by S. D. Sykes
Once I had established myself upon the platform, I will admit to shouting and waving my arms like a farmhand trying to communicate across a field. ‘Listen to me!’ I shouted. ‘Quieten down.’
I was angry by this time and must have looked a foolish sight upon my small stage, beside the long supper table and the disarray of stools and benches. On the other hand, my display of temper had succeeded in gaining their attention. The room fell silent, with only the distant echoes of baby Henry screaming for his feed.
‘Thank you,’ I told them as they settled down and finally stopped talking. ‘Now listen carefully.The de Caburn sisters have not been murdered.’
‘But what about their shoes, sire?’ asked Roger again. ‘Why are they in the barn?’
I stumbled over my words slightly. ‘I expect Mary and Rebecca hid them.’
‘But why would they have done that, sire?’
Their faces looked at me blankly. There was some logic to Roger’s question, but it was hardly the place of a man with the face of a toad to interrogate me. It didn’t help that I noticed a wry smile creeping across Featherby’s face.
‘That’s what we need to establish.’ Roger went to answer this assertion, but I raised a hand to signify that I would not welcome any further interjections. Thankfully he chose not to argue and merely shook his head, swaying his toad-like jowls like the cheeks of a wet dog.
‘I applaud you for discovering the shoes, Featherby,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure what they tell us as yet, but I’m sure they will help with my investigation.’
‘Wasn’t me that found them, sire,’ he said. ‘It was young Alfred here.’ Featherby pointed to a boy in the crowd whose mournful face often caught my attention about the village. I had rarely seen a living person appear so disappointed with life.
‘Did you find anything else?’ I asked. The boy shook his head and cast his eyes to the floor, as if looking up might blind him.
I took a deep breath. ‘And there was no sign of a struggle? No blood, for example.’ I once again held my hand up before the mention of blood caused another uproar. ‘Please let the boy answer.’
Alfred muttered some more words to his feet, only raising his voice to an audible level when he was shoved in the side by Featherby. ‘I didn’t see nothing like that, sire,’ he said. ‘Just the shoes. Stuffed behind a sack of flour. With some old bones. And some feathers.’
How I wished he had not mentioned bones and feathers. ‘It’s the butcher bird,’ they shouted. ‘It killed the sisters.’
Now I bellowed to be heard. ‘There is no butcher bird I tell you!’
‘What about them feathers then?’ said a voice from the crowd. I couldn’t see who said this, or they would have regretted it.
‘The feathers came from the kills of a cat,’ I said. The voices fell silent. I cleared my throat. ‘Mary and Rebecca have a large grey cat who hunts in the priest’s barn.’ I looked across the crowd. ‘Where has Father Luke gone?’
His small white hand was feebly raised. ‘I’m here, sire.’
‘You see a large grey cat about the glebe, don’t you?You told me yourself that it hunts in your barn.’
He nodded nervously. ‘Yes. That’s true.’
I looked about me. ‘You see,’ I told the men roughly. ‘The feathers mean nothing. Now go home.’ Some of them went to argue, but I shouted them down. ‘I said. Go home! ‘
The crowd broke up slowly, but not silently, and though I tried not to listen to their grumbling, it seemed I had convinced them regarding neither the feathers, nor the cat. There was, at least, one aspect of this whole episode to be thankful for. Thomas Tulley was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Twelve
We continued to search for the missing sisters, but found no further clues to their whereabouts. Clemence had her own theory, and when she cared to speak to me on the subject, she argued that Mary and Rebecca had run away just to cause her trouble. If this was the case however, then where had they gone, and who was caring for them? It was true that the girls were resourceful, but I still found it difficult to believe that they were fending for themselves somewhere deep in the forest. Rain still fell relentlessly, as it had done for the last two years, and yet again the spring was late in breathing its warmth across the land. Dirty snowdrops still thrust their dying heads from the mud and the frost fastened the buds to the branches. I doubted that even these two quick-witted girls could survive a winter that would not retreat.
