Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  "Choose."

  Davey looked at Matthew with uncertainty for an instant. Then he put Cornelius back onto the ground and chose Matthew's right hand. Matthew opened it. It was empty. Davey was astonished ... he had been sure ...

  "Never mind. Try the other one."

  Davey tapped the other one and Matthew opened it. It was empty too. Matthew grinned and reaching forward, apparently withdrew the coin from behind Davey's left ear.

  "Here. You had it all along, so you keep it. Put it towards your dog. One day."

  Davey's eyes were round with surprise. He took the coin, clutching it tightly as he wondered where he could hide it.

  "How did ..." he began, but Matthew shook his head.

  "My secret; your sixpence," he said. Then he grinned, beautifully. Davey had the courage to ask a question that he had wanted to ask since Meg and Matthew arrived at the Goat in Chains.

  "Is it ... is it true ..." he was almost stammering, "that you are an Egyptian? A ... gypsy?"

  Matthew shook his head. "No, it is not true."

  "But you're not ... not a Spaniard? Jacob said you knew about Spanish wine. He said you had very good judgement."

  Matthew couldn't help laughing. "There are many ways of learning about wine. But no, no. I'm not a Spaniard. I come from what your people call Virginia."

  "Across the ocean? You're a savage?" Davey's astonishment grew.

  "Perhaps. Grrrrrrr..." and Matthew growled at him, showing his teeth, then turned it into a grin.

  "Are you a cannibal?"

  Matthew pondered this, rubbing his chin. "Hmmmm... I may have eaten people just once; there was a time when I was really hungry and ..." Davey tried to work out whether Matthew was jesting or not. Then his curiosity overcame him again.

  "Where did you learn about wines? Where did you learn English? Where is your family?" The questions tumbled out in a rush.

  "It would take a long time to tell you the full story, and I expect we'd hear from Bess long before I finished. I was somewhat older than you, when they captured me ..."

  "Did Sir Walter capture you?" Even a boy as lowly as Davey had heard of the great Ralegh.

  Matthew said, smiling, "No, not the great Sir Walter. How old are you, Davey?"

  Davey thought. "Don't know," he finally answered. This time it was Matthew who was surprised, briefly. Then he continued.

  "I was a few years older than you are now, I think, and I strayed too far on the shore. Some Spaniards who'd come ashore from their fishing boat found me and put me aboard ship, with the idea, it seems, of making a show of their captive when they returned home. Before that could happen I was taken up by the Jesuits who wanted to convert me ..."

  "That's where you learned about wines!" interrupted Davey. "Is it true that the Jesuits have horns like the devil?"

  Matthew tried not to laugh. "Not that I know of. I learned a lot about their religion as well as their wines. And many other things too. They thought they heard me say 'Temui, temui' and took it as some sign from God...perhaps I was saying 'temeo', they thought. Then they decided that I would be called Timothy, Timoteo ..."

  "They are cruel," said Davey. "And they want to bring back popery."

  "There are good and bad people everywhere, Davey," said Matthew. "They were not cruel, not to me, the ones I knew anyway. They wanted me to learn their religion and I was willing to listen. But ... before you ask, I am not a Papist."

  "But why are you called Matthew now? And where did you learn English?"

  "Ah, well now, when Drake sacked San Domingo ..." Davey's eyes widened further ...

  "Davey! Where are you, boy! Blast you, I need you here! Davey!"

  Bess was calling from the kitchen. Matthew and Davey looked at one another.

  "Best go, boy," said Matthew. "She's not always bad, is she?"

  Davey shook his head.

  "She can be kind ... sometimes."

  "I'll come in with you," said Matthew. "We'll say I asked you to run an errand for me. And Davey ... it's not a lie, I might need you to run an errand sometime."

  After soothing Bess down with a very charming apology for appropriating her kitchen boy, which left Bess smiling and Davey looking at him with gratitude, Matthew headed towards the stairs of the inn with Cornelius at his heels. Then a thought struck him and he backtracked into the tap room where Jacob was training one of his younger brothers in the art of the tapster.

  Feigning casualness, Matthew asked, "How is that groom proving?"

