by June Francis
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LOUISE darted into the next patch of shadow as she followed John, Master Fulcombe and a group of men up the street. It had been as she had suspected and John had told her that she was staying behind — that a fight was no place for a woman. Considering it wiser to feign anger and sulk rather than behave amenably, she had pretended to be furious with him, speaking of how she had fought in the forest against King Henry’s men, but that had not swayed his judgement. He did not want her getting hurt and she was to behave like a sensible woman.
A sigh escaped Louise. He would be furious with her if he found out what she was doing and for a moment she wondered whether to return to the house. Then she squared her shoulders and looked to see where the men were. They were out of sight and she presumed they were already up the passageway that led to the courtyard. Which meant that any second now battle could be joined. Fingering the dagger at her belt, she pulled it out and a few seconds later she entered the pitch-dark alley.
Immediately she could hear scuffling, a shout and a muffled yelp, but she did not hesitate, running to where a lighter shade of darkness could be seen at the end of the alley. It was necessary to act swiftly if she was to take advantage of the disturbance.
The noise of the melee taking place seemed much louder once inside the courtyard, and she spared an anxious glance towards the struggle going on around the outhouse but she was only able to make out dark shapes and was unable to tell who was who. She prayed not only for John’s safety but that her suspicions were correct about Harry and Peter being there.
Skirting the edge of the courtyard, Louise came to the corner of the house and moved into deeper darkness until she came to the buttery door. No light showed beneath it but only now did she consider that it might be locked. She held her breath as she lifted the latch. The door gave and she slipped inside.
Careful not to trip over any of the jars or flagons on the floor, she made her way to the door and opened it a crack’s width on to a lamplit passage. Instantly she heard the sound of hurrying footsteps going past and she froze. A door further along opened. There was a babble of conversation which was soon silenced by a sharp querulous voice, telling someone to be quiet and asking what all the noise was about outside. A man answered that there seemed to be some kind of fight going on and he was sending out more men to deal with the matter. He was told to report back immediately he discovered what it was all about — some other words were added at a lower pitch that Louise did not catch. Doors slammed and footsteps echoed along the passage till they faded away. She presumed that he had gone outside and she waited a few moments, considering carefully, before opening the door and slipping out. The door was left a little ajar.
Louise moved soft-footedly along to the next door and listened. The voices were muffled as they came to her but she stayed, trying to pinpoint one particular one in growing excitement until she was certain that it was not just wishful thinking on her part, but that it really did belong to Marguerite. Then, controlling her spiralling excitement, she made her way back to the buttery and slipped inside to consider her next move.
It was precipitated when a few moments later the kitchen door opened and the sound of light footsteps came along the passageway in her direction. She put an eye to the crack between the door and the jamb and saw her sister carrying a warming-pan. Louise’s first instinct was to greet her immediately but common sense asserted itself and she waited until her sister had gone past and was making her way upstairs. She placed her dagger back in her girdle and quietly followed her.
‘Marguerite!’ The name came out as a husky whisper but the girl on the upper landing started and nearly dropped the warming-pan.
‘Sweet Mary, mother of God!’ said her sister in French. ‘Is it really you, Louise?’
Louise nodded, her throat suddenly tight with emotion. ‘Did you think that I would not try and find you?’ she said unsteadily, taking the warming-pan from her sister’s slack fingers and placing it on the floor.
They hugged each other fervently. ‘I never thought that you’d be able to find me and yet here you are!’ Her tone marvelled over the fact. ‘How did you do it?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Louise held her off from her to gaze at her properly. She wore a simple gown of brown homespun and a linen apron. Her golden hair was almost completely concealed by the white head-dress and veil that surrounded her rosy freckled face, which had filled out in the months since last Louise had seen her, and she felt certain that she had grown. ‘You’ve been treated well?’
