Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles

by Jayne Hackett

  ‘You know of him! I see it in your face. I regret bringing you such news, Master Moorcroft.’

  Denzil looked into his glass. ‘His name is Hugh Gilbert – an associate of mine. He was to speak with me concerning some business in London. I had wondered why he had not arrived. You are quite certain that he is dead?’

  ‘No doubt, I fear, sir,’ she had to press the point. ‘A business associate you say?’

  ‘Yes. He . . . supplied me with useful information,’ he stared into the fire, thinking hard.

  ‘I am saddened by your loss, sir and to be the bearer of such news. Who do you think might have killed the poor man? It was very distressing to see him as he . . .’ she sipped her brandy.

  Denzil reached over and touched her hand on her lap, ‘Try not to think of such things, Florence. No doubt a band of deserters attacked him for his purse. I will have Holless seek his body and see to him. Strange, you did not think to mention it when you arrived at my home.’

  Ah. ‘Sir, you know what a traveller is accused of. We had nothing to do with the poor man’s death. We were afraid of speaking of it for fear that some might accuse us.’ She was sorry. ‘I apologise Master Moorcroft. I should have had more courage.’

  Denzil looked up. ‘No matter, Florence. I understand your reluctance. Hugh had no family. There is no one to mourn him.’

  She was getting nowhere. ‘How long have you lived at Montebray? Is it your family home?’

  ‘Not so very long. I was raised in the Low Countries and came here when I inherited it. It was a surprise, I think - to Montebray and me.’

  There were fragments of what Florence knew of the Hall’s history but she was still certain that no Moorcroft ever lived here. ‘I have not heard the name before. Has it always been called Montebray?’

  For a brief moment, she felt his hand clench over hers, still heavy in her lap.

  ‘Strangely, no. I did not like the name when I arrived here and since I was master, I felt that I might easily change it.’

  Florence was certain that she was close to an answer, ‘What was it called before, that was so distasteful to you?’

  Denzil drew his gaze from the flames and looked at her, his eyes unblinking. ‘Locksley Hall. Some old Saxon title. Dull, is it not?’ His eyes fell to her hand which was now trembling a little.

  ‘Dull, yes. Locksley Hall.’ Her mouth was dry. She was vindicated on that score at least. ‘So, Master Moorcroft, what is the nature of your fascinating business?’

  Denzil put his glass down, then he took hers and placed it beside his. ‘I’m so pleased that you’ve finally asked Florence. Once I have told you, all pretence between us will be gone and we may share our truths. I am in the business of collecting information, my dear and I am very keen to know what it is that has really brought you and Nat Haslet here. I wonder if Hugh Gilbert spoke to you before he left this world? Perhaps. We will talk, you and I – at length – but for now, I have a problem that I believe you can solve.’

  The room span; the brandy was strong and Florence was in too deep. Nat had been right. She was an idiot. Denzil was sharp and dangerous and she was losing this game.

  ‘It seems, that contrary to my expectations and hopes, Nat Haslet has returned to Montebray. He has even brought a bloody lock back with him. He has such a sense of humour, doesn’t he?’

  Florence was certainly beginning to learn Montebray’s secrets. She kept silent.

  ‘Nat Haslet is a fly in my ointment, Florence. I want rid of him and since he is your lover,’ he paused, waiting for her to deny, ‘then I think it will be more convincing if you send him away. In any case, I will enjoy it more.’

  Florence stood. ‘I have made a mistake, Master Moorcroft. I will leave you - and Montebray now. I will go this very night with Nat Haslet. We will trouble you no longer.’

  ‘No, Florence, you will not. You will stay because I have plans for us and they will be spoiled with Haslet around. Of course, if you would prefer me to have him killed . . .’

  ‘You can’t – you wouldn’t. The law . . .’

  ‘Is made by men like me, for men like me. Delicious isn’t it? Consider the ways I might condemn him: theft, adultery, witchcraft and, of course, treason. Do you really believe that he could defend himself against the Master of Montebray?’

