The note was to request that, although Emily was not due to take up her position until the first day of spring, as was tradition, Beth had expressed a very strong desire to go riding with her future companion tomorrow, and it was hoped that Emily would be able to oblige. Of course Emily would be so good as to oblige. Margaret had known that when she’d sent the letter.
‘A morning ride!’ Emily groaned. ‘Thirty minutes past the hour of seven! I shall barely have time for porridge!’
Then Emily remembered that her riding gear was with those clothes still to be sent on to the palace. She would have to take a cart to her family home a couple of hours outside Vale. It would take the rest of the afternoon.
‘If I just send a message with the cart I know my mother will pack the wrong things then tomorrow will be a disaster!’ she said. She promised to be back by dinner so that she and Jenny could visit Antrobus together.
Time ate the hours as Jenny spent the afternoon reading her book. The Book of Alchemy was an introduction to the science and philosophy of alchemy. She found it hard to understand anything at first but, imperceptibly, it began to take shape as she read. In her head, the words formed into images of things she had never seen.
The beginning she found somewhat tedious but there was one passage on the origins of metals that set her thinking. Albertus claimed that all metals were derived from a mixture of quicksilver and brimstone (also called, she realised, mercury and sulphur). For instance, quicksilver and yellow sulphur created gold; quicksilver and white sulphur produced silver. Albertus’s claim left her feeling uneasy. First, how did he know? Was he guessing or had he been able to prove it? If he had been able to prove it, why didn’t he just say how it was done? But if he hadn’t proved it, then it wasn’t necessarily true.
More importantly, it just didn’t make sense. There seemed to be too many differences between the metals for them all to have come from the same two ingredients. Yet she reckoned the fault couldn’t be Albertus’s; he was a respected thinker and alchemist of the past; it must be with her. So, she continued reading, but she couldn’t quite silence the snake of scepticism that kept hissing in her ear as she read.
Further on in the book, she became more engrossed as Albertus explained the four essential elements of life – earth, air, fire and water. He described equipment and processes; crucibles, cupels, alembics and retorts; reduction, distillation and coagulation. And the book began to take shape for her.
Before she knew it, the room began to darken as the sun set. She lit a candle. Emily should be back soon, she thought as she took up her book again. She had barely found her place when there was a knock on the door. Jenny opened it and found the maid, Agnes, standing outside.
‘There’s a man in the front room to see you,’ said Agnes. ‘A strange man,’ she added. ‘A bit frightening, really.’
Jenny hurried down the stairs to the sitting room. Visitors, especially male visitors, were never allowed in the lodgers’ sitting room. She wondered who the stranger unsettling Agnes could be.
‘Mistress Swift,’ Rayker greeted her.
‘Rayker!’ cried Jenny. ‘I’m glad you came. But please, I’d feel much better if you called me Jenny. Would you like to sit?’
‘Thank you,’ said Rayker. He waited until Jenny was seated, then took an old wooden chair from the other side of the room and sat beside her. He doesn’t like to make himself too comfortable, thought Jenny.
‘Before you tell me what information you have, perhaps you’d be so kind as to take this and return it to Mistress Trickett,’ he said with a slight grin. He took Emily’s letter from his pocket. ‘And before you ask, I did read it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known who wrote it.’ He handed it to Jenny. ‘You might like to tell Mistress Trickett that most men are like small dogs: they yap a lot but generally run for cover when barked at. A gentler approach would be recommended. Now, what do you have to tell me?’
‘The man Horn. He has a daughter, Frida, here in Vale. She knows nothing of what her father did to earn his money, but I thought it might help, as a starting place to find out more about him.’
Rayker’s stroked his chin. ‘That is interesting,’ he said. ‘I’ve not been able to find out anything about him today, apart from the fact that he came into Vale every few weeks. Perhaps his visits were to see his daughter. Do you know where she lives?’
‘Here. At Rumpkin’s,’ Jenny replied. ‘She came to see me this morning. News of what happened last night is all over Vale, it appears.’
Rayker grinned. ‘I’ll bet the other young ladies, not to say Mistress Rumpkin, wanted a full account over breakfast.’