‘I was unhappy at first. But once I got to know Ned better everything was fine,’ she said eagerly. ‘He was an archer at Agincourt and can speak some French. He wishes us to wed and — ’
‘Wed!’ Louise’s face was a mask of disbelief. ‘How? You’re far too young! Who is this Ned? You can’t possibly marry him!’
Marguerite’s full pink lips set in a straight line. ‘I can and I am. Not yet, naturally, but when I am fourteen. Ned’s father is Master Fetterstone’s best weaver and Ned is a skilled craftsman already!’
‘But what about going back home?’
Marguerite smiled. ‘I will be going back home eventually. Ned has spoken to me of taking up King Henry’s offer of monetary help and a home, and he plans for us to settle in Caen.’
Louise was almost speechless, but not quite. ‘You’d be happy to do that?’
Marguerite’s eyes widened. ‘Why not? I’m not going back to the forest. I’d be crazed to want to.’ She clutched at her sister’s arm. ‘You can come with us, Lou. I’ve told Ned all about you knowing about the clothier’s business in Caen. We could find a little house and all be happy together.’
Louise felt as if her world had been turned on its heels. How could she tell her sister that she did not want to go back to France? She moistened her mouth. ‘We’ll talk about it later. But now you can come with me.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said Marguerite, her mouth setting stubbornly again, as she bent to pick up the warming-pan. ‘The mistress has been kind to me. I couldn’t leave her just like that. And what about Ned? He got me this job. And besides, where are you going to take me?’
‘Only down the street for now. I came here specially to rescue you,’ said Louise, getting a little bit angry.
‘I don’t need rescuing,’ retorted Marguerite promptly. ‘You tell me where you’re staying and I’ll come and see you in the morning. Perhaps the mistress can find you some work so that we can be together.’
Louise stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, or how to reply, feeling let down after being so keyed up about finding her sister. ‘You’ll find me at Master Fulcombe’s down the street on the right,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d better go. I daren’t be late or John will be vexed with me.’
‘Who’s John?’
Louise took a deep breath. ‘He’s my lover.’
Her sister’s eyes rounded. ‘Is he English?’
‘Of course he’s English,’ snapped Louise, flushing.
‘But you hate the English!’ exclaimed Marguerite.
Louise shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t hate John, and if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t have found you. Although now I’m wondering why I bothered looking for you.’
‘Don’t feel like that,’ said her sister in an anxious voice. ‘You should be glad that I’m happy.’
There was a silence then Louise hugged her. ‘I am glad but I don’t know what to do now.’
‘You must do what you want.’ Her sister pulled away from her. ‘I’m quite happy with Ned and what he plans. You try and find happiness, Lou. And if it’s with this John — well, God bless you. But if you want to come with us to Caen then you’re welcome.’
Louise could not help thinking that her sister had grown up since they had parted. They hugged each other again and promised to see other on the morrow and then she made for the stairs, while Marguerite cheerfully carried on with her task.
Louise was halfway down the st
airs when a door below opened and she heard a heavy tread on the stone flags. She froze but it was too late.
‘You there on the stairs! Come down here immediately!’
Recognising the scarlet-clad Dykemore from John’s description when they had been in Kent, she did not move for a moment, remembering the cruelties he had inflicted on her lover.
‘Do you think I don’t see you?’ said the high-pitched voice. ‘I’ll call out the guard if you don’t come down now.’
Louise came to a decision and she ran down the last few stairs. ‘Pardon! Je ne comprend pas.’
A look of annoyance crossed his plump face, and he answered in the same language, ‘Who are you, boy?’
She looked gratified, ‘Ah, you speak our tongue. I am Mistress Fetterstone’s French maid’s brother.’ She halted outside the buttery door, and knew exactly what John had meant by saying that he looked like a cherub — although she had never seen one so richly clad in velvet and ermine, and his expression at that moment was far from cherubic.
He stared at her from eyes that had the unblinking cold stare of a reptile. ‘I’ve not seen you before and maybe you’re connected with that rabble outside. You’d best come in to the parlour and I’ll check this with your master.’
