Montacute House

by Lucy Jago

  ‘I turned thirteen two days ago. I asked to come.’

  ‘Ah, seeking adventure.’

  ‘Not really. My friend has gone missing and I thought I might find out something about him here.’

  ‘A good friend? Run away?’ Jasper’s questions came fast. She wondered what interested him more, William’s disappearance or her relationship to the missing boy.

  ‘He could not run far. I think he was taken,’ Cess replied, almost in a whisper. Just saying those words made it more real, and she did not want it to be true. Jasper said nothing. It was clear to her that he saw no need to concern himself with her friend.

  ‘Do you hear anything about those who have disappeared?’ asked Cess.

  ‘Yes, indeed, all the gory details. The regulars know my mother likes to be entertained,’ said Jasper, taking a last pinch and reluctantly putting the lid on the tobacco pot. Cess could well imagine that Jasper was also not averse to gossip.

  ‘When did your friend go missing?’ he asked, yawning rudely and clearly wanting his bed.

  ‘William. His name is William. He was last seen yesterday evening, Sunday, just after dark. I found out today that at least two of the missing boys were taken from the east end of the town, near the wrecks’ shack. If I can discover who took those boys, it might lead me to William. If he has not been taken but run away, he might have to take shelter in the shack. I want to go there, but cannot alone.’

  Jasper snorted. ‘I admire your optimism, but many have been looking already and nothing has been discovered,’ he said, getting up from his stool and walking with it round the rolling table. He used it to kneel up on the trestle and push the pot back on the shelf from where he had taken it. Cess rose and stood between Jasper and the door.

  ‘Goodnight, Cecily Perryn. I hope I shall always buy my eggs from you,’ he said with exaggerated flattery, trying to walk round her.

  Cess thought fast. ‘Please take there me now. I must return to Montacute at first light.’

  Jasper’s astonishment was plain. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too dangerous. If the people stealers don’t catch us, we will be set upon by thieves. People are hungry.’ Yet he did not turn away. Cess saw that her plea had seized his attention. She sensed excitement at the thought of prowling the streets, hunting for a missing boy.

  ‘No. I cannot,’ he said decidedly. He tried to push her aside, but Cess resisted.

  She felt desperate. If he left, she had no chance of finding William that night. Jasper needed to be persuaded … ‘If you will not help, I cannot promise my silence.’

  .

  Jasper grumbled continuously as they walked quickly eastwards towards the poorest quarter of the town, keeping close to the buildings and choosing the widest streets so that the moonlight would allow no one to lurk unseen. He had insisted that Cess wear an old cap and cloak of his to cover her hair and a battered pair of boots: two boys out at night would arouse less suspicion. The boots were so large she had stuffed them with some of her bedding.

  ‘It’s not proper. You behave like a man, not a girl. My sisters would never be caught dead out at night like this, chasing after some boy …’ he moaned, to Cess’s deaf ears.

  ‘There,’ he said, stopping suddenly.

  A hundred yards away, Cess could just make out the faint glimmer of candlelight through shutters. As they neared, she saw a dilapidated two-storey building leaning alarmingly to one side. A sign hung above the door, but the paint had peeled too much to tell if it showed a hog’s head. The decrepit tavern was still open for business, although, as they passed an open shutter, they could see that most of the clients had fallen into a stupefied slumber amongst the cups on the trestles. It had not occurred to Cess that the people she wanted to question would be too drunk to make any sense at this late hour. Jasper was wearing an ‘I told you so’ look so she walked on towards the byre that lay beyond the tavern outbuildings. Cess guessed that this had to be the wrecks’ shack. One side was open to the elements, and it had so many holes in the roof and plank walls that Cess was sure the occupants would be as wet inside as out when it rained. Strange noises wafted out of the darkness. To Cess it sounded like a herd of unhealthy cattle snoring, shuffling, sneezing and coughing. The smell was startling and noxious. Cess had confronted that smell before, when passing sheep left to rot in the fields, calves born weak and abandoned to the crows, or injured deer half-eaten in the woods. She recoiled into Jasper as she looked into the byre.