Jenny blushed. ‘Emily, at least. It was after that Frida came to see me,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t hold you responsible. She knows her father was doing wrong. I think that’s the hardest thing for her – finding out that her father wasn’t who she thought he was.’
‘That’s not the way of it,’ said Rayker. ‘I’m sure he was the man she thought he was. He was just more than that as well. Do you think she’ll talk to me?’
‘I’m sure she will. I’ll fetch her.’ Jenny rose. ‘There is one thing. Horn’s amulet. When you no longer need it, she’d like to have it,’ she said, and left to fetch Frida.
She was back a few minutes later with the young woman. Her eyes were swollen and red and it was evident that she had spent most of the day in tears. It occurred to Jenny that it must have been very hard for Frida that day. If she had fallen out with her friends, she would have been alone with her grief.
Though Frida truly did not blame Rayker for her father’s death, facing the man who killed him was difficult.
‘Mistress Horn, my name is Rayker,’ he said. Frida didn’t respond. She stood stiffly, looking at him.
Rayker reached into the pocket of his jerkin and took out the amulet. ‘I believe this is yours,’ he said. Frida stared at it for a moment, then took the necklace from Rayker’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ she said, almost inaudibly.
‘Would you care to sit?’ Rayker asked. When both Jenny and Frida were seated, he sat on the wooden chair facing them.
‘I regret your father’s death.’
Frida was grateful that Rayker didn’t apologise. His words would have been hollow.
Rayker asked Frida if she could recall the times over the past year when her father had been in Vale, how long he stayed, what he did when he was here, if anyone came to the house, if he received messages he didn’t discuss. He probed, methodically but gently. Jenny noticed he treated Frida respectfully but without acknowledging her grief, and by doing so, he pulled her away from one set of memories to another.
He repeated Jenny’s questions about Horn’s work and friends and received the same answer. Her father never really explained what it was he did. All he told her were tales of his made-up adventures, of strange, exotic places; the tales were exciting, full of danger and wonderful – sometimes fierce – beasts and people. But they were not real. They were not people Rayker would ever find.
‘On his last visit, about a month ago, he was happy. We talked of the places we would travel to. He didn’t talk of what he had been doing, only of what we would do.’
Happiness in those we love creates for us a special joy and Frida spoke softly, savouring the memory of her father’s happiness.
‘He said he was tired of adventures without me and soon we would have them together. Then, for one moment, he seemed sad. He said, “I’ve seen Jack-o’-Lantern, and I will not end up like him, without a home to rest in, or a heart somewhere that loves me,”’ Frida said, and her eyes filled with tears.
Something niggled at Jenny. There were many folk tales about Jack-o’-Lantern, telling of a man condemned to wander forever between worlds, with only a single candle in a turnip to light his way through the shadows. There was an echo of a memory in her head, a trace of something her father had told her ...
‘Frida,’ she said, ‘did he say he had seen Jack-o’-Lantern?’
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Rayker cocked his head and looked at Jenny curiously.
Frida nodded. ‘He was always saying things like that. He’d seen the Hydra at the end of the world, or he’d seen the mermaids singing sailors to their death.’
‘What did he look like when he came home?’ Jenny asked. ‘Was he ... presentable?’
For the first time, Frida smiled.
‘You know men. They never care as much about the way they look as we would like. But I think he always stopped in the city before he came to see me so he could put on clean breeches, blouse and tunic.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘But the last couple of times, I don’t think he did. He looked like he’d been sleeping on the road. I never really thought on it.’
‘What are you thinking, Jenny?’ asked Rayker.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ she said. ‘But I was remembering tales my father would tell me of Queerwood. Once he told me of the outlaws that lived in a cave – Brigand’s Cave, he called it – somewhere deep in the forest. They were terrible men, he said, and their leader was the most terrible of all. He was from a city far away but had been exiled. He had wandered the world, a man whom no city welcomed, with no home, no friends – no heart that loved him. He finally came to Queerwood, a lost and bitter soul who became a cruel one. His name was Jack.’
