Christopher Uptake

by Susan Price

  I have never been a fighter, nor prided myself on being one; there are better things to be. The blow had a paralysing effect on me. It seemed to start vibrations in my body which passed through my chest to my spine, numbing everything they touched. I could not draw breath, no matter how wide I opened my mouth. I plainly heard my father telling me that to earn my living by writing was as if I earned my living by lying.

  A short while after that I was sitting on the path, in a cold puddle, my back against the wall of the church. It was more than half-dark; a hand was squeezing tight on my shoulder, and something was tightening round my neck.

  I reached up to find a cord which was suddenly drawn close, making me cough and choke. I tried to loosen it, but the man at my side was holding it tight at the knot. He said, his voice rough from breathlessness, "That'll happen every time you run, or shout, so be advised." He then loosened the cord, and I wheezed. I looked round for the other man.

  He had taken a step or two away from us. The dark block of his shape showed that his hands were at his face.

  He said, "I'd like to bloody kill him!''

  "Aah, shut half of it," said the man beside me. "You know he said not to mark him."

  "I don't have to mark him where it'd show," the angry man said. The other snorted, apparently in contempt, then put his hand under my elbow, and said, "Up, come on. We're going on our travels now."

  I had little choice but to get up. The man holding the cord pushed me in front of him along the path, while the other man went ahead of us to the church gate. There we stopped, while the loose ends of the cord were wound about my bear-leader's hand. He then put his arm across my shoulders, as if we were the best of friends, which enabled him to keep the cord tight, but prevented it being seen by any early risers we might meet.

  "We're going back to Bagthorpe, aren't we?" I asked. I had no doubt of who the men were. The man holding the cord gave another snort, but of amusement this time. I took that for assent.

  "I have some money," I said. "I'll give it to you if you'll let me go."

  One of them grunted, like a pig laughing, and we still went on towards the river, and Bagthorpe, and my arrest as an atheist.

  I leaned back against them with all my weight, and braced my heels against the ground. "Say that I got away," I said. "Please don't take me back. Say that you couldn't find me. I'll give - " Both of them jerked me forward by the arms, my feet leaving the ground. "Listen!" I shouted, throwing myself backward again. “You can't take me back. He'll have me arrested. I'll be tortured. Please! Listen!''

  "You asked for it," said the one I had hurt; and I was dragged forward again.

  I said "I'll go to prison!'' They laughed. I could not understand the finality and density of their indifference. I begged them to let me go as we drew nearer the bridge; I pleaded with them every foot of the way. I put such feeling into my voice as Dick Hobson had never been able to imitate, even on his best days. I broke my own heart, but still they did not care.

  They didn't care, and they did not care, and that was all.

  They were patient considering the trouble I was to them, but however I pleaded, they did not care. I had never met such people before.

  I stopped struggling before we reached the bridge. It was doing me no good. Morning was coming, and on the other side of the river I saw lights where people were getting ready for their business of the day. Once there I would find the help I needed. There must be people among them who did care.

  Eventually, we reached the bridge. Eventually, we crossed it. We walked through the town. We passed along streets which were empty, except for rubbish and stray pigs and dogs. We met some women going with baskets to the markets, where they would buy the fruit and fish which they would sell later in the streets; but what point was there in my appealing to women? The men we passed were alone and hurrying - a lame man who sold hot pies; a knife-grinder, his grindstone on his back; a salt-seller with his donkey. I did not call out to them because I knew that I would only be allowed to shout once, and I wanted to be sure that the help I needed would come. I did not think that a man would come alone to assist a stranger against two other men.

  Then I saw ahead of us in the street a party of four or five young men, laughing and talking loudly, and those at the rear running to catch the others, and I knew that if I could shout to them, they would help me just for the pleasure of making themselves a nuisance to someone. I had actually started towards them, my mouth opening to speak, when the cord drew tight round my neck and silenced me. The young men turned a corner into another street, noticing nothing unusual, and l was taken on, still trying to call out in a whisper I could not hear myself. While I was trying to loosen the cord, I was steered suddenly into the alley leading to the rear entrance of the Talbot, and we met no one else. I was taken up the stairs to Bagthorpe's room.

