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

by Miriam Bibby

  “Ruby,” he said, eventually, “about the gold …”

  She looked at him and shook her head, half laughing. “It’s not ‘cause o’ the gold!”

  “No, but …”

  “Don’t tell me now!” He kissed her again, and she drew him down beside the fire.

  Later, when she lay sleepily in his strong arms and they were both watching the sparks and crackles of the last piece of wood, he did tell her about the gold. It was almost a confession, she thought.

  “I’ve worked with gold nearly all my life,” said Zacharias, stroking her arm, “and I’ve never done wrong - well, perhaps I’ve taken a bit more for my workmanship from those who could afford it - “

  Ruby smiled. In her world, there were no innocents. Everyone had his or her cozening tricks, only some of ‘em carried it out in a shop or a marketplace and called it “trade”.

  ” - I’ve never done aught like this and I still don’t know what made me do it - it was just - when I found out what Goldspink had done, something in me wanted to see how easy it was. It was - easy. Too easy, so I didn’t clip more’n a few …” Ruby was sleepy and the sound of guilt in his voice was a bit confusing. If he knew some of the things that she had done! But - that was why he’d given her the clippings, she realised. That was why he had told her. He had to tell someone.

  Zacharias continued, “But now - I don’t know what to do.”

  “What’s to do?” said Ruby. “What’s done is done.” She kissed his cheek.

  “Aye,” said Zacharias. “What’s done - is done.”

  * * * * *

  The yard of the Hart and Hawthorn was filled with impatient horses ready for the off. The lead mare, identifiable by her bell, munched on a few strands of hay whilst the other horses stamped and scraped around her. The fastenings of the packs had been checked and checked again. Soon they would all be jogging northwards, with a return load of malt, dried fish and other goods for the miners and farmers of the remote upland dales of Durham and Westmorland. Plus, an additional load of humans; and one small black dog.

  Meg was just waiting for Matthew to finish setting their own packs onto one of the more lightly loaded horses and mount his own. She felt surprisingly comfortable at the moment, seated sideways on her horse. The master of the pack train had fastened a board along one side so that she could rest her feet on it and there was a firmly rolled bundle over the horse’s rump that she could lean against. The master had assured her that this was one of his most trusted and smoothest gaited nags. However, Meg knew that discomfort would set in after a few miles. She had made sure that she was well prepared for this with plenty of padding and several bottles of liniment.

  “Meg!”

  It was George, pushing his way through the milling horses and rangy dogs on the inn yard. He waved his hat at her.

  “George!”

  “Devil of a time I’ve had finding you, Meg. I did not know whether you had left or not.”

  “You might have missed us, George, for we were supposed to have been on our way by now; but, as is often the case, there has been delay after delay. I think we are nearly ready now.”

  “Where are you bound?”

  “For Carlisle. I have matters to attend to there and this will see us as far as the Westmorland border; if my seat survives the nag that long!” Meg petted the horse’s neck.

  “Don’t jest, Meg. That is a wild place, by all accounts. Are there valuables amongst these packs?”

  “Would the packmaster confide in me if so? He was glad to have Matthew travelling with us, though.”

  George followed her glance and saw Matthew, who was now on horseback. George waved at him. Matthew, looking serious, raised the staff he carried in case he needed to defend Meg. George nodded and turned back to her.

  “You heard the news of Amabilis Grasset and Philip Widderis?” George’s hand rested on the neck of Meg’s horse as he looked up at her.

  Meg did not reply directly, but said, “That is a very determined young woman.”

  “You met her?”

  “Oh … she may have purchased some perfume from me …”

  “Was that all?”

  “Well, George, as you know, there is usually no fee for advice …”

  “Would that have included advice on how to cause an old tree to fall across a stream?”

  “Ah, yes, I had word of that. No - that embellishment must have come from Mistress Amabilis herself. She seems to have some liking for risk; but I would rather she had not … delegated it …”

  “Delegated? That is an interesting description. Very interesting. You will be pleased to hear that there has been word from them? That they are both safe. They sent a messenger from Hull - ensuring that he arrived after they had taken ship. Word has been sent to Philip’s sister in London, where they are expected. If not married already, then they will be with speed, I think.”

  “Their families have overcome their differences?”

  “Whatever differences they had were not so great as the young people imagined. Still, perhaps they wanted an adventure. It was cleverly arranged to ensure they made good time before anyone realised what was happening. Young Widderis will have his hands full, I think.”

  Meg chuckled. “It might have been you, George, if Anne Grasset’s plans had …”

  The master was calling his horses, dogs and men to attention. A few last minute orders and they would be ready to leave.

  “The bell should have been yours by right,” said Meg as the horses began to move into line. She settled Cornelius more securely on the sheepskin at the front of the packsaddle. “Yours - and Galingale’s.”