As the days wore on they reappeared, but only in my dreams. My nights were no longer haunted by the scalded boy within the carcass of the burning bull; instead I met three strange children in a dark, empty forest.They were wretched, shrivelled creatures with scratched and naked bodies. Dried blood hung in their tangled hair. I often woke and then tried to sleep again, in an effort to forget their faces. But what is a nightmare, other than a distorted mirror – throwing back reality in a twisted reflection? I knew who these children were. How could I forget them? They were Mary and Rebecca de Caburn and poor Catherine Tulley. Come to taunt me. For what had my investigations discovered? Nothing.
One afternoon, during Holy Week, I walked in the gardens behind the house after a night of broken sleep and bad dreams. The weather was still cold, so the moat was not yet stinking, but the sun was shining at last. A blackbird sang in the coppiced hazel, and a slow-worm wriggled feverishly across my path. I picked the creature up, cupping its silken body in my hands, and went to sit on a favourite wall that overlooked the herb garden. My idea was to study the small snake-like animal, but my attentions soon turned to another subject when I heard a noise on the other side of the wall. As I peeped over, I saw it was Clemence’s servant Humbert. He was singing a lullaby to baby Henry. His voice was sweet and his words were clear.
‘Sweet child, don’t let the cold air bite,
Don’t sleep at day and not at night,
Eat your Jill and do not cry,
May foulest Pestilence pass you by.’
Then he held the baby to his lips and kissed him tenderly upon the head.
‘Be strong, grow fast and marry well.
And prosper where the others fell!
I dropped the slow-worm and stood up, giving Humbert every reason to jump back in shock. ‘What do you want?’ he said rudely.
I smiled, in an attempt to reassure him. ‘I was just admiring your song, Humbert. I don’t know that lullaby. Did your mother teach it to you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I made it up myself.’
I must have let the surprise show on my face, for this was a complex and melancholy tune. I can remember its unusual melody, even now. My reaction alarmed Humbert however, for now he denied composing the tune himself. He even muttered something about a mother, and I realised then that my comment had been thoughtless. He had been dumped on our doorstep as a young boy, and had Clemence not decided to keep him, then his chances would have been poor. For nobody claimed him.
As Humbert quickly took his leave of me, I watched his great frame plod back across the grass to the house. The boy was a puzzle. A contradiction. If he had composed the song himself, why did he deny it?
Apart from my failing investigations into Catherine’s murder and the sisters’ disappearance, there was another matter that needed my attention. I had made a promise to Joan that I would improve the wages, but my nerve was beginning to wane. When I saw Joan about the village over Holy Week, she made a point of reminding me of our conversation, and I swore to attend to the issue as soon as the girls were found and Easter was over. But, in truth, I was finding excuses to delay a difficult issue.
I was in the library the Monday after Easter Sunday, claiming the space at the one and only table before Clemence installed herself in the room. My sister liked to use the library after breakfast, while Humbert carried baby Henry about the garden to bring up his wind. Once Clemence was at the table, it took a great force to remove her to the bench, since she did not think it suited her posture to read with a book in her lap. I, howe
ver, had to read my ledgers, and needed a flat area to roll out the parchment.
As I scanned the documents, it was impossible to not stifle a yawn, for these accounts were boring enough to induce pain. I carried on until Featherby knocked at the door and then entered without waiting for my acknowledgement. I groaned inwardly to see his face – even though I had requested this meeting myself. Since resolving to increase wages, I had done some rough calculations and estimated what the estate could afford to pay. But the plan depended greatly upon Featherby’s agreement to keep his mouth shut.
‘Please take a seat,’ I said, gesturing towards the bench, which sat against the wall. I did not want the man leaning over me.
Featherby straightened up a little. ‘I’m happy to stand, thank you sire.’
‘No, no. Please sit down.’
‘My back is stiff,’ he said with a sudden stretch. ‘The physician told me to sit as little as possible.’