  He must have been waiting for us, because he opened the door of his room before we reached it, and stood in the doorway, the light behind him shining through the loops of his curling hair. As we drew closer, he came out into the corridor, to allow my bear-leader and me to go into the room. He stopped the other man and spoke to him, and I could not hear what was said.

  I was pushed into the centre of the room, which was, as usual, uncomfortably hot. Bagthorpe drew the door shut behind him, looked intently at me for a moment, then said, "I remember telling you that I did not want him marked."

  The man who had held the cord, and was now rolling it about his hand, looked up quickly, and said, "He ran away from us - he fell over - ''

  "It wasn't our fault," the other man said. "He put up a bit of a - '' In the middle of his excuses, Bagthorpe swung toward him, seized his nose between thumb and fingers, and gave it such a twist that he almost fetched the man off his feet. I nearly laughed, it looked so comical; but fear and the man's obvious pain stopped me. He had put his hand to his nose, and brought his fingers away streaked with blood. If his employees were treated so, what could I expect?

  "Get out," Bagthorpe said, and swung round on the other man, who flinched and ducked away toward the door in a horribly cringing way. His companion, clutching his nose, hurriedly followed him, and the door shut quietly behind them. "Lock it!'' Bagthorpe yelled, and the lock was turned from the outside.

  Bagthorpe looked at the hand with which he had twisted the man's nose, then wiped it on his jacket. He looked at me, and grinned as if he had just remembered me. “Sit, Kit," he said, and was amused by the rhyming sound. He laughed aloud, and repeated, "Sit, Kit. Kit, sit." He pointed to a chair by the table.

  I pulled it out and sat on it, and heard him crossing the floor toward me with precise, slow clicks of his boot heels. He stopped behind me, and his weight came on to the back of the chair. I couldn't see him, but with the nerves in my shoulders and scalp I could feel him looming above me. I started to turn my head, but he set his hand flat beside my eye, like a horse's blinker, to prevent me from looking at him. I stared instead at the crowded table before me, at the oyster shells and stale bread and apple-cores, and my body slowly tensed as I braced myself against the blow which I was sure was coming.

  "Things have been going on while you've been away, Kit," he remarked pleasantly, above my head. I felt him lean more heavily on the chair's back, and he lowered his head until it was close beside mine. ''But you're so clever," he said into my ear. "All that education. You know what happened while you were away, don't you? You're so clever you've probably guessed what I'm going to do next.'

  I thought that he meant he was going to hit me, or arrest me, but dared not say anything in case I was wrong. I did not want to give him the idea.

  He straightened, and his weight left the chair. I imagined that he was still standing behind me, but when he did speak, his voice came from the left, and I jumped.

  "Nothing,'' he said. "You're clever enough to know that, Kit. There's nothing that I can do to you."

  I knew he was lying. He could have me arrested; he could have me burnt. I tried to turn to lo
ok at him again, but he yelled, in one loud, explosive breath, "Eyes front don't look at me I'm no oil-painting!''

  I stiffened where I sat, and heard his footsteps cross the floor again. They stopped behind my chair. He stooped over me, making me itch with embarrassment and antagonism. He said, "Where were you going, Kit?"

  I didn't answer, and he put his hands on my shoulders, pressing me against the chair's back. "Or, why did you suddenly decide to run away, Kit? Answer either or both questions - but answer."

  "I wanted to get away," I said.

  "That’s plain; but what I don't understand is why you waited until now before running?'' He went to the table. There was a piece of paper held down by a greasy dish of fishbones, and he tugged the paper free and held it out to me. "This is for you. Read it." I did not move. ''Take it," he said.