Rayker grunted. ‘It’s a bit of a stretch. But it fits. A man who makes up stories for his daughter could likely see Jack as someone out of an old tale. Jack’s been a thorn in the side of the Duke for some time. I’ve always been too busy with other things to put a stop to him. Well, ’bout time I did. I’ll look into it.’
‘I can’t believe my father was an outlaw with such men,’ said Frida. Once again the tears welled up in her eyes.
Rayker rose and stood beside her.
‘All sorts of travellers follow the same road. It doesn’t make them all the same,’ he said to Frida. ‘I’m grateful for your help. I wish you well, Mistress Horn.’
Rayker and Jenny left the room. Behind them, Frida’s head dropped and her shoulders shook as she wept.
Jenny opened the front door. Night had come but she could just make Crook out, a vigilant shadow, across the road. She waved to him and he waved in return.
‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said Rayker. ‘Antrobus chose well.’
His simple praise pleased Jenny more than she would have expected.
‘My father said Jack led the biggest band of outlaws in the forest,’ she said.
‘He does,’ Rayker agreed. ‘Tomorrow I’ll gather some men from the barracks and go after them. If Horn was one of them, then Jack will know who hired him.’ He hesitated. ‘They’ll be hard to find. I know it would be hard on your mother having him gone, but I think I’ll ask your father to scout for us. There’s no one better in the forest.’
He took his leave, with a brief nod of acknowledgement to Crook, then disappeared into the dark streets of Vale. Jenny closed the door. She leaned against it, thinking. Instead of going to her room, she went back to the sitting room to Frida.
*
Emily returned just in time for dinner. The two girls ate quickly, then set off to Fenwick Square. As the front door closed behind them, Jenny’s senses alerted her to a man coming across the street towards her. As he came nearer, she tensed; she’d never seen him before. He stopped a few paces away.
‘Name’s Harcourt. Crook’s gone to eat and rest. I’ll stay out yer way, but close.’
‘Is that so?’ said Jenny, warily.
The man grinned. ‘Rayker said you’d be a careful one. Crook said to tell you he’s partial to mutton but pure in love with beef.’ His grin spread, almost splitting his face in half. ‘Me, I’d marry mutton.’
Harcourt received a laugh for his confession. That’s an honest sound, he thought.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Harcourt. This is my friend, Emily Trickett.’
‘Aye, the chief magistrate’s daughter. Good evening, Mistress Trickett.’
‘Good evening, Harcourt,’ said Emily, very demurely. Jenny looked at her with surprise.
‘Don’t look at me like that!’ she hissed at Jenny. ‘I’m trying!’
‘We’re going to Master Antrobus’s house. You are welcome to walk with us,’ Jenny said to Harcourt.
‘Thank you, but I’ll just hang back. It would be hard to have eyes for anything else if I was to walk in the company of two such pretty ladies,’ he said.
They walked to Fenwick Square. The night was mild, the moon cast a silver-blue light on the world and they had a guardian angel to watch over them. All was right in Vale – for the moment at least.
*
Jenny rapped on the front door. There was no answer. She waited patiently, then rapped again, a little harder. There was still no answer. Watching from the corner, Harcourt loosened the sword at his hip and tensed. He wondered where Laylor was. He had relieved Pitch – who was probably fast asleep – and should have been somewhere in the square. When no one opened the door after the second knock, he joined the two girls. Jenny peered in through the front window. The sitting room was empty and there were no shadows cast from anyone moving in the kitchen beyond. Tentatively, she turned the handle of the door. It was unlocked.
‘’Ere,’ said Harcourt, drawing his sword, ‘let’s ’ave a look.’ He open the door. Faint light from the sitting-room relieved the dark of the hall. He entered cautiously and quietly. The sitting room door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open with his foot, then slipped inside. The room was empty.
The house was eerily silent. Harcourt made his way into the kitchen. The only light came from the fire in the hearth. Every one of his senses alert, he looked around the room, then muttered a curse at the sight of a shape on the floor.
It was Laylor. His throat had been cut, a single vicious slash that had almost severed his head from his body. A thick trail of blood led from the body to the rear door. Harcourt moved to the back door. Cautiously, he pulled it open, just enough for his voice to carry to the yard.
