Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  Sarah had spoken with venom. She turned and ran into the street.

  * * * * *

  "The man has lost his wits," said Sim, impatiently.

  "Perhaps, Master Cantle, but he will not be moved. He wishes you to question this woman and, believe me, if you could do more, I think he would wish that too." The Clerk of the Quarter Sessions was as irritated as Sim. All had gone well so far at the sessions. The business had been transacted in a good-humoured fashion; all the visiting Justices had praised the town and the parading of the train-band; indeed every activity that the Justices had witnessed so far had met with their approval. Guildern was on show. And now, the Puritan Surveyor of Highways had stepped forward to play his habitual role as its paid nuisance.

  "This is not an assize; and even if it were, he cannot simply bring people for presentment without the correct process," said Sim. "Nor can he interfere with the activities of this Quarter Sessions. We have enough business to deal with this time."

  "I understand, Master Cantle, but he insists that there has been deception and that he will be heard."

  "Then I will hear him in private," said Sim, casting a glance at two of his fellow Justices who had overheard the conversation. "Are you in accord with that, Brother Justices?"

  They looked at each other and shrugged. "It may be a matter of something and nothing - or some significance," said one. "It should not take long to assess that, I think? As we are already down in number, since your cousin cannot be with us."

  "I suppose not," said Sim, crossly. "This man is a thorn in the flesh. If he would but concentrate on his tasks as a surveyor of highways - that is surely responsibility enough. However, I would rather see him privately than have him begin to make complaint or start praying when he reports to us on his duties, as he must do later. Where can I speak with him?"

  "There is the Clerk of the Market's room, Master Cantle. It is not very private, but it should suffice."

  "Very well."

  Gideon Cowbury, the Puritan Surveyor of Highways (the term 'Puritan' having become attached to his title by almost everyone who knew him), was irascible and troublesome by nature. Religion simply provided a justification for his critical temper. He was hard on his family, his long suffering wife and six children. It was, apparently, about the eldest of these that he wished to talk to Sim.

  "Greetings to ye, Master Cantle," he began, and although the words were civil enough, there was already that rising tone of indignation. Sim took him in without pleasure.

  "Well, what is it? As you know, Cowbury, there is much to do at the Quarter Sessions and our time is short."

  "Aye, well, I would not have bothered you if I did not consider it important."

  Sim wanted to say, "I'll decide that," but kept his silence and waited.

  "It's about my daughter, Agnes," said Cowbury. "My eldest girl. She thinks she's to be wed ..." he almost spat the word out, "... and never a word she told me about it!"

  "I don't see what that can possibly ..."

  Cowbury held up his hand. "She'd never have got this notion, to go behind her father's back, if it hadn't been for that woman at the inn. Giving her ideas - and worse. The woman's a witch and it's about time the world knew it!"

  "What woman? Who's a witch? Speak clearly, Cowbury. And if that's an accusation against anyone, it's a very serious one indeed."

  "You don't need to tell me it's serious!" said Cowbury, who was clearly enraging himself. Sim watched him with interest. There was a certain fascination in watching the man working up to the white heat of Puritan indignation. Fascination, yes; but was there any substance? Sim thought not. "There is a woman staying at the Goat in Chains ... I am surprised you have not heard wind of this yet, you being a justice and all ..." Cowbury could not resist an unpleasant dig at Sim which Sim strove to ignore.

  "... and this woman seemingly has bewitched my daughter ..."

  "Bewitched? Or deceived?" Simon broke in suddenly and firmly. "You've mentioned both deception and witchcraft - which is it? And is this what your daughter has told you?"

  "No, not Agnes, of course not! She's told me naught, she'll tell me naught!" Cowbury was blustering but he seemed to have been put off step slightly. "Bewitched, deceived, why not both?"

  The Clerk of the Market was dealing with some matter with one of the market sellers and both were evidently trying hard to pretend they could not hear what was happening.

  "Quiet, man!" ordered Sim. "If your daughter has told you nothing, how do you know anything of this? Cool your head and tell me slowly, what facts you know."

