Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell

by Miriam Bibby

  A distinguished customer, thought Zacharias as he poured the wine. One who may have substantial wealth. It was not so much Meg’s clothes as her air. Some of the wealthiest people that Zacharias knew were local farmers and stock raisers, but there was no way of knowing this by their dress. Conversely, there were some who spent what little money they had on finery and then had to dine on crusts. Meg was soberly dressed but when she took off her left glove, leaving the right in place, there was a ring on her finger that Zacharias would have liked to look at more closely. She wore a narrow gold chain, which was only revealed when she took off the material wound about her neck and she did not remove her mask. The little black dog which she carried with her sat on her lap and looked around him as they talked.

  “And - was there an item - something of particular interest to you?” asked Zacharias after they had conversed for a while with only general talk from Meg. “Forgive me, but the day is growing late; and I cannot sell my wares by candlelight. If there is something in particular that I could show you?”

  “I understand, Master Kane. Yes, I should like very much to see some examples of your work. Well - ” at this point, Cornelius, having had his tail tweaked very gently, began to bark ” - I’ve a mind to see some drops for my ears - emerald drops - quiet, Poppet! Quiet!”

  As Cornelius ignored her and continued to bark, taking the cue from the gentle pressure of her fingers on the tip of his tail, the two mastiffs in the workshop next door replied with threatening growls and howls. Meg leaped to her feet in apparent fear.

  “Oh, Master Kane! Are those your dogs? My poor little dog is terrified! I can feel him trembling!” Cornelius was trembling and barking, but with the usual confidence of a small dog who knows there is a barrier between him and a larger one. “Please - can you not stop them? Oh, my poor little dog!” She clutched him closer to her.

  “Never fear, Madam,” said Zacharias gallantly. “I will shut them away while we continue our conversation. Excuse me.” He left the room and Meg heard him quieting the dogs whilst he took them out through the workshop and into a shed. The dogs, calmer now, gave low growls and an occasional bark. Cornelius, who had just received a good ear scratch and a piece of cheese as a reward, was satisfied that he had seen them off. He settled down smugly and was soon snoring.

  When Zacharias returned, he was carrying something carefully wrapped in a velvet bag decorated with silk embroidery.

  “My most recent work,” he said and though his voice betrayed little, Meg guessed he was pleased with it. He loosened the silk cord at the neck of the bag and drew out the bell for the match, displaying it on the velvet for her to see. Meg leaned forward. It was a lovely piece of work, with its elegant inscription flowing harmoniously within the gleaming tones of the gold and silver. As he rolled it a little on the cloth, the bell chimed softly.

  “I can see that you are a skilled craftsman, Master Kane,” said Meg, looking with admiration from the bell to Zacharias and back again. “Is this the reward for the winner of the forthcoming match?”

  “Aye, Madam,” said Zacharias, smiling. He replaced the bell safely into its bag and put it to one side. “Now, Madam,” he continued. “You mentioned drops for your ears. Emerald, I believe? If I do not have anything that appeals, I can of course make something to your requirements. I do not keep a large stock for that reason. I can sketch something out for you …”

  “Thank ye,” said Meg. “Yes, emeralds are my favourites. But then, pearls are so lovely, are they not - it is so hard to choose. I have a liking for the topaz, Berenice’s stone, that was brought from the Isle of the Serpent to Egypt’s land for her; and some say that the chrysoprase renders the wearer invisible and is a wonderful aid to thieves … such stories stones can tell, is it not so, Master Kane? But then, they do say that ‘far-fetch’d and dear bought’ is right for a woman.”

  “So they do, Madam,” said Zacharias, smiling.“And they also say that the best gems require but a simple setting.”

  Meg proved so knowledgeable and enthusiastic about gems that Zacharias scarcely realised how late it was growing.

  Chapter 5: Dark Horses

  As he watched Meg go into the goldsmith’s house, Matthew knew that he would only have one chance to get this right. If he had to make repeated attempts to throw the rope, it was a certainty that something would go wrong. He would be seen, or the rope would catch on the roof and he would be unable to release it. Or it would make too much noise and the dogs would erupt into life. There was only one opportunity and one place from which to do this. The brick gable end with the chimney above it that he was sure led down into the sleeping chamber of the goldsmith’s house.

  It would be difficult, as the evening light would be fading soon; but Matthew had thrown ropes like this many, many times on board ship. He’d watched and worked alongside sailors who had decades of knowledge with ropes and knots. As he prepared the rope, his thoughts ran over his plan once again.

  He was almost certain that in the chamber the chimney bisected and another branch led to a fireplace in a lower level. This chimney did not lead to the workroom furnace since that was an entirely separate construction which was still smoking a little. Possibly the goldsmith used the workroom fire to heat his food as well. Fortunately, this side of the house was relatively secluded.

