A Web of Silk

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘Yes, Master Frost,’ said Sybil, for all the world as though she hadn’t helped to search it in the small hours of a recent morning.

  The rest of us collected our bedtime candles, which had as usual been set out on top of the cupboard in the entrance hall. We lit them from the big candles in the wall sconces and made our way upstairs.

  Jugs of hot water had been placed in our rooms. Dale drew off my shoes and helped me out of my gown, ruff and farthingale. I washed and then she dropped my nightgown over my head and brushed my hair. ‘What about Mistress Jester?’ she said. ‘She is still downstairs.’

  ‘I’ll help her. You go and wash before your water gets cold,’ I told her. ‘Leave all the candles as they are.’

  I got into bed, glad to be there, for the night was getting very chilly. The wind had not dropped and it was still hurling rain at the windows, violently, as if in anger. When the door was suddenly flung open I thought for a moment that the wind had done it, until I saw Sybil standing there in the candlelight – a wild-eyed Sybil, with a lock of hair pulled out of its coil at the back of her head and flying loose while the little velvet cap which she wore over the coil had migrated forward to hang over one eye. Even by candlelight, I could see that she was deathly pale.

  ‘Sybil!’ I was out of bed on the instant. I ran to her. ‘What is it, Sybil? You’ve been talking with Master Frost – he surely didn’t … try to …?’

  ‘He didn’t want to look at drawings,’ said Sybil, blundering forward into the room and sinking on to the side of the bed. ‘I put them before him, but he said he had only asked me to bring them so that we could be alone because he had something special to say to me. Then he said he wanted to marry me. I was amazed! I hardly knew what to say to him. I didn’t wish to annoy him, but … the only answer I could make was no. I tried to say the right things – that I didn’t wish to remarry, but of course I recognized the compliment … all the correct phrases – but he got hold of me and tried to kiss me, and I struggled away. Then he pushed me down on a stool and started telling me how he would look after me and I was just the kind of woman who would be a good stepmother for his daughters, and he promised me expensive gifts …’

  ‘Sybil!’

  ‘You know I don’t want to marry again! Once was enough for me. More than enough. And besides, this man, Frost – when I think what he is, what he does, spying for the Spanish – the idea is appalling! I gasped out that I was fifty-eight years old and that this was ridiculous, but he laughed and said he was fifty-four; what did it matter? We were near enough in age. I managed to get off the stool in the end and kept edging away from him all the time. Finally I got to the door, and escaped from the room and ran …’

  ‘Sybil! This is dreadful!’

  ‘Well, we now know why Susie cut the buttons off that sleeve!’ said Sybil. ‘A fit of spite! She said he told her that he meant to marry again – and I fancy he told her that he’d chosen me, though she didn’t mention that to us! As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to him! But there was something else, too. Something I couldn’t understand.’

  She was shivering badly. I sat down beside her. ‘Something else?’ I said.

  ‘Just as I got to the door, he … he stopped, backed away and raised a hand as if to say “All right, I give in, I’m letting you go.” And then he said: “Well, I tried. I asked you for your hand. I gave you a chance. Now, whatever befalls you, it’s your own fault. I offered you a way out and you wouldn’t take it. You see, I really like you, Mistress Jester, and so do my daughters, and we could all do so much for each other. But as it is … you have made your choice. Goodnight.”’

  ‘Whatever did he mean?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t understand! The way he was looking at me,’ said Sybil, ‘his eyes were like blue dagger points! I felt impaled by them!’

  Her tone was odd, almost pensive. She seemed aware of it and shook herself as though trying to shake a bad memory away. I wondered if he had attempted more, physically, than she was telling me. ‘I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or what I was hearing,’ she said. ‘His words made no sense! He …’

  ‘What’s happening?’ The Brockleys (I sometimes thought they had a sense of hearing to match the hearing of cats and owls) were in the doorway, looking at us anxiously.

  ‘We heard!’ said Dale, her protuberant eyes bulging, full of alarm. She was still pale from her illness and had lost weight but was nevertheless full of concern for us. ‘We heard what Mistress Jester said just now … We heard …’

  ‘Mistress Jester,’ I said, ‘has refused a proposal of marriage from Master Frost.’