  Lowering his voice somewhat, the Surveyor of Highways began, "Of late my daughter Agnes has been out of sorts ... secretive like ..."

  "How old is she?" cut in Sim.

  "Seventeen," said Cowbury.

  "My mother used to say the same of me when I was that age," said Sim crisply. "Did your mother not say it of you? Or your father?"

  "No," said Cowbury. Sim looked at him in some disbelief.

  "Hmm," said Sim. "You've always tended to virtue then? Never mind, man, carry on."

  "Well," said Cowbury, a little taken aback by Sim's response, "she has been secretive and when I or her mother asked her what was wrong, she would just reply 'oh, nothing' or 'tis naught' just in that tone, like, so I asked her to pray in the hope she would tell me what was in her mind ..."

  "I see," said Sim.

  "... so it's not from her that we've heard the news that she intends to wed with Robert Landers, the farmer's son ..."

  "I know the family. They are hard working and cheerful, yeomen stock of substance. I think I know Robert ... he would be twenty now? I'd say that was a good match for anyone."

  "I'll not say it's a bad one," said Cowbury. The man was transparent - in his face were wrestling pride at the idea of his daughter making a good match, and anger at fatherly control transgressed. "If she - and he - had come to me first ..."

  "Well, youth can be impetuous, can it not?" said Sim. "But - well, never mind that I said that. Please continue your tale, and make it brief if you can. How did you find this out?"

  "I was told," said Cowbury, with a black look on his face, "by another girl with an interest in this youth. She said - this young woman said - that she thought my daughter had been bewitched by this woman at the inn. That she had been giving advice and who knows what else to those who went to visit her."

  "What else?" said Sim. "Love charms? A mommet stuck with pins to finish off a rival?"

  "I know naught of what such as she does! But it's ungodly, that I do know!"

  "So the facts are this," said Sim. "Your daughter is betrothed - without your consent, except you do not know this, because she has not told you - and another girl, not entirely uninterested in the situation it seems, has told you that this betrothal (which, in other circumstances, would be an entirely appropriate one for your daughter) has been caused by ungodly means or deception?"

  Cowbury paused. Put in that way, it sounded insubstantial.

  "And that is all the proof you have of this?"

  "This other girl - she intimated that there must have been some special object or - potion, or something to bring this about," muttered Cowbury.

  "And you believed her?"

  "The truth is that my daughter thinks she's to be wed."

  "... and has not told you that. Perhaps she fears to tell you."

  That made Cowbury stop and think.

  Eventually he said, "Why, I ..." and stopped.

  Sim, seeing an opportunity to bring this to an end, without a complete loss of face for Cowbury, so that he would not pursue it further, said "Where can we find this other girl? If I question her - but without your presence. I will act then upon her knowledge if wrong has been done."

  "She lives at Staplehall, with her father and mother. They both labour in the dairy and the yard there." Staplehall, a small estate, was occupied by an elderly gentleman and his wife.

  "Staplehall? That is all of three miles and I'm not abo
ut to send a messenger or a horse about this matter. However ..." Simon thought quickly. "This woman at the inn. Who is she? And which inn?"

  "Oh, they call her Mistress ... Meg ... or some such. She seems to have some sort of reputation for wisdom, or cunning if you prefer. Ungodliness, I call it." Cowbury was more subdued now. "The Goat in Chains. And that's an ungodly inn sign, if you ask ..."

  Sim interrupted quickly. "I will send for her and speak with her. If she has been dealing in any potions or nonsense of that type you can be assured that we will act against her - if there is proof of it." Sim spoke the last few words slowly and clearly, looking directly at Cowbury, confident that this was now a matter of little importance.

  "Aye, well," said Cowbury. "I will pray for a righteous outcome to this."

  "I would speak with your daughter, if I were you," said Sim. "And - gently."

