I tell him gently, “I will come back. One day I shall just be there in the parsonage kitchen, when you walk in.”
He lets me go.
When I arrive downstairs in the compound, I find Edward talking to Father Leofric, and Calisto being led away to the stables. The carretta stands by the wall.
“I’ve been driving around for hours,” the monk is explaining plaintively. “Oh daughter, thank goodness you’re here. If someone could just give me a lift back to Cartmel…”
It is such a relief to see him safe and well that I quite forget myself and hug him. “I’m glad you’re all right, Father Leofric. Yes, I’m sure there are people going back your way, Cedric certainly.” The monk beams with quite a saintly glow. I look at Edward, who is regarding me coldly. “Thank you,” I murmur. “Thank you so much.”
He turns away without answering me.
Back upstairs, John is gone from the chamber where we talked. I find him and Cedric sitting with Robert, who is lying in bed in Castle Clough’s infirmarium. The stark, whitewashed room contains three linen-draped beds, shelves of medical instruments and labelled stone bottles, and a large, closed stove instead of an open fire. The other two beds are empty. The three men look round as I enter, and John says, “I’ll come with you to the border, Beatrice. Edward has suggested sending a henchman too, but I think it’s better if his involvement is kept as secret as possible. The four of us travelling north together will be quite conspicuous enough.”
The door opens again, and Anne comes in. She is, as always, beautifully dressed, in startling contrast to the rest of us. She seats herself on a bench and fans herself with a roll of bandage. “Beatrice, what are you going to do after Robert and Jonathan are safely delivered to the border? Have you a plan?”
“Well…” I hesitate. “No, not a definite plan. Obviously I can’t go back to Barrowbeck or Wraithwaite for a while. It’s possible that even after Captain Foreman and the rest of Lord Ravenswyck’s men have gone, Lord Allysson’s soldiers who are replacing them might come after me. I can stay in country inns and move about the north for a year or more. I have enough of my dowry left.” I cast an apologetic glance at John.
Anne puts down the bandage and sits forward, her elbows on her knees, her long, manicured hands clasped together. “Beatrice, I have a suggestion. Edward and I have a Scottish kinswoman, Elspeth MacCrundle. It was her tenant-woman who was imprisoned in Lancaster Castle, and whom Edward reprieved. From her side of the border she does the same sort of thing that Edward does here. She has saved the lives of several Englishmen, and returned them south. She would put you up.”
Flo arrives, bearing cups of hot broth on a tray. She sets it down and leaves. Anne hands them round. “You see, we do not like all these killings.” She cradles the steaming cup between her hands. “Not the border killings, nor the judicial killings when they hang or burn people. We have managed to help a number of souls, but it is never enough. We can’t… particularly Edward can’t… do it for everybody, more’s the pity. It would quickly become too obvious, and that would be an end of it. There was nothing we could do for your Scots, without risking wrecking the whole system. We mostly need to catch them before they get into the castle, to have any realistic hope of saving them.”
There is a cough from the doorway. Edward is standing there. He picks up the remaining cup of broth. “What my cousin is saying, Mistress Garth, is that we always need more help, and you seem remarkably good at this sort of thing. Cousin MacCrundle would doubtless be glad of your assistance, as well as offering you protection.” He drums his fingers on the cup.
“You mean… stay in Scotland?”
“Until it’s safe to return home.” Edward goes over and peers at Robert’s head wound. “You might want to lend a hand as well, Lacklie.”
Robert raises his eyebrows. “Aye. I might.”
Cedric looks round from his appraisal of the rows of medical instruments. “If you need anyone guiding over the sands… or medical attention… you can always call on me.”
Edward nods. I’m not sure he knows how to smile. “I’d assumed as much.”
John stands up. “We have a crypt under the church at Wraithwaite. If anyone should need hiding, you can put them in there for a while. The villagers think it’s haunted, so they don’t go there.” He hesitates. “Does it have a name, your organisation?”
