Baynard's List (A Stephen Attebrook mystery Book 2)

by Jason Vail

  Chapter 16

  The morning was shrouded with fog when Stephen emerged from the crone’s hut in the woods. He was glad to be up and about, even though he was dead tired. He hadn’t slept much during the night. It was a small hut, barely big enough for two people, and had been asked to hold eight. It had been so crowded that Stephen had had no place to stretch out and had ended up sitting against a wall. He had slept under worse conditions — there had been a few memorable times when he’d slept on horseback and once he’d even fallen asleep while standing guard on a castle wall. But one of the children had stepped on his hand during the night on her way to relieve herself and the pain had kept him awake a long time afterward. His fingers still smarted.

  The fog was thick and soupy and filled the air with a metallic scent. He could barely see fifty yards and the sun didn’t show through, so he had no idea what time it was.

  He had to find Lucy right away.

  Because of the fog, he couldn’t get his bearings and had no idea which way to go. Fortunately, the crone, who’s name was Julia, emerged. “Fetch me some firewood, would you, lad?” she asked. “My poor old back is smarting.”

  “I’ve business,” he said impatiently. “Which way’s the town?”

  “Business, have you? Too proud for a little honest work, eh? Well,” she pointed to the left, “it’s that way, cross the field. When you hit the road you’ll be able to find your way easily enough.”

  “Thank you.” Stephen hoped she was telling the truth. He’d been sent in the wrong direction before by people pretending to be helpful. Nevertheless, despite his urgent desire to be on his way, he tarried a few moments to gather an armful of firewood from the pile behind the house, which he put inside the door for Julia.

  “You’re a good boy,” Julia cackled. “You do your mother proud.”

  “I always was her favorite son,” he said. “That led to the trouble.”

  “What trouble?”

  “Never mind. Good day to you, and take care of Helen. I’ll let you know when it’s safe for her to go back to her house.”

  Julia nodded. “Go with God.”

  “That sounds funny coming from a witch.”

  “That’s what you think I am?”

  “It seems obvious.”

  Julia smiled crookedly with a shred of mocking malice. “God is no enemy of witches, I’ll have you know, whatever most people think. Now get out of here, before I put a curse on you!”

  She said the last with emphasis, and watched him closely to gauge his reaction, as if hoping he would be frightened; she seemed set to enjoy that prospect. But he only bowed slightly and turned away, unmoved by her threat. “Witches have their place in the world too!” she called to his back. “We know more about healing than most physicians!”

  “I’ve no doubt of that!” Stephen called to the fog. “Next time I have a palsy I’ll consult you!”

  “Do that!” she called, her voice already muffled by distance. “There’s only a slight chance you may die!”

  Stephen grinned to himself and walked faster.

  It must have been a good quarter mile to the road, and by the time he found it, his boots were sopping with dew and caked with dirt from the field. He eased over the wattle fence, leaped the ditch, and stood in the middle of the road, trying to get his bearings. The fog had thinned a bit and he could see a hundred yards now. That lump to the right had to be Helen Makepeese’s house. While he stood there, a pair of one-horse carts lumbered out of the fog. They were loaded with sacks of freshly threshed grain, no doubt on their way to one of the water mills on the river. The lead driver greeted him with a curse for blocking the way. Stephen dodged back to the lip of the ditch to let them pass.

  He hurried after the carts. As he got closer to town, foot and cart traffic increased. He guessed from its volume that it must be at least an hour after sunrise, although the fog was so thick you’d never know there was a sun at all. Stephen grew increasingly worried. If Lucy loved Howard, Clement had to know it. They had been members of the same household and both done Baynard’s dirty work. Unable to question Helen Makepeese further, he would undoubtedly seize Lucy next and wring from her the secret of Howard’s hiding place.

  By the time Stephen reached Galdeford Gate, the carts had taken the road south around the town, and the fog had begun to burn off. Patches of bright blue sky were intermittently visible. It was late indeed.

