The Heretic’s Creed

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘They could tell the same story to us!’ I protested. The idea of returning to Stonemoor appalled me. I had been so thankful to get away from the place. It had frightened me, and all the more because the reasons for being afraid of it were so tenuous. The trace that Christopher had left, the enmity towards the idea of selling the book, the … the atmosphere. I had been through many dangerous adventures and I shouldn’t be such an easy prey to panic, but I was.

  While Sybil, usually so calm and reasonable, was not. ‘Oh, don’t you see?’ Suddenly, she was as animated as I had rarely known her to be, though in exceptional circumstances she could be astoundingly forceful. She had once flown at me in a rage, with fingers clawed.

  ‘Why can’t you see?’ she demanded. ‘For one thing, if we leave it to the sheriff’s men, we’ll have to carry all these things to York and that would include that horrible boot! But will the sheriff’s men take it with them when they go to Stonemoor, so as to thrust it under Mistress Gould’s nose and shock her into speaking the truth? We can’t insist that they do that and they might not. Ursula, didn’t you tell us that Lord Burghley hinted to you that the Stonemoor ladies might be getting gentle treatment for some unknown purpose of Walsingham’s?’

  ‘Yes, he did, but …’

  ‘I don’t think we can rely on the sheriff’s men to question those ladies as hard as they ought to be questioned. They may not feel they have the authority to do that. But we can do it ourselves! Even if Walter Cogge did the actual deed, I would wager that it was at that Gould woman’s orders. We can take her unawares, while … while in her mind it’s all still … raw. If she ordered this, I can’t believe she didn’t know that she was committing an enormity. She must have a conscience! I should think that what she’s done is giving her bad dreams! We can thrust these poor remains at the so devout Principal of Stonemoor and take her by surprise. We might jolt her into telling the truth that way.’

  ‘We can’t go back!’ wailed Dale. ‘We’re not really turning back, are we, ma’am? I don’t want to go back to that Stonemoor place! I can’t abide the thought of it!’

  Neither could I, though I didn’t want to reveal the depths of a dread for which I couldn’t reasonably account. ‘I don’t think we’d be very popular if we reappeared,’ I said. ‘According to the ladies, they expect a party of five to arrive at any moment!’

  ‘Really?’ said Sybil. ‘Do travellers visit them so often, then? In this wild district?’

  ‘Apparently,’ I said. ‘That’s what they told us, anyway. You heard that yourself, Sybil. So I don’t think …’

  ‘Never mind the convenience of the Stonemoor ladies!’ Sybil was excited and determined. ‘After what they’ve maybe done to Bernard Hardwicke and Christopher Spelton! Why should we worry about their extra guests? Let them do the worrying! We could get back to Stonemoor today!’ She was alight with eagerness. ‘What we want to do is wake up Mistress Gould’s conscience – or maybe the consciences of some of the other ladies. If Mistress Gould ordered this, some of the others probably know. Perhaps they’re having bad dreams too! But with every day that passes, they’ll go further into pretending that it was footpads or something like that. They’ll almost convince themselves! You know what I mean.’

  ‘That’s my sensible Sybil,’ I remarked. I didn’t really mean it to come out in such a mocking tone, but it did, and Sybil flushed. I blurted out my real feelings after all. ‘It isn’t safe!’ I said. ‘Stonemoor is a dangerous place! I know it is, and so do you, Sybil. I don’t want to put any of us in danger. It’s time to let the sheriff at York take over.’

  ‘No, wait.’ Brockley spoke sharply. ‘Now that I’ve heard what Mistress Jester has to say – well, I can see her point. I can indeed. And as for the danger, well, after all, there are five of us. From the start, we’ve reassured ourselves by thinking that being a sizeable party means safety.’

  ‘That’s right.’ The taciturn Joseph put in a word. He was grinning. ‘They can’t murder us all. Even Master Cogge couldn’t manage it. Besides, I don’t think he’s like that. Not a murderer, anyway. I’ve been staying with him, got to know him. That don’t make sense to me.’