  He stood against the wall of the next house, glancing swiftly up and down the alley to see if anyone was about. Then he gauged the chimney again. A fine big brick chimney which looked as though it had been added or replaced fairly recently. Matthew had made a large noose of one end of the rope and he began to swing this, letting go at what he trusted was just the right moment. He was gratified to see the loop fly upwards following the line of his thought and settle neatly over the chimney. He swiftly pulled it taut and almost instantly began to climb, uttering a prayer to the saint under whose governance was bricklaying, whoever that might be. If anyone saw him now he could do nothing but slide back down and leave the rope hanging whilst he sprinted off. The chimney seemed strong enough and he was soon on the slate roof, which also looked almost new. He wondered if the renovations had been done by the goldsmith or an earlier owner. This was no idle thought, because if the work had been done by the goldsmith, there was every chance he would have secured the chimney so that no one could enter the room that way.

  Matthew crouched behind the chimney and drew the rope up swiftly. Peering cautiously about him, the street still seemed quiet. Below him, he saw yards with vegetable plots, fowls and a pig or two. There was an old man further down the back lane but he was facing the other way whilst he tended to something in his plot. Matthew stood up behind the chimney and fed the rope down it, keeping an eye on the old man and giving an occasional glance around. Then he vaulted onto the chimney.

  “Ha!” Matthew cursed as he realised that there were spikes on the edge of the chimney, facing inwards to help to keep birds out. Meg had warned there might be. He pulled at a couple and found they came away easily. A few bits of mortar crumbled away, nothing of concern. There was room to get inside the chimney, andhe immediately disappeared into it, hanging onto the rope just under its rim. The chimney was relatively clean inside but it was going to be a tight fit to get down it - assuming he could get down it.

  Once inside it was very difficult to see down towards the point where it led into the room. He felt around with his toe and eventually found a protruding piece of brick, which seemed almost to have been put there on purpose. Perhaps it had, thought Matthew, feeling sorry for any lad who might be expected to make a poor sort of living being sent up chimneys to clean them. He felt around with one hand and found another brick hold. And another, lower down. This might be easier than he thought, but he still made sure that he always had one hand on the rope as he descended. About half way down he hung on the rope and dropped a short, thick piece of stick into the fireplace. He was gratified to hear a snapping sound as it activated a spring trap that was waiting there. Meg had been right about everything - so
far.

  As he neared the room, some instinct told him to take even greater care; and as he tentatively put his foot onto another protruding brick, he felt the slightest movement under his toe. He instantly removed it and, reverting to the rope, slid down to stand in the fireplace, wincing as he saw the size and strength of the leg trap and its serrated jaws. He could be seen, if there was anyone in the room, which he was sure there was not; but he could see nothing, yet. The fear only lasted an instant, but it was a long and agonising instant. Then Matthew ducked his head down and peered into the room. Nothing. Nobody.

  That protruding brick, though. He touched and felt it; and was certain that this was some sort of trick, a trap to catch someone entering the room that way. It was like a wobbling tooth. Perhaps it would spring free and bring a whole load more bricks down with it, leaving the would-be thief sitting dazed in a pile of rubble in the fireplace. Possibly with a pistol in his face. No time to think about that now.

  He quickly stripped off his sooty clothing and left it in the fireplace. Crouching down, he drew out a pair of clean gloves from inside the thin jerkin and put them on carefully, checking to see if there was any dust or soot on them or any other part of his body. The gloves should ensure that he left no dirty marks as he searched. Then he looked more thoroughly around the room. A bed with a tester and posts, neatly made, with a bolster. A chair. A stool. A chest. A pot under the bed, no doubt. An old gun. A door with a lock and two chains, bars and bolts to secure it from the inside, not presently secured of course. He knew the door would be locked from the other side and didn’t bother to try it. The window, the one that faced the street, was small and barred.

  The bed was the obvious place, of course. Matthew picked up the stool and used one of its legs to prod the bed and the frame gingerly. Then he poked at the bolster, ducking periodically as though he expected a shot or a flight of nails or arrows to come at him. Nothing. Even more cautiously, he lifted the end of the bolster that was nearest to him, on the chimney side, using the leg of the stool again.

  “Diablo!”

  The sudden collapse of part of the bed had taken him by surprise. Almost without thinking, he found himself lying across the covers, having caught the falling piece just before it tumbled onto the floor. It was heavier than he’d realised. This would take some explaining, he thought: here he was, lying across the bed with part of the frame clutched in his gloved hands, his filthy clothes discarded in the fireplace, with nothing else on but a face that was pop-eyed with shock. He imagined Meg’s amused smile and sarcastic comment. “So, Matthew. The constable tells me that my servant was found …”

  Hysterics. Stop laughing. Do what you are here to do, he told himself, trying to control the paroxysm. The bolster. It had to be the bolster, rather than under the mattress.

