Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  "Peter Siskin?" asked the girl, uncertainly.

  He was fairly certain this was to do with gaining a lover. She seemed anxious, not sly, not coy. Those who were hoping to be married and already had a suitor, generally had a more determined air about them.

  "Yes," said Peter. There was a pause. Eventually he continued, "Do you ... have a question?"

  The girl - young woman - opened her mouth and eventually said, "Yes. I ..." There was another pause.

  "Come in," said Peter, in a friendly fashion. If this was a trap then it was either so convincing that he could scarcely imagine the rogues had created it; or it was so unconvincing that it almost made him laugh.

  The young woman came into his home and looked around, almost open-mouthed. Sometimes Peter had to stop and think about how it looked to strangers. It was clean, neat and tidy; simple; and then there were all the strange oddments that had collected over the years. He supposed that it looked curious, strange and perhaps to some a little intimidating.

  "Sit down," said Peter, indicating a bench. She sat down. "How can I be of help?"

  The girl said, cautiously, as though thinking as she spoke, "It's ... my mother. She is looking for a good mouser and someone said that your cat might be having kits?"

  Peter thought that there was more to it than that, but simply replied, "She is - and she is over there. Come and see her."

  The girl came and knelt down by Tyger. She was charmed by the beautiful cat with her topaz eyes that were now looking at her with softness.

  "Will she let me stroke her?"

  "I think so," said Peter. "I am sure she will. What is your name?"

  "Sarah."

  Tyger purred as Sarah stroked her gently. "She's very pretty," she said.

  "She is. And she is also a very good mouser and so are her kittens."

  "I expect that they find homes very quickly."

  "Yes," said Peter. "But I take care where they go."

  "My mother was told that they were the best mousers in Guildern."

  "In the county, probably!" said Peter. There was another pause. Then Peter said, "Was there ... something else you wished to ask?"

  Sarah said quickly, "My mother will pay for the kitten."

  Peter brushed that aside. "Wait until they are born. Then we can talk about that. For now though, I believe there is something that you wish to ask me."

  Sarah let go a long outbreath. "Yes, there is," she said finally. She looked at Tyger's ears rather than Peter. "Elizabeth Johnson said ..."

  Peter was trying to remember who Elizabeth Johnson was, and failing. "Never mind about Elizabeth Johnson," he said. "If you have a question, simply ask it."

  "Oh," said Sarah, and there was a sobbing catch in her voice, "I can't ..." She covered her face and began to cry, noisily.

  Peter waited until the worst seemed to be over. Sarah sniffed, wiped her eyes on her sleeve and rubbed her hand across her nose. He knew she would be feeling better. He fetched her a cup of very weak ale.

  "Thank you."

  Peter waited patiently.

  When Sarah finally began to speak, the words came out hesitantly at first. Then, gaining confidence, she spoke more and more, about Robert, about Agnes, about the churchyard, her hopes, her belief that Robert loved her; finally everything flooded out, even Harry and his message, her breathlessness as she ran afterwards.

  She talked and talked and Peter listened; and said nothing. Her fear, her love and finally her anger and bitterness all poured out.

  Eventually she stopped.

  "Can you help me?" she said, looking at Peter pleadingly. "Please, can you help me to make him return to me? It's me he loves, I'm sure he does. That witch ..." her voice became venomous, "has cast a spell on him."

  Peter's face was calm and showed nothing, but he was feeling sympathy for her, and a little exasperation. He told himself that this was undoubtedly due to his recent experiences. Disappointment in love couldn't really compare with everything he'd been through. Then he considered; she was young; she was inexperienced and had probably lived all her life sheltered and cossetted by her family. This was, for her, just as terrible a feeling. He thought very deeply about what he should say to her. Finally, he said, "I am very sorry that you are so unhappy."

  Sarah looked at him gratefully. "Can you help me?"

  "I cannot help to make ... anyone ... love someone else," said Peter truthfully.

  Sarah looked down, a frown her face. "Then you cannot help me," she said and her voice was petulant. Peter waited.