  We didn’t decide at once. In fact, we stood about beside that river and argued for a good half-hour. But at the end of it, little as any of us liked the idea, we settled that we would return.

  ‘Who carries the boot?’ Sybil enquired.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ said Joseph. He opened his saddlebags and hauled out a spare cloak. ‘I’ll wrap it in this. I need something to tie round it, though.’

  I fished in my own saddlebags and found a girdle. ‘This will do,’ I said. I added ruefully that I didn’t think I would ever want to use that girdle again.

  ‘Nor I my cloak,’ said Joseph. ‘But it does make the thing less horrible to handle.’

  ‘Have you got the wallet and receipt safely, madam?’ Brockley asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. They were now in my hidden pouch, along with my picklocks, dagger, and spare money. The purchase money for the book was too heavy for the pouch and travelled in my saddlebag.

  We started back across the bridge and thereafter made what speed we could. We made just one stop, when we finished the food and water, but didn’t linger. We were all tired and wanted to get the journey over. Even so, it was late in the day before we got back to Thorby.

  EIGHTEEN

  Face to Face

  When we reached Thorby, we became cautious, looking sharply round us in case another unfriendly crowd should appear. The street stretched away to our right, though not very far, for Thorby really was a small place. One side of it had some small businesses, such as the tavern, a carpenter’s, a smithy, and, as I had surmised, a bakery. The opposite side of the track consisted only of cottages, with smoke rising from their chimneys. At the far end, we could see the church, which was a small timber affair, only recognizable as a church because of the tall wooden cross on its front gable.

  There were few people about and the tavern appeared to be closed. Then we caught sight of a black-cloaked figure emerging from the church and hurrying towards us, waving. We drew rein.

  The figure, which was short and plump, came up to us, breathless, and I recognized him as the vicar, Doctor Rowbotham. He looked worried and was clutching at his black hat, which didn’t seem to be on quite straight. He was in so much haste that he was in danger of tripping himself up on his cloak, which was a little long for him. He started to talk the moment he was within earshot.

  ‘I thought it was you … even from a distance I recognized some of the horses … I saw them when they came through the village, being exercised a few days ago … what are you doing back here? You shouldn’t have come, no indeed you shouldn’t! Why have you come back?’ He sounded angry as well as worried.

  ‘We have returned for good reasons,’ said Brockley. ‘We can assure you …’

  ‘There’s going to be trouble! Did I not say to you before that I did not recommend Stonemoor as a place for any honest Christian to frequent? I have complained to the authorities in vain. I have the souls of my parishioners to consider, after all. That Will Grimes laughs at me openly sometimes …’

  He wasn’t a Yorkshireman; his speech was that of the south. It was educated, too, but not well controlled for he was plainly over-excited. His voice was high-pitched, full of what sounded like an unhealthy degree of emotion.

  ‘There have been deaths associated with those ladies! Especially with one of them. It is not proper for women to pretend to be physicians! Ever since the original sin of Eve, women have been doors through which the Devil can gain entrance to this world, unless those doors are kept shut. We must be always on our guard. In some families, the women cultivate secret knowledge that is handed down from mother to daughter and that knowledge gives them power, and once a woman has power, then her door is wide open.’

  I saw, with a sharp twinge of alarm, that there was spittle at the corners of his prim little mouth, and the flinty eyes were sp
arking as though someone had struck the flint.

  ‘What deaths do you mean?’ I asked, seizing my chance to speak when Doctor Rowbotham stopped to catch his breath.

  ‘A man called Harry Henley died and now it’s Master Butterworth. Two deaths, after one of those accursed ladies came offering sympathy to the sick man, and making potions for him. It is my duty to resist evil but some of the villagers are so simple that they mistake it for kindness. Sometimes I feel like King Canute, who couldn’t order the tide to stop rising. This is no place for any of you! I beg you, turn away and go back to wherever you came from and …’

  Doctor Rowbotham seemed to be a talkative man. Once again we had to wait until sheer shortness of breath forced him to pause before anyone could say anything more. Then Brockley said: ‘We can’t turn away. We have been brought back by something too grave to ignore. And yes, there is certainly going to be trouble for the ladies of Stonemoor.’

