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

by Miriam Bibby

  The serving man dismounted and hammered on the doors, calling out loudly and finally kicking the wood. He turned to George.

  “Bit deaf he is, an’ all, the old ‘un.”

  Eventually the deaf old man, reluctant to open the gates, was made aware of what was happening. The gates swung open and the riders clattered onto a cobbled yard. The house had two short wings running back from the towers. A fourth set of buildings, consisting, it seemed, mainly of stables, linked them together and created a courtyard. It was very quiet, with just the sound of a couple of elderly hounds baying from the stable block. George dismounted and turned to speak to the old retainer.

  “Eh?” said the old man, when George asked him if he’d seen anyone. “Nah, lad, naebody but our ain folk. Everyone else’s gone t’see t’running ‘orses, they ‘ave. Didn’t ‘e tell ye?” He gestured at the servant who’d gained entrance for them. “Why’s ‘e back here anyway? And who are ye?”

  “It’s Sir George Paston!” bellowed the serving man.

  “Eh? Sir George? Who’s he?”

  “Never mind that,” said George. “Have you seen either Philip Widderis or Amabilis Grasset; or, indeed, anyone riding near or past here today? D’ye know Mistress Grasset?”

  “Aw, well now,” said the old man. “I didn’t rightly understand ye at first when y’asked had I seen anyone. Thought y’meant had I seen any foreigners, like ye, begging yer pardon, Sir George. Aye, I know Sir Richard’s lass. Used to visit, they did, once on a time. I mind a merry Christmas years ago when my lady was living. But then all’s changed since she died. No, I didn’t see them, but I see Master Philip’s serving man ride out leading one of t’master’s ‘unters. That’ll be to bring back Master Philip, thinks I, after the running … one of t’other ‘orses must ‘a gone lame …”

  The nagging thought at the back of George’s mind grew more insistent.

  “And he hasn’t come back?”

  “Nah, nary a sign,” said the old man. “But if ye’ve come from t’match, ye’d ‘ave seen ‘im, eh?”

  The men were standing about, staring at George, wondering what to do next.

  “Marfield Hall,” said George, almost thoughtfully. “Perhaps - we’ll find some answers there.” The men looked at one another and shrugged. In a short time, they were clattering back out over the cobbles and thundering down the road towards Richard Grasset’s home.

  At Marfield Hall, a full search of the grounds was in progress. Richard came out to greet George and immediately set the men to join the search party. Then he led George into the hall, where Sir John, Anne and Amelia were seated awkwardly around the fireplace, which was not lit, due to the season; but it seemed as though simply sitting there around the original heart of the home brought them comfort in some way. Amelia was white-faced and scared; Anne was tense. Sir John, sipping his wine, seemed the most relaxed of all of them, but George read anger and stress in his ruddy colouring and the corded veins in his neck and the back of his hands.

  George nodded his thanks as Richard offered him a glass of wine. Then he said, “Forgive me - I am sure that you have done this - but has the house been searched?”

  “Of course,” said Richard, thinking it was simply a casual enquiry.

  “And - was there any sign of a struggle?”

  Richard stared at him as though he had been insulted.

  “What d’ye mean, Paston?”

  “I am - simply trying to understand what has happened. How Amabilis might have been taken - if she has been taken - by one of Giddens’ supporters.”

  “I understand you now,” said Richard. He sighed and the muscles in his face tightened. “No, there was no sign of any - struggle - and none of the servants saw anything unusual. The casement of her room was open a little …”

  “I told her not to let the air in to cool the chamber,” fretted Anne.

  “‘Tis a warm day. The lass would have taken little harm from a bit o’ fresh air,” said Jack Widderis, bluntly. They understood that he didn’t mean it unkindly; he simply meant that Anne should not distress or blame herself any further.

  “The door was not locked?” said George.

  Richard shook his head. “No; and the key was inside the room.”

  “Forgive me again, Richard; but - is there any way to - or from - the house that is less - well-known - more secret, so to say?”

  Richard began to see that George was leading somewhere with his questions. He frowned.

  “There is an old staircase down to the cellar with a passageway that leads to the kitchen and larder; and another that leads to the servants’ chambers and garret; the door to the garden is used principally by the gardener and his lads …” Richard carried on thinking, travelling his house and estate in his mind.

  Amelia suddenly started. “The casement by the linen press is not always fastened, father.”

  “How would someone gain access in that way, Amelia? It is not at ground level.”

  “No, but the creeper there that clings to the wall outside is …” Amelia tailed away. She and Amabilis knew that some of the maids used it to meet their followers on occasions. And she had climbed up and down it once for a dare. Only Amabilis knew that, because she was the one who had challenged Amelia to do it. It was easy to get round to the garden from there without being seen.