  She didn’t. Florence saw with brutal clarity what her choices were – none. If she loved Nat Haslet, she would have to protect him from Denzil’s malice.

  ‘Let me speak with him. I will tell him that he must go. I will tell him . . .’

  ‘And where would the fun be in that? No. You will send him away convinced that I have taken you under my wing and that you are very happy to stay with me. There will be no doubt. You must break his pathetic little heart. If you cannot do this, if you do not care for him enough to do this, I will snuff him out.’

  The realisation settled over her features, ‘I want to speak to him alone – to try to make this easier for him.’

  ‘Holless will remain out of sight but will hear you. Make sure that you make him believe you, wench. His life depends upon it. See! I am so reasonable. I’m sure that we’ll be very good companions for one another.’ He unlocked the door and left Florence standing, rocking, shocked by the turn around of certainties.

  Prudence was shocked by Florence’s drained colour. ‘Has he . . . harmed you, mistress? Is all well?’

  ‘Fine.’ She didn’t utter another word but submitted to Pru’s ministrations and offers of food and drink. ‘No. I have to speak to Nat.’

  ‘Oh.’

  27

  A Tangled Web

  She waited for him in the Long Gallery, warm with the last of the light warming the vast windows. He came in tentatively, uncomfortable in Denzil’s territory. Florence stood to face him; it was the least she could do.

  He tried to rush towards her, to touch her but she took the smallest step back and he was confused. ‘Seems you’ve put your plan into . . . ’ she put her hand up to stop him, jerking her head to where Holless was listening. She put her finger to her lips. He understood. Holless could hear but not see.

  He tried to reach for her waist, trying to pull her into him, relieved that she was alive and unharmed and wanting her warmth. All the way back, he’d thought about the rift between them and how easy it would be to close it, and then he’d lived in terror that some harm had come to her in the same way that it was planned for him. Once he’d told her his story, they both needed to get away from Montebray. This place was dangerous; he knew it. She pulled away sharply and separated herself from him.

  He frowned, ‘Florence? What’s going on? What have you done? Tell me what this is,’ he hissed.

  She spoke firmly, her gaze level with his, ‘Denzil, Master Moorcroft, has offered me . . . protection,’ she announced, knowing that somewhere Holless was listening. ‘He now knows who I am - a lady divided from her family by war. He has kindly offered me safety in his house.’ She forced a sincere smile. She needed Nat to confirm the story.

  Nat looked askance at her, ‘And what have you offered him?’

  ‘Nothing. He’s being kind. He’s . . . What do you mean offered him!’ she hissed. ‘Do you think . . ?’

  ‘Oh, come on! What I think is that he can’t possibly believe that you’re a lady from a great family! It’s ridiculous!’

  Another one! Was she really so unlikely to be a lady? Maybe she should remind someone how her family had actually owned Locksley . . . Montebray . . . She grabbed Nat’s collar and pulled him further over towards the window. She was sure that if they spoke quietly, they would be out of Holless’ range. ‘Nat. I did as I said I would. I got his attention and he believes my story. He just wants to protect me! It’s all right. I’m safe.’

  Nat looked at her with astonishment. She couldn’t possibly be this stupid. Did she think that Denzil believed any of it? He grabbed her upper arms, ‘Florence, he sent me to Wolverhampton because he wanted me dead. There was a man waiting at the locksmith
’s. He tried to kill me.’ He watched her whiten.

  She shielded her emotions, ‘You must be mistaken,’ she said a little louder. ‘Doesn’t mean that it was Denzil. Robbers and deserters everywhere in this bloody place.’

  ‘No mistake. It’s OK now. I’m here and we have to go. Now. Whatever Moorcroft knows, he’s not about to tell us.’ A thought struck him, ‘Has he said anything about Hugh Gilbert?’

  ‘Gilbert was a business associate bringing him information from London.’

  ‘Was he? Ha! I think that he had something to do with Gilbert’s death. We have to find other people who can help - Hugh Gilbert’s people. Moorcroft is not one of the good guys, Florrie. Get your things. We’re leaving.’ He didn’t think that he’d felt so energised since they’d got here. When she replied, he struggled to understand.

