by Sandra Heath
Bellamy Taynton was the new landlord of the former Fleece Inn, which he’d insisted on renaming the Green Man. He was an unusually young man to own an inn, handsome, genial, and generally well liked. Vera had always been a quiet girl, obedient, dutiful, gentle, but no sooner had Taynton arrived than she left home to go to him. It had been the talk of Elcester for weeks now.
Taynton had brought about a great deal of change in Elcester. He’d moved into the old inn the very day the previous landlord left, and had quickly proved that he could run a far better establishment. Elcester’s situation on a crossroad meant that its inn should always have made the most of passing custom, but the old innkeeper, Jem Cartwright, hadn’t bothered much, it was enough for him that he served the locals.
As the Green Man, the inn had swiftly become a prosperous posting house, with excellent stables that were filled with fine horses for the various stagecoaches and by-mails that now used the inn. Carriages, chariots, coach and saddle horses could be hired there, and numerous grooms and ostlers were always to be seen going about their work.
The hostelry had the best ale and mead, and the most potent Severn Vale perry, or sparkling pear juice, for miles around, and—thanks to Vera Pedlar’s renowned culinary skills—its table was simply superb. So all in all Taynton had proved a welcome new resident, and was forgiven his insistence upon the inn’s peculiar new name. Most people—except Mr. Pedlar, of course— had also forgiven him for Vera.
Neither Ursula nor her father had yet met the new landlord, but for Vera’s father’s sake she was predisposed to dislike him. Mr. Pedlar was right, why didn’t the man marry Vera? Why make certain of ruining her reputation by taking her as his mistress?
The blacksmith lowered his eyes. “I tell you, Miss Hursula, that if I ever meets Taynton on a dark night, I won’t be responsible for my actions. ‘E’s so full of ‘isself, so ‘ail-fellow-well-met all the time, but I can see through ‘im. Villainy’s ‘is middle name, you mark my words.”
“Well, perhaps all will be well yet,” Ursula said sympathetically. Oh, how she hoped so, for she had always liked the Pedlars.
“Nothing will be right while Taynton’s in Elcester,” he said quietly. Then he cleared his throat and summoned another smile. “Enough of that, Miss Hursula, for I’ve been told there’s a change comin’ for you as well.”
“Oh?” She could guess what was coming.
“That you might be about to tek your marriage vows. Oh, don’t fear that the world and ‘is wife knows, Miss Hursula, for I can keep my trap shut well enough. I only know it from your father ‘isself. We shares a companionable jug of perry from time to time.”
Ursula looked away. Oh, how she shrank from this proposed match! It wasn’t that she loathed her prospective bridegroom—she hadn’t even met him—it was just that she wanted to stay exactly as she was. A sliver of guilt passed through her, for her opposition was entirely selfish. Six months ago her dearly loved father, hitherto always so doting and indulgent where she was concerned, had suffered a grave financial setback—on November 1st, 1817, to be precise.
On that day a certain Mr. Samuel Haine had baited a very skillful hook, to wit, a South American emerald mine that only needed a little financial investment to become wildly successful. Thomas Elcester had bitten like an obliging fish from the depths of Hazel Pool. Now, in order for Elcester, its manor and weaving industry to remain secure, she was faced with a marriage contract she simply could not decline. This was because, quite out of the blue, Lord Carmartin had offered a very handsome financial settlement if she would marry his recently discovered nephew and heir, the Honorable Theodore Maximilian Greatorex. The settlement would secure Elcester, manor and village in her father’s possession until he died, when it would become her husband’s property. A stay of execution maybe, but far better than the immediate alternative. Lord Carmartin’s well-known ambition was to own or control a swathe of Gloucestershire from Cheltenham in the north to the Duke of Beaufort’s land at Badminton in the south. He was a ruthless man, and his family and the Elcesters had been foes for two centuries, so if he found out about the parlous state of the manor coffers, there was no doubt the handsome financial settlement at present on offer would be substantially reduced.