  “You mean, someone might climb it and gain entry?” Sir Richard looked cross. “I’ll see that it’s cut down immediately. And the casement will be securely fastened from now on.”

  “Mistress Amelia,” said George, formally, as though Amelia were all grown up, “has anyone searched your chamber?”

  “Nnnoo …” said Amelia, a little scared, because his voice had sounded serious and her father still looked angry.

  “Then - ” George turned to Richard. ” - I suggest that it’s done, Richard. Send someone with your daughter, to make sure that she is safe.”

  “I’ll go,” said Anne, rising.

  “Take Judith as well.”

  The women returned quickly. Anne almost ran down the stairs, with Amelia close behind her.

  “This - we found this, tucked between the pillows on Amelia’s bed … from Amabilis …” Anne held out the paper to Richard, then put a hand to her throat. She sat down suddenly and put her face in her hands. Richard read the note and glanced across at Sir John and then at George.

  “It says - it says that she and Philip have run away to be wed …”

  “Give it here, man,” said Sir John. He scanned the note and looked up. The two men stared at one another. There was a long, cold moment. Then finally, Sir John spoke.

  “Some would say they should be horse-whipped, the pair of ‘em!”

  George, watching the scene with impatience, wondered whether an argument would break out. As always, the issue was action - if these men wished to intervene in this elopement, then it was action that was needed, not talk or dispute. He was conscious that he could only await the order, however, not initiate it.

  Eventually Richard spoke.

  “We must apply ourselves together on this, Jack, not fall out over it. If we act now, we can send riders after them and perhaps catch them up …”

  George let out the breath he’d been holding. Then he moved slightly, attempting to catch Richard’s eye. Richard saw him, nodded and opened his mouth; but Sir John spoke first.

  “Aye; but which way to send ‘em? Where will they have gone?”

  That was the question, thought George.

  * * * * *

  The little string of riders - Philip Widderis, Amabilis Grasset, their servants and two guides - were approaching the low-lying marshes bordering the rivers that fed into the Humber estuary.They would need the guides to show them the quickest way along the causeways through the reeds and rushes. They had ridden hard across country until that point, because although Lissy had no love of horses, she was a more than adequate horsewoman, as befitted the daughter of Sir Richard Grasset of Marfield Hall. There was colour in her cheek
s and as Philip glanced across at her, she laughed back at him. This was an adventure; the best adventure of her life. How dull it had been until this moment, she thought; this was better than their clandestine meetings. Even Amelia knew nothing about those, because Lissy couldn’t trust her silly little chatterbox of a sister with such important knowledge. Well, she might know by now, of course. Lissy felt a brief pang of concern for what might be happening at home and then turned her mind firmly on the future.

  Every now and then a water bird, startled by the riders, flew up from a reed bed with a sudden clatter of wings. Lissy’s horse had shied a couple of times and they needed to take special care now. Somewhere between Drax and Goole there was a little vessel waiting at one of the staithes; a barge that would carry them down to Hull and a sympathetic distant cousin of Philip’s whose husband had interests in various trades. And there, they would take ship to London and Philip’s married sister; and once in London, they would be wed for sure, because that was what they both wanted. Two ceremonies, if necessary, to fulfil Philip’s religious beliefs. Amabilis did not care greatly for religion, but she was a great believer in marriage.

  Philip, too, was feeling a great surge of excitement at the success of their plan, but it was tempered with a growing sense of concern and responsibility for Lissy. And something else, too. Lissy had never visited Hull and was filled with the excitement and pleasure that came from seeing somewhere new; somewhere with people and shops and bustling trade. Market day at Marcaster could not compete with what she hoped to find at Hull - and in London. Lissy had planned it all. Philip had needed to do little other than arrange the transport. His cousin had proved understanding when he had explained that their fathers were at loggerheads.

  “Why, the old fools!” she had exclaimed. “To stand between two young folks so much in love! Dear, dear!”

  In fact, it had all gone surprisingly easily so far. However, there was something that Philip was dreading. Lissy had never travelled by sea before and was looking forward to that as another part of the great adventure of their running away together. She did not care what type of vessel they sailed in to London. It might be a collier, or a ship bearing lead, or dried cod; at least, she didn’t mind as long as it did not smell too badly of fish or tanning or something unpleasant. Philip, on the other hand, had sailed the sea before - and he had hated it and been very sick indeed. Just the thought of the great yellow surging waters of the estuary, the swell of the German Ocean beyond it and the sight of vessels swinging around in the wind made him feel ill.

  Lissy, sensing his discomfort, glanced across at him.

  “All’s well, my love?” she asked. “Not long now until we are on board. I’ll be glad to say farewell to this saddle.”

  Philip nodded but said nothing. She looked more closely at him.

