Since repairing the cabinet in Moorcroft’s chamber, something had nagged at him. There was something about that inner safe for all its ornate decoration that simply wasn’t authentic and before they left, he would find out what Denzil kept there. More than that, he wanted to punish Denzil by taking that secret from him. He could forgive Florence - she had chosen the wrong man - but Nat’s pride wanted Denzil to hurt. He’d find out what Denzil was hiding and then he’d run with Florence and beg for Fairfax’s protection.
He was considering when to go to Denzil’s room when Tompkins found him and ordered him to Fairfax who was lodged in that very room. Tompkins remained standing behind him and Nat was not invited to sit.
‘I have been visited by Master Moorcroft. He tells me that you are a thief.’
Nat said nothing.
‘Is your silence confirmation or denial?’
Nat was relieved that Fairfax had asked the question; he had doubts. ‘Sir, I am no thief. You are a good judge of men; what do you believe of me?’
Fairfax sighed, ‘You are calling on a debt I owe for the saving of my life — not an insignificant act. And you are right. I placed my trust in you and now find myself on the horns of a dilemma, after so little acquaintance. My judgment tells me that you are not a thief so, tell me true: why did you bring me to Montebray? There is far more here than the alleged loss of a silver chalice. I can smell the bad blood between you and Moorcroft.’
Somewhere behind them, Tompkins harrumphed self-righteously.
‘It is the lady, sir. She has been trapped into a marriage which is unnatural and cruel. I have promised her that I will take her from this place and that we will have your protection . . .’
Fairfax shot to his feet. ‘Then you have made a false promise, Nat Haslet! Tell me, is she married to Moorcroft in the eyes of the church?’
Nat nodded dumbly. This was ominous.
‘Then you have no right to her. She is the wife and therefore the property of Denzil Moorcroft. I believe the phrase is, Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Nat Haslet, I will not be party to a cuckolding! If you take this path, expect no protection from me. My obligation to you does not stretch so far as to break God’s law.’
Nat had not foreseen this. For all his expansive humour, Fairfax was a man of his faith and his faith was his creed.
‘Get him out of here, Tompkins,’ he snapped.
Fairfax remembered how Nat had told him of his deflowering of a maid and running away to Holland and then he thought of his own daughters.
Tompkins marched him out and followed him down the stairs. ‘What did you expect, boy? No man will see another cuckolded.’
‘Then those men are wrong. She is most horribly abused and I will not stand by and tolerate such. There are laws - even in this time.’
Tompkins narrowed his eyes, ‘A man may chastise his wife, children and servants Haslet and you know this. The laws are God’s laws and we abide by them.’ He softened his voice, ‘Be part of our fellowship, lad — and when you leave here, leave the lady with her husband. You’ll find that women are not worth the complications to men’s lives.’
‘This one is,’ Nat replied.
‘Then I cannot give you leave for this! She is another’s wife and no matter what the circumstance, she is not yours. Leave it.’
‘Perhaps if you had seen the bruises and burns on her body, Sergeant . . . You would not think it right to abandon her here.’
He had touched a nerve, ‘Burns!’ Tompkins spluttered and shook his head. ‘A man’s right is to beat his wife should she require it, that is well known — but to mark her so!’
Nat thought that he was making his point. ‘We parted in anger so that she felt that she had to seek the safety of this marriage but I left hastily. This is my fault and I must rescue her — no matter what the consequences.’
Tompkins gave him an implacable stare. ‘Understand me, Haslet. Do this, and you cannot serve his lordship. He is a man of his word and his faith.’ He saw the defeat in Nat’s face and added, ‘Such a man would probably choose to desert the company and go far away with such a woman and I would hope never to find him for fear of bringing him to justice.’ He looked meaningfully. ‘Were I to speak to his Lordship, he might be persuaded not to search for such a man.’
It was as much as Nat could hope for.
‘I understand. And you know that a decent man could not leave the woman he loves, abused and at the mercies of a husband who should have the cherishing of her?’