  In the moonlight, she could just discern that the place was packed with the very poorest human creatures, wearing rags, some half naked, some with the protruding bellies of the starving. It was hard to believe that some of them were still alive. Most slept fitfully, but a few looked up at Cess and Jasper with empty, hopeless faces.

  ‘God be with you,’ started Cess uncertainly. ‘I am searching for my friend who is missing.’

  There was no response at all, but before she could say more Jasper stepped forward, impatient to be finished with this business. As he opened his mouth to speak he retched and had to turn away. Cess was feeling increasingly guilty for making him bring her here. Jasper held out his hand to her. In it were a few farthings. She took them gratefully.

  ‘There is a reward for anyone who can tell me about my friend,’ she said, holding up the coins in the moonlight. Instantly the mood in the shack changed. Bodies stirred. People sat up and stared.

  ‘His name is William. He has lived thirteen summers …’ Cess paused, wondering if it would help or hinder her search to mention William’s club foot, ‘… and he has a rounded foot that limps.’ A low muttering in response to Cess’s description gave her brief hope.

  ‘Have you seen or heard of him?’ she continued.

  ‘Maybe, but my tongue cannot eat itself, can it?’ said a reedy voice.

  Cess held out a coin. The thinnest arm she had ever seen whipped out of a bundle of filthy rags, grabbed the coin and retreated, like a frog catching a fly.

  Cess waited. ‘What do you know then?’ she prompted, growing impatient.

  ‘Nothing,’ the voice replied.

  Jasper pulled Cess away from the byre. She swiped at the tears of disappointment and anger that pricked her eyes.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ said Jasper, surprisingly gently considering how she had treated him. ‘When you return to Montacute he might be there.’ He put his arm around her shoulders.

  Because he was comforting Cess, his guard was down. When the blow came, he fell sideways with no more than a gentle grunt. Cess did not have time to scream before the sack came down over her head and darkness engulfed her.

  .

  .

  10

  It was still dark, but the forest was noisy. Edith woke with a start. Rooks were cawing when they should have been silent. She went to the door and saw a badger running across the clearing in the moonlight. The animal stopped and looked directly at Edith before continuing on its way. It was a warning.

  She pulled a large sack from the corner where it had stood since she had first arrived in the forest, packed and ready for just such a flight as she was to make now. She threw a few extra items into the sack – a cooking pot, some provisions, the velvet bag she kept under a stone in a dark corner, bunches of dried herbs that hung from the rafters, her cloak and staff. Her movements were so quick and precise that the striped back of the badger was not far ahead of her as she fled across the grass and plunged into the forest. She heard the men approaching. Not their voices – they were trying to catch her by surprise – but a crackle in the undergrowth, the stirring of a branch and the flapping of birds’ wings. She could hear the men’s jumbled thoughts. Their fear.

  Edith did not stop to look back. As she disappeared into the darkness, a dozen men entered the clearing, armed with heavy spades and smithy tools. Led by Ignatius Bartholomew, they crept towards the shack. The parson indicated that they should surround the small building in case Edith tried to give them the slip. On his signal the men began pou
nding on the walls and door with their tools, intent on smashing the little building to kindling.

  ‘Witch! Where is he? Where is William? Witch!’ the men were screaming, working themselves into a frenzy. The door gave way after a few blows. It had no lock. The men ran inside and looked into every pot, bag and chest. They threw everything outside, upturned the pallet and checked the floor for a trapdoor.

  ‘She is not here,’ said the parson through gritted teeth. The others did not hear him as they continued their frenzied destruction.

  ‘SHE IS NOT HERE!’ he shouted. ‘Someone must have warned her.’ He spoke with cold fury. Frustrated that their search had turned up no evidence of Edith’s witchcraft or of William, the other men pushed and hammered at the walls until the hut collapsed. They jumped on whatever they could, splintering planks into short, useless lengths, so that it was beyond repair. The parson picked his way through the remains of the hut with great care, as if they stank or might explode. He walked away in the direction of the village. The other men looked keen to continue their destruction, but reluctantly followed him.