  “Not worried about thy father’s horse, love, are you? It was foolish of Martin to let him go like that, but he will find his way home. And we’ll send the others back with the guides. You have money for that, d’you not?”

  Philip shook his head. “Aye, Lissy. No, ‘tis not that I’m concerned for The Fly. I - it is just that - well, I am not the best of sailors and …”

  Lissy burst out laughing.

  “Philip Widderis!” she said, broadening her accent. “Thou’rt not telling me that t’youth who rode that gurt daft beast of his feyther’s, is feart of sailing to Hull?”

  “Not of sailing to Hull, Lissy, but …”

  “Well, I am sure that I will love it. And I’ll take care of you, Philip.”

  That was a comforting thought. Philip leaned out of his saddle to give his bride-to-be a kiss. A scent of something exquisite wafted towards him.

  “Lissy …” The thought of the sea voyage faded.

  Lissy smiled. The perfume had been worth every penny - every penny! And she thought with gratitude of the cunning-woman who had been a source of such lovely wares; and such very practical advice on how to secure her man …

  * * * * *

  At Marfield Hall, the three men were in council in Richard’s study. There had been arguments, but George had managed, by sheer determination, to draw the others back to the matter in hand. He was now leaning against the mantelpiece with his arms folded, listening to Richard and John discussing which direction the runaways might have taken. One married sister in London; one in York; a brother in Oxford. Those were the most likely directions for Philip. As for Lissy, she too had relatives in York and some in Bridlington. The two men traced out their network of contacts as fully as they could.

  “They might take ship at Bridlington,” said Jack Widderis.

  “Or they might ride south to London,” mused Richard.

  “Else ride to York. Or to Hull and take ship there. Or any other direction to lay a false trail.”

  Silence fell. George shifted his position and prepared to speak. He found he had to clear his throat first.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, “I am prepared to serve you in any way I can in this matter. Yours to command, so to speak. But - forgive me for saying this. I ask myself why your children have done this thing, in this manner. A match between them - a match agreed and approved between the two houses - would that have been such a bad thing?”

  The other men both began to speak at the same time and then stopped, each gazing at the other with a certain ebullience, but both preferring not to be the first one to insult the other.

  “George,” said Richard, almost warningly, “there are certain matters that would - that would …”

  “He means my lack of compromise with regard to the true faith, lad,” said Sir John sardonically. “Or as he might describe it were I not present, my blockheadedness. My misdirection. My family’s misdirection. But in truth, there is compromise … our entire lives are compromised …”

  George nodded. He understood. Catholics walked a fine line between holding to their beliefs and paying service to a religion which was not theirs. This had become a serious issue since Papal authority had declared that any Catholic attending the new services was betraying their faith, leaving them only the option of paying massive recusancy fines. Previously, it had been possible to attend the services but keep the faith in their hearts and many ingenious ways had been found to avoid those parts of the services that might give offence. It had been successful; the peace had been kept. Times had changed and so had relationships. These two men were living examples of that change. They had not given him any reason to stay quiet, though, and so he continued.

  “And do you think that will have been uppermost in their heads - and their hearts?”

  “Philip’s a good lad,” said John Widderis, but he spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “He said nowt of this. I knew nowt of it.”

  “Perhaps he feared to provoke you; or at least, to offend you, not wishing to transgress in his duty as a son,” said George. “Richard? What of your daughter? Why would she not open her heart to her father, or mother?”

  “Lissy is intelligent and …” Richard stopped.

  “She’s a lass who knows her own mind, from what I recall,” said John, and he almost smiled. Richard glanced across at him. George thought he gave a half smile, as well, but it was fleeting.

  “We two have fallen out over horses as often as religion,” pointed out Richard.

  “More often,” grunted Sir John. “And we’ve agreed over ‘em more often than religion, too.”

  George, looking at them as an outsider, saw two men with more in common than they could perhaps see for themselves. They were both clearly horsemen, after all. He could imagine them as the neighbours they might have been years ago, when the children were younger, living with tolerance and reason, when those two commodities were in greater supply.

  “Well, gentlemen, perhaps you might like to consider the best outcome, in the circumstances,” he said. “In the meantime, I will see what, if anything, can be discovered further …” He made his way to the door, hoping that he had been tactful and encouraging. Time would tel
l.

  In the hall, Amelia seemed to be experiencing a kind of grief. Anne had tried to comfort her, but all Amelia could talk about were the gifts she had bought for her sister at the booths.

  “There’s a little purse; a pretty little silk purse. I thought she would like it, don’t you agree? And some gingerbread. And I was looking forward to telling her about how Sir George won, and the man who ate all those curious things … and all the people … oh, mother, why did she do it? Why didn’t she tell me?” Amelia broke down.

  Anne looked up at George. It seemed to him that she would not be able to express her grief, or whatever she was feeling, whilst Amelia herself needed comfort.