  After a while, Sarah said, with a threat of tears again, "Oh, but they'll all be laughing at me now! You see - I'm already seventeen! I'll be eighteen in January ..."

  Peter understood. Most girls married early and, ridiculous though it was to him, Sarah was already imagining that she was too old to wed and preparing for life as a spinster. He wanted to smile, but didn't.

  "Firstly, I am sure that no-one is laughing at you."

  "Oh, they will be! They will be!" said Sarah, passionately.

  "No, they will not. Don't forget that you have good friends and family that care for you. They are not laughing at you."

  That made Sarah think. "I'm sure my mother would want me to wed Robert."

  "I'm sure your mother will be sympathetic. I'm sure she will want you to be happy, whoever you marry. Did Robert ever say anything to you, give you reason to believe that ..."

  "We had an understanding! I only want to marry Robert!"

  "Sarah," said Peter, seriously, "Robert is engaged to another. Can't you accept that?"

  "No!" said Sarah, angrily. Then, as though heartbroken, "No ... I can't." She sighed. "I suppose ... no, he didn't really ever say anything, but I just thought ... the way he was, I knew he liked me. I thought ..."

  Peter wanted to say that she was very young and that life would have so much in store for her. He couldn't do that, though, he knew that would be amongst the worst of things he could say. Firstly, she did not consider herself to be young, not as far as marriage went; secondly, he knew that at this moment only one thing mattered to her and nothing he might say would change that.

  "Sarah," he said, "I know it is hard for you to bear now, but ... it will become easier." He wanted to say, "Trust me, I know it will become easier," but he knew, again, that would not be what she wanted to hear. Alone in her grief, if she could not hear what she wanted to hear, then she would not be interested in anything that touched on anyone else. Words were so important, he knew that and never more so than at a time like this.

  "Where do you live?" he asked. Sarah told him.

  "That's a long way off and it's growing late. I will walk back at least some of the way with you."

  Sarah nodded dumbly. It was slowly becoming clear that she would not find any magical answers here. In her confusion she had run through so many possibilities in her mind, positive and negative; but she had never considered that she would simply have to carry on, seeing Robert and Agnes; listening to the others at the well talking about them; hearing the banns read out in church; sitting in front of the fire with her parents whilst she knew that Robert and Agnes were setting up home together. No, just carrying on as though nothing had happened was intolerable.

  As they left Peter's house, he was glad to see that one of the Watch was making his usual round. He would ask him to take especial care whilst he walked Sarah homewards.

  At first, little was said. It would be a magnificent evening, between day and starlight. There would be no moon until late but the air was full of the scents and sounds of spring. As they walked, Peter hoped that Sarah was feeling better. He certainly was; the fresh air, walking - and her company, despite her sorrow - were refreshing him.

  "Are you ... how are you now?" he asked.

  "Better, thank you," said Sarah, and her voice sounded happier. "I feel better."

  "Sarah ..." he began, choosing his words carefully as he helped her round a muddy patch in the lane, "I promise you that you will feel much
better in time. And time is something that you have in plenty, despite what you think others might say. You will wed, and you will be happy. That much I do know."

  Sarah was listening, which was all he could hope for at the moment.

  "Thank you," she said, quietly, after a while. As she looked at him, he wondered what she saw. Not a young man, or at least not young in her understanding, but a thoughtful and serious one, perhaps. And a kind one, he hoped.

  And somehow, he knew that he too would be happy again. One day, maybe not soon, but one day. And when that day happened, it would not be disrespectful to Isabella, or her memory, for in a way, she would have made it possible.

  * * * * *

  The rogues had broken away the bottom of one board which allowed them to lever out, with concerted effort, the full length of two others. They had not made much noise whilst doing this and had encouraged the Frater to mumble one of his songs with the largest number of verses to help cover up their activity. The sound was more like a regular moaning, or a cow lowing, than singing.

  The Sad Mort slipped through the space easily and quietly into the stable. Under instruction, she stole to the stable door and peeped out. Seeing no-one there, she ran back and told Clink.