‘But he’s not my master,’ she said quickly. ‘My sister and I were parted after we were taken by the English and I’ve been searching for her. We’ve arranged to meet tomorrow. I was just leaving.’ She put her hand to the buttery door and pushed, but it did not give. As she tried to open it he moved forward and seized her arm in a pincer-like grip that caused her to cry out.
‘Why such haste?’ He smiled unexpectedly as he gazed down at her. ‘You’re a pretty boy and I could be lenient with you.’ He ran his free hand over her left hip and patted her buttock.
Her fear spiralled and she struggled. ‘Let me go, you dog,’ she demanded in a voice that trembled despite her efforts to control it.
The grip on her arm tightened painfully. ‘Come, boy,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no need for you to be frightened of me, but I’ll have to lock you up and ask you some questions later. It’ll be up to you whether that involves inflicting more pain. But if you please me — then it won’t.’ His free hand wandered to her buttocks again and he pinched her.
She bit back a cry but she realised suddenly what kind of perversion he might have in mind and she tried to inflict steel into her quivering nerves. She continued struggling but his grip did not shift as he began to force her along the passage.
Louise remembered the dagger in her belt and reached for it. As she brought her arm up, the torchlight flashed on the blade, and he cursed, and tried to turn her so that she would injure herself. She only just averted doing so but instead of plunging the knife into his arm she slashed across his wrist and the blade cut deep into his flesh. A frightened yell escaped him as blood spurted out. She was shocked by the speed with which it gushed, but with a final effort she freed herself and ran in the direction of the front entrance. Just as she reached the door, it opened and two men entered.
The three of them stared at each other and both men swore, before one of them relieved her of the bloodstained dagger.
‘Oh, John, thank God!’ She flung herself at him. ‘I think you’d better come and see,’ she stammered. ‘I think I might have killed him!’
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, holding her tightly. ‘Killed who?’
‘The fat cherub.’ Her voice shook.
The two brothers exchanged glances. ‘Dear Lord,’ said John. ‘What did he do to you — to make you act in such a way?’
‘He captured me and thought me a boy and made a lewd suggestion. I was frightened.’
‘We’d best look,’ said Harry in a low voice.
John nodded. ‘You wait here,’ and he would have let go of her but she hung on to his arm.
‘I don’t want to be alone,’ she whispered. ‘Please, John.’
He put his arm round her and together the three of them crept along the passage until they came to Dykemore.
He was slumped at the foot of the wall in an ever-increasing pool of blood. His eyes flickered over the twins and for a moment showed astonishment, then pure hatred. Then they closed.
A white-faced Louise whispered, ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’
‘It’s all right,’ John said, his brow creasing. ‘What to do about it, that’s the question.’
‘Let’s get rid of this,’ murmured Harry, calmly wiping Louise’s dagger on a fold of Dykemore’s robe and hiding it inside his doublet, before taking a jewelled-hilted blade from the dead body, dipping it in the blood and folding Dykemore’s fingers about it. ‘He tried to defend himself from some revengeful vagabonds, who entered through the front door,’ he said quietly.
‘Who’ll believe that?’ whispered Louise. ‘Surely someone would have heard them?’
‘You’ll be surprised at how many will be prepared to take it as true,’ said John, under his breath. ‘And we’ve entered and nobody came out to see who we are. Where are the Fetterstones?’
‘In that room where you saw Dykemore the last time, I think,’ she said softly. ‘The servants are in the room next to the buttery.’
He nodded and looked at Harry. ‘I want Louise out of here. Best if nobody knows she’s been in the house.’
Harry nodded. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Take her into the stables. I’ll meet you there. I’ll try and get rid of the Fetterstones.’
‘John!’ Louise clung to his arm. ‘Marguerite’s here. I’ve spoken to her.’
He swore softly. ‘Do you think she’ll mention you to the Fetterstones?’