  Jacob looked at him. "Who, Jostler? Oh, he only hung round for a day or so. Then he said he was off to apply to Sir George Paston for a place. Sir George has quite a reputation as a horseman."

  "Ah," said Matthew. "Only my mistress was thinking of buying a little nag but she's changed her mind anyway. I thought perhaps he knew about horses."

  "Oh, he knew about horses all right," said Jacob. "He did a good enough job while he was here."

  "Hmm," said Matthew. Then he left Jacob to his work, scooped up Cornelius and went up the creaking stairs two at a time with the dog in his arms.

  Meg was seated at the table, turning over some cards on which were curious images. The casement was open and some of the glorious spring air was refreshing the room. Each time she turned a card, the emerald in her ring caught the light. This morning it seemed to have captured some of the brightness and clarity of the spring day. She didn't look up when Matthew and Cornelius came in. Cornelius sprang down onto the bench beside her and put a paw on the table. She smiled at him.

  "A good walk? No bothersome dog pack pursuing you both down the street, so that Matthew had to hold you up over his head, Brother Nose-all?"

  "All's quiet," said Matthew.

  "But you do have something to tell me - else why would you run up the stairs at such a pace?"

  Matthew grinned and sat down. "Bess is in a temper."

  "Ha!" Meg continued looking at the cards.

  "And Davey the kitchen lad pays for it."

  "Poor boy."

  "And I think we can spare a sixpence?"

  "We can. Brother Nose-all will just have less cheese to eat."

  "And you don't need a little nag."

  "I don't ... but ..."

  "He's ..." Matthew searched for the cant word, "... scoured. He's gone."

  "He's gone," repeated Meg, with a raise of the eyebrow at the cards. "But where has he gone ..."

  "Jacob said," began Matthew nonchalantly, "that 'Jostler was off to apply to Sir George Paston for a place. Sir George has quite a reputation as a horseman.'"

  "Oh," said Meg, long and slowly, smiling at the cards. "Has he, now."

  There was a pause whilst Meg shuffled the cards, spread them, drew them together and then cut them. She turned over the top card and said, without seeing it, but looking directly at Matthew: "And there he is: the Trickster." She tapped the card with a finger nail. On it, a man in a fantastically coloured costume decorated with gold was juggling with some batons. They looked at him. Matthew thought that it was possible that in the slim figure, with its straight hay coloured hair and upraised eyes, there was a look of Jostler.

  "It might be."

  "It's good to be amongst friends here, is it not," said Meg, stacking the cards again. "We can keep up with all the .... news. That's why I've always had a fondness for Guildern." They looked at one another and laughed.

  "Well now, what to do," said Meg, scratching Cornelius on the back of the neck. He grumbled appreciatively.

  "We could view the house of the lawyer, the one that's for letting."

  "Yes. We shall do that. Today." Meg was suddenly brisk. "With or without a horse."

  * * * * *

  A little later, Peter Siskin, who had remembered the few pence that he still had in his purse, was on his way to the Goat in Chains. This time he intended to come away with some serious knowledge about this woman. And he hoped to encounter Jostler. Peter had been left with the uncomfortable feeling that somehow he was still in Jostler's debt al
though he had made it clear that he wanted no part of Jostler's scheme. What Jostler had said had been running in Peter's head ever since that recent evening at the Widow Patterson's. Jostler had made his proposal sound so easy, so harmless, almost a prank. No one would be any worse off afterwards, apart from Sir George; and he could afford to lose a little money. He would hardly feel it. That's what Jostler had said, anyway.

  Peter had rarely felt so uncomfortable in his life. He had never really been involved in any unlawful behaviour and he genuinely felt that he helped people in his work. However, he knew in his heart that he was tempted by Jostler's plan. That was why he had to find Jostler, to tell him that he would have nothing to do with it. The conversation between Peter and Jostler, that night at the alehouse, was going round in circles in Peter Siskin's mind. He could recall it vividly, the room filling more and more with smoke, Jostler's eyes becoming more intense, bloodshot with tobacco and drink.

  "It can't fail, I'm telling you. What's to fail? Just your nerve. Lose your nerve, you've lost everything."