  "You get through as well, Ruby girl," he whispered. Ruby squeezed through, crushing her breasts as she did so and complaining as loudly as she dared. He heard the Sad Mort say something in a low voice.

  "Two lads outside but they've just gone back into the house, Clink," Ruby confirmed.

  "You can get through," said Clink to the Frog, who eased himself through the gap in the boards gratefully.

  "Just leaves him, then," said Clink grimly, looking at the Frater, who he was almost certain would not fit through. Clink was equally certain that he himself could get through the gap, although it would need a bit of effort. He hesitated for a while and then made a decision. He was half way through the gap when he heard a creaking noise and the door of the lockup opened a chink. Ruby's arm inserted itself, frantically gesturing.

  "Hurry, hurry!" she hissed. Clink squeezed back through and, grabbing the old man, hustled him out of the lockup and into the stable next door. Ruby dropped the bar on the lockup door back into place and rushed in after him. They closed the doors. The Frog and the Sad Mort were waiting.

  "How'd ye manage that?" said Clink, admiringly.

  Ruby tipped her head towards the Sad Mort.

  "Moll!" she hissed, grinning. "She found a stone and sneaked out whilst the two watchmen had their backs turned and chucked it at a window above the wall there! They looked up and then ran off to see what was happening. Watchmen, my arse!"

  "Let's scour," said Clink. "Put those boards back and cover that broken one as well as y'can. There's straw there."

  "Me ass," said the Frater, suddenly coming to life again. They looked at the donkey, which was pretending it hadn't noticed them.

  "Now, how in hell ..." said Clink. He looked around and then up. A ladder led to a hay loft where there was some old harness hanging. Climbing the ladder, he peered into the loft and saw there was a double door at the end through which the fodder was loaded. He walked over and opened the door a chink. It faced onto a quiet and filthy alley. He looked for the pulley that should have been used to raise the hay but there was none; perhaps they just stood on the back of a haycart to pitch it in. He grabbed at some rope that he found near to him, leaving some plough lines hanging up because they were too thin.

  Ruby watched him. "For God's sake hurry, Clink! They might come back any minute and if that bastard of a Puritan gets 'old of me again I'll stab 'im if I can find a cuttle and I don't care if I swing for it!"

  "Ruby," said Clink, sliding down the ladder in an instant, "D'ye remember the time we raised that hogshead of ale on a rope over the heads of those sailors and they didn't see us do it?"

  "Don't I just. But ye don't mean ..."

  "Maybe I do," said Clink. They looked at the ass and it looked back at them, chewing anxiously.

  "Me ass," said the Frater.

  "Oh no, Clink, y'bastard," said Ruby, falling into helpless laughter which she suppressed by putting a hand over her mouth. "There's not time."

  They looked over at the Sad Mort. Her shoulders were shaking with laughter. The joy of finding themselves free, even if only temporarily, was carrying them along. This was not the first time they'd experienced that sudden joyous madness. In an instant, a rope was around the donkey's body, behind its front legs and they were coaxing it towards the ladder. The Frog and Ruby pushed the protesting Frater up the ladder ahead of them.

  "Stow it you old fool!" hissed Ruby.

  "Keep feeding it, Moll!" ordered Clink. The Sad Mort kept stuffing bundles of hay into the ass's mouth to stop it braying.

  Somehow, half pushing and half pulling, they got the donkey up the ladder and into the loft where they hustled it across the floor towards the doors at the end. With the rope still fastened round its body behind its shoulders, they pushed it into space. It gave a startled "hunh" but then the rope knocked the breath out of it as it stood, tips of its hooves just touching, on the mucky surface of the alley below.

  "Get down the rope," ordered Clink to the Frog, almost helpless with silent laughter. The Frog, his eyes popping with mirth, slid quickly and efficiently down and loosed the rope, standing holding the ass by the tattered leather head collar around its neck.

  Clink pulled the rope back up. It snaked onto the floor.

