A Web of Silk

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  He did so, but without result. ‘The kitchens aren’t a likely hiding place for a treasure chest,’ he said, two days later. ‘And nor are the cellars. There are four rooms down there and one has to prowl about with a lantern, but I have been down several times and saw nothing resembling a chest. The stores are tidy – I must say, the Hambles have orderly minds – and they control their staff as though they were captains on a warship. Any man found in the maids’ rooms – or vice versa – is dismissed instantly, and only the Hambles themselves ever drink wine. It’s small ale for the rest. The spitboy sleeps in the kitchen, by the way, in front of the banked fire except in hot weather. If we do any searching by night, we must remember that he’s there.’

  Meanwhile, I had made a wary move of my own, by seizing another chance to talk to Master Frost about shipping. Giles Frost himself brought up the subject at dinner on our second full day there.

  It was unexpected. He began the mealtime conversation by talking to Sybil. He admired the apple-green gown she had once more chosen and asked her how the embroidery lessons were going. Both Sybil and I were able to smile at the twins and say with truth that they were working hard and clearly wanted to learn, and Sybil said she was showing them how to create a design. They were planning one based on the colours and shapes of the parterre garden, which might make an attractive wall-hanging.

  But when we reached the dessert course and had started on the almond fritters, Frost turned to me and said casually: ‘I was interested in what you told me about your cousin who works in a shipyard. The yard builds mainly warships, I believe you said?’

  ‘As far as I know.’ I had to keep in character. I needed to walk the tightrope between being a woman who occasionally talked indiscreetly and being such a complete wantwit that nothing I said could be taken seriously. I also had to get word quickly to Walsingham in case Frost suddenly took it into his head to find the non-existent Edwin Blanchard and tried to get him to replace the Dainty Lady at a discount by virtue of being a friend of his cousin Ursula Stannard.

  ‘I can’t claim to know very much about the shipyard,’ I said with a deprecating smile. ‘I have only met my cousin a few times, and the last time was some years ago. Much of what I know comes from things I have heard family members talk about. I was brought up largely by an uncle and aunt,’ I explained, warming to my work. ‘I had no father …’ (better slip gently over that) ‘… but Uncle Herbert and Aunt Tabitha looked after my mother and me. They used to talk about Edwin sometimes.’

  ‘And what did they say when they used to talk about him?’ Frost enquired jovially. Almost teasingly, and it occurred to me that while I was trying to feed inaccurate information to him, he might well be trying to extract accurate news from me.

  ‘They were proud of him, I think,’ I said. ‘And still are. They hear from him quite often and Aunt Tabitha sometimes passes his news on to me. In her last letter to me, my aunt said he had written to her that his wages had been increased in return for working longer hours. Apparently there is urgent work on hand – new ships to be built and finished before Christmas.’

  I busied myself with the fritters and awaited whatever might come next. My friends were silent, letting me having the platform, so to speak.

  ‘Really?’ Frost said. ‘How strange. Why such urgency? Are the vessels in question warships?’

  I did my best to look blank and slightly confused, and was aware of Sybil sitting very still, and Dale wiping her mouth with a napkin to conceal a smile and Brockley stealthily but firmly letting an elbow dig into her side as a warning to keep silent.

  ‘I suppose they might be,’ I said, and then decided to get one of my tasks completed and be done with it. ‘Aunt Tabitha is very particular in all matters and she said something about Edwin’s letter being most untidily written – though it was probably because he was writing in haste as he was very busy on account of the rush of work, and was also preparing to travel north. He was being transferred to another shipyard somewhere up there, a new one, just opened.’ (I thought that might dissuade Frost from making inconvenient enquiries about an Edwin Blanchard in Kent.)

  ‘A new shipyard? In the north?’ said Frost, frowning.

  ‘Yes. I haven’t kept the letter,’ I said and I too frowned. ‘Is all this gossip about my cousin of interest to you?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I am thinking of replacing Dainty Lady. I am surprised to hear of this sudden demand for new shipping and of a new yard being opened in the north. It may be the wrong moment for a private order. Can you remember more about what the letter said? I wish you had kept it.’

