"My lady has no part in any of it," replied Roger shortly. "She is away from home, at her other property of Trelawn, with her own children and Bodrugan's wife and family. None of them have any knowledge of what is at stake."
"She won't thank you when she hears of it," replied Trefrengy, "nor Sir John Carminowe either. It is common knowledge they only wait for Sir John's lady to die so that they can marry."
"Sir John's lady is healthy and likely to continue so," answered Roger, "and when the Queen makes Bodrugan Keeper of Restormel Castle and overseer of all the Duchy lands, my lady may lose her interest in Sir John and look upon her brother with more affection than she does now. I don't doubt I shall be recompensed by Bodrugan, and forgiven by my lady." He smiled, and scratched his ear.
"By the faith," said Lampetho, "we all know you lay your plans to suit yourself. Whoever wins the day will find you at his elbow. Bodrugan or Sir John at Restormel Castle, and you will be standing at the drawbridge, holding a well-lined purse."
"I don't deny it," said Roger, smiling still. "If you possessed the same ability for thought you would do likewise."
Footsteps sounded from the yard beyond, and he crossed to the door and flung it open. Otto Bodrugan stood on the threshold, with young Robbie behind him.
"Enter, sir, and welcome. We are all friends," said Roger, and Bodrugan came into the kitchen, looking sharply about him, surprised, I think, to see the little group of men who, embarrassed by his sudden arrival, drew back against the wall. His tunic was laced to the throat, with a padded leather jerkin over all, belted with purse and dagger, and a traveling cloak, fur-trimmed, hung from his shoulders. He made a contrast to the others in their homespun cloth and hoods, and it was evident from his air of confidence that he was used to commanding men.
"I am very glad to see you," he said at once, advancing to each in turn. "Henry Trefrengy, isn't it? And Martin Penhelek. John Beddyng I know too--your uncle rode north with me in '22. The others I have not met before."
"Geoffrey Lampetho, sir, and his brother Philip," said Roger. "They farm the valley adjoining Julian Polpey's land, beneath the Priory manor."
"Is Julian not here, then?"
"He awaits us at Polpey."
Bodrugan's eye fell upon the novice, still crouching beside the bench. "What is the monk doing here among you?"
"He brought us information, sir," said Roger. "There has been some trouble at the Priory, a matter of discipline in the house among the brothers, of no concern to us, but disturbing in that the Bishop has lately sent Master Bloyou from Exeter to inquire into the business."
"Henry Bloyou? A close friend to Sir John Carminowe and Sir William Ferrers. Is he still at the Priory?"
The novice, anxious to please, touched Bodrugan's knee. "No, sir, he has gone. He left yesterday for Exeter, but promised to return shortly."
"Well, get to your feet, lad, no harm shall come to you." Bodrugan turned to the steward. "Have you been threatening him?"
"Not a hair of his head," protested Roger. "He is only frightened that the Prior might learn of his presence here, despite my promise to the contrary."
Roger signaled to Robbie to take the novice to the upper room, and the pair of them disappeared up the ladder, the novice in as much hurry to be gone as a kicked dog. When the two had gone Bodrugan, standing before the hearth, his hands on his belt, looked keenly at each one of the men.
"What Roger has been telling you about our chances I do not know," he said, "but I can promise you a better life when the King is in custody." No one answered. "Has Roger informed you that most of the country will declare for Queen Isabella in a few days' time?" he asked them.
Henry Trefrengy, who seemed to be spokesman, was bold enough to speak. "He has told us so, yes," he said, "but little detail of it."
"It is a question of the timing," replied Bodrugan. "Parliament now sits at Nottingham, and it is planned to seize the King--with all care for his safety, naturally--until he comes of age. In the meantime Queen Isabella will continue as Regent, with Mortimer to aid her. He may lack popularity with some, but he is a strong man, and capable, and a very good friend of many Cornishmen. I am proud to count myself among them."
Silence again. Then Geoffrey Lampetho stepped forward. "What would you have us do?" he asked.