  ‘And,’ said Brockley, ‘he said something like “I gave you a chance. Now, whatever befalls you, it’s your own fault. I offered you a way out and you wouldn’t take it. You have made your choice …” What choice? A way out of what or where? What is likely to befall Mistress Jester? What’s wrong with this house? There’s a bad feeling in it, and it’s not just because Susie is unhappy and feeling spiteful. It’s more than that.’

  To which, none of us had any answer.

  FOURTEEN

  A Puzzled Spaniel

  Sybil and I did not sleep much that night. We talked instead. One thing seemed very clear to me – that she must not remain at Knoll House. ‘If you do, you may be liable to further harassment,’ I said. ‘It sounds as though there is some unknown threat hanging over you. I can’t imagine what it is, but …’

  ‘There isn’t any threat,’ said Sybil. ‘That’s nonsense. How could there be? It was just talk, an attempt to bully me. I refuse to be bullied. I would like to go back to Hawkswood, of course I would, but we haven’t finished searching for that wretched chest yet, and I have become rather interested in teaching those two girls how to create designs. Joyce seems to have quite a talent. I am prepared to stay. I shall just make sure I’m never alone with Master Frost again.’

  ‘That may be difficult. If he is determined to approach you again, he will.’

  ‘It’s a compliment in a way,’ said Sybil. ‘I did acknowledge that, to him.’

  I was silent. Again, something in her voice seemed strange, just as it had during her outburst when she rushed into our room. His eyes were like blue dagger points! I felt impaled by them! Those words had carried an undertone. Of what? Had he attacked her in a more serious way than she would admit? Or was it excitement …? Had Sybil not felt quite as indifferent or shocked as she wished to appear? Had something in Master Frost stirred her? Touched the heart that had been frozen for so long because her husband had ill-used her? How piquant it would be, I thought dryly, that a frozen heart should be melted – even just a little – by a man called Frost?

  Even by a man who was spying for Spain!

  ‘We had better go to sleep,’ I said at last. ‘Most of the night is gone already. We’ll talk more in the morning.’

  In the morning, as usual, breakfast was announced by the scent of newly baked bread permeating through the house. All four of us felt awkward about going down to the meal and encountering Frost, but we had to break our fasts and the appetizing aroma was a compelling summons. Dale in particular said that she really wanted her breakfast. She had eaten poorly during her illness, and her appetite had now apparently come back with a vengeance.

  So, responding to an instinctive wish to keep together, we didn’t go down to the great hall in pairs as we usually did, but went down as a quartet. We found Master Frost and his daughters there before us, seated at the table, but although bread and ale were set out none of them were yet eating or drinking. The twins looked serious and somewhat embarrassed and were evidently not surprised when their father rose to his feet as we entered, clearing his throat so meaningfully that we realized we were about to be addressed, like an audience. We stopped and, as we stood there in a group, drew a little closer together.

  ‘I have something to say,’ Frost declared. ‘Especially to Mistress Jester, but because she has no doubt told you what happened yesterday evenin
g, and I have myself admitted it to my daughters here, I will say it to all of you. I have to apologize. I had perhaps had too much wine at the evening meal. Yesterday evening I proposed marriage to Mistress Jester. I have acquired the greatest regard for her.’ He bowed towards her. ‘It was truly meant as an honourable proposal, but I’m afraid I was more pressing than I should have been. I am sorry, Mistress Jester. I will not inflict such bad manners on you again. But I will say this. The offer remains open and I do indeed implore you to consider it. I have for some time felt that I ought to marry again, for my daughters’ sake as well as my own.’

  He glanced aside, towards the twins, who both nodded though they did not speak.