‘Aye lad. Tell me nothing more but leave word for his lordship who, for some reason beyond my understanding, has taken to you.’ Tompkins said nothing more and didn’t look back as he walked away.
And so Nat wrote Thomas Fairfax a short note on a scrap of paper with a thick charcoal stub. He sealed it with a clump of mud and inscribed his initials in it. He was confident that Tompkins would hand it to his master.
Neither man saw Holless lurking by the cellar door, hidden under the staircase. Nor did they see his grin of satisfaction. Denzil would be pleased. The trap had been sprung.
39
No Knight
Adrenalin surging through her, making her tremble, Florence made herself walk back into the house taking deep breaths, trying to stay calm and draw no attention. Her mind worked feverishly, wondering when and what to tell Prudence. She believed that she could truly trust her, for the girl was repulsed by him as much as she; it was in her eyes when she looked at him when he couldn’t see her. Denzil seemed to revel in it.
Prudence hovered, keen to know what had been said but aware of the public forum,
‘Mistress, the Master has a new gown which he wishes you to wear. It is very beautiful and most becoming,’ she said softly, as though that fact might help and then she let out a small shriek as Florence pulled her into a recess outside of the glow of the candles and put her hand gently over the girl’s mouth and met the huge eyes.
Florence was too excited, too full of anticipation to wait,
‘Pru. Friend. I have something to ask of you which will, I hope, shape our future.’
Pru pulled Florence’s hand aside, ‘You are leaving with the soldier — with Nat?’
‘You saw him. Shit! Then Holless will know him too.’ She spoke urgently. ‘No. Did you think that I would leave without you? We must leave tonight — but you must help. It will place us both in peril.’
‘Yes, it will.’
Florence held her breath. If Pru was too afraid to help, all was lost.
‘I will risk all. Will we kill him?’
Florence was shocked by Pru’s ferocity. ‘No! We’d be hunted down. We have to run.’ Her friend was disappointed she thought. ‘You have ever been a true friend to me. Gather together a small bag of supplies and clothes that are not,’ she clutched the thick damask of her skirts, ‘these.’
‘Easily done but how will we leave? The soldiers will not take kindly to abducting a man’s wife — even if they are fond of your man!’
‘I don’t know yet. I have left it to Nat to arrange. He tells me that it can be done and I have to believe him. I have also told him,’ and she smiled, ‘that I trust you with my life.’ She hugged her friend. ‘Tonight, he will find some way to give you a message and you must tell me what the plan is. Prudence, dear friend: we leave together. Tonight.’
Both terrified and excited at the prospect, it was a hurried conversation, whispered and intense but they quickly stepped back into their roles as Florence followed Pru to her chamber.
Denzil was there, lounging on the bed on one elbow, wine in hand, tunic unfastened. Next to him was spread a sumptuous gown of the richest fabric she had ever seen. It was predominantly emerald damask but shot with gold thread. This was no puritan frock. Denzil was making a statement with her body that whilst he supported their cause, he kept to the King’s religion and had no truck with notions of puritan severity. Florence was to speak it loud.
‘I see that you like it.’ I
t was a statement. ‘And so you should. This has cost a King’s ransom!’ That amused him. ‘I shall save myself for the pleasure of how it looks on you, until the feast begins. I am sure that it will be a fine fit and, since you have not yet given me a child, it will be . . . snug.’ He shrugged himself off the high mattress, patting her cheek softly as he passed, enjoying her flinch. ‘Make your mistress look well girl, or you shall know my displeasure!’ and as he passed Prudence, he casually slapped her hard across the face so that she cried out.