  ‘I will try to remember.’ I made an effort to look harried. ‘I think my aunt did mention – but I didn’t feel it was important and I am very bad at remembering numbers.’ This was a blatant lie, and I knew the Brockleys and Sybil were restraining their amusement with difficulty. ‘Only I’m sure she wrote something about the number of ships that had been ordered. By the queen herself … Yes, I think she said it was by order of the queen – but, oh, what exactly did Aunt Tabitha say …?’

  At this point, I paused artistically and sat there trying to look worried, as if I was anxiously searching for an elusive memory. ‘Does it really matter?’ I enquired after a moment.

  ‘It is of interest,’ said Frost. ‘But of course, if you can’t remember, you can’t.’

  ‘But I ought to remember,’ I said pettishly. ‘It’s so absurd … I am trying to picture her letter, how it looked when I was reading it – and, oh, yes, I have it! Yes! She said that according to Edwin the queen wanted eighty new vessels in commission by Christmas! That’s right! I remember thinking what a lot that sounded.’ I tried to seem naively impressed. ‘I recall wondering how it could be done and thinking that surely it couldn’t.’

  ‘Really? Ah, well, Her Majesty is always nervous of the Spaniards,’ Frost said. ‘I imagine that’s what is behind this.’ He sighed, with a great air of regret. ‘It certainly doesn’t sound like the right moment to put in an order for a small trading vessel.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said, a little vaguely, as though the subject were taking me out of my limited female depth. I addressed myself once more to the fritters, and gave the figure of eighty ships a chance to sink in.

  ‘That is amazing,’ said Frost. ‘Quite astonishing. I wonder, though, that your cousin should put such things in a private letter. Surely it is not something to be bruited about too freely.’

  I tried once more to look confused. ‘I don’t quite understand. After all, if the workforce in the shipyard have been told – and surely they must have been, or how would Edwin have known? – it can’t be a secret. Of course I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I thought it was,’ I added in a shocked voice. ‘Since I attend on Her Majesty at times, I understand discretion.’

  ‘I daresay. No, I suppose the queen’s command in this case isn’t such a secret. But it might be best not to speak of it too freely.’ Frost spoke in tones both indulgent and mildly reproving, as to a well-meaning but somewhat dim-witted child. Beneath the table, Sybil patted my knee – a signal of congratulation – while Dale concealed her mirth by taking a hurried drink of wine. Brockley was frowning at her in reproof. Joyce and Jane looked puzzled, and Dr Lambert seemed bored.

  Sybil said calmly: ‘I see that it’s begun to rain again. Autumn is very much on the way, is it not?’ She looked at the twins. ‘Shall we go on with the parterre design this afternoon? I would like to show you how to adjust the pattern to the size of picture that you want.’

  ‘We’d like that,’ said Joyce, and Jane nodded.

  I had, I thought, done what Walsingham wanted. I had said enough. And if only I didn’t have to search for that confounded dowry chest as well, I could have had a free mind. I could even have invented a crisis at Hawkswood, cut the embroidery lessons short (Dear heaven, the man could find another teacher for that!) and gone home.

  As it was, I had to stay at Knoll House. And while there, I reckoned I had better continue playing
the part assigned to me by Walsingham. Seize any chance of reinforcing the lie about the growth of Elizabeth’s navy, while being careful not to arouse suspicion. Go on walking the narrow edge between being the not very intelligent being that Frost thought womanly and a person who might have useful contacts and a degree of worldly knowledge – a person whose gossip might be useful.

  That evening I volunteered to provide some music after supper, brought my lute downstairs and played for them all. A neat touch, I thought, noticing Frost’s evident approval. In his mind it was quite in order for ladies to play the lute (indeed, his own daughters had been taught to do so). It was also true that anyone wishing to play well, needed to practise, concentrate, apply oneself, and possess a certain amount of intelligence.

  But I didn’t enjoy being obliged to stay put because I had to attempt a task I didn’t want to do, in a house that was full of shadows and an indefinable air of discomfort. And timbers that creaked. A high wind rose that night and Knoll House murmured and groaned as though it were a ship at sea. It kept both Sybil and me awake until nearly dawn.