  Stephen pressed through a small throng at the gate. The warden, a man just out of boyhood who didn’t know him, snatched at Stephen’s arm, demanding the toll. Stephen shook him off. He began to run. His feet just started to move on their own. For a grown man to run full tilt through the town was a shocking breach of protocol. Grown men, particularly crown officials, were expected to act with dignity. Running was for thieves and other wrong-doers. But he couldn’t help it. Several townsfolk took after him, thinking he was trying to evade the toll, but as Stephen reached Beasts’ Market, they fell away, for others had recognized him and called them off. Heads swivelled to follow his progress, however, and tongues were surely wagging. Before dinner, everyone in town would know he had been acting strangely again. He wondered how long it would be before complaints about him reached Sir Geoff’s ears, and what Sir Geoff would do about them.

  He slowed as he turned up College Lane, panting to catch his breath before he reached Baynard House. He was determined not to present himself in such a harried state. It was bad enough that he needed a bath, a hair combing, and a change of clothes.

  A girl who was not Lucy answered his knock and admitted him into the entranceway. He asked after Lucy, trying hard not to sound alarmed or worried. The girl looked apologetic, but before she could respond, Margaret rushed in from the hall. She must have heard his voice.

  She dismissed the young maid and took his arm urgently. “Stephen, you’re just in time.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “She’s gone out, no more than a quarter hour ago.”

  Stephen was appalled. Clement could simply snatch her off the street. A girl as frail as Lucy wouldn’t survive under torture. She’d die before anyone would know she had been taken. “You didn’t try to detain her?”

  “No, why would I? But I think she’s up to something. She went out with a large basket full of food!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think she’s going to see him!”

  Stephen must have looked skeptical because Margaret added, “Why else would she go out wearing stout walking shoes and cloaked against the weather?”

  Stephen nodded thoughtfully. It seemed reasonable. “But we’ve no idea where she’s gone.”

  Margaret looked proud of herself. “I’ve sent my men after her. I told one to return with news of which road she’s taken.”

  “Well done. I suppose we’ve only to wait for him.”

  “Not here. I’ll get my cloak. We’ll wait at the corner.”

  They emerged to see one of Margaret’s grooms walking fast toward them. He gave Stephen a cold, measured stare, then turned to Margaret with a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, “the girl left town by that south gate.”

  “Broad Gate,” Stephen interjected.

  “I believe that’s what you call it,” the groom said.

  “Where’s James?” Margaret asked in a surprisingly businesslike tone.

  “He stayed with her.”

  “Thank you, Walter,” Margaret said. She turned to Stephen, “We must hurry if we’re to catch up.”

  Stephen nodded grimly. He felt keenly that Lucy needed protection, as much as he wanted to learn what she knew, and that Margaret’s groom James would not be enough. “It may be a long way. You’ll want horses.”

  “Walter,” Margaret said, “saddle three horses — the gelding for Sir Stephen and the two mares, and bring the mounts to us. We’ll start on foot.”

  It was amazing how well she read his thoughts: she was as eager to be gone as he was and wasn’t willing to wait for the horses to be saddled, for by the
n they might lose the trail.

  They set off at a fast walk over High Street and down the long incline of Broad to the gate at the bottom. Stephen was glad to see that Harry had recovered enough from his fever to return to work, for there he was at his place by the gate, his begging cup on the ground before the exposed stumps of his legs, with several farthings and half-pennies already at the bottom.

  Stephen intended to pause only a moment. “Harry, did Lucy Waps pass by this morning?”

  “Could be that I have seen her, could be not,” Harry said, stroking his ample beard and swirling the coins in his cup.

  “This is urgent. I haven’t time to argue.”

  “Don’t know,” Harry said. “Memory’s kind of foggy. Fever does that to a man.”

  “Do you know this person?” Margaret asked sharply.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Stephen said.

  “Well, then.” She dug in her purse and dropped a full penny in the cup. “Has this improved your memory?”