  Then, taking the lead, he spurred on and the rest of us found ourselves following, willy-nilly, leaving the vicar to stand in the road, staring indignantly after us. As we rode up the zigzag track up to the house, I looked ahead at the crenelated walls. To me, it seemed impregnable enough to repel any number of impassioned witch-hunters.

  It also looked threatening.

  Walter Cogge was in charge of the gatehouse and pulled the gate open to let us through, though he was visibly surprised to see us. ‘What brings you back here? You only left this morning.’

  ‘Something urgent has arisen,’ I told him. I slid to the ground. ‘We must see Mistress Gould at the first possible moment, and you should be present, Master Cogge.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Brockley and Dale were also dismounting. ‘Quickly, now. We have no time to waste.’ Brockley’s tone was deliberately commanding.

  ‘The ladies are at their devotions,’ said Cogge. ‘I am not permitted to interrupt them.’

  ‘Chanting the office, I take it,’ said Brockley. ‘Well, we have to stall the horses. Perhaps by the time that’s done, the chanting will be over. If not, we can wait – where should we wait, Mistress Stannard?’

  I had run up my stirrups and was unfastening Blaze’s girth. ‘In Mistress Gould’s study,’ I said. ‘That would be best.’

  ‘I can’t take you there without first consulting with Mistress Gould,’ said Cogge.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Brockley told him, and for a moment, the two of them stood face to face like rival hounds, bristling.

  Then Cogge seemed to collect himself. ‘I am sure something can be arranged. Perhaps in the meantime, the ladies would care to wait in the guest hall.’

  Dale at once stepped close to Brockley, a silent signal which declared that in her opinion we should all keep together. I agreed with her. It was instinctive, but strong. ‘The ladies will help in the stable,’ I said, and started to undo Blaze’s girth.

  With so many pairs of hands, the work didn’t take long. We deposited our saddlebags, packs, and Joseph’s cloak-wrapped burden beside the steps to the main entrance, and then saw to our mounts. We soon had them stalled, with water and fodder. We didn’t rub them down but Cogge produced some rugs to throw over their backs. ‘And now,’ he said as we all went outside again, ‘just what is all this about?’

  I decided to take charge. ‘Show us,’ I said, ‘to Mistress Gould’s study and wait there with us. There is no question of seeking her permission to enter the study. We must see her, and that is the proper place, and you will find out why soon enough, because you need to be there. The matter we are here about may concern you.’

  ‘Me?’ Cogge’s heavy eyebrows rose. All he said, however, was: ‘If it is a serious matter, and by your manner, it must be, I ought to be there in any case to protect Mistress Gould’s interests. I have a responsibility towards all the ladies of this house, especially when such a crowd of people are demanding to speak to Mistress Gould, and have such grave faces. Do you all need to be present?’

  ‘Yes. All of us,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Even him?’ He glanced at Joseph.

  ‘Even me,’ Joseph agreed equably.

  We went in by way of the main door, picking up our baggage and Joseph’s unlovely bundle on the way. There was no sound of chanting when Cogge, if reluctantly, led us into the Principal’s study; presumably the office was finished. We dumped our packs and saddlebags on the floor.

  ‘Where does Mistress Gould usually go after completing her … devotions?’ Brockley asked. ‘Do you need to fetch her, Master Cogge?’

  ‘She is likely to come to her study,’ Cogge said. ‘She usually does. Let us give her a few moments.’

  In fact, it was only a few seconds later that the study door, which Brockley had closed, opened again. Philippa Gould came in and then stopped short, raising her thin eyebrows. ‘What is this? You have returned, Mistress Stannard? Surely I remember telling you that we expect other guests shortly, five of them, in fact. They will probably be here tomorrow!’ She walked round her desk and took her seat behind it. ‘What is the reason for this … invasion? Please state your business.’

  ‘Sheriff’s men have been here,’ I said, ‘seeking to know if two men, Master Bernard Hardwicke and Master Christopher Spelton, had visited you. You said you had not seen them.’

