Snap

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “Get on with it, and quick.”

  Edmund knelt on the ground, whimpering, his bottom in the air and his face in his hands. The priest, uncertain, bowed his head. Alice was only partly conscious. Her eyes were half shut and she seemed to be struggling for breath. Around her neck were the crimson marks of the baron’s fingers. For one moment more, everyone was still, and waiting.

  From the side of the corridor, a faint shuffle could be heard in the silence, but everyone was too absorbed in the urgent danger, and no one appeared to have heard. Then Poppy, who had crawled from the opposite room behind John, when he had rushed out with the poker, was carefully creeping up behind the baron.

  As she stood, very quietly and slowly, everyone could see her except the baron, Edmund, and Alice. But no one made any sign. Even the priest, hurrying backwards, kept his mouth firmly shut. Nathan secretly crossed his fingers. Everyone took a deep breath.

  John had taken the red hot poker, but Poppy had found the three-pronged fork, used to spear the logs and thrust them into place on the hearth. It was black iron, dripping soot, and Poppy held it straight out like a lance. “Beware,” she yelled, trying to look like a crusader, “I am dangerous. And this thing is sharp!” She stood on tiptoe in her stockinged feet, and with all her force, plunged the long-handled fork into the baron’s back. Through the swathes of velvet, brocade and padded wool, the fork had little opportunity to touch him, but much to Poppy’s surprise the prongs hit home and scratched flesh. With one faltering scream, he fell backwards on top of Poppy and Alice slipped to the ground beside him.

  Nathan rushed to Poppy, Alfie rushed to Alice, John ran to examine Edmund, and Peter stood, shocked, in the middle of the turmoil.

  “Done,” said John with a huge and widening smile. “We done it.”

  Nathan was dragging Poppy out from beneath the baron’s enormous weight, telling her how wonderful she was, while Alfie was trying to wake Alice, assuring her that the trouble was all over. Edmund was still conscious, but he was taking no notice of anything else as he whimpered and cried to himself. The baron was out cold, lying flat on his back before the chapel door, his eyes shut and his breathing hoarse.

  And then, as everyone was preparing to get out of the house as quickly as possible, there was another voice from the far shadows of the corridor and the sound of two pairs of running feet.

  Lacey called, “What is going on here? What appalling attack is this? Oliver, run for the sheriff, the assistant constables, the gardeners, anyone and everyone.”

  The cook Oliver grunted, “Yes sir,” and his footsteps disappeared again while Lacey strode forwards.

  “Keep away,” Alfie warned. “We’re leaving now.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” replied Lacey, and produced the long meat knife he had been holding at his side. “You brats have attacked a lord of the land, and his illustrious brother. You’ll hang for this.”

  But in spite of this threat, Lacey, realising he was now on his own facing six furious faces, and that two of these adversaries were also armed, was too cautious to move against them and the knife remained at his side. John pointed the poker, and Poppy waved the long fork, its prongs now bloodstained. The others stood, glaring. Only Alice still sat, her head back against the wall.

  Hoping that some help might arrive before he was attacked himself, Lacey held the knife firmly, and said nothing. Finally, staggering up as she clung to Alfie’s arm, Alice looked straight at the steward. “You never worked for my father or myself,” she said. “But you know exactly who I am, and you know this house is legally mine. No marriage took place here today, and never will, but I have been imprisoned, beaten, and knocked unconscious. You speak of hanging my friends, but it is the baron and his brother who would be taken to gaol for their wickedness if the truth were known. Let me go now. Both your masters are still alive and neither are badly hurt. We only tried to defend ourselves. I and my friends will leave without any further trouble.”

  Uncertain, the steward hovered. I must call for the doctor,” he said at last. If my lord baron dies, then you will all be called murderers.”

  “Tis only a scratch,” John objected.

  But Lacey bent over the baron’s fat body, turning it gently. Immediately he saw the tiny puddles of blood where the fork had pricked the man’s fleshy back. Lacey’s face went quite white. “This is dreadful,” he mumbled. “I must run for the medic.” Still clutching the knife, he turned, nose in the air, and hurried off.

