Court of Foxes

by Christianna Brand

  ‘Who can say?’ she said; but it was all bemusement, she could not yet sort out the real from the histrionic. ‘He became — all in that moment — the pretended Earl of Tregaron? But… The carriage — the family carriage, with its coat of arms — I saw him mount up into it; with my own eyes I saw him.’

  ‘You saw him stand beside it as though about to mount.’ He flung up his big hands to heaven. ‘Diw, diw, the luck he had all along the way! There stood the coach awaiting, presumably, David of Llandovery; who, however, was running about with a great bundle of flowers, says Gareth, with no eyes in his head for anything but the beauty from Italy. So he marches himself over and stands by the carriage, casually, one hand on the emblazoned door, and lets you see him there as though about to enter it; nipping away with an exchange of good-nights with the footmen as soon as the true owner approaches it—’

  ‘—having already formed the intention of impersonating Lord Tregaron?’

  ‘Ay, well — having heard that evening that both brothers were to go abroad the following day; and having this ready-made likeness.’

  ‘And it was all a nonsense, of course, that there was bad blood between the brothers?’

  ‘To account for their not meeting and conversing, outside the playhouse. For the rest — there’s some family likeness, as I say, and the real earl was not much known in London, he spent most of his time at Castell Cothi, minding his estates. And so — he waited for their departure, both brothers, mother and sister; and behold! — “the Earl of Tregaron” begins to lay siege to the citadel.’ He went off again into one of his great guffaws.

  ‘Very well, you may spare me his account of the wooing,’ said Gilda. ‘Looking back, I am not very proud of it myself.’ And she thought of her one or two moments of delicacy and of how she had felt a small pang when he had asked her, ‘Are you ashamed of your bargain?’ and she had indeed for a moment felt a little ashamed… And all the time… ‘He’s a rogue and a villain,’ she said; and still couldn’t help laughing.

  He laughed too, trudging along happily by her side. ‘And so the arrangements went forward. Imagine his joy when you insisted upon secrecy: secrecy and dispatch. He’d been mortally afraid that the brothers might come back from their travels early, as indeed one of them, at least, seems to have done — and find a second Earl of Tregaron disporting himself, however discreetly, in London; and some other anxiety I believe he had, also — he thought you a little fancied this very gentleman now present. But it seemed not so after all, for you insisted upon an early and quiet wedding. He made haste down here to have all ready for a fake hold-up on the second night, following the marriage; and one of the boys rode back with a ring — our finest treasure, there was some argument among us as to giving it up to you; but after all, as he said, it would be coming straight back to us.’

  ‘He was very sure of himself,’ she said; the more bitterly that he had not known that it would not be for his charms that she would succumb to him. But light was still breaking. ‘Then this story of the road — of Y Cadno tricked and shot up and the ring preserved, as told to my little bro — as told to my page boy—?’

  ‘A tale to please the lad, to whom Gareth took some fancy since he prattled about highwaymen — to Y Cadno’s immense amusement. But it came in handy later — accounted for the nonappearance of our “wounded” leader.’

  ‘Oh, dear: poor deluded me, how I have been tricked and deceived by the lot of you!’ And how I have deceived you in turn, she thought smugly — who still expect so much of me. Let the sick man be made well and returned to safety, and with what glorious satisfaction would she tell them how the tables had been turned on them! But then… ‘Why, the house! The night in Hanover Square! Will you tell me next that this was all a forgery?’