  ‘Of course. And we hadn’t.’

  I took Joseph’s bundle from him, laid it down on Philippa’s desk, and unwrapped it. It lay there, an ugly sight, with its protruding bone. It gave off a foul smell of decay. Philippa jerked backwards. ‘What is this?’

  ‘The remnant of a dead man, found in the river a few miles north of here. We had to cross it to come here.’

  ‘So? People do fall into rivers and drown, now and then,’ said Philippa. ‘Why do you bring this … this horror … to me?’

  I put back my cloak and reached inside my divided overskirt for the wallet. Drawing it out, I took from it Bernard Hardwicke’s receipt and spread it on the desk, turning it so that Philippa Gould could read what it said.

  ‘This,’ I said, ‘was found in the wallet I have here, and that was found thrust down inside that boot. What have you to say to that, Mistress Gould?’

  NINETEEN

  Mea Culpa

  Philippa Gould looked at the receipt and went white. She sat quite still, as if she had been turned to stone. We waited. Eventually, she said: ‘I see. That is proof that the man Bernard Hardwicke did come here and did buy the book you seek. I can’t deny it.’

  ‘The other man, Christopher Spelton, was also here,’ I said. She began to shake her head but I raised my voice, speaking strongly. Now that I was here and face to face with her, my fear had retreated, to be replaced by a simple loathing of this place and its mystery. ‘We know he was here, Mistress Gould. Master Spelton habitually undertook secret tasks for the queen and her council, and sometimes he went into danger. If he felt himself to be at risk, he would place a mark so that if anything happened to him, anyone who came in search of him would know that he had been – wherever it was. Anyone seeking him would know how to look for the mark and how to recognize it. We found it, a sign in red chalk, on the underside of the window chest in the guest chamber that I and Mistress Jester shared. Christopher Spelton has been in this house. And like Bernard Hardwicke, he failed to continue his journey, which should have taken him on to Scotland. What have you to say?’

  ‘Neither Master Hardwicke nor Master Spelton ever came to harm under this roof!’

  I said: ‘This morning, you admitted to us that the book we had come to buy was not available, that another book had been put in its box in its stead. As a matter of fact, we already knew that, because something about the book you showed us aroused our suspicions. It didn’t match the description that I was given. Therefore, last night, we entered your library to examine it more closely …’

  ‘So you were in the library? Mistress Ames …’ Philippa stopped.

  ‘Mistress Ames was right,’ said Brockley. ‘She did hear voices; she did glimpse my lante
rn. We were in the library when the two of you came to investigate and we heard what you said, outside the door.’

  ‘But the door was locked! And no one was in the library!’

  ‘I have ways of unlocking doors,’ I told her, ‘and we were certainly in the library. We were behind the door, as a matter of fact. You opened it but you didn’t come right into the room, nor did you thrust the door right back. We were on the other side of it, within a foot or so of you and Mistress Ames.’

  ‘What? You were hiding from me and Mistress Ames? You were afraid of us?’ Mistress Gould began to laugh. ‘You were afraid of us? But why, if you wanted to examine the book again, didn’t you just ask me?’

  ‘After finding Christopher Spelton’s mark, we would naturally be wary,’ I said, so dampingly that Philippa’s laughter subsided. ‘He left that mark because he felt that there was danger here. Tell me,’ I said, ‘if you had found us, what would you have done?’

  ‘Whatever do you suppose I would have done?’ Amusement was now changed to outrage. ‘I would have asked you what you were doing there and when you told me, I would have confirmed – as I did this morning – that the book you had come to purchase was not the one I showed you. You had no need to go creeping about in the middle of the night, forcing locks and hiding behind doors. Do you seriously suppose that if I had come face to face with you last night, I would have injured you in some way? And are you saying that I did injure Master Hardwicke and Master Spelton? They left this place in good order and good health. Yes, they were here. I can’t explain what happened to them after they left.’ She wiped a hand across her lips as though to clean them. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know they had been here. You see, there was my foolish sister …’