‘I don’t know. She talked about getting me a job with them,’ she said quietly. ‘She doesn’t want to come with me and I don’t know what to do.’
He stared at her his expression grim. ‘Get yourself out of here. I’ll have a talk with her. Didn’t you have some female garb in your saddlebag? Get it and change — and Harry, get us a room at the inn. If Louise’s sister mentions her to the Fetterstones, she’ll refer to her as her sister. But don’t leave Louise on her own. She can’t be trusted.’
Harry grinned and agreed, and at any other time Louise might have argued with John but she was still in a state of shock and she went with Harry peaceably.
John waited till they were out of sight and then he banged on doors and shouted, ‘Thieves, murder!’
Both doors opened and the Fetterstones and the servants came out. ‘I’ve just come home,’ John said in shocked and bewildered tones, ‘to discover that there’s been some kind of fight going on outside and now here’s Dykemore dead.’
‘Heaven preserve us,’ cried Mistress Fetterstone, her mouth gaping open. ‘Thieves must have got in!’ She clung to her husband’s arm, swaying and averting her gaze from the body on the floor.
‘Probably thought the house would be empty with my being away,’ John said, his expression grave.
‘We heard noises and fighting,’ said Mr Fetterstone in a strangled tone, ‘but he told us to ignore it — that his men would see to all.’
‘They probably tried their best,’ said John, shaking his head. ‘There’s several dead men outside, wearing Dykemore’s livery. But whoever’s responsible has gone now.’ He turned to a couple of the menservants. ‘Do you think that you could do something about removing your master’s body? It’s upsetting for Mistress Fetterstone to see it lying here — and if one of you could clear up the mess on the floor … ’ They murmured agreement. ‘In the morning we’ll have to inform the sheriff. But it looks clear enough to me what took place here.’
While the servants did as John ordered he gave his attention to the Fetterstones. ‘I suggest, sir, that you take your good wife upstairs and make her lie down. Perhaps in the morning you can tell me what business you were transacting here in my house.’
Mr Fetterstone cleared his throat. ‘He said that you wouldn’t be coming back, Master Milburn. Said t
here were fears of your being lost at sea.’
‘Rumours of my death have been exaggerated before,’ said John softly, and he held the other man’s gaze steady till it dropped.
‘I think we’d best pack and leave this minute,’ said Mr Fetterstone. ‘We’ll find an inn.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ said John, relenting, and considering that he would not want them staying in the inn where Louise was. ‘You’ll be needed as witnesses. You’re welcome to stay. I have some matters to attend to myself with Master Fulcombe down the street.’ He paused. ‘Is there anybody else in the house?’
‘My wife’s maid. French girl,’ said Mr Fetterstone. ‘She’s upstairs.’
‘Can you send her down without telling her anything about this? It might upset her. I’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs.’
The man nodded and hurried his wife upstairs. As soon as they were out of sight the servants set about their gruesome task, and John walked along the passageway. A few moments later Marguerite came down the stairs.
She stared in astonishment at John. ‘We’ve met before. You’re the man who abducted me.’
He said gravely, ‘Your sister made the same mistake. I’m his brother. I’m John Milburn and I’ve been helping your sister find you.’
‘She mentioned a John.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand all this. She said that you were her lover.’
‘I love your sister, and if you love her then you won’t mention to anyone that she’s been in this house this night.’
‘But why? I don’t understand!’
He took her hand and smiled, and she understood why her sister had set aside all her principles. ‘Louise will explain in the morning.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Now I have to go. Don’t forget what I said. You haven’t seen your sister.’
Before Marguerite could ask any questions he had gone striding up the passageway.
Louise had been more than a little anxious as she entered the Fulcombes’ stables with Harry. Her saddlebag still hung on a peg on the wall and she took it down. He had left her to go and book a room at the inn and explain to Master Fulcombe and Peter what had happened to Dykemore. Now she changed swiftly into the russet gown she had been wearing when she had left John’s father’s house.