  Everyone else looked to each other. “Are you able to walk?” Alfie asked Alice. “I don’t think I can carry you, but I can try.”

  Alice began slowly to climb back to her feet, levering herself against the wall behind her. “I can walk,” she insisted. “But I wish I could go back to my own bedchamber now. It’s just along the corridor. I could lie down and rest for a little while, and then find myself some decent clothes to wear. These things are in rags.” She stood, but leaned on Alfie’s shoulder. “Then we could fetch horses from the stables and ride home in comfort.”

  “Wish we’d brought Pimple,” John muttered to himself.

  “Too dangerous to stay here any longer,” Alfie said. “Lacey called on them gardeners and said to get the sheriff. Could be folk rushing in any moment.”

  Nathan looked at Poppy. “We have to get out, fast,” he said. “But I know the baron left guards both back and front. How on earth did you get in?”

  Poppy, her hair in a wild tousle, tried to wipe the baron’s blood from her torn skirts. “We ran over the roofs,” she said. “Then we climbed in the attic window. There’s a nice big one here, and it leads straight down to the stairs.”

  “The roof?” Nathan whistled. “Well, we can’t get out that way. We’ll have to risk the front.”

  Most unexpectedly, the priest now stepped forwards. He looked down, frowning, at the bodies of Edmund and the baron. The baron lay without moving, but his breathing was forced and noisy. Close by Edmund still kneeled, rump upwards, sobbing and cursing.

  “I shall accompany you,” said the priest softly. “I did wrong, complying with his lordship’s orders, but he threatened me, saying he would go to the archbishop and accuse me of heresy. I could have been burned as a heretic and I was afraid. But now I have decided differently. I shall come with you and order any guards to let you pass. Once you have left, then I shall go to the archbishop myself.”

  Everyone thanked him, a little startled but extremely grateful. They did not think any guard or gardener would risk attacking them while Father Michael walked at their side.

  Alfie put his arm around Alice, supporting her, and they began to make their way back to the main staircase, and finally to the ground floor. There was plenty of noise in the house, with Lacey shouting and the sound of people stamping and hurrying, as if running around in circles. “Mind that knife,” and “Call for the doctor.” “This house is as bad as Bedlam.” Then someone falling and a boy crying.

  “Excellent,” Alfie said. “Theys too busy to take notice of us.”

  Nathan pushed the front doors wide, and the sun streaked in from behind the clouds. In a group, walking towards the street, they then faced the two remaining guards, large men whom the baron had hired to stop anyone getting in. But no one had ordered them to stop anyone coming out.

  Father Michael called them over, as if the authority was his. “You must call for the doctor and the barber-surgeon,” he informed them. “There have been accidents and both your masters are injured. Now, hurry, while I help these poor folk home.”

  Both men nodded and ran off, while the priest smiled at Alice. “My lady, you are free.”

  Thanking the priest again, Alfie began to lead everyone home, hurrying down Bishopsgate. No one felt strong or energetic, and the walk was slow as they stumbled over the cobbles. People stopped to stare at them, for they were all blood-stained and wearing very badly torn clothes. Four of them had no shoes, and all looked like wounded beggars. Two women called, offering help, and one k
ind man pressed a penny into Alice’s hand. And yet, in spite of the pains, aches, and difficulty breathing, everyone was exceedingly happy. The relief they felt gave them the strength to hobble home.

  From Bishopsgate into Gracechurch Street, left into Fenchurch and south towards the Tower, scurrying around the two sharp shadowed corners into Bandy Alley.

  They were exhausted. Longing to collapse against the long brick wall and its exuding warmth, to cuddle up beneath their blankets, listen to Mouse feeding her babies, tell Sam every amazing thing that had happened, and close their eyes to sleep, and sleep and sleep every ache away. Even Poppy and Nathan who did not enjoy sleeping on the floor, were yearning for that glorious chance to relax, and perhaps dream of their adventures.

  Yet, once again it did not happen that way. As they turned the last bend and hobbled into Bandy Alley, and even before arriving closer to the cellar they called home, they saw something else.