I felt a small defeat approaching, so I stood up to join him, but as I did so the rolled ledger sprang away from me as if it were possessed by a devil. Once I had tamed the wilful manuscript, I turned back to my reeve, but did not find a man with a smile across his face. Instead he looked as awkward as I had ever have seen him.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. He was cautious enough not to answer. This was not like Featherby at all.
He cleared his throat. ‘I have to report that three of our best tenants are planning to move their families to a different estate. They say they’ve been offered better land, and a penny more per day.’
This took me by surprise. ‘Is it true?’
He blew his lips and looked to the ceiling. ‘Hard to say. They could just be pretending of course. As a ruse. But we wouldn’t want to lose them. Not seeing as they’re our best labourers.’
As Featherby went to take another step forward, I held up my hand to prevent his further encroachment. ‘Stay where you are.’ The man froze on his feet, amazed at the sudden force of my command. In fact, I surprised myself. ‘Thank you.’ I took a deep breath and tried to loosen my voice. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear this then. I’ve come to a decision regarding the issue of wages.’
Featherby looked at me oddly. ‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, Featherby. I’m going to—’ My hands felt sweaty.
He paused, scrutinising my face hopefully. ‘Sire?’
I cleared my throat. ‘So. You see, the thing is—’ At this very moment Clemence opened the door, and I found it difficult to disguise my annoyance at her entry. ‘We’re discussing important matters here, Clemence,’ I said. ‘You can read your books later.’
Clemence bristled. ‘I’ve come with some news, brother.’ She pursed her lips. ‘But if you’re too busy, I’ll send a servant later.’
‘What news?’
‘No, no. Don’t let me trouble you.’ She stepped back and bowed with exaggerated sarcasm. ‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt.’
Noting the curling smile across Featherby’s face, I ran to the door to block her exit with my arm. ‘Just tell me, Clemence.’
She felt slowly and deliberately at both cuffs of her dress. ‘Very well, Oswald.You may wish to know that Earl Stephen’s steward is here.’
I dropped my arm from the door post. ‘Edward Hatcher? Here?’
‘That’s what I just told you.’
My heart began to bang in my chest. ‘What’s he doing here? He isn’t due until next month.’
She shrugged. ‘How would I know?’ Then she gave the slightest of laughs. ‘Such matters are too important for a woman.’
I might have replied to her sarcasm, but the news of Hatcher’s arrival was so unwelcome that it subdued my usual urge to argue with my sister. Instead I peered around the door to look into the great hall, but did not see the object of our conversation. ‘Where is the man then?’
‘Mother has invited him to sit with her in the solar.’
‘What?’
Clemence frowned, turning what beauty she still possessed into an ugly grimace. ‘Edward Hatcher’s an honoured guest, Oswald. And you’d do well to follow Mother’s lead in your treatment of him. He is the ears and eyes of the earl on this estate.’ She then exchanged a glance with Featherby, which expressed their shared frustration at having to deal with such an idiot as myself.
I turned with my own frustration to Featherby. ‘Were you expecting Hatcher?’
Featherby shrugged. ‘No, sire.’ He then approached the door with the pretence of also looking into the great hall, though his true aim was to lean over me. ‘But then again, Edward Hatcher likes to just turn up.’
I left Featherby with instructions to stay at the house in case he was needed to answer specific questions about the running of the estate. Despite having been lord for around a year and a half, I will admit that my understanding of the accounts, and particularly those pertaining to the farm itself, was still woefully poor. I ran up the stairs to the solar to find the earl’s steward sitting next to my mother in the window seat, their heads drawn together in scheming secrecy.
Hatcher took his time to rise when I entered the room. He was a man of middle age, tall and weather-worn. The low sun glinted from the shininess of his bald pate. He wore the hooded tunic of a ploughman, with a pair of gloves hung from his belt, but his clothes were of the best cloth, and his gloves of the softest leather. This was a man who no more ploughed the fields than I did.
He bowed to me. ‘Lord Somershill.’
