Fallam's Secret

by Denise Giardina

  She couldn’t answer. Perhaps Uncle John would know, but she doubted he could predict with such accuracy.

  A brisk wind swirled dead leaves, promising the return of cold weather.

  “If he has been spying on you,” she said, “then your protection of me is one of the things that has drawn his attention.”

  “Lydde, you mustn’t think like that,” Noah said. “I would not do anything differently where you are concerned. Now come inside. The servants will be gone by now.”

  They ate a supper of roast beef and black bread and went straight to bed, pulling the curtains on all four sides to keep out the cold. Lydde lay close to Noah, stroking him, but after a while he turned on his back and said, “It is no use. I cannot love you tonight. My mind is elsewhere.”

  “All right,” she said, and ordered him to lie on his stomach while she massaged his back to give him some ease.

  When they were lying side by side once more, neither able to sleep, he said, “I am not afraid of death, Lydde. But I am terrified of dying.”

  She pressed against him, unable to reply.

  “Promise me something,” he whispered. “If I am taken, I do not want you there when I am executed. I cannot bear the thought of you being there when they—” His voice broke. Lydde buried her face against his shoulder, trying to block out images of his evisceration. Then he continued, his voice strong again. “I could not bear for you to be there. Promise me if I am taken you will go back to your time before I am killed. And know when you are there that you have been loved for hundreds of years. For I will continue to love you and I will find you again.”

  “Noah—”

  He raised up and leaned over her.

  “Promise,” he repeated.

  She pressed his hand to her cheek.

  “I promise,” she said.

  Chapter 20

  The Mumming

  LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Lydde rode with Mossup to the Red Rooster Inn, the hostelry at Little Gallops where the players would meet and wait for a conveyance from Rosewood to take them to the party. Guill and Sharpe had costumes stitched by Guill’s old mother, who lived at the inn and did the cooking. They tried these on in an upstairs bedroom, strange garments made of colorful strips of linen worn over their clothes, which Lydde thought made them look like motley abominable snowmen. Over all was a type of shawl of the same material which covered their heads and faces, with only slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Last they strapped bells to their legs.

  Mossup surveyed the lot.

  “We will do,” he proclaimed. “We will do indeed. Now, lads, shall we practice while we wait?”

  “Open your door and let us in,” they chanted, “for we would your favor gladly win.”

  They bounced up and down, bells jangling. Lydde had trouble concentrating on the words, terrified as she was that Noah might be taken while she was gone.

  But Noah was by then on his way to the ruined abbey on the coast to meet his captains. They would not arrive until dark, but he felt uneasy in Norchester, so he departed early. At the headland he stood and surveyed the sea as though willing the ship to speed on close to shore. But the gray horizon remained empty.

  At dusk the captains arrived one by one and stood before him.

  Noah said, “Now, gentlemen, I would not startle you, but I am going to reveal myself. For this is the last time we shall meet. I want you to understand why we have been successful so far in our smuggling venture, and why you cannot continue in safety from here on. In any event, you will have guessed who I am.”

  He removed his hat and pulled the mask over his head, looking from one to another.

  “Sir,” said the tallest captain, Ingles, “we did indeed guess your identity when the Raven failed to attend that meeting and we learned later you were ill. But we all knew you from boyhood. We served with you in the New Model Army. Though we only just realized who the Raven might be, I think I can say none of us is surprised. Will you go to America?”

  “I will,” Noah said.

  “Then perhaps we will meet again someday. For many poor men do look across the ocean now.”

  “Indeed. I can no longer remain here safely, and so I will leave soon. If you continue the smuggling operation, you must understand you will face a much greater risk. Elisha Sitwell will keep a close watch here. That is why I believe it so important to carry out this robbery. I had hoped the cargo we missed would sustain our people through a hard winter; now we must find another way. One thing I must beg you, as your pastor rather than as your leader. We will enter Rosewood armed in order to intimidate, but I would not have us use our weapons save in extreme self-defense. I would not have us murder to secure this money, for then there will be a curse upon us rather than a blessing. Do you understand? If you stay calm and follow my directions, I believe we can be in and out quickly with no harm to ourselves or to those attending the party. Do you agree? If not, then you should leave now.”