  “You certainly know how to pick your friends, Sir Steve,” Harry said. “I was wrong about you.” He bowed, bringing his forehead down to his stumps and straightened up. “Seems as I have seen Miss Waps this morning. She passed by only a quarter hour ago.”

  Stephen said, “Did you see which way she went?”

  Harry seemed about to hold out for additional money, but a penny was an awful lot of charity, a fact that registered on Margaret’s face. “My lady,” he said with uncharacteristic humility, “I saw her reach the foot of the bridge, but as you can see, beyond that my view is blocked.”

  Stephen glanced through the gate. Harry was right. The road bent right as it approached the bridge and the houses along the way blocked the view of the bridge and the other side of the river.

  “Seems as I recall Miss Waps as well,” Gip the gate warden said. “And I’ve a better view of the other side than our short friend here.”

  “Do you now,” Stephen said, suspicious that Gip was just angling for his own penny.

  “I would be very grateful if you told us which way she went,” Margaret said.

  Gip’s hand twitched as if he was about to extend it, but Harry struck his calf. Gip glanced at Harry in irritation, then said, “I think she took the right fork across the bridge, but can’t say as I was watching too close where she was going, if you know what I mean, me being a busy man and all.”

  “Of course,” Margaret said. “Thank you. Stephen? Shall we?”

  “Yes,” Stephen said.

  They passed through Broad Gate and hurried down to the river.

  There were actually three forks in the road across the bridge. One led east along the riverbank, one mounted the hill to Ludford, and the other turned west toward Whitcliffe. Stephen hoped that by “right fork” Harry had meant the road to Whitcliffe. It was a gamble, but fortunately they came across a wagon with a broken axle no more than two hundred yards after the fork. The driver confirmed that a woman of Lucy’s description had passed by only a short while before.

  A quarter hour’s head start put them almost a mile behind Lucy. It was an impossible distance to close on foot, and even if they had horses there was no guarantee they’d find her. She could turn down any little path and they might have no clue.

  Stephen was beginning to think that the wiser course was to return to Broad Gate and set up a watch for Lucy’s return when Walter cantered up with the horses he had been sent to fetch. He again felt the urgency of the pursuit, and with the appearance of the horses, Stephen could not go back. He contented himself with asking Walter to station himself at Broad Gate instead. Walter glanced at Margaret who nodded.

  Stephen boosted her onto the mare, and climbed aboard the gelding. He took the reins of the second mare, leaving Walter to walk back to town.

  He squeezed the gelding’s sides and gave rein. The gelding was warmed up and leaped into a canter with this negligible encouragement. Margaret came abreast of him and they rode easily together. The wind pulled her wimple back, revealing her forehead and strands of her hair. A flushed, pleased smile showed that she was enjoying herself, as if the urgency of their errand was forgotten.

  The road followed the northward bend in the Teme for almost half a mile as it climbed up Whitcliffe hill, then turned west, then southwest and entered a wood. The road here was more a cart track than a proper road, three paths through the trees: two worn by carts’ wheels and the center one by the horse. Stephen rode in one wheel path and Margaret rode in the other. Branches from the forest, which pressed in close, occasionally whipped their faces, and Stephen sometimes had to hold up a hand for protection. The road continued a steep climb through the wood. The gelding began to breathe heavily from the exertion and to slow down. Abruptly Margaret raised a warning hand and reined to a halt. Stephen stopped too. Ahead was the figure of a man walking in one of the wheel paths.

  “That’s James,” Margaret said. “Lucy will not be far ahead.”

  “If she’s still there.”

  “She should be. James is very —” She seemed to catch herself and said, “I instructed him to be careful.”

  They walked the horses now. Their hooves made low, muffled thumps on the dirt and swirled fallen leaves, gentle sounds swallowed by the forest. It wasn’t long before they had caught up with James, who like Walter was a square, hard-looking man.

  “Is she there?” Stephen asked. Although he peered up the road, he saw no sign of Lucy.