  ‘No, no, how could he have contrived another such mansion? And with all the arms and emblazonments, the family uniforms for the lackeys, the crested silver?’ He shook his great head and his black eyes sparkled with glee. ‘Still you nearly had him there! — insisting upon at least one night there. How to refuse you? You were kittle-kattle; deny you, he says, and you might have been off any minute, at any rate delay the marriage and bring all to disaster. So — the family being abroad — he simply sent a note signed “Tregaron” instructing the staff that his nephew, his cousin, I know not who — my Lord Howden or Hillden or some such name, it’s no matter — would come for one night and must be treated with all hospitality: the family being unfortunately from home but relying upon the major-domo’s discretion. So the place was thrown open, but hurriedly, for he gave them no time to run gossiping with neighbours and discovering the non-existence of any such Lord and Lady Hillden or Howden among the family relations — and it was “milord” and “milady” — for what servants, he says, will address the great folk by their full titles, will use their actual names? Gareth knows these things; the old Earl was not so reticent of his bastard offspring as to entirely neglect those to whom he took a fancy and Gareth being the oldest, he believes that his father had a secret feeling of some shame towards him, that he should have no name nor title. At any rate he treated him kindly, came often to his mother’s cottage and talked with him, and so taught him no little of the bearing and ways of the gentry; took him sometimes with him to London (but secretly), and had him well educated by a good master.’

  ‘He needed no lessons in roguery, I fear,’ she said; and could not help laughing anew, at the risks he had taken, the spicey daring of it all. ‘He must have had an anxious time when I wished to bring my — my waiting woman, to Hanover Square.’

  ‘Why, yes, for she’d soon have learned from the servants that they didn’t know him for Lord Tregaron. Catti, on the other hand, being in the secret, could cozen them and you, at one and the same time. And as to bringing the maid away with you, well he was ready with some plan to prevent it; a message was to have arrived saying she was too unwell to travel, some story — but…’

  ‘But he found another way to avoid it,’ she said, not now so much amused.

  ‘You can believe it was a shock to him when Dafydd Llandovery made his appearance — having just that moment arrived back in England!’

  ‘Yes, good heavens! But he, I suppose, had been told that we were there at Lord Tregaron’s invitation — friends not among his personal acquaintance… And yet, he would recognise me.’

  ‘You were understood in the servants’ hall to be newly married: a remote cousin (and Gareth’s likeness to these, his half-brothers, would allay any suspicion) and his bride, spending a night at the house on the way to a honeymoon abroad. No doubt it was a surprise to Lord Llandovery when he saw who the bride was; but he knew you for a widow, and for the rest — as I say, why should he question it?’

  ‘And the inns upon the road — this accounts of course for their low standard; he couldn’t go to the well-patronised hostels where other travellers might recognise him, where the landlords would know the real Tregaron, so long accustomed to use these roads and, I suppose, the same coaching inns… And Catti! — now I see, Dio, why Catti — why Catti looked so fierce upon me…’ Her voice faltered: Catti had looked at her with anger because of the attempt to meet David of Llandovery; because of the attempt to cheat the beloved leader.

  She slanted the subject hurriedly. ‘And I see also why — ah, Dio, I see also that I must after all absolve Catti of naughtiness!’

  ‘She is my woman,’ said Dio. ‘Just as you are his.’

  ‘I am his wife,’ said Gilda.

  Back at Cwrt y Cadno they showed a general tendency to regard her in this light, the men especially: Blodwen, only, putting up any great resistance. She arranged a room where the sick man could be nursed and sat by him all that night, drooping with weariness and sleep but adamant that she alone should care for him. A foolish resolution, for by the next morning she was utterly exhausted and his first waking hours were spent in the hands of another Blodwen (Blod the Bruises she was known as, to distinguish her from Blod Black-eyes) commonly accepte
d as nurse and doctor to the gang and therefore expert in treating injuries. It was Blod who told him, unemotionally, of the occurrences on the road and of the death of his brother: thus sparing him much anguish of explanation and tender sympathy, and depriving Gilda of the opportunity to administer the same. She said coldly when she heard of it: ‘This should have been left to me.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you say,’ said Blodwen in Welsh; perfectly understanding, however. She was a friend of the other Blodwen.

  But what cared Gilda? — who now might sit all day with her beloved’s hand in hers, leaping up only to wait upon him (the more unlovely tasks of nursing, however, being deputed to others: romance must be preserved at all costs) — bathing his aching head, dressing his sore wounds, tempting him with eggs and cream rather peremptorily demanded from the girls who managed the farmyard. ‘How can they grudge it to him?’ she said to Red Jenny, nowadays her sole friend and confidante, and, ‘They think that you should ask more humbly, Madam fach,’ said Jenny, frankly; ‘they think it is not for you to give orders.’