  Dawn was approaching. The forest around the clearing was unusually silent. A place of peace and sanctuary had been violated, and Nature was not blind to that.

  .

  .

  11

  Cess was shaken out of the sack on to a damp, cold stone floor. The first thing she noticed was the smell, so thick and putrid she did not want to breathe. Perfumed smoke was coming from a couple of braziers, but it could not cover the hideous odour of putrefaction that thickened the air. Her eyes watered. She tried to move, but her ankles and wrists were tied.

  On the floor beside her lay Jasper, also trussed with ropes. His eyes were open, but his mouth was gagged with a length of grubby cloth darkened with blood that had oozed from the wound on his head. Looming above them were three men, each holding a lit torch. They wore black robes to the floor like priests. One had a leather satchel strung across his body, his neighbour grasped two long metal rods, one sharp, one with a tiny scoop at the end, and the third held a cloth. It looked like a gag, intended for her, but instead of putting it on they were staring at her.

  Cess could feel saliva collecting in her mouth and her head was swimming. She turned from Jasper and was sick until her sides hurt. A flaming torch was thrust towards her and Cess cowered, terrified the men were going to set her alight. Far from being disgusted by her vomiting, they gawped all the more and began a rapid discussion in a language Cess did not understand. They appeared to come to a decision and hurried out of the room, one leaving his torch in a wall bracket before shutting the door behind him.

  As soon as the men had gone, Jasper and Cess struggled to sit up. Their arms were tied behind them, so it was difficult. The torch flames made deep, jumping shadows, but there was enough light to make out that they were in a vaulted cellar or crypt, low and square. Two stone and brick pillars supported the ceiling and the walls were brick-lined and dripping wet. It appeared to be a very ancient place. Nearly all the plaster had long since dropped off and the walls sagged and bulged in places. The stones on the floor were uneven and some were entirely gone, revealing bare earth. Puddles gathered in the depressions. There were no windows, and the arched doorway was narrow and low.

  ‘They will not be gone for long,’ Cess whispered to Jasper. She was desperate for a drink to swill out her mouth. ‘Are you all right? Your head is bleeding.’ She was painfully aware that it was she who had led them to this place. It reeked of death. Jasper grunted through his gag and thrashed around, struggling to untie his bonds. She shuffled towards him and felt for his ropes, aware of how she stank of vomit and fear. The warmth and weight of him against her back was comforting.

  Despite tugging hard, she could not loosen the knots that held him. The dagger that hung from his girdle had been removed. They sat back to back in silence, lost in the horror of the place. Cess shut her eyes and tried to picture what Edith would do.

  ‘I have a knife!’ she blurted out in the excitement of remembering the athame. ‘In a pocket beneath my skirts,’ she continued in a whisper. ‘I don’t think they will have taken it. They seemed appalled by me for some reason.’ Cess noticed Jasper gulp and she wondered whether he also felt sick or whether he was unsure about putting his hands up her skirt.

  ‘It’s between my smock and kirtle. Go on,’ she urged, hearing voices in the distance. ‘It is to this side.’ She struggled on to her knees and pushed her right hip towards him. Jasper managed to get his joined hands under her kirtle and, with much writhing, to reach up and fish the knife out of the pouch. His hands were shaking so much it took a few attempts to saw through Cess’s ropes. As soon as her arms were free she cut through Jasper’s bonds and those still round her legs. Jasper pulled the gag from his mouth.

  ‘Argh!’ Jasper moved his jaw and tentatively dabbed at the sticky lump on his head where he had been cudgelled. ‘God’s breath, the smell!’ he said, gagging as he rubbed his stiff, bloodless legs and wrists. He struggled to his feet and began to feel around the walls, but almost immediately tripped over something. He swore like a fishwife.

  ‘Take the torch,’ Cess suggested.

  ‘You have told me what to do enough for one lifetime,’ snapped Jasper. Cess’s cheeks burned. She longed to be at home with her mother, William by her side and Jasper someone she had never met. ‘Who the devil were those men? They looked like priests in those robes,’ he said, moving over to the door to examine it.