  The Clerk of the Market found a lad to send to the inn. Whilst he was waiting, Sim watched the coming and going that always accompanied preparation for the fortnightly market day. There was even more activity because this market was also the first fair of the year. Even at this early stage of spring - or late stage of winter - there would be items for sale. A bit of hay changing hands, in the hope that the grass would be through soon. Cheeses, hams and ales. There would be a few horses for sale. It was impossible that Bayard would be found there - or next to impossible. Any horse seller had to find two people who would vouch for him and his sale, like all sales, would be recorded. Of course, there were always a few rogues who would find a secluded location to sell without vouchers - a barn or an outhouse - and always a few people who would take the risk of purchasing from them. But not, thought Sim, a horse of Bayard's calibre, who would certainly attract attention.

  Although there was now quite a stream of coming and going, for the Quarter Sessions and in preparation for the fair, there was no mistaking the woman he awaited, when she arrived. She had the indefinable quality called 'presence'. Like Bayard, people would always be drawn to look at her, if she wanted them to do so. However, she moved very quietly and slowly and Sim imagined that if she chose, she could also make herself scarcely visible. Her woollen kirtle was of a dark stuff - not black, he thought, but perhaps very dark blue, with subtle silk decoration - and she wore a white collar that was respectable and sober. Over the kirtle she wore a full sleeved gown of a greenish blue. They were not a countrywoman's clothes. A strand of red hair was visible on her temple under the hat and coif she wore.

  It seemed that she recognised him, too, for she walked straight across the stone flags to him. Possibly he was easy to pick out, gowned and magisterial. As she came towards him, he rose, inclined his head, and said, with a gesture, "Please - be seated. I thank you for ... accepting this ... " he could not think how to describe it.

  "I was ... curious," was all the woman said in response.

  "Madam," said Sim, sternly, "this is not a court of law, but an informal enquiry; but I must make it plain that there have been some ... assertions made about you. That is why I ... requested that you come here." In fact, now curiosity was pricking him, too, for she was difficult to place. It was hard to tell her age or her status. She moved with confidence and spoke clearly. Her dress was good, but not opulent. If pressed, he would have thought her the wife, or even widow, of a merchant or man of status; except it was hard to imagine that she was anyone's wife or widow and they were not mourning garments. There was something independent about her.

  He continued, looking closely at her, "You are staying at the Goat in Chains, I believe?"

  "That's correct ... sir," she said. The "sir" came a second afterwards, as though she was not used to using the word.

  "I am Master Simon Cantle," said Sim. He hoped that had not sounded too encouraging, too sympathetic. The woman shifted slightly forward and moved her hand.

  "Yes, I am staying at the inn - Master Cantle."

  "And ... " Sim paused. He found that he was looking at her and that she looked very coolly back at him. He wondered what she saw.

  Meg saw a small blond man with a neat beard and sharp blue eyes. She was summing him up, although Sim did not know this, as peppery, loyal, incisive and rational. She thought he could be impatient and was probably in haste to get back to the matter of the Quarter Sessions.

  "My name is Margaret ... Loveday."

  Sim's eyes narrowed slightly. Was she jesting with him? Her face remained completely serious. He let it pass.

  " ... if I may ask, where have you travelled from? And where are you travelling to?"

  Meg was not in any doubt about the reason for the questions. He was politely interrogating her about her background and intentions.

  "Sir - Master Cantle - I am travelling between kinsmen. I have been staying with family in Shropshire and I am now on my way north, to visit with ... others, and I paused awhile here."

  Sim said, "I see. And you are travelling alone?", thinking that there might be more to come and wondering about this woman's family. She paused as though she was thinking before replying.

  "With my serving man - Matthew - who is away from this town at present - on an errand. I ... am awaiting his return before I ... "

  Sim wondered about her answer. Had it rung completely true? "Ah, I see. Forgive me for this next question, Madam. May I ask: how you are supported? By what means?"

  There was a pause. Sim watched her lower her eyes and then look back at him, full in the face.

  "Master Cantle - I do have some means, although my family lost a great deal in the Nantwich fire." She paused and seemed to stumble, as though losing her thought. Sim watched her closely. This might be genuine, or it might an be extremely skilful performance.