‘Tom!’ he called. Tom Blunt was only nineteen but the tall, broad-shouldered lad had already proved his worth in a scrap. He was liked by everyone, and had a reputation for being as handy with a tankard as with the ladies. Tonight, Tom didn’t answer. Harcourt edged out into the yard. He noticed that the small gate leading to the alley was open and there was a dark form lying face down next to it. He didn’t need to move closer to know who it was. ‘Damn them!’ he cursed. He resisted the urge to run to his comrade; he didn’t think being dead had a lot to recommend it. He listened and watched until he was sure there was no one in the yard, then he moved quietly to the open gate and into the alley. It was deserted. He went back into the yard and kicked the gate shut.
He knelt by Tom. Blood covered the lad’s back and he could see the tear in his jerkin. Sword thrust. From behind. They must have surprised him in the alley and dumped him here. Harcourt fought down his anger; he had to stay in control. He grabbed Tom’s shoulder and gently rolled him over into his lap. Tom groaned. Thank the stars.
‘Hold on, Tom. It’s me, Harcourt.’
Tom didn’t answer. Harcourt could see his eyes twitch and his mouth move.
‘Don’t talk, Tom. There’s help. I’ll be back,’ he said. Gently, he lay Tom back on the ground and went back into the house.
Jenny and Emily waited outside, anxious and uneasy. The moonlight that a short time ago had been welcoming and friendly, now drew forth shadows and shapes from the trees and the houses. Harcourt seemed to have been in there an eternity, though it couldn’t have been more than two minutes.
‘C’mon,’ said Jenny finally. She stepped into the hallway, Emily close behind. Jenny craned her neck to peer into the sitting room when Harcourt’s face suddenly appeared in front of her. She jumped back, bumping into Emily.
‘Goodness, Harcourt! You gave me a start!’ whispered Jenny. ‘Where is ...’ She didn’t finish the question. She saw the blood on Harcourt’s doublet and the grim look on his face and stared, un
able to frame words in her head.
‘There’s a lad, hurt bad. Come quickly. Through the kitchen.’ He paused. ‘It’s not pretty in there, so keep your eyes on me. He’s out the back.’
They went into the kitchen. Jenny tried to keep her eyes on Harcourt’s back but she could see a shape on the floor out of the corner of her eye and she couldn’t resist turning her head. She stifled a cry. Her stomach roiled and churned. Emily must have seen, too, for she heard an anguished gasp behind her, then Emily’s hand clutched her arm. But they kept moving, out the door and into the yard.
She saw Tom right away and knelt beside him.
‘Your knife,’ she said to Harcourt. He flipped a knife from his belt and handed it to her. ‘There’s linen wads in the pantry. You’ll see a jar of ointment, brown – it smells of dead leaves. Emily, help me get his jerkin off. Careful, now.’
Emily stared at the wounded man’s face. He looked so innocent, so harmless. Why would anyone hurt him?
Harcourt was back in an instant.
‘I haven’t checked up the stairs. I doubt anyone’s still round, but keep the knife handy. Do you need Mistress Trickett?’
Jenny shook her head.
‘Good,’ said Harcourt. ‘Mistress Trickett, will you run to Pitch’s house? It’s next to the stables at the end of the square. Tell him to come, quick.’
‘Then you’ll have to get Dr Styche,’ said Jenny without looking up from her work. ‘This is bad. I don’t have much here, and I’ll need help to stop the bleeding. I know you’re frightened but I don’t want this boy to die.’
Emily nodded. Her eyes showed her fear but she didn’t speak of it. She ran from the house as fast as she could.
She roused Pitch, who answered his door bleary-eyed and tousled, in no time at all. Saying no more than ‘Harcourt needs you, at the house!’ she ran to the doctor’s. He lived several squares away and Emily ran even when her chest burned. Every tree in the gardens hid assassins with pistols and each alley had a desperate outlaw with a wicked gleaming sword. At each noise, her spine shivered, waiting for the silent blade of a knife.
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