  "Now 'im," he said, sniggering uncontrollably and nodding at the Frater. They put the rope around his body under his arms, much as they had done with the donkey. "Hnnnh?" said the bemused Frater in similar fashion, as they pushed him out into space and attempted to lower him.

  "Bloody heavy bastard!" grunted Ruby through her teeth.

  "Worse than the ass!" said Clink, coughing. They dropped him without ceremony beside the Frog, who steadied the Frater as he wobbled onto his feet.

  "Now you, Moll!" ordered Clink.

  "'E's still got the rope round 'im!"

  "Never mind that! Get on!" The Sad Mort half slid, half climbed to the ground and stood in front of the Frater, who said "Hnnh?" again. She smiled at him, which confused him even more.

  "Now you, Ruby."

  "What about you, Clink, you got no-one to hold the rope? Tie it up!"

  "Don't you worry about that."

  Ruby slid quickly all the way down the rope. The rope tightened as the Frater stepped backwards in surprise at seeing the Egyptian Mort's buttocks approaching him at speed. His eyes widened.

  "Oooomph!"

  "Beg pardon, Jack," said Ruby, laughing.

  Clink surveyed the group standing in the dirty alley below. He looked round for somewhere to tie the rope.

  "Naaah," he said. Kneeling down, he hung himself off the edge with his hands, dangled an instant and the dropped. The women and the Frog caught him.

  "Let's scour!" All that was in their minds now was getting out of this town. Pushing and pulling the donkey and leading the Frater along on the rope, the rogues did their best to leave Guildern inconspicuously.

  * * * * *

  "They're very quiet, Master Cantle," said Follett to Sim, who had just arrived at the lockup.

  "Brooding on their sins, no doubt," grunted Cowbury, who, like the bad coin, had turned up again.

  Sim tried to concentrate on the task in hand. However, it was hard because of the encounter he'd had earlier with George, who had been riding past the Market House on a horse that Sim didn't recognise. He was evidently in a hurry to get somewhere, but there had been a confusing exchange in which George had said something about Bayard and gestured at the strange horse. Then he'd asked Sim about the incident with the woman from the inn, which Sim had forgotten to tell him. He started to describe it, but George had just laughed and told him he'd hear the rest later. Then George had apologised and told him he had an urgent errand - and was gone. Most of the exchange had taken place with George on the move and Sim running alon
g at his stirrup; and that hadn't made understanding any easier.

  Sim looked at the door. It was closed and the bar was in place. Follett lifted it and put the key in and turned it. The door did not open. He looked surprised. "Must have been unlocked, Master Cantle. But with the bar in place, they couldn't get out anyway."

  Sim opened the door and stepped cautiously into the small room, glancing round as he did so, wrinkling his nose at the smell. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been taken by surprise by a hidden rogue or three. Then he walked right into the lockup and suddenly turned on Follett.

  "Well?" said Sim. "What is all this?" He swept his hand around. There was nothing but a pile of dirty hay in the corner.

  Follett scratched his head. "Well...they aren't here, Master Cantle. Wait a moment." He went into the nearby stable. "The ass has gone too, sir. But ... how did they get a key?" He felt at his belt. "I still have mine, here; there is another that I keep safely in the house."

  Cowbury, thwarted of some excitement, was furious. He turned on the Constable. "I told you to leave them in charge of someone. I told you to do that."

  "Who are you to tell me what to do?" returned Follett angrily. "I don't take my orders from any blasted Surveyor of Highways, I don't, by God!"

  "Taking God's name in vain and on a day that should be set aside for prayer and fasting and calling on God's mercy, not for eating and drinking and lewdness!"

  "By God," said Follett, slowly, "I wish I had eaten and drunk this day - I'll say naught of the lewdness - but I have spent most of this day preventing roguery. Not that I've found you of much assistance, Cowbury - more of a hindrance!"

  The two men were squaring up to each other. Cowbury made as if to fold back his sleeves.

  "This is a lockup here," said Sim coldly. "Am I to put you both into it?"