"Come north with me, if you will," answered Bodrugan, "but if not, and God knows I cannot make you, then promise to swear allegiance to Queen Isabella when word comes from Nottingham that we hold the King."
"That's spoken fairly," said Roger. "For my part I say yes, and gladly, and will ride with you."
"And so will I," said another, the man called Penhelek.
"And I too," cried the third, John Beddyng.
Only the Lampetho brothers and Trefrengy were reluctant.
"We'll swear allegiance when the moment comes," said Geoffrey Lampetho, "but we'll swear it at home, not across the Tamar."
"Also fairly spoken," said Bodrugan. "If the King had the power himself we should be at war with France within ten years, fighting across the Channel. By supporting the Queen now we strike a blow for peace. I have the promise of at least a hundred men from my own lands, from Bodrugan, from Tregrehan and further west, and from Devon too. Shall we go and see how Julian Polpey stands?"
There was a general stir among the men as they made towards the door.
"The tide is flooding across the ford," said Roger. "We must cross the valley by Trefrengy and Lampetho. I have a pony for you, sir. Robbie?" He called his brother from the room above. "Have you the pony saddled for Sir Otto? And mine as well? Make haste, then..." And as the boy came down the ladder he whispered in his ear, "Brother Jean will send for the novice later. Keep him until then. As for myself, I cannot say when I shall return."
We found ourselves in the stableyard, a huddle of ponies and men, and I knew I must go too, for Roger was mounting his pony beside Bodrugan, and wherever he went I was compelled to follow. The clouds were racing across the sky, the wind was blowing, and the stamping of ponies and the jingle of harness rang in my ear. Never before, neither in my own world nor on the previous occasions when I had strayed into the other, had I felt such a sense of unity. I was one of them, and they did not know it. I belonged among them, and they did not know it. This, I think, was the essence of what it meant to me. To be bound, yet free; to be alone, yet in their company; to be born in my own time yet living, unknown, in theirs.
They rode up the track through the little copse bordering Kilmarth, and at the top of the hill, instead of following the route of the modern road I knew, they struck across the summit and then plunged steeply towards the valley. The track was rough, making the ponies stumble from time to time, and twisting too. The descent seemed almost as sharp as a cliff-face, but, disembodied as I felt myself to be, I was no judge of height or depth, and my only guides were the men upon their ponies. Then, through the darkness, I saw the gleam of water, and presently we plumbed the valley's depth and reached a wooden bridge bordering a stream, across which the ponies walked dry-shod in single file, and the path wound to the left, following the water's course, until the stream itself widened to a broad creek that opened out in the far distance to the sea itself. I knew I must be on the opposite side of the valley from Polmear hill, but because I was abroad in their world and it was night, the judging of distance was impossible; I could only follow the ponies, my eyes firmly fixed on Roger and Bodrugan.
The path led us past farm-buildings, where the Lampetho brothers dismounted, the elder, Geoffrey, shouting that he would follow later, and we went on again, the track rising to higher ground but still bordering the creek. There were further farm-buildings ahead above the sand-dunes where the river met the sea; even in the darkness I could see the gleam of the white rollers as they broke in the distance and then ran upon the shore. Someone came to meet us, there were barking dogs and flares, and we were in yet another stableyard, similar to the one at Kilmarth, with outbuildings surrounding it. As the men dismounted from th
eir ponies the door of the main building opened, and I recognized the man who came forward to greet us. It was Roger's companion on the day of the Bishop's reception at the Priory, the same who had walked with him afterwards on the village green.
Roger, the first to dismount, was the first at his friend's side, and even in the dim light of the lantern by the house door I could see his expression change as the man whispered hurriedly in his ear, pointing to the further side of the farm-buildings.
Bodrugan saw this too, for jumping off his pony he called out, "What's amiss, Julian? Has your opinion changed since I saw you last?"
Roger turned swiftly. "Bad tidings, sir. For your ear only."
Bodrugan hesitated for a moment, then quickly said, "As you will," and put out his hand to the owner of the house. "I had hoped," he said, "we would muster arms and men at Polpey, Julian. My ship is anchored below Kylmerth, you must have seen her. There are several aboard, ready to disembark."