Anne and Edward glance at each other. Edward pushes the door shut with his heel. “I wouldn’t call it an organisation,” he replies, “but the watchword is Salamander, should you ever need to identify yourself to anyone else involved.”
“Salamander…” John repeats softly, “… the mythical beast that lives in fire.”
“And in doing so, puts it out.” Edward strides towards the door. “Time to unstopper some of Flo’s ypocras if you ask me. Talking of fire.”
Chapter 30
I sleep as if dead, and not just because of the ypocras. John sleeps in the adjoining bedchamber. We are high up in the tower. Towards morning I dream of wolves howling, and wake to hear the wind screaming round the battlements. I light a candle and get up, and find that John is already gone from his bed next door. When I return to my own bedchamber, Robert is there, sitting on my bed in the candlelight.
He stands up. “Bea, I hope ye dinnae mind…”
I stare at him in wonderment. He has not changed back into his monk’s robe, but into a rather dashing leather jerkin over a rough wool shirt, with leather breeches and high boots. “Sir Edward’s,” he says, with a rueful grimace. “He said he’d grown out of them.” I realise that he and Edward are the same height, though their difference in girth is very apparent.
“How are you?” I sit down on the bed and he sits down next to me.
“Better. Wonderful. I don’t know what I can do to thank you, ever. I hope you will come to let my parents thank you properly.”
I gaze at this young man, half destroyed by imprisonment. His face is bruised and bandaged. His eyes are sunken. He is all bones. It seems a miracle that his teeth have survived. They look huge in his skeleton-face. Perhaps in the dungeon, food was so scarce that lack of use preserved them. Yet despite all this, his eyes are watchful and his expression alert.
He touches my hand. He never used to be so diffident to touch me. “I have to tell you something,” he says. “I have to be sure you know what you have done, and who I am. You wouldnae let them kill me, but you might wish you had. The truth is, I organised the raids, Bea. I let you think I was just going along with what was expected of me, but the truth is, I was one of the instigators. I loved it. I hated the English.” He goes to stand with his back to the dark window. It is cleverly designed so that the wind mostly passes it by, but some of the st
rongest gusts ruffle Robert’s hair now, and in this dim light he is once again the Robert I knew, tawny and wild, a part of the forest. “I know it is my fault that you are a fugitive,” he says, “and I know you love the priest more, and will go back in a year’s time; but if you should ever change your mind, and want to come home with me, I would spend my life trying to make it up to you.”
I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly full of vivid physical remembrance of days and nights spent with Robert in the hermit’s cottage in the woods, when I nursed him through his injuries. I try to take in this distressing new information about his role in the border incursions, and find that I am scarcely surprised.
“Do you still hate the English?” I ask him. “I suppose you do, after all that we have done to you.”
“It’s no worse than what we do to our enemies, Bea. I’m no longer sure it has to be like this, though. We’re all the same, are we not, inside? I’m going to try to stop the raids. We are only the other side of the mountain from the MacCrundles.” He pauses. “I had no idea what they were up to.”
“You will keep it secret from your family?”
“Of course.” He holds out his hands. “To have you in Scotland for a year… that’s wonderful. I’ll come and see you. I willnae always be such a wreck.”
I smile. “Dear Robert. I have known you a worse wreck than this.” I hold his hands in mine. They feel thin and hard, like twigs, kindling for the fire. “I hope you always feel as peaceable as this, my dear. I have to tell you, our men have been raiding your side of the border, and you may feel differently when you see what they have done. They will be on their way home now, travelling towards Newcastle, so we should not encounter them on our journey north.”
Robert is silent for a moment. He releases my hands. “I have a cousin, Bea. His name is Duncan. We have always been competitive towards one another. With me gone, he will have taken over the planning of raids. He has a vengeful nature. It may be difficult to stop him if, as you say, the English have raided us again. Someone has to stop first, and as far as Duncan is concerned, it is unlikely to be us. I will do my best, but it may take time to shift people’s views.” He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a small, leather-bound book. “I wish you to have this. Father Wolf gave it to me.”
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