  The smithy next door was on fire.

  A fury of raging flame hissed and flew, towering into scarlet tongues of hurtling destruction. The blazing heat travelled the length of the lane, crackling like some ravenous dragon.

  “Where’s Sam,” squeaked Alice in horror.

  Forgetting their tiredness and pain, everyone started to run. Outside the smithy, a group of people with buckets were attempting to douse the fire. The water barrels which most folk kept outside their doors, were emptied one by one and still the last small flames scattered and reignited as the wind blew the ashes across the little street.

  Sam was helping. Poppy and Alice rushed at him and hugged him. He managed a small smug smirk. Yes, I’m alright,” he said. “I was asleep but the wall went red hot and woke me up. I ran out and saw the flames.”

  “Mouse?” asked Peter, white-faced.

  Nodding and smiling, Sam said, “She was already running out, fast as me, with her little white kitten in her mouth. So I ran in and grabbed the other two babies. Then we all shouted fire. Well, of course Mouse didn’t, but the rest of the street did. Everyone came to help. The ironmonger is mighty good and says we can stay in his cellar for a few days. That’s where Mouse is now. Pimple’s tether broke and he’s run off. Not back yet.”

  Nathan sighed with enormous relief, though he felt the gulp of fear rise from his stomach to his throat. “It’s just one disaster after another,” he muttered. “And how did the fire start, when the smith closed up shop three days ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

  “He’s been seen now,” said Sam. “They found his body inside. Burned, I suppose. Who knows?”

  Nathan stared. “Dead?”

  “Yes. Said he was found at the bottom of the stairs with his head cracked. Must have fallen down.”

  “I wonder,” whispered Nathan, but only to himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alice murmured, “It’s so kind of Mistress Winters. And so much nicer.”

  “T’ain’t,” John retorted. “Cos it ain’t ours and we can’t stay.”

  “The other cellar weren’t ours neither,” Alfie pointed out.

  “Felt like it.”

  “Feels like home, cos Mouse is there in the corner, suckling her babies,” smiled Sam.

  “Yeh,” objected John, “But not Pimple. Poor little fellow, he might be hurt. Might be hungry. Might be lost.”

  Peter, thumb back in his mouth, sighed and nodded.

  “I lost my pyjamas,” said Nathan.

  Poppy said, “And I lost everything. My school shirt and my jumper and my shoes and the school blazer. I feel rotten about that.”

  “But you saved our lives,” said Alice.

  They slept well at the ironmonger’s, with blankets, pillows and straw mattresses. It seemed like luxury, especially after a hot dinner of bacon wedges, melted cheese, warm baked bread and cups of hot milk.

  Mistress Winters had settled them all in comfort, treated them as poor victims of the fire, patted their heads with affection, which embarrassed everyone except Sam, and said she’d be glad if they stayed a few days. “Not too long, mind,” she added, “for we really don’t have the space. But three or four days while you look for another home.”

  “Maybe long enough for me to get my own home back,” said Alice.

  But on the following morning they explored the smithy and the burned out cellar next door, and found only a blackened ruin. Nothing remained, not even a sign of recent habitation, except for one small thing. Scuffling through the soot, ashes and the rancid stench of burning, Nathan had seen something glitter, and had stopped to pick it up. It was a knife, not large but not so small, with a slight curve at its sharpened end, and a beautifully carved hilt. He was astonished, and quickly wedged it into the torn waistband of his woolly hose. At first he thought it might stick into him every time he bent over, but finally he found a way of keeping it sidelong within the wrapped ties around his waist, and it stayed safe. He didn’t know why he didn’t show anyone else, and at first felt guilty in case it was simply his own greed. But when he stopped to consider later that day, he knew it wasn’t greed at all. Something told him this knife had been left especially, and just for him, and that he must keep it secret for now. He had always intended buying a small knife from the smith, and had told him so. Nothing so special and nothing so elaborate, but now he had what he knew he needed, and far more beautiful than he ever could have expected. So he guessed that not only was this a gift, but it had a particular meaning.