  "But ..." Peter had said, and stopped.

  "But nothing," said Jostler in an off hand way. "Yer either in, or yer out. Which is it to be?"

  Peter had said nothing. This was where it became a bit hazy. He remembered Jostler nodding at him as though Peter had agreed to something, which he hadn't. But not having any idea of how Jostler and his crew behaved - and being aware that he was in the company of a great rogue - Peter knew he would not feel comfortable until he had met Jostler again to make it clear that he was not part of Jostler's plan.

  And so it was, that as he arrived at the Goat in Chains, he saw, walking away down one of the nearby lanes, two people that he instinctively knew were "The Woman" and her servant. She was tall, slender, soberly dressed and with a scarf across her face. She wore a hat like a man's and she walked with purpose. Almost alongside her, on the streetward side, walked a slightly taller figure, her servant. He was neatly dressed and carried a small dog in the curve of one arm and a staff in the other hand. It was nothing ... just a woman, her servant and her little dog, with a stout stick for fending off troublesome dogs or vagrants. There was something arresting about the figures, though; their height; their purposefulness; the curious little dog that turned its head towards him as he watched. He felt its eyes upon him and was strangely unnerved. Just a lapdog - nothing more. But why did it watch him so steadily? The figures almost seemed to glide ... no, just his overwrought mind ... it must be ...

  Peter found he was breathing more quickly than usual and his palms were sweating. He steadied himself and tried to breathe deeply. He had been overcome with a strong desire to turn and make haste in the opposite direction. Then his reason prevailed. If they were walking away from the inn, now was surely the best time to make his enquiries and to see if he could find Jostler.

  To find himself approaching the Goat in Chains twice in one week was unusual for Peter, even though it was a respectable inn and he knew the people there by reputation. He had occasionally drunk in the taproom, served by Jacob, but he was not a regular visitor. Peter had been fortunate in his uncle's reputation; the business had come to him and so far he had proved he was worthy of his inheritance. He had an excellent memory and he gathered knowledge from everyone he met.

  He learned from the inn porter that Jacob's parents were away at present, visiting a sick relative. So if he wanted to find out more, it was Jacob he would need to talk to: Jacob, or one of the stablehands. There was little point in talking to any of the maids or Bess the cook, whose fearsome reputation was as well known in Guildern as was her skill at cooking.

  Peter wondered how he could bring up the subject of Jostler, without simply visiting the inn stable and finding himself confronted by the reality of the man. He wanted time to prepare for that. Then he remembered Jostler's suggestion that he needed a little horse. That was it ... of course ... he would mention that to Jacob. Now all he needed was to think of a good reason to discuss "The Woman" with Jacob. Anything that did not suggest in any way that Peter was concerned about her skills and the subsequent loss of his trade. He needed to avoid giving that impression.

  He entered the tap room as nonchalantly as he could, nodded to Jacob and a lad of about twelve, whom he took to be his brother. He needn't have worried about Jacob wondering at his presence there, since it was very clear that Jacob was preoccupied. He oversaw his younger brother while he fetched Peter a drink but his face remained clouded afterwards. Peter saw an opportunity.

  "A penny for your thoughts," he began, keeping his face open and guileless.

  Jacob looked at him without recognition for a moment, then his face cleared and he said, "Peter Siskin, I think? Glad to bid you welcome to the Goat in Chains. I hope you find our brew to your liking?"

  "It is good," said Peter and it was.

  "We still brew somewhat."

  "Is it your mother... who oversees it?"

  "It is." The look of preoccupation came back over Jacob's face. "And that's the trouble ... she's away with my father at present visiting an ailing relative ..."

  Peter waited. Jacob, seeming pleased to be able to unburden himself, continued, "And when my father returns I shall have to tell him that one of his measures, a silver one, is missing."

  This would be for measuring drinks, Peter thought.

  "Peter Siskin, you have skill in finding lost items I believe?" continued Jacob.