  ‘Joyce and Jane both like you, Mistress Jester, and I more than just like you. You are skilled in womanly crafts and have already taught them much. Before I came to breakfast this morning, I looked at the parterre pattern, which I didn’t do yesterday evening. Oh yes, I know that Mistress Stannard has taught them much as well, and I would not for a moment fail to give due credit for that. But it happens to be you, Mistress Jester, who has touched my heart, just when I feared that no woman would ever do so again. I don’t want a marriage of convenience. I want to wed where my heart is. So, please forgive me my bad behaviour yesterday evening, and please think about what I can offer. A steady love, a home of your own, security for life, two ready-made daughters. Please think about this, Mistress Jester. That is all I ask.’

  He stepped back and resumed his seat, gesturing for us to sit down as well. Bemused, we did so. Sybil said graciously: ‘Thank you for your apology, sir. I said at the time that I knew you were paying me a compliment. I am sorry, in my turn, that I cannot say yes, but I am well content with my life as it is. I will continue to instruct your daughters for the time agreed.’

  As gracious in movement as in speech, she reached for the ale jug and filled his tankard for him.

  For all the world, I thought, as though they have been married for years. Was she tempted? If so, well, that’s a turn of events that we never foresaw.

  For a little while, no one spoke. We helped ourselves to bread and butter and honey, and poured ale for ourselves. Then the maid Bessie, a little wan from her recent illness, came in with more bread and Hamble followed with a serving dish of cold meat slices. Breakfast proceeded in silence at first, until Jane – visibly trying to behave normally – said: ‘Mistress Stannard, shall we go up to the attic presently and see if we can find my lute?’

  ‘Certainly,’ I said.

  Sybil said she and Joyce wanted to go on working with the parterre design. ‘You and Jane go lute-hunting,’ she said.

  ‘If Master Frost comes to the parlour …?’ I said in a low voice, but Sybil shook her head.

  ‘I have Joyce as a chaperone. What could be better?’

  ‘You shall have Dale as well,’ I said. ‘It’s still chilly, Dale, you had better keep within doors and not do too much. Stay in the parlour and don’t trouble about mending or pressing anything. Jane and I will go to the attic. And Brockley too, in case we need to move anything heavy. Ask the other grooms to see to our horses. I will give you some money to persuade them with.’

  Before we joined Jane to go up to the attic, Brockley said to me: ‘Do you have your picklocks? I never thought to ask before.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve had them with me every time we’ve gone searching,’ I told him, and patted the skirt of the open-fronted gown I was wearing. It was one of those that have a pouch sewn inside to hold useful items for someone engaged on secret matters. Such as picklocks and a small dagger.

  ‘We can’t use them in Mistress Jane’s presence,’ Brockley said. ‘If she finds her lute, we must somehow get her to leave us alone up there. We can say we want to help unpack Frost’s belongings. If only Mistress Jane will let us do so without her!’

  ‘We must find an excuse to send her downstairs with her lute,’ I said. ‘Use what’s there.’ I was quoting a precept we had heard more than once from one of Brockley’s friends, dead now for many years, who had been a most gifted exponent of the art of seizing opportunities. I remember hearing him explain how the objects in a most ordinary room could in an emergency be turned into weapons.

  Brockley chuckled and, into my ear, murmured: ‘We did indeed learn from him.’

  The day was not only chilly, it was also still windy. Climbing the narrow, twisty attic stairs, which not only creaked but seemed to stir a little underfoot, could not be done silently. However, there was no need for secrecy; we were on legitimate business. Jane had even brought a flask of wine and a raisin pastry with her to give to the sick man in the menservants’ room. We all went in with her, commiserated with the victim, who was on his pallet, surrounded by used handkerchiefs and looking sorry for himself, though capable, I was glad to see, of eating his pastry with enthusiasm and enjoying his wine.

  We left him still busy with them and went across the little passageway landing, where the stairs began, into the attics on the other side.

  The first one was small and dusty, with sloping ceilings supported on heavy beams. It was lavishly supplied with cobwebs, and streaks of damp on one wall suggested that rain was getting in somewhere. There were numerous pieces of discarded furniture and other superseded household goods presumably left by the previous tenant – stools and a small table, all with broken legs, a saucepan with a hole in the base (someone had probably put it on a trivet to heat soup or water and let it boil dry), an old basket with bits of broken cane sticking out and several torn sheets stuffed carelessly into it, a pallet with straw stuffing oozing through a tear … Through doors to our left and right, we could glimpse other dusty, cobwebbed rooms.