  Throughout the day, he stared at it often, pulling it out for quiet inspection. The sheen on the blade was utterly smooth but perilously sharp, however it was the hilt that was the most unusual and the most fascinating. It seemed to be made of silver, although Nathan could not be sure, and he thought it might simply be steel like the blade. But its pattern was complicated and showed the dance of three people and a serpent, intertwining and connecting. Yet the two dancing people did not look entirely human, for their hands were clawed, and they appeared to be sprouting wings.

  The previous day’s beating and the shock of the fire had left Nathan with a pounding headache, and he wished he was back at home where Granny would have put him to bed with a hot drink and some pills. But here, all he could do was creep around, trying not to think about it. Alfie was in even greater pain, Nathan knew. His bruises and the lash marks on his back from the first beating had not yet entirely faded, and now he had been attacked again. He was weak kneed and shuffled a little as he walked. But he did not complain and when Alice asked him how he felt, Alfie simply shrugged. “Won’t die,” he grinned.

  Alice was also badly bruised, especially around the neck where the baron’s finger marks remained like red ropes. “I expect Uncle Henry to return tomorrow,” she said, sitting on a small stool in the ironmonger’s cellar, with Mouse purring on her lap. “I’ll meet him at the Whistle and Wherry inn by the Bridge. Alfie, I hope you’ll come with me. We both need to show Mister Weeks how badly the baron treated us.”

  “Yeh, I’ll come,” muttered Alfie. “I reckon them two pig-men goes straight to the Constable. If we ain’t careful, will be us in the clink. So’s your lawyer better see what happened and make sure we ain’t arrested.”

  Without more than a scratch, Poppy was eager to explore the city. “But I might get arrested too,” she giggled, “just for walking out the door. Holes in my tights, holes in my skirt, holes in my petticoat, and holes in my sleeves. No hat. No shoes, and probably no brains either. So what happens next?”

  Laughing, John nodded. “We all needs new stuff. There ain’t nuffing not torn.”

  “I’m not sure we have enough money left to buy new clothes for all of us,” said Alice. “And we can’t risk using every last penny until we have a new place to stay. We could end up with no food and no fire and no pot to cook in. Food comes before clothes, and we don’t want to go back to stealing.”

  “Don’t care.” John was still laughing. “Better than starving, ain’t it.”

  Although more comfortable than previously, the space
open to them was somewhat confined than their last cellar, for this one was both a little smaller, and also partially crammed with heaped iron pots, pans, trivets, candlesticks, pokers, spades and other stacked homewares, and great bars of iron ready to be transformed. If not dragged into cuddles by one of the group, Mouse enjoyed wriggling under such irregular heaps as though exploring deep underground tunnels, finding a dark and hidden corner in the shadows, carrying her babies with her, and settling to invisible and undisturbed sleep. Both Sam and Poppy, when they could, frequently stole one of the kittens, adoring the tiny balls of squeak and squirm, their fluffy fur growing thicker each day although their big blue eyes only managed to blink open on rare occasions. Mouse did not object to her friends babysitting, but called her children back to her at frequent dinner times.

  Seven straw mattresses, packed into linen bags, lay in a neat row, topped with pillows and blankets. This was truly luxury for every weary and aching body, and the food brought down to them was even more welcome. But this level of comfort did not interest Alice. She was concerned only with regaining her own rightful home, and getting rid of the baron and his brother forever.

  The next morning, she and Alfie set off early to the Whistle and Wherry Inn by the Bridge where Uncle Henry was due to arrive later that morning, John stalked off at the same time to search for Pimple. Nathan sat on his bed, stared at the ceiling, which was low brick without light, although wisps of daylight leaked down the stairs. He was tired, not only from the days of worry, running across London, and fighting with the baron, but also with trying to make sense of everything. The one person he had met who might have been able to explain to him, had died, or been murdered, in the fire or before.

  But why would anyone wish to murder an aged smith, unless it was for the secret information he had been prepared to divulge?

  The knife also puzzled him. There was some meaning to it, Nathan was sure. Expensive, beautiful and extremely unusual, it had come to him for some reason that he could not understand.