  “Aye,” replied George, walking alongside them. “I could have worn it in my hat, like a jester. That would please you well, wouldn’t it?”

  “Irony suits you, George. Better than a jester’s bell. I imagine that there are quite a few that are sorry at the outcome, judging by the amount of wagers placed, secret and otherwise …”

  “What would you know of wagers? Meg - you did not wager on the outcome of this match, did you? I hope that you did not risk much if so.”

  “Indeed, I did contrive to place a wager and - it was a substantial one.”

  George looked at her with concern, disliking the idea that Meg had lost a wager because of his unexpected disqualification.

  “I am sorry about you losing money on the match, Meg,” he said, with genuine feeling. “Please - let me make good your loss. I am, in a way, responsible …”

  “I? Lose money? No, George, I lost nothing. Indeed, I have done very well in Marcaster. Very well indeed.”

  “You lost nothing? But …”

  “George,” said Meg in a reasonable tone. “As soon as the news went abroad that the undersheriff’s son was taking part, the outcome of the match was clear to me. After all, he is the undersheriff’s son…”

  George looked at her, at first with astonishment, then with severity. Finally he said, in his firmest tone, “Meg. You are, without a doubt, the greatest rogue in the land. Marry me, else one day I will be sure to hang you.”

  “Hmmm. A silk halter, or a hempen one? Well, I’ll have plenty of time to consider my choice as we go along. ‘Tis a long way to Carlisle.”

  “Meg …”

  “We are leaving now, I think, George. But never fear. D’ye know, I have the most curious feeling that we shall meet again soon.”

  The experienced horses fell into their usual positions without any need to be fastened together. They made a fine spectacle as they set off northwards along the main street of Marcaster, with the bell on the bellmare ringing and the packmen shouting out to sluggards who did not get out of the way quickly enough. The dogs ran silently alongside, knowing they would need their breath for the long journey ahead. Meg waved to George and then lifted Cornelius’s paw to wave too. George, suddenly lonely in the middle of the street, waved back.

  “Godspeed, Meg. And keep you out of trouble until we meet again,” he said, half to himself
. Then he turned back into the Hart and Hawthorn and called for some morning ale.

  “At once, sir!” said the serving man.

  George savoured the taste of the cool ale. “An excellent brew,” he said, nodding with approval. “Excellent.” He found the serving man regarding him with interest.

  “Thank you, sir!” said the man. “You are Sir George Paston, are you not, who took part in the recent match riding Sir Richard Grasset’s Galingale? And honoured our inn with a recent stay?”

  “I am.” The servant poured him some more ale.

  “Compliments of the Hart and Hawthorn, sir,” he said. “And if you wish, I will bring you something to eat? Also with our compliments, Sir George.”

  George wondered whether the servant was feeling generous because he had wagered on the winner on Meg’s advice. Or whether he simply wanted George’s patronage. Then he told himself not to be such a cynic. He found himself a seat on a bench in the empty common room indicated by the serving man.

  “Many said you were the true winner, sir,” said the man as he hurried off towards the kitchen. “A most curious thing about the bell, though, was it not?”

  George shrugged, wondering what he meant. By the time the man returned with bread, cheese and beef, his curiosity was piqued.

  “You said something of the bell?” he said. He felt suddenly hungry and began to eat the food with relish.

  The man looked surprised.

  “You mean, you have not heard, sir?”

  “One or two matters have had a claim on my attention in recent days,” replied George, with dry understatement.

  “Well, Sir George, the bell - it appears that it went missing on the day of the match. Some thief seems to have taken advantage of the confusion over Master Philip’s disappearance - and everything that followed - to enter the pavilion and take the bell …”

  George paused, with a piece of bread with beef on it in transit.

  “You didn’t know, sir?”

  “I did not know.” George put the bread back down. “And it has still not been - discovered?”

  “No, sir. Indeed, with so much confusion, the theft was not discovered until the next day; and then it was thought for a time that the undersheriff or one of his men had taken into safe keeping; and curiously, the goldsmith who made it is away journeying and so enquiries cannot be made of him … not that he is implicated in any way …”

  As George stared at the man, he could hear the sound of Amelia’s voice. “The funniest thing, though, was the little dog that did the tricks … at the back of the pavilion where there weren’t many people … a curious black dog with a tiny face that looked as though it knew some secrets … it could bring things and unfasten things … and do all kinds of funny tricks …”

  That was what he was hearing. What he was seeing, though, with his mind’s eye, was the same little black dog, whilst the common was in uproar, entering the pavilion, going over to the table where the bell was set out in all its glory ready for the presentation, and picking it up by its satin ribbon …

  Somewhere to the north west of Marcaster, Cornelius tried to settle himself more comfortably on the piece of sheepskin. It was not the first time that he had ridden on horseback and he knew what to expect. He needed to be patient; it would be a long journey. Suddenly he heard Meg speaking his name. His special name.