  They nodded. Then one by one they shook his hand. They walked to their horses and Noah took a last look out to sea.

  “Well, then,” Noah said, “we have half an hour’s ride to Rosewood. Let’s be off.”

  ROSEWOOD, a gabled stone house, was lit with candles in every mullioned window. “A surfeit of tallow,” said Guill with a shake of his head.

  “But it is lovely,” Lydde said. She supposed she should not admire the extravagance of the wealthy. But for the first time she felt the presence of the season, of Christmas, with its lights and decorations and treats.

  The coach carried them around to the back of the house, where they entered the basement kitchen, ablaze with light and smelling of spices. The servants stopped their bustling about to cry out with delight at the multihued hulks in their midst, to giggle and make japes that caused the mummers to prance about and jingle their bells. One serving girl pretended to guess who each mummer might be.

  “Bad luck, bad luck!” Mossup cried with a waggle of his finger. “We are spirits come to restore light and receive gifts, no more!”

  They were led to a table in the corner and plied with all the treats that would be served upstairs, sweetmeats and saucers of beef pudding with mustard, gingerbread and spice cake, and hot spiced cider to wash it down. Lydde sipped judiciously at her cup, fearful of growing tipsy when she must be most alert. From upstairs came sounds of the party, a distant jangle of voices like discordant chimes punctuated now and then by a high-pitched laugh, and above all the lilt of music, violin and harp and drum. It had been so long since she’d heard music that it brought tears to her eyes.

  When she mentioned this to Mossup, he said, “’Tis why Noah Fallam and his ilk shall soon be gone from us. People can only be good for so long. At last, we must sing and dance.”

  At the sound of Noah’s name spoken so disparagingly, a chill ran the length of her spine. She missed him terribly, wished he could be there in a normal time and enjoy the music, perhaps squire her around the dance floor. She wanted to act for him, not a mumming but a serious play, and afterward have him come to her dressing room with flowers and tell her how wonderful her performance had been.

  She shook her head to clear it. Such thoughts would not be helpful tonight, she told herself, not helpful at all. She must be cold and clear and mechanical.

  They were ushered upstairs and huddled together in the central hall, the noise of the guests’ merrymaking close by in the ballroom. Noah had gone over the layout of the house with her. The front door in the hall must be unlocked, and the study with the strongbox was at the top of the central hall’s staircase. The ballroom was at the back of the house overlooking the formal gardens. Lydde glanced around. The mummers were alone, awaiting their cue to enter. She went quickly to the front door and turned the handle. The door was locked, as Noah had guessed, for at that late hour he supposed no more guests would be expected.

  A footman with black hair sculpted into a wing at the back of his head stepped into the hall from the next room. “What is it?” he said.
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  She started at the sight of him, then said, “I only wanted a breath of fresh air. I feel a bit nervous.”

  He opened the door solemnly and held it while she stepped out and took a deep breath. Then she nodded at the footman and went back inside, watching carefully to see how he worked the lock. It seemed simple enough, for he only turned a single brass knob. But then he said, as though to himself, “Perhaps I’d best leave it unlocked. Greevey may be still on his way with Lord Shepperson,” and turned the lock back. He looked up and saw Lydde watching him. “Don’t want to miss the mumming for answering the door, do I?” he said, and grinned at her.

  “Certainly not,” she replied.

  “You’re a young ’un, by the sound of it.” He ran a hand quickly over his sleek hair.

  “I’m only a boy,” she replied, “but I am the best actor of all.”

  “Well, well,” the footman said slyly, and gave her rump a pinch as he passed on his way to the ballroom, “we shall see about that.”

  So her first job was done, for the door was unlocked and would remain so unless a Lord Shepperson arrived. She took a deep breath and joined the others.