The dress was very tight but there was no option but to squeeze into it, despite the discomfort. Her usual dressmaker knew her measurements well and so Denzil had intervened here, making it deliberately smaller. She could almost hear how the instruction had gone. The lady was a little thinner, had been unwell, needed a better fit for her next dress. Holless had probably arranged it. Another petty discomfort that she must endure. Pru’s cheek burned with the cold mark of his fingers and she worked furiously in fastening her mistress into it, knowing that if all went to plan, this would be her last hurt at his hand. Florence glimpsed her reflection in Pru’s eyes. If she didn’t breathe and she avoided breathing, she would survive the night in this . . . cage. Matching slippers completed the outfit — equally pinched — and she was ready to descend the stairs and be the lady of the Hall for the annual revels for the last time.
He stood and waited for her at the foot of the stairs, knowing how fine he looked, his outfit complementing hers — black velvet threaded with silver. She had to take the proffered hand and tried not to look at him even as he was devouring her. Despite the dress, despite the discomfort and despite all that Denzil exuded, Florence could not help but think that the Hall had never looked more beautiful and that the master and mistress of it did it justice. Denzil had an eye for the dramatic.
Looking around, she noted with pleasure that each of the household was also dressed in their best — except for Holless who looked no different. She mused that if Denzil had been the man that she’d hoped, she might even have been happy here forever. The music struck up as they entered and Denzil graciously led her to the centre of the room to join a line of couples in a formal but rather jolly dance which seemed to be the start of the festivities. After that, couples came and went on to the dance floor, whilst others helped themselves to the food loaded upon the tables, all keeping a wary eye on both Denzil and Holless to ensure that they were within accepted bounds. There was sweet rhenish wine for Denzil and Florence and Lord Fairfax of course, but it was mulled cider for the rest, heated into a steaming cup by the poker stuck into the blazing fire, hissing as scents of cinnamon and apples fizzed into the room.
‘I must thank you Master Moorcroft for your charitable hospitality this winter’s night. My men are sore weary and this will renew both their bodies and spirits.’ Fairfax spoke warmly. He was washed and his clothes smartened but he contrasted sharply with the peacock display of Denzil.
‘My Lord, the honour is ours. We are most thankful for your efforts in securing peace for the land and for this manor in particular.’ Denzil pinched Florence’s arm, unseen but she didn’t flinch, having been tutored well.
‘Indeed, my Lord. It is a time when every home should open its doors to guests and we are most pleased to have your company,’ she added. Denzil couldn’t have known how much she meant that.
Fairfax smiled generously at her, ‘Mistress Moorcroft, may I say, you out-shine every candle in this wondrous room.’ He bowed to her and she curtsied to him. ‘Ah, the music has struck up again! Might I have the pleasure of your wife’s hand in this dance?’ Denzil nodded tightly and Florence was given over to Fairfax who led her to the dance. Given the restrictions of the dress, the dance was mercifully stately and quite slow. It gave the general a chance to speak.
‘Your husband is a supporter of our cause, lady?’
She smiled and inclined her head.
‘He has spoken for Parliament then?’
Ah, Florence thought. A soldier and a politician. She answered carefully, ‘My lord, many have found the choices in this conflict, difficult to make. Why, I believe you were once a loyal confidant of His Majesty?’
When he replied, his voice was frosty, ‘Madam, I remain loyal to this land. But it is true that some choices are hard to voice. I remained with the King for as long as my conscience permitted — before he stopped listening to the sound of reason and started hearing only those persuading him of his own divinity. Your point is well made.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘If my wife was here — and I must tell you that if she was, I would not be dancing — she would tell me to enjoy the moment and to stop looking for conspiracies over dinner.’
‘She’d be right,’ grinned Florence, ‘except for the dancing.’
‘Then let us enjoy the occasion, lady! Tell me, do you like the music? One of my men has an unlooked-for talent of composing and playing music! I tell you, it is a great comfort to us of a lonely, cold night!’
‘Oh, it is very good,’ she replied, ‘how fortunate you have been.’ The band played a version of ‘Scarborough Fair’ with resonances of ‘Stairway To Heaven’ Florence thought, and her heart sang.