  “Well done, Brother Nose-all.” Her tone was amused and kind, but the reason that he knew she was really pleased with him was that she had just given him a piece of deliciously smelly cheese. It was because of that business with the bell. That was what had pleased her. But what pleased him, Cornelius, most of all, was the memory of his last encounter with the stable cat. It had sneaked up on him twice again and given his ears a clawing before he had a chance to tell it what was what. So the last time, this morning in fact, whilst it was sitting on a barrel swishing that big tail and eyeing the pack train dogs, he had crept up behind it and - WOOF!

  The cat had leaped off the barrel, under the feet of one of the ostlers carrying a full pail, who had tripped, fallen and spilled the water and - yes, altogether a satisfactory conclusion to his stay at the Hart and Hawthorn.

  Cornelius closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Somewhere along the way there would be another inn, with another cushion and another meaty bone - and a stable cat.

  Meg heard Matthew’s voice calling to her. He moved his horse’s nose up as close as he could on the narrow packway.

  “Well? Will you satisfy my curiosity about the sovereign now? About both sovereigns.”

  Meg smiled. “I was given the first by Goldspink in payment for the remedies I gave him. I would have used it in payment for my provisions from Hull, but something warned me. I weighed it and found it to be light. It had been clipped; and I was certain that it was Goldspink that had done it.”

  Matthew whistled. “Whewww … to be caught passing a clipped coin. That could be the end of more than our reputations. I understand now why we needed to exchange it, instructive and amusing though the experience was otherwise. Was it in error or was it with intent? “

  “Of that, I’m still not certain. It put me in great difficulties, as it does the receiver of any light coin. What to do with it? Had I given it to the justices, I would have lost the money, unless I were prepared to tell where I’d received it. To have brought George into this situation would have made unnecessary difficulties for us both and might have sent Goldspink to the rope. To pass the sovereign on to another as good coin would have put you and I in great danger, to say naught of the slyness of it. And the loss of thirty shillings is no small matter, to our finances.”

  “And the sovereign I took came from a bag that had been delivered by Goldspink - so you were able to discover whether or not that had been clipped - and it had not. You weighed it and the goldsmith confirmed it.”

  “Yes; I deduce that was one of the latest deliveries he made to the goldsmith and so he had not had time, or not wished, to clip the coins.”

  “If the coin I took from the goldsmith’s house had been a false one …”

  “We should have been no worse off; and I would have known with greater certainty the extent of Goldspink’s crime.”

  “Did y’think of confronting Goldspink?”

  Meg smiled wryly. “Not only did I think of doing so, but I did so. Broaching the subject as gently as I could, when I encountered him one day, brought on such a flood of denial that I was forced to leave the matter. He was in fear of discovery.” She paused, then resumed again. “To answer your question - I think it was not an intentional act on Goldspink’s part. Everything about his manner spoke of a man with a burden and I think he was not in his right mind. Gold has that effect on a man, if he’s not careful. Gold comes to own some people, when they think they own it. And then the ripples spread out … Zacharias Kane could be implicated. Y’see, Matthew, little acts that seem to hurt nobody; crimes without a victim, felonies carried out without harmful, or even with beneficial intent … these are the ways that many a good man has slipped into wickedness - why, what is so amusing?”

  “Naught,” said Matthew, suppressing his grin and returning her innocent look. “Only - look to Brother Nose-all. It seems to me that he might be slipping. Oh - I saw my acquaintance from the inn again this morning before we left - the old man. He was disappointed that there would be no opportunity to tell him about San Domingo …”

  “Perhaps we’ll be back this way again.”

  “A curious thing, though; when he saw you, he said you put him in mind of a woman who used to stay in Marcaster years ago, when he was a youth. A woman with rare skills - something like yours.”

  “Some wicked ancestress, I don’t doubt.”

  “Yes. That would be it - no doubt.” There was amusement in Matthew’s voice. “Meg …”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you packed sufficient liniment?”

  Meg laughed.

  The horses jogged steadily onwards towards the hills.

&
nbsp; Envoi

  Clink stepped out blinking into the sunshine. Behind him, the door of Marcaster Keep closed with a thud. Free …

  Feeling as vulnerable as a chicken fresh from the egg, Clink’s first instinct was to find some hideaway to replace the one he had just left. The world was his again and it was momentarily terrifying. No-one had explained to him what was happening. He had simply been taken from his cell and put out into the street. What worried him was that he had heard nothing from the Frater or any of the others.