Julian Polpey shook his head. "I am sorry, Sir Otto, they will not be needed, nor yourself either. Word came not ten minutes ago that the whole scheme has been defeated before it took final shape. A very special messenger has brought you the news herself, disregarding, if I may say so, her own safety."
I could hear Roger, over my shoulder, telling the men to mount their ponies and ride back to Lampetho, where he would presently join them. Then, handing his pony's reins to the servant standing by, he joined Polpey and Bodrugan as they made their way past the outbuildings to the further side of the house.
"It is Lady Carminowe," said Bodrugan to Roger, his glad confidence vanished, his face sharp with anxiety. "She has brought bad news."
"Lady Carminowe?" exclaimed Roger, incredulous, then with sudden understanding, and lowering his voice, "you mean the lady Isolda?"
"She is on her way to Carminowe," said Bodrugan, "and, guessing my movements, has broken her journey here at Polpey."
We came to the other side of the house, which fronted upon the lane leading to Tywardreath. A covered vehicle was drawn up outside the gate, similar to the wagonettes I had seen at the Priory at Martinmas, but this was smaller, drawn by two horses only.
As we approached the curtain was held aside from the small window, and Isolda leaned from it, the dark hood that covered her head falling back upon her shoulders.
"Thank God I am in time," she said. "I come straight from Bockenod. Both John and Oliver are there, and believe me halfway to Carminowe to rejoin the children. The worst has happened for your cause, and what I feared. News came before I left that the Queen and Mortimer have been seized at Nottingham Castle and are prisoners. The King is in full command, and Mortimer is to be taken to London for trial. Here is an end, Otto, to all your dreams."
Roger exchanged a glance with Julian Polpey, and as the latter, from discretion, moved away into the shadows I could see the conflict of emotion on Roger's face. I guessed what he was thinking. Ambition had led him astray, and he had backed a losing cause. It now remained for him to urge Bodrugan to return to his ship, disband his men and speed Isolda on her journey, while he himself, having explained his volte-face to Lampetho, Trefrengy and the rest as best he could, reinstated himself as Joanna Champernoune's trusted steward.
"You have risked discovery in coming here," said Bodrugan to Isolda. Nothing in his face betrayed how much he had lost.
"If I have done so," she replied, "you know the reason why."
I saw her look at him, and he at her. We were the only witnesses, Roger and I. Bodrugan bent forward to kiss her hand, and as he did so I heard the sound of wheels from the lane, and I thought, "She came too late to warn him after all. Oliver, the husband, and Sir John have followed her."
I wondered that neither of them heard the wheels, and then I saw they were not with me any longer. The wagonette had gone, and the mail van from Par had come up the lane and stopped beside the gate.
It was morning. I was standing inside the drive leading to a small house across the valley from Polmear hill. I tried to hide myself in the bushes bordering the drive, but the postman had already got out of his van and was opening the gate. His stare combined recognition and astonishment, and I followed the direction of his eyes down to my legs. I was soaking wet from crutch to foot: I must have waded through bog and marsh. My shoes were water-logged and both trouser legs were torn. I summoned a painful smile.
He looked embarrassed. "You're in a proper mess," he said. "It's the gentleman living up Kilmarth, isn't it?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, this is Polpey, Mr. Graham's house. But I doubt if they're up yet, it's only just turned seven. Were you intending to call on Mr. Graham?"
"Good heavens, no! I got up early, went for a walk, and somehow lost my way."
It was a thumping lie, and sounded like one. He seemed to accept it, though.
"I have to deliver these letters, and then I'll be going up the hill to your place," he said. "Would you care to get in the van? It would save you a walk."
"Thanks a lot," I said. "I'd be most grateful."
He disappeared down the drive and I climbed into his van. I looked at my watch. He was right, it was five past seven. Mrs. Collins was not due for at least another hour and a half, and I should have plenty of time for a bath and a change.
I tried to think where I had been. I must have crossed the main road at the top of the hill, then walked downhill across country and through the marshy ground at the bottom of the valley. I had not even known that this house was called Polpey.