  “I saw that Woodley give you the pinch,” Guill said archly. “Have a care, Lewis. He was once after Sharpe, he was.”

  “I never gave him the time of day,” Sharpe protested.

  Lydde laughed and started to reply, but just then there came a cheer from the ballroom and a cry of, “The mummers! The mummers!”

  “That’s us!” Mossup said. “Look lively, lads!”

  The musicians who had been playing for the dance struck up a tune, for Mossup had told them ahead of time what the troupe would be singing. So the mummers danced in, bells jingling in morris style, to a lively rendition of “Here We Come A-Wassailing,” followed by a traditional opening chant.

  “Open your door and let us in,

  for we would your favor win.

  Whether we rise or whether fall,

  we’ll do our best to please you all.

  Active youth and active age

  the like was never acted on any stage.”

  Lydde had time to survey the room quickly. It was long and elegant, painted a light green, with a row of chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, each holding a dozen gigantic candles. More waste of tallow, she supposed. The guttering of the candles made the shadows dance in the room like a slow-motion strobe light at a disco. A bank of floor-to-ceiling windows took up much of the outside wall. These were the pride of Lord Radford, newly imported from France as a sign of his wealth. The garden was beyond, and somewhere in the shadows, she hoped, stood the Raven and his men, waiting. With the ballroom lit, Noah explained, he would be able to gauge the size of the crowd and its disposition. And, she thought, he’ll see me perform.

  Lydde was playing St. George and at her cue she strode forward waving a wooden sword, pantomiming a fight.

  “I am St. George,” she proclaimed, “a noble champion bold,/ ’Twas I who fought and won three crowns in gold,/ ’Twas I who fought the fiery dragon and brought it to its slaughter,/ And by this means I won the Queen of Egypt’s daughter.”

  She bowed with a flourish before a trio of bejeweled young women in the audience, who giggled and prodded one another. The mumming continued with Mossup, Guill, and Sharpe variously playing the Turkish Knight, the Doctor, and a Horse, each pretending to kill another, who was then brought miraculously back to life. Lydde had taught them a few new bits, such as one ripped off from an old Pink Panther film. When Sharpe with a fake horses’ head approached, Lydde asked Guill the doctor in her best fake French accent, “Does your ’orse bi-ite?” Guill replied, “Oh, no, sir.” When Sharpe clamped down on her hand, Lydde screeched and cried, “Ah thought you sayd your ’orse did not bi-te?”

  “’E is not my ’orse,” Guill replied, to a storm of laughter. Lydde rolled her eyes at the success of the joke.

  To finish, the actors launched into a scene from The Tempest, which was not a traditional part of a mumming, but Mossup was determined to have it. When he began his Prospero soliloquy, “Our revels now are ended…” Lydde felt a nervous rumbling in her stomach. As he continued, “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep,” she edged closer to the windows. When Mossup was done, she faced outside and made a deep bow to signal Noah the fake robbery had begun. Mossup glanced quizzically at her, but she rushed forward to pick up her cue.

  “I am a poor man dressed in rags.” She waved her sword. “And my pockets do grow thin. I’ll take some of your Christmas coins to line them well within.”

  Then she cried, “Back against the wall, all of you,” and the crowd pressed closer together into the corner, laughing, as she swung her sword wildly. Some broke into song: “Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat, please put a shilling in the old man’s hat.” There were fifty or sixty people there, Lydde judged, and many were indeed flushed with drink, a few of the men so tipsy they could scarcely stand. They tittered and shoved as she herded them closer together, some trying to press their hands against the breasts and thighs of the nearest women. One man called out, “Only four mummers to pay. We shall get off lightly this year.”

  Just then five masked men armed with long-barreled pistols entered the ballroom.

  “I am the Raven,” said the man in front in a rasping voice, “and I shall cost you dearly.”