  I thought it was the warrant for my arrest. I knew it was. I would not look at it. It was as if refusing to accept the warrant would make it disappear.

  "Take it, Kit," Bagthorpe said patiently, and it was the patient tone which made me realize that I would have to take it, eventually; and that shaking my head and looking away would not keep me from prison, if that was what was coming to me. I turned to face him, and took the paper, but my hands were shaking and I dropped it.

  "Pick it up," Bagthorpe said.

  The paper had fallen at his feet, and to pick it up I had to stoop from my chair until my face was within inches of his wrinkled, scuffed boots. My head throbbed; I dreaded that he might kick me in the face. But although I fumbled, and dropped the paper twice before succeeding in picking it up, he did not move. "Read it," he said.

  I flattened the paper, and it rattled against my fingernails. I held my breath, trying to steady myself. Frowning, concentrating, I read the first line. "'Edmund Brentwood, of Alston, presents his . . .''

  Oh God, no! I thought. He has written me a letter thanking me for the warning, and Bagthorpe has it! I turned my face away, and held the letter out at arm's length.

  Bagthorpe took it from me, and read aloud. "'Edmund Brentwood, of Alston, presents his compliments to Master Christopher Uptake.

  “‘Christopher: no number of written pages can thank you sufficiently for your gift, but I shall try always to remember the debt I owe you.' I shouldn't take that very seriously, if I were you, Kit. - 'I write in haste. I leave for Alston tomorrow, at five in the morning. If you would receive some small repayment for all your work, and you are able to leave town, then meet me outside my lodgings, and return with me. I will consider it my duty to see that you have every comfort and attention for however long you choose to stay. Until I see you again, Christopher, may God guide you and keep you; your friend and so forth, Edmund Brentwood.' There," Bagthorpe said. "I told you things had been moving. Very good. Well done, Kit.” He paused, reading through the letter again. "He probably didn't have time to read his poem. What a pity.'' He glanced up from the letter to me, his blue eyes in sudden, sharp contrast to his red hair and his burnt skin. "He would have liked the bits about spies being set to betray Catholics and get them shot full of arrows."

  He said this so mildly that for a second I did not realize what he had said; then I felt my hand go to my earring before I could stop it.

  "A University education,' Bagthorpe said, as if he were talking only for himself, "makes people think everyone else stupid." He grinned. "You wrote and delivered a poem about Sebastian being executed for his faith, and then you ran for your life. How much time do you think I needed to figure out why, eh? Do you think I've got a pudding for a brain?" He looked up at me again, observed me for a moment, then smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "But I don't mind, Kit, I don't mind. If you've warned him, he might even trust you more. So long as you get my information, I don't care how you do it. In fact, as things stand, I'm very pleased with you, Kit. You've got your invitation to Alston, just as I asked. Well done. I'm delighted!''

  I tried to resist it, but a feeling of relaxation and goodwill - even of pleasure - crept into my mind. I was safe. Bagthorpe was pleased with me. I was almost grateful, as if he had been a schoolmaster praising my handwriting or syntax. I was not going to prison; I wasn't going to be burned. Instead, with Bagthorpe's approval, I was going on a holiday in the country.

  "So we'll part on good terms,'' Bagthorpe said. "You to Alston, and me to Hawksmere.''

  I stood quickly, pointing at him. I said, "You leave - leave my father alone!'' There was a slight pause before he made a surprised, amused sound which was as false as all his reactions.

  "Very good, Kit,” he said approvingly. "Quick. It makes a change to be able to drop the veiled threats. I'll explain it to you. You'll understand the difficulty, you being so reasonable, and educated, and clever. Once you're inside Alston Hall, you see, enjoying Brentwood's protection, what hold will I have over you? How will I be able to ensure that you'll carry out my orders?''

  "There's nothing you can do to them," I said. "They're not Catholics, and they're not atheists, and my father's a very honest man. My sisters are children; they're - ''

  I stopped because Bagthorpe had put on another of his expressions; a smile which suggested that he was startled by my stupidity, and pitying it. "Are there many beggars round Hawksmere?''