  The week ended and Sunday came. Dr Lambert held a service in the chapel but in case he wished to make a Catholic service of it, I went with Sybil and the Brockleys to Brentvale village to attend the nearest Anglican church. It was too far for an easy walk, so for once Dale and Sybil had to ride pillion with Brockley and me, but we made it more comfortable for them by taking our time. The twins came too, though not their father. At the church, we had the pleasure of meeting Christopher and Kate, with their children. Brentvale was the nearest village to their home at West Leys, but it was still at some distance so for the children’s sake they had come in a small pony cart. Little Christina had evidently recovered from her illness and was a rosy contented bundle in Kate’s arms, while Susanna was as lively a toddler as I had ever seen.

  ‘How goes it?’ Christopher asked me when after the service we all paused together in the churchyard to chat. His brown eyes were anxious.

  ‘I have done what Walsingham asked,’ I said. ‘As for that wretched chest, we are looking for it in an unobtrusive way. No more than that. I have to stay for a while, you know, as Sybil and I are there to instruct the twins.’

  ‘Just be careful,’ Christopher said. ‘I can’t quite explain it, but I really do have an uneasy feeling about all this.’

  ‘So have I,’ said Brockley, and repeated what he had said to me about too many mysteries crowding in at once.

  ‘Brockley is right,’ Christopher said to me. ‘Well, call on me if you need help at any time.’

  ‘There’s one thing you could do,’ I told him, and explained about my fictitious cousin Edwin Blanchard. ‘Could you let Walsingham know, in case Frost really does make enquiries?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Christopher. Both he and Kate looked at me anxiously and sighed. Then the twins came to claim us and escort us home and we had to say goodbye.

  On our return to Knoll House, Brockley went to the stables with our horses. And also with the twins, who collected some carrots from the kitchen and wanted to give treats to all the horses. Sybil, Dale and I went in by the front door – and stopped short, feeling awkward because in the middle of the entrance hall Dr Lambert and Giles Frost were standing face to face and Dr Lambert was rebuking the master of the house as though Master Frost were an absconding schoolboy.

  ‘… I repeat, Master Frost, this is the third Sunday in succession that I have said Mass in the chapel and you have not been present.’ (It sounded more like ‘Aye rebeat that this is the third S’nday in s’kcession that aye hev said Bass in the chabel and you hev not beed bresent.’) ‘What kind of example are you setting your household? Even your valet, though he is still not well and went back to bed immediately after, took the trouble to attend, as did all your servants. But you were absent! Not just this once, but for the third time! Explain this, please!’

  ‘I am busy. I am leaving for London tomorrow. I have some samples with me that my brother has not yet seen, and …’

  ‘That is tomorrow. This is the Sabbath. You should be receiving the sacrament of the true faith. I begin to think,’ intoned Dr Lambert nasally, ‘that you are not as loyal to your faith as you should be. You should remember the martyrs (‘rebember the bartyrs’) who have died rather than surrender to the persecution of the heretics …’

  Gingerly, we tiptoed round to the foot of the front stairs and retreated up them. Neither Frost nor Lambert took the slightest notice of us. When the stairs turned, Lambert’s voice, as affected and nasal as ever, faded out of hearing – slightly to my regret as I was finding his remarks intriguing.

  ‘Poor Master Frost!’ said Sybil when we were safely out of earshot. ‘I half expected Dr Lambert to box his ears.’

  When we reached our rooms, Sybil and I found Susie, the twins’ maid, with her head inside the cupboard where Sybil had put her underclothes and nightwear. We had got to know Susie by now. She was indeed a pretty little thing, no more than eighteen, with fair curls peeping out from under her white cap, and a pert nose and lithe figure. Her eyes were the sleepy muted blue of sloe berries. She withdrew from the cupboard, gave us a smile and a curtsey and said: ‘I wasn’t that busy so I axed the young ladies, could I be useful an’ they said well, tidy guests’ rooms. I hopes ’ee’ll find all in order.’

  ‘Very kind of you,’ said Sybil rather stiffly, and when the door had closed behind Susie, she peered into the cupboard and muttered: ‘All seems all right, but we’ve got Dale to do that sort of thing for us.’

  ‘You don’t like Susie,’ I said, amused.

