by Tim Bradley
They trooped over to a nearby cupboard behind the stairs from where Lady Dervela revealed a rack of various garments and proceeded to search for something suitable for Arnie to wear. He waved at a white shirt with a frilly collar.
Lady Dervela shook her head. ‘Too large – made for a man twice your size.’
She delved in and pulled out a smock. Much simpler – dark brown with light sleeves. She laid it across him.
Arnie shrugged. Emily tried to stifle a snigger.
‘It should fit,’ said Lady Dervela, before looking down to his scarlet corduroy trousers.
‘This is an odd stitch,’ she claimed, shaking her head before examining the fabric carefully. ‘But not too upsetting,’ as she dug out a small cloth cap to complete her reinvention of Arnie’s look. The little dog barked excitedly.
‘Tumble seems to agree,’ she said, stooping to tickle his chin.
Arnie pulled the shirt over his existing clothes and in a trice he was ready. He bowed to Emily.
‘I think you’ve got the job!’ Emily winked trying not to laugh.
Lady Dervela greeted their readiness with a nod of satisfaction and beckoned them to follow her. Arnie grabbed Emily’s hand.
‘1562-1617!’
‘What is?’
‘Her dates! I remember seeing them! Written under a painting of her – hung up over there.’ Arnie indicated towards the long corridor where he had been running recklessly earlier that day. Together with the portrait – it wasn’t there.
Emily looked at him. ‘Where’s it gone?’
‘It can’t have been built yet – not in the time we are now.’
Ahead of them a solid wall loomed in which sat a door. Lady Dervela led the way through it.
Out the other side, the tang of the night air prickled, as they crossed a flagstone quadrangle through an arch and up to another door. This was made of solid oak and intricately carved. Arnie wondered what lay behind.
Inside the Great Hall, a flurry of activity greeted them. Servants hurried up and down unloading trays, arranging flowers and plumping cushions, while in another part of the room a motley collection of musicians plucked and stroked at their lutes and mandolins. Over their heads, a pair of jesters in richly embroidered gold and tan outfits practiced their juggling routine.
Arnie stood gaping at a long medieval table that crossed the centre of the room groaning with food in all colours of the rainbow.
A turkey complete with feathers watched over geese and quails – split and splayed – alongside hams, ringlets of sausage and meat pies. Salvers of dried fruits and nuts, bowls of figs, apricots and pomegranates, baskets of mushrooms and truffles, grapefruit and melons all piled high next to cloves of garlic and bunches of chillies. Open oyster shells and molluscs crowded around jugs of honey and cups of sugar, pitchers of beer and fruit wines.
Emily shuddered at the sight of a wild boar spread-eagled on a bed of maize – its trotters glistening in syrup, nose red raw and gaping mouth pinned open by a gargantuan apple.
‘Don’t fancy that!’ she grimaced. ‘Where would you start?’
‘Are those cherries?’ wowed Arnie. ‘I love them!’ as he skipped over to a platter and plucking one from its stalk gobbled it down. His mouth radiated delight.
‘Not for the helpers,’ said Lady Dervela gliding past.
Arnie dropped a second cherry back onto the plate reluctantly.
‘Now, when the guests appear, you are to circulate and make sure everyone is well looked after. Cloaks and hats can be placed in that side room over there,’ Lady Dervela gestured to them, as she made her way towards a towering mass of blooms perched delicately on a stool.
‘That’s easy, no big deal,’ said Arnie confidently, seizing a flagon and lifting it heroically.
‘They’re heavier than they look,’ warned Emily.
‘Whoa!’ whooped Arnie, as his elbow buckled violently causing a little of the liquid to slosh out onto the floor.
‘Arnie! Careful!’ chided Emily.
‘Sorry,’ said Arnie, looking about guiltily as one of the jesters juggling balls flew over his head. ‘I don’t think she saw, I…’
He trailed away, fixated on what he now spied over Emily’s shoulder. She registered his look turn to one of amazement.
Displayed on a dais in the corner of the room was a model of a ship. On the prow was etched a name. Empress of Hope. Arnie gasped as he moved forward to touch it. ‘It’s the same one!’