  ‘I am the wife of their leader,’ she said: absurd that she should actually say it with pride.

  ‘But as the wife of Y Cadno — forgive me, Madam, but they say that you make too much of this gentleman here. Catti — well, Catti tells tales. She is Dio’s woman but she’s devoted heart and soul to Y Cadno. She won’t say much to Y Diawl, since he seems so much your friend (and this also will hardly recommend you to her) — but she speaks among the women and they work upon their men. They fear that you’ll purposely delay your ransom until Dafydd Llandovery is well enough to leave here…’ And next evening she whispered that a council was called to discuss it, was that moment assembling.

  ‘I’ll go there,’ said Gilda.

  ‘My lady, for heaven’s sake—’

  ‘I’ll go; but secretly. Take care of my patient for me, Jenny.’ And with shrinking heart but head — at least as long as Jenny was in sight — held high, she crept out, bright hair covered with a dark shawl — that lesson at least had been learned — and stole in among the rocks of the small clearing on the slope down to the stream, a little way from the main building where, well away from the women, the men held their meetings.

  The skin of a red fox had been thrown down upon the highest of the boulders which ringed the site, and this place was left empty. To its right sat Dio y Diawl, the rest all grouped about him. The wisdom or otherwise of kidnapping for ransom was evidently under discussion. ‘… it was Y Cadno himself who brought her here,’ Dio was saying.

  ‘Ay, but a woman — and was she not well chosen, what a man it is! — no friends, in all England and Wales but a handful of servants and a lawyer and banker. Who will enquire after her?’

  ‘Yet it seems true enough after all — as Y Cadno has pretended to her — that these great folk for all their wealth may not just dip their hands into their own coffers.’

  ‘She can dip hers well enough,’ said the lame man they called Hal the Hop. ‘Y Cadno forgot when she put him off with excuses, that she has jewels, an Aladdin’s cave of them, he was told up in London. Those she may surely lay hands on without lawyers or bankers?’

  ‘And will do so fast enough now that she no longer has her “husband the Earl” here to rely upon. As for Dafydd of Llandovery,’ said Twm the Scar, ‘his home and affairs are close at hand, let him produce such sum as we agree—’

  ‘The old mother arrives back tomorrow evening; she’ll do the business for him,’ said Dai Thomas. His brother Tegwyn was corn chandler in the neighbouring village of Caio, just over the mountain; an old member of the gang, lamed and now pensioned off in return for his services as disposer of stolen property and general spy in the world outside. ‘Teg has news that she comes posting back day and night, from France.’

  ‘Then agreed?’ said Dio. ‘Between him and his mother, let them produce the ransom, and as soon as he’s mended and fit to travel the distance, pack him back home. None will come after him here in the meantime, if that’s understood.’

  Sam the Saddle sat nursing his right wrist and in his heart there was no love for the new Lord Tregaron whose bullet had shattered it. ‘Dafydd of Llandovery you call him still, but he’s Earl now. From the moment of his brother’s death he inherits, titles, estates, fortunes, all. None greater or richer or more powerful, in the country. And do you think that the moment he’s mended and strong again, and set free, he’ll not bring all Wales about our ears like a hornets’ nest, in revenge for his brother’s death?’

  ‘What then? Keep him here? The hornets will be upon us indeed, if we do that.’

  ‘Give out that he’s dead,’ said one of the border men, Tom Jones of Salop: these men spoke only English and for their sake, conversation, though conducted in Welsh, was so larded with English phrases and pauses for translation, that Gilda had little difficulty in getting the gist of it. ‘We’ve killed one. If they think we’ve killed two it can make no great difference. Give out that he died in the shooting — was wounded and has now died.’

  Dio turned his big head from one to another. He said: ‘Well, come Sam — is this what you mean? We can’t keep him here caged up for the rest of his life — he would have to be guarded, the thing’s impossible. So if we’re not to send him back — what is it you propose?’