  James nodded. “She’s there, all right. I’ve let her get a little ahead. Do you want to take her now, sir?”

  “No, I think we’ll follow her. If she’s as much in love with him as his mother is, she won’t tell us a thing. I’ll take over now. You hang back. We’ll switch places in a little while.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Stephen slid off the gelding and handed James the reins. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and hurried up the road. It was some time before a small, also-cloaked figure came into view. He could tell it was Lucy because she had her hood down and her hair, thick and brown, hung down her back in a single rope held together by a succession of blue ribbons, and she had a large wicker basket hanging from one shoulder. He hung back a couple of hundred yards, shuffling along and trying hard not to be noticeable. Now he had her, hunger replaced his anxiety: he hadn’t eaten a full meal since day before yesterday, and he felt as though he had a rat in his stomach gnawing to get out. He pushed the sensation aside. It was a familiar feeling. He was used to being hungry. On campaign, they had sometimes gone four or five days without food. You just had to put up with it and keep going.

  The road topped a rise and started its descent toward Aston and, in the farther distance, Adforton. Lucy reached a collection of three houses that stood to one side of the road in clearings hacked out of the forest. She stopped. Stephen jumped off the road just in time to avoid being seen. He lay down and looked around the base of an elm. Lucy was taking a drink from the well. Then she had conversation with a woman who was hanging laundry on a rope strung between two trees. The woman laughed at something Lucy said.

  When Lucy continued on her way, Stephen got up and followed her. The woman hanging her wash gave him a hard look when he passed. So did a man with an axe who came out of one of the houses. Stephen hoped he only meant the axe for firewood. Suspicious lot, the English peasant.

  The road continued to fall toward Aston, the ground rising to hills on either side which were visible now that the leaves had fallen. A quarter mile beyond the hamlet, the road widened from a track to a proper road. Someone was doing his duty in keeping up the road here. Lucy gave him a start when she stopped to take a pebble out of one of her shoes. Stephen slowed and kept coming. It would have looked suspicious if he had stopped and there hadn’t been time to duck off the road, for he had made the mistake in walking in the middle. He cursed himself for being careless. Fortunately he reached a path coming in from the right and took that as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. Crouching down, he coul
d see Lucy through the screen of trees. She put on her shoe and turned away. Stephen sighed with relief and came out of the woods.

  The land began to fall away less steeply, signaling that Aston was near. As suddenly as if cut with a knife the woods gave way to fields on either side filled with stubble from the autumn mowing. Without pause, Lucy continued her march, while Stephen worried about being exposed in this open country, which gave him nowhere to hide if she looked back. His only choice seemed to be to let her get farther ahead, and he was waiting at the edge of the wood when Margaret and James caught up.

  “Should we change now, sir?” James asked.

  “No. I’ll keep on her,” Stephen said. It probably was a good idea to change places, but he felt better when he had her in view. If he let James take over, he’d worry himself ragged.

  Aston village was visible in the distance. Stephen let Lucy nearly reach it before he started after her, which now put a quarter mile between them. When she had disappeared among the houses, Stephen almost broke into a run, worried that she might turn off the road there, unseen. As he reached the other side of the village, he saw her on the road ahead, turning onto a side road that came in from the right.

  He keenly felt the need to get closer now. He hadn’t been in this part of the county in a long time, but if memory served, there was a forest up that road, and he didn’t want to lose her in it. A stone’s throw to the right, a tree-lined stream brushed the edge of the village and meandered southwestward, while the road out of the village ran to the southeast. If he followed the stream rather than the main road, it was a shorter distance to the path Lucy had taken. Stephen decided to follow the stream. He waved at Walter and Margaret to continue along the road to the crossroads. Margaret waved back that she understood.

  The side road crossed the stream without benefit of a bridge, dipping into the water and rising on the other side. But it was a small stream and Stephen was able to jump across it, although it was clear by Lucy’s muddy footprints that she had simply waded through it.