  ‘I love him.’

  Nat was literally dumbstruck. Of all the scenarios he’d considered on his forced march back here, this had never occurred to him. ‘You . . . Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t. Just come with me. We can find a way . . .’

  She had to work harder to secure Nat’s escape from this place. Once he was gone, she’d be free to discover what Denzil was hiding and then she’d run too. If Nat went to Oxford, she’d find him there. He would never leave if he knew the truth. Denzil was right about that. She had to convince him. ‘Denzil Moorcroft is an honourable man. He has offered me a life here at Montebray. You know how I feel about this place – whatever it’s called.’ She saw that she was beginning to hit her mark. She whispered as loudly as she could, ever conscious of the hovering Holless.

  ‘Did you really think that I would give it all up to go on the road with a carpenter! What could you give me: dawn to dusk slavery; just enough to survive on; some vague hope that we might find these watchers? How many trees would we try, Nat, before we gave up? What sort of future would I have with you as we aged? Here, I’m protected. I have wealth and power. I won’t starve or be raped just because I’m a woman. I won’t be ignored or spoken to like I was a slave. Here, I’ll be a woman of some importance and you know what, Nat, I’d rather live out my life here like that than hauling coal with you!’ She could see in his eyes how much she’d wounded him. She hoped that he was beginning to hate her.

  Nat just shook his head at her, ‘He’s after something! Can’t you see it? You can’t be blinded by all of . . . this!’ he flung his arms at his surroundings. ‘Florence, be reasonable. Think.’ He’d told her that when they first met and she hadn’t listened then either.

  Flushed with the pain of her deception and churning emotions, she struggled not to let it show on her face. Nat was right about all of it and if she let him even suspect that, Denzil would kill him - somehow. She stood toe to toe, whispering her anger, furious that he wouldn’t believe her, that she wasn’t trying hard enough to save his life. She dredged up words that were painful even to say, ‘Haven’t you got the message yet? You were convenient. I needed you for a while. God! Who else had travelled like we had? Why do you think that I introduced you as my brother?’ her hands were on her hips as the momentum increased and she beat him back with her words. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve made sure that you’ll be fine. He’s giving you a purse of money and a horse to take you to Oxford or wherever. I just don’t need you any more, Nat. You can go. You’ve served your purpose.’ Something inside her broke.

  Nat was devastated, ‘But when we . . . the forest . . . ’

  ‘Oh, the sex? She thrust her lips towards his face. Good, wasn’t it? We both enjoyed it. I told you at the time that it didn’t change anything. You should have listened. In any case, your attentions fell elsewhere pretty quickly. Can you blame me, Nat?’

  He would have bet his life on her. He had believed in their love, their need for one another and now, she was this Machiavellian monster who had discarded him as soon as she’d found something better. The sooner he was gone from here, the better. ‘Tell me now. What have you told him?’ His voice was cold.

  She took a breath, ‘That you’re a loyal retainer – a childhood friend - who’s cared for me and protected me but that all you really want to do is to go and find your own family. That’s it. Don’t worry. You’ll have enough to send you on your way.’

  Holless watched their conversation with great pleasure, through one of the many small spy holes that he’d drilled into the walls and panels. He couldn’t hear a word of it but their every gesture and expression told him that it was both wrathful and painful. He was glad that she’d convinced the boy to go. It was better for all. He saw how fallen Haslet was and how haughty the girl stood. She had played her part well.

  Nat could not admit defeat, ‘It’s not all really about that idiot girl? Tell me that this isn’t just some jealous spat?’ he was clutching at straws now.

  In all of this horrific performance, Florence hadn’t admitted the hurt she’d felt by seeing Nat with Martha. She’d believed his explanation, but he wasn’t blameless. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Nat? You could have explained it to me and I would have understood.’

  What Florence hadn’t anticipated was the look on his face and she was surprised to see him look like someone had punched him in his solar plexus. He actually staggered back a little, the full impact of her words hitting him hard. She even found herself wanting to make it easier for him, ‘Don’t you see? You’re free to go and make that life you told me about. Go to Oxford and start searching for a watcher. I’d rather have certainty, Nat. I’m going to be fine and, look on the bright side: you’re not responsible for anything that happens to me anymore. I’m the captain of my own fate now.’ She forced a giggle.