  What Sam proposed — nursing his wounded wrist, which for the rest of his life might impede him in the quick draw of a firearm, the aim, the re-loading — angry, revengeful and withal genuinely anxious for the safety of the gang and their leader: what Sam proposed was — murder.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE WAITED TO HEAR no more; fled back to David’s room and there, dispossessing Jenny, took the drowsy head in her arms and cradled him like a child, as though with her very body to protect him from harm. What to do? What to do? She dared not confide even in Jenny: for this would be an edict of the gang and none dare raise a voice against it. She could not possibly get him away, weak and helpless as he was, even could she have eluded the sentries, and she had no money for bribes; the only possession of value she had ever owned in her life was the gold and ruby ring, and that Gareth y Cadno had taken with him.

  She had yet a little time. An assault was planned for the morrow on the Lampeter road, had in fact been initiated by Y Cadno himself before his abrupt departure. An Englishman calling himself The Black Toby-man, or Black Toby, had lately come to those parts and was making himself troublesome. Teach him a lesson, Y Cadno had decided; but Y Cadno was not here now and though determined to go through with it, the men were uneasy, knowing the project not sufficiently planned, not sure just what had been in their leader’s mind, and moreover in some dread for the Black Toby had a fearsome reputation. They won’t give their minds tomorrow to this business of David, she decided, wishfully thinking; and besides they’ll wait a little while yet, in case Y Cadno turns up with a different opinion. So I have until tomorrow night at least, and then the night itself…

  Tomorrow night…

  Tomorrow night something was to happen. Something had been said that suggested that tomorrow night something was to happen. She groped for it, groped for the memory. Something about — somebody. Somebody travelling. Somebody travelling post haste…

  And that was it! The old woman, the old Countess, with special horses, travelling post haste down to Castell Cothi to deal with the terrible events whose news by now had reached her abroad. Her ladyship of Tregaron: David’s mother.

  She calculated the hour: an early start, a change of horses no doubt at least twice upon the way, making very good time… At twilight the gang clattered off, having as she had expected, not troubled themselves with her or her affairs. As dark fell she handed over her charge to Jenny and Blodwen, declared that she was going, for once, to have a full night’s rest, and retired to her quarters, begging to remain undisturbed. She had filched from among the heaped wardrobe of plundered clothes, a pair of velvet breeches, top boots which sufficiently fitted her, having belonged perhaps t
o some page boy in attendance; a frilled shirt, a waistcoat and a dark brocade coat. The night was warm and she would not trouble with the impeding capes of a great coat. She had kept the silver-chased pistol which she had picked up in the roadway on the night of the shooting, and this she thrust into her belt and strode up and down a little with a swashbuckling air; and laughed to herself, even in her deep anxiety, at the thought of how her brothers would roar could they but see her — the Marchesa d’Astonia Subeggio, courtesan-very-much-in-waiting.

  In the foreground, the women were calling their children in from play, or sitting nursing their babies, waiting, anxious yet careless, for their men to come home. She slipped out through a side entrance in a crevice of the rocks, rounded up without trouble a pony, dreaming and taken unawares, in the fenced-in paddock behind the sleeping farmyard; thrust a bit into his mouth and, not waiting for a saddle, flung a breeched leg across his bare back — the heaven of being out of petticoats! — and trotted away across the soundless grass and up into the safe concealment of the stunted oaks. It was pure good fortune that the gang, for this once, should have ridden in the opposite direction and taken the main Lampeter road, the real high toby.

  It was eerie in the forest, in its mystery and movement, with no moonlight filtering through the close lacing overhead of the twisted branches; but the pony picked its way up sturdily, following the well-known trail, and brought her out at last to the very spot where, on that other night, she had crouched with the moonlight gleaming down upon the giveaway brightness of her hair. She had brushed it back into a smoothness now, tied at the nape of her neck with a black ribbon like a man’s hair; and concealed its shining with a man’s black tricorne. She threw a leg across the pony’s neck, sat for a moment with both feet dangling; slid down and, leading it back a little, hitched its rein to a branch. It fell into a dreaming doze at once, head gently dropping further and further downward. Once it’s asleep, she thought, only I shall be awake: only I and the unseen creatures that start and tremble at my presence, that creep and call in the night air of the hanging woods. Only I and they.