  ‘I don’t like her eyes. Too full of questionable promises,’ said Sybil, unexpectedly.

  ‘I expect Master Frost takes full advantage of them,’ I said.

  That evening, as we were finishing supper, Frost sent for the Hambles and made a speech to all of us.

  ‘As you know, I shall be leaving tomorrow for a few days in London. Normally I would take my daughters with me, but they are in the midst of their needlework instruction and Mistress Stannard and Mistress Jester are here and can look after them in my absence. However, as usual, Mr and Mrs Hamble will be in charge of all other household affairs. In that respect, nothing has changed.’

  The Hambles both murmured agreement. I caught Mrs Hamble’s eye and gave her a little smile, as much as to say that I wouldn’t interfere with her authority, and she gave me a little smile back. I was used to her by this time and Brockley was right: beneath the stiff posture and pale impassive face, she was human enough. In fact, she often looked as if she was tired and probably she was. The over-august, over-dignified Mr Hamble was far less human than his wife and I suspected that, in private, he was something of a tyrant.

  In the morning, the party for London set off on horseback, with a pack pony. It included a groom and a thin, dark young man called Barney Vaughan, who had evidently decided that he was fit enough to resume his duties as Frost’s valet, though he still looked pale. When they were out of sight, I sent the twins to the parlour to make ready for their lesson, and then took Sybil and the Brockleys upstairs to my room.

  ‘He’s out of the way,’ I said, when we were private together. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Ground floor and Master Frost’s bedchamber and study,’ said Brockley, nodding.

  ‘We’ll need lanterns,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve brought three,’ Brockley said. ‘I just hope that when that obliging little girl Susie tidied our rooms, she didn’t find them and wonder.’

  ‘I’ll be thankful when it’s over,’ I said. ‘It is just the sort of task I most dislike.’

  ‘You have your picklocks, madam?’ Brockley asked.

  ‘Yes. I sincerely hope I won’t need to use them. And I hope Susie didn’t find those, either! I don’t always carry them.’

  ‘I doubt if she did much tidying,’ said Sybil. ‘Untidying would be more accurate. When I really looked, I found that she’d jumbled up some of my things and there are two buttons off one
of my pair of apple-green sleeves, which I’m sure were there when I last took those sleeves off. I found the buttons lying on the bottom of the cupboard. I suppose she might have caught the sleeve on something, and one edge of the cupboard door is splintery. I imagine she didn’t want to say so. But …’

  ‘Surely there’s no reason why she should do such a thing on purpose?’ said Brockley, picking up the hint at once, while Dale clicked her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly. ‘I don’t care for the girl, I must say, but surely …?’

  ‘Show me,’ I said, and Sybil produced the buttons.

  ‘I’ll stitch those back on for you in no time, Mistress Jester,’ said Dale.

  I said nothing. But I looked closely, and Sybil did the same and we exchanged glances. The buttons had not been wrenched off, but cut.

  Brockley put our feelings into words. ‘I said it before. There’s something wrong here. Something’s going on. Something unpleasant. I don’t know what it is, but …’

  ‘But whatever it is,’ said Sybil, bemused, ‘why should Susie damage my things?’

  ‘If it really was Susie,’ said Brockley. ‘She may have tidied in here, but it isn’t certain that she was the one who pulled your belongings about and cut those buttons off. It looks like her, but it isn’t certain.’

  ‘It makes no sense.’ Sybil’s eyes were wide and anxious. ‘It’s frightening. It’s as though there’s hatred in the air.’

  I shook my head. I said nothing, because I couldn’t think of anything useful to say. I couldn’t understand this either, but I agreed with Sybil. There was hatred in the air. Of what or whom, and who was doing the hating, I couldn’t guess. But it was there.

  TWELVE

  Noises in the Night

  We had laid plans to take advantage of Giles Frost’s absence by making an after dark search of the ground floor and Frost’s bedchamber and study. But when we realized that the valet, Barney Vaughan, had got over his illness and had ridden away to London with his master, I thankfully decided we could avoid any midnight prowling. The attics would now be empty during the day and could be searched then. They were the likeliest place to look, and if we found what we were seeking up there, that would be the end of it.