  He worked out how to replace the frame and examined the rope that controlled it. Interesting. He must remember this so that he could tell Meg everything. This was taking time, though and his heart was pounding. Then, with the bolster in place, he undid the string that fastened it and felt along inside the fabric to where he was certain the bags lay. Yes, there they were, not too far down and loosely fastened. It took a little manipulation, but he managed to grope around for a few coins that felt about the right size near the mouth of the nearest bag.He tried not to move the bolster too much while he was doing this in case there was some other mechanism that he’d missed. He drew out his hand and checked the coins; one was a sovereign. He took the other sovereign that he’d been holding pressed under his tongue and wriggled his hand inside the bolster, putting it into the bag along with all the other coins as a substitute for the one he’d taken. He replaced the bed frame safely, then looked round the room to see if all was in order and clean before returning to the fireplace to don his clothes again. He levered open the trap with difficulty. He had brought down some more soot and dirt as he climbed down the chimney, but he was prepared for this. A little scatter of twigs and feathers and the culprit was a bird looking for a nesting site.

  This time he trusted only to the rope and quickly hauled himself up hand over hand, knees gripping tightly. Not for the first time he gave thanks for the skills he had learned on board ship. He poked his head, just as far as the eyes, above the chimney and glanced round, ready to duck back. He could hear the two mastiffs barking occasionally, but the sound seemed muffled. The old man was still pottering about and there were some children playing further down the street. Matthew waited until some disagreement broke out between them and then hauled himself quickly out, dropping back behind the chimney and sitting down to pull up the rope. At one point it caught and he cursed under his breath, rapidly making contingency plans to slide down the roof and attempt the drop into the road. Undesirable, but he would do it as a last resort. Tentatively he tugged the rope again and, almost taking him by surprise, a couple of feet of it shot out of the chimney. He coiled it quickly. Now for the descent.

  More reconnaissance. Then he loosened the end of the rope that was still around the chimney and flicked it free. He slung it round the chimney so that the two ends hung down loose against the wall and quickly climbed down by holding both of them. Once down on the ground again, he pulled the rope so that the free end flicked down with a slight whirring sound and landed beside him. He coiled it up quickly and left it at his feet whilst he turned his jerkin inside out so that the clean inner side showed rather than the sooty outer. He rubbed his face with the clean gloves and wondered if any marks were showing anywhere. The soles of his shoes were thin leather that had helped him to grip whilst he was climbing and they were filthy of course; but that was of no consequence. Then he picked up the rope, stuffed it into his jerkin and looked around for one last time before leaving.

  He was horrified to discover that the old man was standing not far from him. He must have come along the back lane and turned into the alley while Matthew was coiling up the rope.

  “Good even,” said the old man cautiously, looking about him in a curious manner.

  “Good even,” said Matthew as cheerfully as he could, in a voice that was higher pitched than usual. He and Meg had often agreed that successful cozening depended on boldness. Lose confidence for an instant and all was lost.

  “Who - is it?” said the old man, with a quaver in his voice. “The voice - I know it not.” He moved forwards slowly with his arms outstretched. Matthew blew out a silent breath of relief. As the man came towards him he saw that one eye was milky. The eyes moved as though in concert with the man’s hands, which were now reaching out towards the wall. He was blind. Or, at least blind in one eye. There was, perhaps a little sight in the other.

  “Can I help you, father?” he said with genuine sympathy.

  “Father!” laughed the old man. “That’s fine and respectful. Mostly they call me Gran’da! Aye, lad, I thought I heard summat. Mayhap it was thee.”

  “It might be,” saidMatthew. “Your ears are sharp, father.”

  “They need to be,” said the old man. “And I look out for my neighbours, lad. All on us do.”

  “I was seeking the - the tanner’s,” said Matthew, remembering the hides he had seen outside a building two streets away.

  “The tanner’s shop! There’s no tanner’s here. If somebody’s directed y’here, they’ve sent you wrong. Nay lad, I wouldn’t start from here if I was going to t’tanner’s. Y’see, y’need to go to …”

  Matthew listened with increasing impatience as the old man gave a long and convoluted, but accurate, direction to the tanner’s. When it was over he thanked the man profusely and asked whether he could help to see him home. The old man refused, with some irritation and pride. Matthew was glad about that, because he was sure that he smelled of soot and didn’t want to account for it. As he was backing away with more thanks, the old man said suddenly, “Is there a chimney afire hereabouts? I can smell soot.”

  “Oh,” said Matthew, “now you mention it, I believe there might be - I can see smoke, but not too close by. I
’d best be off to see if I can lend a hand!”

  “Terrible things these chimney fires,” said the old man. “When I were a lad, we never had no chimney. Smoke went through a hole in t’thatch. Didn’t have chimney fires then.” And he laughed at his own joke.

  “Very good!” said Matthew, laughing politely as he kept on backing away. The old man seemed to have something else to say. He held his hand up to stay Matthew.

  “Ye’re not from round here are ye?” he said, but conversationally rather than suspiciously. “In Marcaster t’see the running horses, eh?” His voice dropped and grew conspiratorial as he gestured for Matthew to move closer to him. “Tell me lad - who d’ye think will win, eh?”