Emily looked around confused. ‘What is?’
‘I saw it in my dream!’
‘What dream?’
‘The one you interrupted when you woke me.’
‘You had a dream about this ship? How can you be sure?’
Arnie nodded his head. ‘I know it. The name – I saw the name.’ And he traced over the word “Empress” very lightly as if it was likely to crumble.
‘And what happened?’
‘Something was wrong – it was hot and everyone was dead and…a man spoke to me.’ Arnie looked at Emily trying to explain.
‘Who did?’
‘Him!’ said Arnie, pointing.
Emily swung round.
The same dark-skinned man was standing alongside Lady Dervela, bearing a single glass containing a frothy pink liquid. He bowed his shaven head for a moment as she took the drink; her eyes thanking him over the rim.
‘His name is Joseph…’ said Arnie wondering. ‘And I want to talk to him.’
As Lady Dervela moved away to a table and resumed her diligent flower arranging, Arnie seized his opportunity.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Party Games
‘I thought it a monster come from the other side of the world.’ Joseph uttered these words like a kindly uncle who was reading his nephew and niece a bedtime story. ‘But the storm turned cruel, threw the ship high up in the waves and sent her crashing for the rocks – I could hear the screaming. I prayed to the heavens!’ Joseph pressed his palms together. ‘Then the wind appeared from nowhere and blew her to safety, sliding onto our shore like a mermaid.’
‘You speak really good English,’ said Arnie.
‘My Lady has taught me all I know.’ Joseph cast his rich hazelnut eyes across to Lady Dervela who was admiring the plucky playing of a lute.
‘You had never seen a ship before?’ said Emily.
Joseph shook his head. ‘No such things on our islands – we are simple people…’
‘Then how did you learn to sail?’ interjected Arnie.
The dark man stroked his light wispy beard and flashing his pearly grin shrugged. ‘Follow the will of the sea, the sun and moon will do the rest!’ laughed Joseph in a smooth silky voice, giving out a little high pitched coo, swaying his athletic body in time to the sound of flutes and pipes that floated across the room. Tumble, the dog, appeared from under a table and started to yap. Joseph stretched down and stroked his fur.
‘I had some help – the sailors guided me. But then sickness came. It was said the expedition was cursed, to punish those who stole from my island. I thought no man would return to England alive.’
‘But you did!’ said Arnie brightly.
Joseph smiled. ‘And him too.’ He gestured towards a figure who Arnie and Emily hadn’t noticed arrive on the other side of the room.
‘Lord Charles Martlesham, the great explorer and Commander of Empress of Hope,’ said Joseph proudly, pointing out a stern looking man fastened up tight in a red and black uniform.
‘You saved his life? Wow! That’s really cool!’ said Arnie impressed.
‘And that is why his Lordship agreed to work me here – not sell me with the other slaves. Think! Joseph Twombe, a simple fisherman, working in this great man’s house!’
Arnie’s face lit up.
‘Being a slave – doesn’t that mean you don’t get paid?’
Emily threw Arnie a sharp sideways glance.
‘I was just asking…Does it?’
Arnie’s question hung temptingl
y in the air as a trumpet sounded the arrival of the first guests. A man and woman stood at the entrance heavily robed and looking lost.
‘Ah, now I must go,’ Joseph said warmly, heading off towards the long table.
‘Yes, come along Arnie,’ said Emily, pulling him up straight. ‘We are here to work you know.’
‘Arnie?’ said Lady Dervela, slowing as she neared them, ‘That’s a strange name. I’ve not heard it before.’
‘It stands for Arnold,’ quipped Emily.
Arnie scowled. ‘It’s not Arnold – it’s Arnie! Arnold is gross!’
‘I think it’s rather nice!’ Emily smiled, as she steered him away towards another forlorn looking group searching for a clue as to where to hang their coats.
Lady Dervela started to call after them but was cut off abruptly.
‘Good evening my dear. All ready?’
‘Yes, Charles. It’s going to be a wonderful evening. Everyone is coming.’