The blacksmith watched the expressions flitting over her face. “I knows you don’t want a ‘usband, Miss Hursula, but ‘twill be a good thing for the village if that darned feud atween the Elcesters and Carmartins is finished with. And all over fishin’ rights in ‘Azel Pool. ‘Ang me if the bream and tench from there can ever ‘ave been up to much.”
“Maybe because the likes of Rufus Almore poach them before they have a chance to grow,” Ursula pointed out with some accuracy. “Anyway, the quarrel was clearly serious back in sixteen-hundred-and-whatever.”
The calling of a truce would indeed be a good thing, but as far as she was concerned the price was very high indeed. The Honorable Theodore Maximilian Greatorex was the son of Lord Carmartin’s disinherited sister, who had scandalized her family by running off with a young Welsh gentleman of very modest means. His parents were now both dead, and he had spent most of his life abroad in various places, latterly Naples, where he learned by chance of his noble connection and had come to England to see his uncle. Ursula did not doubt he was as resentful of the match as she was, and that he would strongly disapprove of her bluestocking ways. A man who had a bride thrust upon him would wish her to be meek and malleable, and not to have a mind of her own!
Daniel gazed sympathetically at her as he patted Miss Muffet’s flawless white neck. “Well, arranged matches ‘ave always been the way of it where fancy folks are concerned, Miss Hursula,” he said gently.
“Maybe, but right now I’d like to hie me to a nunnery,” she replied with feeling.
He chuckled as he glanced at her silvery hair, lilac eyes, and lissom figure. “I can’t see you as a nun, Miss Hursula. No, by Jove, I can’t!”
She smiled. “Let’s change the subject to something more agreeable. How is the weathercock coming along?”
‘Oh, it’s doin’ nicely, Miss Hursula. I reckon ‘twill be one of the finest I’ve done. Mind, I could ‘ave done with a sensible drawing to work from.”
“I know, but it was the best I could do.”
“Well, I didn’t reckon as ‘ow a Roman eagle would ‘ave bandy legs and a crooked beak, so I’ve smartened ‘im up a bit. ‘Twill look proper ‘andsome on the manor roof.”
“I sincerely hope so.” She had ordered the weathercock for her father’s birthday in a week’s time. He was deeply interested in all things Roman, so she had sifted through his vast collection of books and papers for an illustration of one of the eagle standards carried by the legions. She had found only a second-rate engraving and copied it to the best of her ability—which wasn’t much when it came to drawing.
Daniel patted the mare’s neck. “Will you and Mr. Elcester be attendin’ the May Day junket on the village green, Miss Hursula?”
“Oh, I expect so. I hear the fair is to be especially lavish this year, and there’s the morris dancing, of course,” Ursula added, knowing that Daniel was one of the Elcester morris men. He dressed in a black hooded robe and pranced around with a long staff that was decorated with posies of flowers, fluttering ribbons, and little bells. The morris men of other villages had hobbyhorses or St. George; Elcester had a black monk. At least, in the absence of another identification it was presumed that the figure was a monk.
To her surprise, mentioning the morris dancing did not bring a smile. “Well, I don’t know as ‘ow I’ll be donnin’ my robe this year, Miss Hursula, on account of there bein’ a plan to sup at the Green Man before and after the dancin’. And on account of one or two of the others ‘ave become a mite too pally with Taynton for my likin’.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Daniel.”
“So am I, Miss Hursula, so am I. Well, I suppose I’d better get back to work. You ‘ave my word that the weathercock will be ready in time. Good day to you, M
iss Hursula.” He touched his hat and stepped back.
“Good day to you, Daniel,” she replied, and rode away along the village street toward the crossroad.
The blacksmith gazed sadly after her. It was a shame she had to marry into the Carmartins, he thought. Lord Carmartin was a bitter man who had let life’s adversities rule him. He had closed his heart to his sister when she fell in love with a man of whom her family could only disapprove, and for years he had been sunk in anger and disappointment. Then he had become the guardian of a little girl, Eleanor Rhodes, who had brought him to life again. He had no children of his own, so he doted upon her, vowing to leave her everything he had, except the title, of course, for that he couldn’t do as it had to go down the male line of the family. At the beginning of August one year, when she was still a child, she vanished. Not a trace of her was ever discovered, and her disappearance still remained a mystery. Lord Carmartin was at first distraught, but then he hardened against the world again, and that was how he remained to this day.