‘Master Hatcher.’ I tried to suppress my panting from having run up the stairs. ‘I didn’t know you were visiting this week?’ I then forced a smile. ‘But it’s good to see you.’
Hatcher looked to Mother and laughed. ‘I was just saying to Lady Somershill that I was passing and thought I might take a small diversion. I do hope this is not inconvenient?’
This was an obvious lie, since the man did nothing without purpose, but I played along. ‘Of course not. You are always welcome here.’ More lies. I did not want my accounts and records pored over by this man any more times than was absolutely necessary. I had scraped together enough funds to pay the rent the earl now required from both the Somershill and Versey estates. Of course we did not call it rent, as that would be far too demeaning and commonplace, and would debase the nobility of our arrangement. Instead we laughably called it a contribution. There had been a time of course when the promise of the de Lacy family to provide men for the king’s wars had been enough to secure our family’s tenure of this estate. But these terms no longer satisfied the earl, and now he required me to pay him money like any other tenant on the land. What made this worse was that he sent a man, whose family used to tend sheep and mend the gates in the hunting forests, to check my records to see if he could exact any more money from us.
Our conversation was interrupted by Humbert, who strolled through the solar, with baby Henry resting upon his broad shoulder. For once the squawking infant was fast asleep.
Mother let out a gasp at the sight of our large servant and then shooed Humbert down the stairs with hurried embarrassment. ‘Whatever next,’ she hissed at the boy. ‘Will your mistress come in and start nursing the child in front of our guest? Take Henry to the chapel and make sure he does not catch a chill.’
Hatcher smiled with slight bewilderment, as if such domesticity was completely alien to him.
I held out my hand. ‘Please, sit down. Finish your ale.’ He bowed his head to me, revealing the tanned skin of a skull that was pitted with whitened scars.
‘How long are you planning to stay?’ I asked, as nonchalantly as possible. As if to emphasise how little his answer might concern me, I then stoked up the fire – but only caused the logs to roll apart.
Hatcher watched this episode with some amusement. ‘This is just a social visit,’ he assured me, with a grin he might dish out to a simple child. ‘I shall be leaving before nightfall.’ I noted his accent was still soft and Kentish in its burr, though he had sharpened its edges with more acute pronunciation
.
I went to answer, but Mother interrupted. ‘No, no. Edward. You must stay the night.’ She turned to me. ‘Mustn’t he, Oswald? He may stay with you in the men’s bedchamber.’
I was silenced on two fronts by this last statement. Not only was Mother on Christian-name terms with this man, but secondly she was making the odious suggestion that we might sleep under the same sheets.
Thankfully Hatcher was equally disconcerted by this idea. ‘Thank you, my lady. But I’ve come with some of the earl’s men,’ he protested. ‘And we are not a small party.’ I looked from the window of the solar into the courtyard to see four men on horseback in the livery of the earl. If the steward were accommodated at the house, then we would be forced to offer the same hospitality to these men. At least they were only squires and not knights, so they might sleep beside the fire in the great hall.
Mother clapped her hands. ‘I’ll have Gilbert slaughter another lamb and we shall have a banquet.’ She then took Hatcher’s arm. ‘You can tell me all of the news, Edward. I am terribly isolated out here with just my children for company. Not a whisper of the outside world reaches me.’
Mother ended this ridiculous statement by pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. Hatcher then did the most extraordinary thing. He took Mother’s hands in his own and bowed his head slowly. ‘My lady. You are so gracious, with your kind invitation. But we must return this evening.’
Mother’s pale cheeks reddened to a girlish blush. ‘Must you? Really?’
Hatcher continued to cup her hands in his own – her fragile boniness now clasped in his tanned and calloused fingers. Even Mother’s little dog Hector looked up at the man in awed silence.
I let my mouth hang open at this hideous display, which only became more revolting when Mother began to flutter her eyelashes. ‘Never mind, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’m sure Master Hatcher will be able to stay another time.’