He bent down and kissed Lady Dervela delicately on the hand. ‘Excellent. Then I shall announce it tonight.’
‘What?’
‘That we sail to the Western Cape in seven days time.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Lady Dervela allowed herself a little smile.
‘I thought you’d be pleased…’ Lord Martlesham hissed and his snarl turned into a leer. He trailed off as his stare became focused on Joseph who was serving a little distance away.
He drew Lady Dervela to one side and whispered sharply in her ear. ‘I thought I told you he was to absent himself from tonight and let the other servants attend to us.’
‘With George still nursing his sick mother and Abigail unwell I had no choice but to ask him. I even had to send out for some help from the village. They’re not quite what I expected.’
‘Maybe – but at least they’re welcome here,’ Lord Martlesham said frostily.
On cue, up popped Arnie. ‘Drink sir?’ he beamed mischievously.
‘Don’t interrupt, I’m in the middle of a private conversation.’ He turned back to his wife.
‘But Joseph is helpful and look how everyone finds him so gracious,’ Lady Dervela said reassuringly, lowering her voice, ‘what is wrong with him?’
‘I don’t consider him…trustworthy.’
‘But Charles…’
‘I have warned you before, Dervela.’
A wiry woman almost toppling over so laden in jewellery greeted them as she passed.
Lord Martlesham acknowledged her fleetingly.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ continued Lady Dervela looking serious. ‘What has Joseph done except show us unfailing service and loyalty?’
‘Loyalty? I don’t think you should use that word where he is concerned,’ he said, curling his lip.
‘Charles, I have told you before, he means nothing to me.’
‘So you say,’ he said huffing, ‘but why do I get the feeling that you are not telling me the truth.’
Lady Dervela blushed. ‘You promised not to talk further of this.’
‘Then do as I say,’ he insisted, gripping her arm tightly. ‘Keep him out of my sight and yours!’ His eyes flared until a cough from behind made him turn round.
‘You still here boy?’ he snarled.
‘I was waiting until you had stopped talking,’ Arnie said, flashing a charming grin. ‘This mead stuff comes highly recommended,’ he quipped, shaking the contents of a flagon encouragingly. ‘Want some?’
Lord Martlesham stared down releasing his hold on his wife.
‘I’ll get something myself,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m going to see the entertainment.’
Arnie shrank back as Lord Martlesham pushed past him and marched across to where gaggles of people were clustered around a harlequin clown who was messing and grabbing at the jesters trying to spoil their play. One juggling ball flew out of a hand and plonked into a bowl of soup splattering the crusty face of a woman as she ate. Startled, she fell off her chair.
Emily moved close to Arnie as Lady Dervela swiftly vanished into the thickening crowd.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ she said.
‘Charles isn’t very happy from what I overheard.’
‘What?’
‘Something to do with him,’ said Arnie, nodding over to Joseph, who was quietly observing Lady Dervela diagonally across the room where she emerged to join a group of women in lazy chatter.
A bugle horn piped a fanfare quelling all conversation to announce that something was about to happen. The outer doors were flung open and slowly a groundswell of people began drifting outside.
The drummers were arranged in a large circle, beating in strict time, as each of twelve torches staked in the ground were set alight. A wave of golden fire ripped upwards like fireworks illuminating a wide expanse of garden and surrounding courtyard. The dozing dogs that lay about started to bark as the sound of crispy timbers crackled sharply, until they lost interest and fell back down to rest.
Emily and Arnie watched from behind a tree as tribal grunts and moans from the performers, mixed with pleasing murmurs and mild hand waving from the crowd, held their rapt attention. Lord Martlesham was mesmerised too, staring through the flames at the Bam! Bam! Bam! of the stomping feet and clapping hands quickening in tempo, their movements – staccato, bold and edgy.
‘They’re good!’ said Arnie, but Emily had become distracted.
‘I said they’re…’ he repeated.
‘I heard you,’ said Emily dismissively.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘There!’ she darted a look, pointing through the dancers at Lord Martlesham who was now standing next to Joseph.