  There were screams from the women and cries of outrage from the men, but Noah turned quickly and, aiming his pistol at the bank of windows, fired. The noise was deafening as the glass shattered, and the crowd fell immediately into a terrified silence. He shrugged in mock apology, tucked the pistol into his belt, and pulled out a knife.

  “Raise your hands above your heads where we can see them. You mummers, go stand with the others. Except for you!” He pointed his knife at Lydde. “Take your sack around and receive the jewels of the women.”

  “And if I refuse?” Lydde said defiantly.

  “Then I will order my men to shoot. Now do as I say.”

  The Raven captains steadily trained their weapons on the crowd. Noah had once explained to Lydde that pistols were not accurate, but that trained on a crowd at close range they would leave a gaping hole in someone and likely kill anyone standing behind as well. No one dared move, she was relieved to see. Noah meanwhile had recognized Lord Radford and called him out. The host, resplendent in a red coat, came forward reluctantly, hands in the air. His face was flushed, whether from drink, anger, or fear Lydde couldn’t say.

  “Turn around,” Noah commanded, and when Radford had complied, Noah placed the point of the knife at his back with one hand and gripped his shoulder tightly with the other hand. “Now,” Noah said, “you will take me to your strongbox, which you will open and empty into this other sack.” One of the masked men tossed a canvas sack to Noah, who caught it deftly with his left hand.

  Lydde was busy holding her sack open before the women, who, with faces marked variously by anger or fear, were unclasping necklaces and bracelets, pulling earrings from their lobes, and dropping all petulantly into the sack.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Lydde kept murmuring, her head bowed.

  When she was done, Noah had not returned, and she began to be afraid. She handed the sack of jewelry to one of his captains and backed up to join the front ranks of the captives.

  Then Noah and a furious Lord Radford returned, with Noah carrying a noticeably heavier sack. The masked men stepped closer together, and Noah said, “We bid you all a joyous Christ-mass!”

  They turned as one to leave when two men entered from the hall, apparently the tardy Greevey and Lord Shepperson. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, the masked men or the newcomers frozen in their tracks, who were not armed but who barred the escape route. The rest happened so quickly Lydde had no time to think. A man on the edge of the crowd took a threatening step forward and at the same time Noah shoved his sack to one of his captains, lunged and grabbed Lydde by the arm, draggin
g her to him. He held the knife to her throat and took a step backward, forcing her with him.

  “If anyone comes after us before we are away,” he said, “I will slit this boy’s throat.” To the captains, more quietly, he said, “A different escape route.” And in Lydde’s ear he whispered, “Keep your head down.”

  Then, his captains following, he ran toward the windows, turning sideways as he plunged through. The remains of Lord Radford’s French glass shattered and crashed around them as they disappeared into the night.

  They fled through the darkness, Lydde clutching desperately to Noah’s hand and barely able to keep up, but they soon reached the horses tethered in a grove of trees. Behind them they heard an uproar, the crash of doors being thrown open, and a cry for horses.

  “I can hold on more easily if I ride behind,” Lydde said.

  “No!” Noah hoisted her onto the horse and climbed up behind her. Then they were off and galloping, Lydde clinging to the horse’s neck for dear life while Noah’s left arm firmly circled her waist.

  They rode hard for a time north from Rosewood, turned east onto a narrow track through a wood, then cut back to the southwest. Noah explained each change of direction, speaking in Lydde’s ear. After a time the horses slowed and she felt his body relax as it became apparent they had lost any pursuit that might have been mounted. Noah removed his mask.

  “They were all unprepared,” he said. “It worked well except for that last nasty surprise.”

  The others had drawn near. “I will leave you here,” Noah said, “for I should get back to Norchester before someone from Rosewood arrives to call out the constables. Ingles, you will take the jewelry to our friends in London as before? The rest of you will be in charge of fairly dispersing the coin.”

  “How much do you think we took?” Ingles asked.

  “I would guess at least five hundred pounds from the safebox alone,” Noah said.

  Ingles whistled. “Some more folk will move to town and set up shop with that.”