Chapter 3
Ursula was greeted warmly by everyone as she rode through the village, for there wasn’t a soul in the neighborhood who did not like her. They didn’t understand her, but they liked her immensely. As far as they were concerned, she could read every book in the realm if she wanted to.
The roads were peaceful for a while, with only a few carts and a farmer’s pony and trap to be seen. Packhorses drank from a stone trough on the green while their handler sat on the grass, enjoying bread and cider from his leather satchel. Near the village store there was a wagon laden with yarn from Mr. Elcester’s mills in the Stroud valleys, where the rivers and streams ran with blue dye. A shepherd and his dogs were going out to the fields, and women were gossiping on doorsteps. A number of cottage windows were open, and Ursula could hear the clack of looms and the voices of the two-person weaving teams as they produced the superfine blue woolen broadcloth for which the area was justly famous.
It all seemed so timeless, yet this way of life was endangered. Increasingly the weaving was being done at the mills, as well as the fulling and spinning, putting people like the villagers out of work. Her father was one of the few clothiers who had adhered to the old ways, but how long he would be able to continue and still stay in business had been very much in question even before the advent of tricky Mr. Samuel Haine.
Ursula urged Miss Muffet on, taking the Stroud road, which led northwest out of the village. The last building it passed on the right-hand side was the Green Man, which now possessed a rather fearsome new inn sign depicting the face of a horned man peering out of thick green leaves. The inn itself, which like all the other buildings in the village was built of Cotswold stone, was not unlike the vicarage, with three stories, gables, a stone-tiled roof, and ivy on the walls. It faced directly onto the road, with an archway that led through into the cobbled yard at the rear.
Just beyond it was the gate into the field, where a well-trodden path led down into the hidden valley and the woods through which Ursula usually rode to and from the village. But Daniel Pedlar’s warning still rang in her ears. She would tell her father about it, for if there was something or someone in the woods, he, as the landowner, should be kept informed.
She would have ridden past the inn, except that a glance through the arch revealed her father’s chestnut hunter, Lysander, tethered to the rail by the back doorway. Her father had been to the town of Dursley on business, and she guessed he was making his overdue courtesy call upon the new landlord. Perhaps it would be as good a time as any for her to do the same, she thought, and turned Miss Muffet into the yard as well.
A stagecoach had not long departed, and the next was not expected for another ten minutes, so there wasn’t any bustle at all as she maneuvered the mare next to Lysander. Almost immediately she heard her father’s clear tones emanating from the open window of the taproom. “So you mean to stay on now, eh, Taynton?”
“That I do, sir.”
“Excellent. It’s clear you’ve already made the old place exceedingly profitable.”
“Not quite sufficiently, sir. Come May Day it will be accomplished.” The landlord was oddly well spoken, Ursula noted in surprise. Certainly he sounded like an educated man. She dismounted, keeping out of sight of the window, for she meant to eavesdrop awhile to see if she could gain the measure of the man who had lured Vera Pedlar from the straight and narrow.
Her father was replying, “May Day, eh? A time of celebration, but doubly so for an innkeeper.”
“Indeed it is, sir. The most important day of our year.”
“How do you mean to celebrate?”
“Well, there will not be any stagecoach races actually starting or ending here in Elcester, but several will pass through, which is always an exciting spectacle. The Green Man will have decorations, music, dancing, and the prettiest serving girls I can find to serve free drinks and food. I shall commence from the very stroke of twelve the previous night.”
“Ah, Beltane.”
“Indeed, so, sir, but to me it’s just the start of the best time of all.”
Mr. Elcester laughed. “What with the Green Man’s considerable contribution, the annual fair, the maypole, and all the usual local festivities, I vow this will be a May Day to remember.”