‘What are they doing?’ said Emily, swaying on the spot trying to get a better view.
‘Talking?’ said Arnie, flicking half an eye inattentively back and forth.
‘Yes, but what about? It looks serious,’ she said.
Lord Martlesham was stabbing a finger at Joseph’s chest causing him to flinch as if he had been repeatedly shot. Seeming disorientated, he lurched away. Lord Martlesham raised a tankard to his mouth and drank deeply.
‘Now, what on earth was that about?’ said Emily, as Joseph passed silently behind Lady Dervela who broke off from who she was talking to and watched him go.
‘Maybe they’re keen on each other?’ said Arnie dreamily, swaying as the drums beat faster accompanied by louder wailing and humming.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They like each other a lot!’ Arnie emphasised.
Emily’s eyes widened. ‘No wonder then! Look at her expression – she’s a bag of nerves!’ she said, twisting Arnie around to show him.
‘Where?’ said Arnie searching.
‘She’s gone!’ Emily looked agitatedly to where Lady Dervela had been standing. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go after them,’ she said guardedly yanking Arnie’s hand, pulling him away from the crowd of spectators who were too busy enjoying themselves to notice them leave. Lord Martlesham hadn’t moved, he just stared ahead, his face unflinchingly grim.
‘Why are we running?’ said Arnie exasperated as they crossed a path that took them towards an area of the estate that he hadn’t seen before.
‘Shhh!’ hushed Emily, ‘They might hear us.’
‘Let’s not follow then.’
‘We have to,’ she said, as they turned a corner and started off across the grass.
‘If they want to be on their own…it’s up to them. Not the first time something like this has happened…’
‘Oh Arnie, you are being a bit thick. It’s…very dangerous…’
‘You mean him being with a Lady?’
‘Not just that – it’s who he is.’
‘I see,’ frowned Arnie. ‘No, I don’t quite,’ he corrected.
‘Well…’ Emily adjusted her sleeves. ‘He is not like her.’
‘You mean because he works for them? But I’ve read that posh people going way back have fallen “in love” with all sorts. Servants
, gardeners – people like that. You must have seen a thing or two in your time.’
Emily scowled.
‘Though I suppose a “slave” is pushing it a bit.’
‘Not just that. It’s him. His…background…’
Arnie suddenly twigged. ‘You mean ‘cos he’s black?’
‘Arnie please! Try to understand. It’s just not done. Standards are set and we know how we must behave.’
‘That’s crap!’
‘No it isn’t. It’s the way it is,’ she said uncomfortably.
‘Not now – well – I mean where I come from, it’s normal – it’s good,’ said Arnie.
‘You know people who have done that?’
‘Sure. It’s cool.’
‘Well, I still think we have a problem.’
‘Why? What could happen?’
‘If anyone finds out, she’d be in the dog house and him…’
‘What?’ said Arnie slightly alarmed.
‘I wouldn’t like to say. But it’s been known for some to take justice into their own hands where forbidden love is concerned.’
‘You mean he would get chucked out?’ said Arnie.
‘Or worse,’ said Emily.
‘Oh, right – I see,’ said Arnie unsure.
‘Look!’ she exclaimed, nudging him in the ribs.
In the distance, far across the side lawn caught in the moonlight for a moment, a familiar shape disappeared through a gap in the shrubbery.
‘Where’s she going?’ said Arnie.
‘The stables, if the buildings are as I remember them,’ said Emily hopefully. ‘Come on,’ she said, leading the way.
Lady Dervela swept into a small unmade yard and moved carefully towards a low-rise block, looking warily over her shoulder several times. She pulled open a side door and taking a deep breath, made a decision.
‘There she is!’ said Arnie, as they arrived a fraction of a second later catching a glimpse of her darting out of sight. ‘We can’t follow now – she’d see us. What would we say?’
‘We can’t miss what’s happening in there,’ said Emily. ‘It’s too important not to know!’
‘But…’ Arnie protested.
‘There must be another way in,’ persisted Emily, slinking off. ‘Let’s try the back.’