  Peter nodded but said nothing. He was thinking rapidly. He had known of instances where a maid, a servant or cook had taken something of value; but he had also known of magpies and jackdaws, with their love of shiny objects, carry off valuables to their nests. There were certainly plenty of jackdaws nesting at the inn and the surrounding buildings; one had dropped a twig on him as he came in. Then there was Jostler ... but surely he would not do anything so petty?

  Before he said anything out loud, he tried to remember everything that he knew about Jacob's family. Something was nagging at him and he knew that it was related to the missing object. It was at times like this that he just had to listen ... listen ... and somehow, from somewhere the answer would come.

  "When did you miss the measure?"

  "Just now, within the hour I think."

  Peter continued to think whilst he sipped his drink. Finally he said, watching Jacob's younger brother at work, "This would not be your youngest brother, I think?"

  Jacob looked surprised at the change of direction in the conversation.

  "No, not at all. Our little brother, Robert, is not yet two years old."

  "And he is crawling and standing? Walking?"

  Jacob looked bewildered, "Why yes, of course ... Master Siskin, it is kind of ye to take an interest in our family, but ..."

  "Was he in here this morning?"

  Light was starting to dawn on Jacob's face. "He was, with my sister Hannah ..."

  A silver cup would be a pretty toy for a baby. Peter took a chance. This was always the spine-tingling moment. Would he be proved right or wrong?

  "And perhaps he is sleeping now? I think if you search in his ..."

  "Ed!" Jacob called his brother to him. "Go and search Bobbie's cradle and see what you find."

  Edward went off at a run and was back soon, triumphantly waving the little cup.

  Relief showed all over Jacob's face. "Why, thank you Master Siskin. Here - with our thanks." And he handed Peter another drink. "It would have taken me a long time until I thought of that, what with all the work that's to be done. I doubt our parents will be back until after the Quarter Sessions."

  Peter shrugged, smiling. "Glad to be of service."

  "My grandfather used the services of your uncle, I think. One time he needed to know if he was being cheated and your uncle found out the truth - he was."

  Peter said, with humour "A family business ... like yours." They both laughed.

  "I try to keep up the reputation he made. But ..." Here he paused. He wanted to ask the question, but he was determined tha
t this time curiosity would be kept well under his control. "... I believe that there is someone staying here with you who has something of a reputation too ..." He tried to keep his voice calm, almost casual. He noted that Jacob seemed to be concentrating particularly hard on polishing the little silver cup. No-one else would have noticed, probably.

  "There," said Jacob, "that's better." He seemed not to have heard Peter's comment.

  "I'd put it somewhere safe until your father returns."

  "I will," said Jacob, making sure that he had wiped all the evidence of Bobbie's sticky fingers from the cup. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he said, "I can't talk about our guests at the inn, Master Siskin. You must understand that. If there is ... one staying with us who has a reputation for ... for ..." he looked at Peter, and Peter nodded his understanding, "... then I know naught of that. But ... the lady in question is known to my mother and father, and is very welcome here."

  Peter said, "Forgive my curiosity."

  "It's natural," said Jacob. "When you're in a similar trade. I'm curious about why the Angel charges so much for a brew that is more water than beer!" They laughed. Peter decided to change the subject.

  "Well, now, I did have a reason for visiting today." He prepared himself to sound convincing. "I had been thinking of buying a little horse and I happened to fall in with one ... Jostler ... who was working here. He seemed to know something of horses and I wanted to ask his opinion on a galloway I might have a mind to buy."

  "He's no longer working here," said Jacob. "He's gone to seek work with Sir George Paston. By his accounts, that's his usual status in the world - working for the gentry - and he has commendations."

  Peter tried not to look startled. It sounded as though Jostler was set on carrying out his scheme, alone. Peter should have felt relieved, but somehow he didn't. In fact, this put him into a very difficult position indeed. If Jostler intended to carry on, Peter felt that he should be telling the authorities about it. So ... why did he not want to do that? Peter knew why. There was something about Jostler that suggested he could be dangerous. Peter hadn't liked the sound of some of Jostler's acquaintances when he'd described them in anecdotes. In short, he knew that Jostler was a rogue and that he should be treated accordingly. His instincts told him to keep well away from this character, but if he was about to break the law then he should be given up.