  He recovered. ‘I see. You thought that I felt responsible for you.’ There was resignation now, ‘You know, there were times after I came here that I thought that death was a better option. Then you appeared and made it liveable. This place became possible, became liveable. We had a connection, a common purpose. I thought that if we never found a way back, we would have one another. I don’t know how you will live, knowing where you’re really from, knowing that there’s someone else in the world who’s the same? Your whole life will be a lie.’

  ‘No. It will be real. You’re the one who’ll be living in a dream world. All you need me for is to remind you. You need me to tell you you’re not mad. You need me to keep your memories alive. But you don’t need me, Nat. Don’t you see what’s happened between us? We’ve been thrown together by what’s happened to us. You made me believe for a while that we might find someone who could tell us how to go home but Nat, it’s a fantasy; it’s as impossible as arriving here. The odds just aren’t in our favour.’ Florence couldn’t read his expression. ‘It’s time for you to accept what this is – just as I have. Martha Copley was nothing except a reminder that all we have together is this impossible situation. Neither of us will ever understand it, but I have to make my way here and you just have to accept it Nat: we’re just never going back. This was once, and now is, my home.’

  And that was it, Nat saw. She hadn’t talked about needing him, about loving him or wanting to be with him. They’d just been thrown together by this bizarre twist and the glue hadn’t been strong enough. At that moment his disappointment in her, glittered in his eyes.

  Florence couldn’t afford to feel anything. Her performance had to be absolute. He needed to think her weak and self-centred – and maybe she was. She didn’t want to soften the blow; she needed him to hate her enough to walk away. Nat turned and didn’t look back. Once he’d gone, she turned to the window, pressed her forehead against the uneven glass and allowed the sobs to rise. She’d given the performance of her life.

  Behind her, she heard a steady clap and Denzil strolled in. ‘A fine actress. If only women were permitted upon the stage, you might make your fortune, Florence. Sadly, they are not. We shall soon see if Master Haslet was convinced. Once he is on his way, our life at Montebray will be . . . exciting.’

  Nat didn’t recall how he left the gallery or how he ended
up in the kitchen garden. He knew that he wiped away sharp tears that stung his eyes and he hoped that no one had seen him. One of the blessings of the organic building was that its many annexes and additional wings provided hidden corners with shade and privacy. He sank to the ground and replayed the conversation. It didn’t help. She really intended to tie herself to Moorcroft and she wanted him gone – no doubt he was an embarrassing reminder of another life. One gesture niggled at him. Surely, she had indicated that someone was listening to them. She’d moved them to the window. Was Moorcroft or Holless watching her, making her say those things? No. There was sincerity in what she’d said. She wanted a better life for herself and she really didn’t believe that they could ever go back. That was true. It didn’t really matter whether she cared for Moorcroft or not. She didn’t care for him.

  From his shaded position, he caught sight of them in the gardens and any hopes were shattered. They strolled around elegantly, she on his arm and Denzil picking the odd bloom for her. She laughed at his witty comments and he patted her hand. They were deep in conversation and Denzil paid close attention to her every word. It was the picture of a couple in love.

  Had Nat been able to overhear them, he would have rushed towards Florence and snatched her from Denzil Moorcroft.

  ‘Now, my dear, Holless tells me that Haslet is skulking in the corner by the library wing, no doubt licking his wounds after his beating.’ She winced. ‘Since you are such a fine thespian, we must needs drip vinegar into his wounds so that they never heal. Come. We will promenade and be as two young lovers.’

  So, as they walked, he pretended to whisper sweet nothings and she pretended to find him charming. Nat’s eyes burned into her heart but she didn’t look at him once. They took a turn around the rose garden and once back inside, she pulled her arm from Denzil’s.

  ‘Why, my dear. You are tired. You have my permission to retire. I would want you well rested for the morrow.’