  ‘Or monks. What tongue did they speak?’

  ‘Spanish or Italian or something. It wasn’t French.’

  The door was very old but still sturdy, made of thick wood, reinforced with metal bands and with a narrow viewing window cut into the upper portion too small for Cess to fit her hand through. There was no lock, but the door would not open, so it must be latched or bolted from the outside. Cess had a nagging sense that she had been there before. She recognised the smell, although it had been much fainter, as well as the darkness and the fear. Leaving Jasper to work at the door, she looked around the room to see if there was any other way out. She found the lumpy sack on which Jasper had tripped and bent to open it. The sack came away in her hands. It was only covering what was underneath. She sucked in her breath with horror and let out a low, stricken groan.

  Jasper turned at the strange sound and looked down at Cess’s feet. There was a body, almost unrecognisable as such, it was so bruised and bloodied. The flesh was black, streaked blue and garish yellow, and it had cracked and burst in places. It was only identifiable as a young man by the clothes. The lips were pulled back in a tortured grimace to reveal teeth broken by the force of the shaking the poor creature must have suffered.

  ‘He’s alive,’ Cess gasped, kneeling down beside the shivering body. The boy tried to speak, the breath rattling in his throat and spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. Cess pulled off her cap to dab his mouth and knelt close to the blistered face, stroking his hair away from his burning forehead. The boy’s limbs began to shake violently and Cess held him.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ she said soothingly, asking him his name so that he would know, even in his fever, that he was not alone. Suddenly Cess understood why she felt she had been in that ghastly place before. It was what she had seen when Edith told her to think of William. The door, the darkness, the stink. She groaned again and held the boy more tightly to her.

  ‘Jasper,’ she whispered, taking her eyes from the boy for a moment to peer into the dark recesses of the rooms, ‘are there others?’

  Jasper grimaced and walked carefully towards the darkest end of the cellar. ‘There are two more,’ he said, shaking his head meaningfully as he walked back over to her, not wanting the boy to hear that they were dead.

  ‘Do either have a curled right foot?’ But even as Cess spoke she knew Jasper would not find William there. He was not dead, she was sure of it. But she was equally certain that he was close by.

 
‘Not that I noticed,’ reported Jasper.

  The boy in Cecily’s arms began mumbling in his fever.

  ‘I should not have gone,’ he whispered, eyes staring, unseeing. With each word spoken the boy winced as if a hot poker was being forced down his throat. ‘Whores and drink, I will go to hell!’ He lunged at Cess, trying to pull himself up. He scrabbled desperately, crying out, then collapsed back on to the stone floor. His chest caved inwards, empty, and did not shudder again with the effort of bringing in new air.

  Although many people Cess had known were dead, including some she had loved deeply, none had been in her arms at the moment life left them. The boy’s face was wet with her tears as she laid him on the ground. She pulled the sack over him and would have stayed there a while but for Jasper pulling her to her feet.

  ‘He’s in a better place now than we are,’ he said. ‘We have to get out.’ He pulled her to the door.

  ‘No guard and it’s latched, not bolted,’ he muttered, craning his neck, ‘but I can’t see anything to lift the latch with. We will have to surprise whoever comes in and stab them with your knife.’

  Cess did not object to wounding her kidnappers, but doubted Jasper’s plan would work if more than one entered at a time. She picked up her athame. ‘Try lifting it with this,’ she said. Jasper poked the knife between the door and the frame, but it was too thick to reach under the latch.

  ‘I have some money,’ she said, patting the purse beneath her skirt that held the market takings. ‘Could we bribe them?’

  ‘I don’t get the feeling they’re in this for money,’ said Jasper.

  Her purse held one more hope. She found the pentacle Alathea had given her and began sawing at it with her athame.

  ‘What is that?’ said Jasper, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘A good luck charm from a friend,’ she replied lightly, pulling the metal straight and bending one end up a little. It was exactly what Jasper needed to lift the latch. He poked the metal through the narrow gap, shaping and reshaping it, swearing all the while under his breath. At last, the latch clicked upwards.