  Jane lifted the corner of a sheet and pulled it out. ‘This isn’t ours. It was here already. How wasteful! We would have mended this, and I should think that that table could have been mended, too. And surely … Ooh!’

  Something had found a use for the pallet. A mouse came skittering out of it and dashed across the floor, veering round Brockley’s booted feet and then running across my slippered toes – frightened by the boots, no doubt, but not bothered by a minor velvet obstacle. Jane squealed and the mouse vanished down a hole by the wall.

  ‘You have three kitchen cats, I’ve seen them,’ said Brockley, unperturbed. ‘You ought to bring them up here sometime and let them have some sport.’

  ‘Where are your own things?’ I asked Jane.

  ‘Not in here.’ Jane was looking about her in some puzzlement. ‘I think … yes.’ She pointed to the door on the left. ‘I think our things were carried in there. Joyce and I weren’t allowed to help carry luggage about, of course. The menservants did that. But we did ask where our boxes and so forth had gone, and Barney Vaughan said go into the room to the left at the top of the stairs and then left again into another, because the first room you come to is damp. It is, too.’ She pointed to the streaks on the wall. ‘Father said he would get the cause of the damp traced and have it put right, but he’s been too busy so far.’

  ‘Well, let’s see,’ said Brockley and led the way.

  This second attic room was smaller and it was dry, though there was plenty of dust. From one corner, a large spider in the middle of a web eyed us malevolently. ‘Ugh!’ said Jane, shuddering away from it.

  I looked round. Here there were more household rejects. A couple of dented frying pans, a wooden armchair riddled with woodworm, a roll of something which, when I inquisitively picked it up and began to unroll it, proved to be a faded tapestry with moth holes in it …

  ‘Those things are ours!’ said Jane, pointing, and I turned to see that she meant a group of objects in the opposite corner. There were two big clothes hampers and a massive oak chest. It had a lock but the key was in it and Jane, hurrying across the room, tried to turn it. Brockley went to help her. It was stiff but yielded to his strength. He threw the lid back and Jane exclaimed with joy because there, on top of other things, was a lute case. She lifted it out and opened it. ‘Oh, here it is!
Lovely!’

  ‘Jane,’ I said, ‘why don’t you take it downstairs and tune it? It probably needs it after being up here for so long. I’m sure the air is damp in here, even though the walls are dry. And you don’t like mice and spiders.’

  ‘We don’t mind so much,’ said Brockley, smoothly continuing my line of thought. ‘We can be useful, Mistress Jane. Since we’re here, we could look through these attic rooms and perhaps find other stray pieces of baggage that ought to be rescued. I agree about the damp air. All this seems very careless, I must say.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Jane. Reunited with her lute, she had little attention for anything else. ‘Do please bring down anything you think may belong to us. I’d much rather go downstairs. No, I don’t like spiders and mice – nor dust and cobwebs, either!’

  As she departed, Brockley and I looked at each other and exchanged pleased smiles. ‘Quick!’ I said. ‘What else is in this big chest? It’s large enough to swallow the one we’re looking for.’

  ‘It must have been brought up here empty,’ said Brockley. ‘It would be far too heavy if it was full. Then things were just stuffed into it to keep them together until they could be attended to. Well, let’s see what’s here.’

  He plunged his hands into the big chest and came up with a heavy roll of fabric. ‘More tapestry …’ He let it unroll. ‘One of those hunting scenes. But the moths haven’t got at this one yet. We’d better take it down. There are plenty of bare walls in this house, and Master Frost may well be pleased to see it.’

  ‘I expect he will. Now, what’s this?’ I delved into the chest and hauled out a thick woven blanket.

  ‘That looks useful. We’ll take that down as well. What a casual way to treat a perfectly good tapestry and a fine thick blanket.’ Brockley placed the tapestry on to the turned-back lid of the chest, which was clean, took the blanket from me, and put it on top of the tapestry. He exuded disapproval, as though we really were in the attic for the purpose of rescuing ill-used Frost property.