  "Ah, I see," said Sim, again. "Then ... do you have some document to make demand for glimmer? Is that how you shift?" Losing one's belongings through fire was a regular enough occurrence; so much so that formal means existed to raise money for the victims, including documentation that would support their requests for charity.

  "I do not, Sir," said the woman, through slightly gritted teeth, as though offended. "I am fortunate in having kin and friends who assist me; and I have my wits and skills to add to that."

  "What sort of skills?" asked Sim bluntly. The woman waved her hand as though slightly embarrassed.

  "I ... have some skill in a small way with scents; I make washes and pomanders; vinegars against sickness, and pillows that aid restfulness and ease the heart and suchlike."

  "Hmmm. Nothing more?"

  "No sir. What more should there be?"

  "Indeed. Where do you find the ingredients for these receipts?"

  "I have acquaintances in London from whom I can purchase the best ingredients. Some items I can carry with me, if I travel; others I can send for, as required. Some, my relatives keep stored for me." It was all plausible.

  "I imagine that most of your clients are maids?" asked Sim.

  "Indeed, sir, it is true that young maids - of all stations - are my clients, for the most part. Although in London, the young gentlemen too ... "

  Sim held up a hand. "That, I believe. It being the case that young women form your custom, in the main, I imagine that many of them are in hopes to impress their young men?"

  Meg smiled, for the first time. "That is usually the case."

  "Do any of them ever ask for ... other things? Advice, perhaps?"

  "They are their own best advisors in love, if they would listen to their hearts more often."

  A subtle answer, but brisk and decisively given. It made Sim pause for a moment.

  Meg spoke again. "If someone has said otherwise, Master Cantle, then I think it only just that ... "

  "Madam - Mistress Loveday - as a justice, I am bound to investigate claims that I think may have some substance to them. It has been suggested to me that there is more to your activities than the simple wares you have described."

  Sim was interested in finding out more about this woman, but he was also conscious that other matters we
re waiting for him and that those were of greater importance. He was also capable of seeing the situation for what it was; a maid, crossed in love, had thought to have some advantage over a rival and discovered that was not the case; and had sought to find a way to destroy the budding love affair whilst blaming another for its cause. The girl who had been passed over had wit enough to work out a way to do that, using the Surveyor of Highways, who, happily for her, was a man of a certain temper and also the father of her competitor. This girl, he thought, would also have the intelligence to see that she did not implicate herself in any way. Sim thought that this Mistress Loveday was not, perhaps, as guileless as she seemed; but he also thought that there was nothing of substance for prosecution.

  "Master Cantle," said Meg, "I believe that in a court of law - which this is not, of course, as you have said - it is the case that one accused of - actions of the type which I think you are intending - may bring a compurgator to testify for them?"

  Sim was frowning. "That is so. I have heard of cases of - to put it bluntly - cunning-folk, or so called wise men and women finding compurgators when they stand accused of following 'the persuasions of the devil' as is no doubt what our good puritan would say. But what signifies that? This is not a court of law, nor do I see any reason for further investigation into your affairs - at present, let us say. But I would caution you to pay strict attention to your behaviour, that it does not stray beyond those simples and confections you describe."

  Passing over the matter of the cunning-folk, Meg said, "Sir, I am known by some of substance in this town who will vouch for my behaviour. And that is of importance to me, for I do not wish to carry a stain on my name."

  Sim thought. Then he shrugged. "If it pleases you, but it is of little importance to me. I am content that you leave now, with my caution. If you really wish me to interview one who will speak in your favour, then give me a name and if it is someone who can be fetched quickly, I will speak to them." He had no idea why he said this. There was absolutely no necessity for it. However, there was some sort of pride in her bearing that he understood. If she was truly what she claimed to be, then she was someone who had found her circumstances reduced, through no personal fault. He knew from experience what that meant - a good name and character took on greater significance when wealth was not there to back it up.