No nausea, though, thank God, no vertigo. As I sat there, waiting for him to return, I realized that the rest of me was wet as well, jacket, head, for it was raining--it had probably been raining when I left Kilmarth almost an hour and a half ago. I wondered whether I should enlarge upon my story to the postman or let it go. Better let it go...
He came back and climbed into the van. "Not much of a morning for your walk. It's been raining hard since midnight."
I remembered then that it had been the rain which woke me up originally, blowing the curtain at the bedroom window.
"I don't mind the rain," I told him. "I get short of exercise in London."
"Same as me," he said cheerfully, "driving this van. But I'd rather be snug in my bed this weather than take a walk across the marsh. Still, there it is, it wouldn't do if we were all the same."
He called at the Ship Inn at the bottom of the hill and at one of the cottages nearby, and as the van raced up the main road I looked leftward over my shoulder to the valley, but the high hedge hid it from view. God only knew what swampy meadowland and marsh I must have traversed. My shoes were oozing water on the floor of the van.
We left the main road and turned right down the drive to Kilmarth.
"You're not the only early bird," he said as the sweep in front of the house came into sight. "Either Mrs. Collins has had a lift up from Polkerris or you have visitors."
I saw the large open boot of the Buick packed tight with luggage. The horn was blowing continuously, and the two children, with macs held over their heads to protect them from the rain, were running up the steps through the front garden to the house.
The shock of disbelief turned to the dull certainty of impending doom.
"It's not Mrs. Collins," I said, "it's my wife and family. They must have driven down from London through the night."
10
There was no question of driving past the garage to the back entrance. The postman, grinning, stopped his van and opened the door for me to get out, and anyway the children had already seen me, and were waving.
"Thanks for the lift," I said to him, "but I could do without the reception," and I took the letter that he held out to me and advanced to meet my fate.
"Hi, Dick," called the boys, tearing back down the steps. "We rang and rang, but we couldn't make you hear. Mom's mad at you."
"I'm mad at her," I told them. "I didn't expect you."
"It's a surprise," said Teddy. "Mom thought it would be more fun.
Micky slept in the back of the car, but I didn't. I read the map."
The blowing of the horn had ceased. Vita emerged from the Buick, immaculate as always, wearing just the right sort of clothes for Piping Rock on Long Island. She had a new hairdo, more wave in it, or something; it looked all right but it made her face too full.
Attack is the best form of defense, I thought. Let's get it over. "Well, for God's sake," I said, "you might have warned me."
"The boys gave me no peace," she said. "Blame it on them."
We kissed, then both stood back, eyeing each other warily like sparring partners before a shadow feint.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"About half an hour," she said. "We've been all round, but we couldn't get in. The boys even tried throwing earth at the windows, after they'd rung the bell. What's happened? You're soaked to the skin."
"I was up very early," I said. "I went for a walk."
"What, in all this rain? You must be crazy. Look, your trousers are torn, and there's a great rent in your jacket."
She seized hold of my arm and the boys crowded round me, gaping. Vita began to laugh. "Where on earth did you go to get in a state like this?" she asked.
I shook myself clear. "Look," I said, "we'd better unload. It's no good doing it here--the front door is locked. Hop in the car and we'll go round to the back."
I led the way with the boys, and she followed in the car. When we reached the back entrance I remembered that it was locked too from the inside--I had left the house by the patio.
"Wait here," I said, "I'll open the door for you," and with the boys in close attendance I went round to the patio. The boiler-house door was ajar--I must have passed through it when I followed Roger and the rest of the conspirators. I kept telling myself to keep calm, not to get confused; if confusion started in my mind it would be fatal.
"What a funny old place. What's it for?" asked Micky.
"To sit in," I said, "and sunbathe. When there is any sun."
"If I were Professor Lane I'd turn it into a swimming-pool," said Teddy. They trooped after me into the house, and through the old kitchen to the back door. I unlocked it, and found Vita waiting impatiently outside.
"Get in out of the rain," I said, "while the boys and I fetch in the suitcases."
The House on the Strand Page 12