  I wasn't quick enough to see that connection. "Beggars?"

  "Beggars. The kind who ask and, if they don't get, take."

  Then I understood. There are beggars of that kind everywhere, and it's not so uncommon to hear of families who live a little remote from others, as my family do, being murdered by these thieves. The neighbours don’t suspect any motive but robbery; the countryside may be searched, but the searchers are not surprised if they don’t find the killers.

  And my family: how completely unprepared they would be for the men Bagthorpe would send, how confused they would be, and then, how terrified. I could not bear to think of the intensity of fear and despair they would feel when they realized, at last, what was happening to them, but I struggled not to show, by any movement of my hands or face, how I felt. I said, "Go on. Murder them. Why should I care? My father sent me away from home, and she's only my stepmother." I shrugged. "I haven't seen any of them for years."

  Bagthorpe looked at me, his mouth compressed; then looked away and gave the only genuine laugh I had heard him make. "Kit, Kit," he said. "If you mean that, then call my bluff. Accept Brentwood's protection, or run for it again but don't bother to play-act for me."

  I nodded; and he smiled, knowing that I would do as he asked because I did not dare to disbelieve him.

  Bagthorpe pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing to me to sit as well. I did not. "When you get to Alston,'' he said, "You might have a bit of trouble, because I already have a man there, 'matter of fact."

  I burst out angrily, "Then why do you need me?"

  "Because the man I have there is as intelligent and observant as a tree-stump. It's been difficult for me. Brentwood, not being a complete fool, will only employ his local men, you see; and the best of the local men wouldn't work for me. The clown that I have there now wouldn't notice if the Pope paid Brentwood a personal visit - and if he did, he'd give himself away in trying to get the news to me . . . But employing him made it look as if I was on the job. You're what I want, Kit; a guest, invited in by Brentwood himself, and clever. and quick . . .'' He squinted at me admiringly, as if I were a good bargain. "You'll have to invent some story to account for all those bruises and scratches on your face. But I daresay you can do that." I nodded. "Yes: you're good at lying. Inventing stories is the same thing, isn't it? Now listen - " Abruptly, he sat up straight. "I'm going to tell you what to look for when you reach Alston, and how to find it."

  "How am I going to get there?'' I asked, remembering that Brentwood had asked me to meet him at five, and it was already early in the morning. A small triumph jumped up inside me. Perhaps I would not be able to go to Alston at all.

  Bagthorpe waved a hand to silence me. "Evidence that Mass is being said in the house is wh
at's wanted from you - or that priests are being sheltered - so you're looking for priest-holes, chalices, missals - a secret chapel would be fine, Kit. Find us a secret chapel if you can. . . . Remember that the space for priest-holes has to come from somewhere. They'll wall off part of a room to make one, but then that room's bigger outside than it is inside, you see? Only by eighteen inches, maybe, but if you're looking for it . . . There was one behind a cupboard. This cupboard was built into an alcove by the side of a fireplace, and the alcove on the other side went back further than the cupboard did - so there had to be a space behind the cupboard, see? And there was, just wide enough for a man if he stood with his back against the wall - a thin man - a place I wouldn't like to stay for long. They thought the difference between the alcove and the cupboard wouldn't be noticed; and I don't suppose it would have been by anybody who wasn't looking for it.

  “Then there was a flight of steps between landings in one house, and three of the steps lifted up like a lid, and there was a linen-box fitted underneath them - but take the linen- box out, and there was a comfortable little parlour for a priest behind that, going back under the landing above. Nobody could have found that one; we had to be told where it was - but now it's been found, stairs are always examined very carefully. They only work once, these good ideas, Kit, so I shall want a full description of any you find - oh, and watch out for draughts, because these holes have to be ventilated . . . And examine any planking walls* - ''