Nat’s musicians were well rehearsed and, already warmed by their own supply of mulled cider, they played enthusiastically and energetically — if not always accurately. Out of the corner of her vision she could see his strong back as he conducted the troop with his flute, and she was vaguely aware of him suddenly not being there as another took over his duties. She dared not stare for fear of Denzil or Holless catching the glance; they watched her perpetually.
She caught Pru’s eye in the corner of the hall who nodded almost imperceptibly, and slipped away to seek out Nat. Florence looked back at Denzil and found him staring at her. Not a single degree of warmth was in either look. The frisson of betrayal and resistance was in the air as each of the players attempted to read the moves afoot.
There was no decision to be made. Nat would leave with Florence. They would just have to take more care not to be caught. He now had two missions before they left. The first was quickly achieved. He penned a noted for Fairfax on Moorcroft’s own paper, and slipped it into Tompkins’ supply bag. He owed his Lordship that much. Next, he would see what was in that safe. Fairfax had left on an inspection of his troops before the night fell and Nat slipped upstairs. Since Denzil was not in residence, the door was open.
The danger was palpable, his mouth was dry and the rest of him was damp with the cold sweat of fear. Here was a new experience of trembling with the terror of being discovered, for while he’d faced enemies and killed men face to face, taking flesh wounds along the way, this espionage, if discovered, would bring a cruel punishment: death via a slow route! The stakes were high and his new status and the protection of his fellow soldiers would count as nothing with no mercy shown if he were thought a thief and a cuckolder in the man’s own house.
Such a fine chamber! The room was utterly decadent. Clean and sweet smelling, every surface was polished and the hangings were all fresh and sharp. Candlelight changed the room and the shimmering filigree of gold leaf on finely polished mirrors reflected the sparkling flames and even the patina of the wood gleamed.
He knew the dresser well. Looked like his rough mended door was doing its job. He opened his penknife ready to prise open the outer lock and saw immediately that the hinges were loose. Someone had forced them and that meant that his carving had been seen. It focused him on opening the inner door quickly. Nat looked carefully at the key hole itself. He realised what it was that had bothered him. The escutcheon was exactly right — highly decorative and excessive around the key hole itself which would fit only a Yale key. He had no hesitation now in needing to use any force to open it. The small knife was useless so he seized a broad fruit knife and jabbed it hard into the lock and twisted. It was no fine instrument and he needed to give it a firm shove before the lock flipped open.
Inside the small safe, the entirely unexpected object made him smile at
first and then raise his brows in open horror. He stared at its worn paint, cocking his head to one side with eyebrows arched in question. Here, in this cabinet, now, was something that shouldn’t be. There could be no doubt that Denzil Moorcroft knew about time travel. The only question was where had he got this!
Denzil’s reason for wanting Florence began to make sense — his cruelty to her never would. The cabinet door was destroyed, the damage truly done and so he took the Dinky car and hid it inside his jerkin. If this was precious to Denzil Moorcroft, he’d take it from him. There were so many questions to force out of Denzil but not now and not without a plan. Right now, all he had to think about was rendezvousing with Florence. There was even more urgency now for them to escape this man who she had discovered was a monster. Nat smiled, completely vindicated in everything that he’d suspected about Denzil Moorcroft. This added a new layer to the mystery of the trees and he couldn’t wait to see Florence’s face when she saw this.
He turned, hoping to close the door softly, to delay the discovery of the theft for a little while, but with eyes not adjusted quickly enough to the low light, he was taken by surprise by Holless’ strong arm around his neck, suffocating the breath out of him. Tall and powerful, Holless had the element of surprise but Nat had twenty years on him and would probably have overcome him had it not been for the quick sting of a hypodermic needle plunged deep into his neck. And then, as all faded to black and he sank to the floor, he knew without a doubt that the open room had been a trap. With his mind screaming for Florence who had to escape because he wouldn’t be there to protect her, he sank into unconsciousness with one thought: run!
Later that night, when it was clear that Nat Haslet could not be found, Tompkins passed the note to Sir Thomas.
Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Page 38