“It will indeed, sir, it will indeed,” murmured the innkeeper.
“How long have you been here in Elcester now?”
“Since Imbolc, sir.”
Mr. Elcester was startled. “Imbolc?” he repeated.
“February the first, sir.”
“Ah, yes.”
The innkeeper smiled. “I’m, er, told you are interested in the Roman period, Mr. Elcester,” the innkeeper said then.
“Er, yes, I am very interested indeed. Why do you mention it?”
“My father was an antiquarian with a similar interest, which I have inherited. And if you think me impertinent for saying so, sir,” Taynton continued, “I feel that you and my father would have formed a friendship, for he too was of gentle birth, although without fortune, I fear.”
“Ah.” Mr. Elcester’s sympathy was almost tangible. He cleared his throat. “As a fellow antiquarian he’d certainly have appreciated this part of the country, which is so rich in sites of archeological interest.”
“And treasures like the stolen chalice.”
“Eh?”
“The chalice, sir. I was able to examine it before it was taken, and I could see that it was much older than the Reverend Arrowsmith said.”
Mr. Elcester chuckled. “Oh, yes, much older, and much less holy than he believes as well!”
The innkeeper laughed. “That’s what I concluded too. Still, what the good reverend does not know cannot harm him.”
“Very true. Actually, I wasn’t referring to things like the chalice, but ancient landmarks in the neighborhood. There’s Uley Bury, an Iron Age promontory hill fort on the way to Dursley, and the chambered long barrow just off the Stroud road. Actually, when I rode past the latter this morning, I checked to see that all was well, and would you believe it? Some brainless scoundrels have ransacked it recently for no good reason. Oh, it grieves me greatly to think of it. What with that, the yew tree, and the stolen goblet, I fear Elcester has become a lawless place.”
Ursula pursed her lips, for her father was now the third person to say it in the last hour.
The landlord gave a sigh. “It is the times we live in, sir.”
“You are right, sir, you are right. However, to return to matters antiquarian. This area must have been of considerable strategic importance to the Romans, for its very name has the suffix ‘cester’, implies a fort or camp. I have always contended that the Roman occupation hereabouts commenced with a stronghold on the outlier of Carmartin Hill. Then when times were more settled, those of high rank built fine villas here in the nearby hills.”
“I’m sure you are correct, sir,” Taynton murmured.
Ursula was intrigued, for it was almost as if the innkeeper k
new her father was right.
Mr. Elcester went on. “My theory would be given some weight if only I could discover some villa remains. I am certain there would have been one in our valley behind the inn. There is an ample spring line there, and the scenery is beautiful—two very good reasons for a noble Roman to choose the spot. Maybe even the Dux Britanniarum himself, who knows?”
Ursula smiled, for her father dearly wished the villa of the most important Roman in Britain could be found on his land.
“I mean to start the search again soon,” Mr. Elcester said. “Perhaps you would care to join me?”
“I would like that very much, sir,” the landlord replied.
“I’ll be sure to send you word. My, it will be most agreeable to have a fellow soul with me.” Mr. Elcester paused, before returning to a previous topic. “I can’t help thinking about what you said about being in handsome profit by May Day. Knowing what I do of old Cartwright’s business here, your success seems little short of miraculous to me.”
“Well, sir, Cartwright only had to seek the trade as I have done, but he didn’t bother. Turnover is excellent. I expect the Cheltenham Flying Machine stagecoach in a few minutes—it passes through both ways several times daily, as do the Age and the Meteor. The by-mails now frequent the inn as well, to say nothing of all the locals and market traffic. It’s lucrative, especially to a man who knows how to part people from their money.”
Mr. Elcester gave a bark of wry laughter. “Oh, I know all about being parted from money!”
By now Ursula had decided that Daniel Pedlar was right about Bellamy Taynton, who seemed to have an answer for everything, and was too smooth by far. It was time to meet him face-to-face. She turned to the inn entrance, which was like that of a church porch, and entered the low passageway beyond.
