‘It’s amazing to me,’ said Brockley, sounding bewildered, ‘that a woman could do it! Is it sure, even now – I mean, could she be shielding someone?’
‘Me, you mean?’ said Cogge. ‘You are still thinking in that way? No, she is not!’
‘Indeed not!’ said Philippa. ‘She is telling the truth, God help her. I believe her. It would have taken strength, but she is as strong as a man.’
Bella had moved, part of the way round the desk, and I could see her better now. I could see the muscle in those thick, bent shoulders, and in the meaty forearms that were reaching so that she could clutch her sister’s skirts. Yes, Bella had the strength.
And Bella, recognizing her doom in her sister’s words and in the faces of the rest of us, began to weep and beg and then to scream.
‘Master Cogge,’ said Philippa, ignoring her sister and raising her voice above Bella’s cries, ‘be good enough to take my sister down to the cellars and lock her in. The far cellar, the small one that isn’t being used, will do. You had better provide a bucket and a pallet and blanket for the night. She deserves no comforts but she is still my sister. I will order soup and bread and water to be taken to her. Master Brockley, perhaps you would help him.’
The two of them bore Bella away, half-dragging her. The screams faded as they went.
And then, my own tears would not be controlled any longer. I began to cry. Dale came to put her arms round me; Sybil knelt beside me, murmuring words of comfort.
‘I think,’ Sybil said, ‘that you should go to bed, Ursula. You don’t want to have another sick headache. It has been a long day,’ she added drily.
It was such a trite comment that through my grief, I almost burst out laughing. Then I checked myself, quelling both laughter and tears, before I became hysterical. We had seen enough of hysterics with Bella.
TWENTY
The Unexpected Ally
Philippa’s face as she watched her sister go was full of misery. But when Bella was out of sight and hearing, she rang her bell again, and when Mary Haxby appeared, told her to show us to our guest rooms. ‘You will obviously have to stay here tonight,’ Philippa said. ‘You can have the bedchambers you had before. Your groom can lodge with Master Cogge once again. My other guests have not yet come. If they arrive late today, they will have to share the rooms that are still free. Those rooms are smaller than yours and it will not be convenient but …’ She let the sentence trail away as though she had lost interest.
We found that our bedchambers had been made ready, though presumably not originally for us. Joseph was still with us, hesitating a little because he didn’t like to go to Cogge’s quarters until Cogge had returned. He didn’t like to enter our bedchambers either, however, and so, when Mary Haxby left us, we all hovered round the door of Sybil’s and my room, until Brockley and Cogge suddenly arrived in the guest hall below and came up the stairs to rejoin us. They looked surprisingly cheerful, considering the unpleasant errand they had just performed.
‘Is Bella safely shut away?’ I asked.
‘Yes. It was a disagreeable business,’ Brockley said. ‘But, madam, I have news.’ He glanced at Cogge, who was grinning. ‘Walter here is one of us.’
‘One of …?’
Brockley made a gesture which said, Let’s all go right into your room, madam. We were bewildered, but we did as he wanted. He gave Joseph a push, to bring him in as well. ‘No point in standing out there,’ he said as he shut the door. ‘Someone could be skulking just behind the door to the vestibule, with their big ears flapping. Go on, Walter.’
‘I thought it was time I spoke up,’ Cogge said. ‘These new revelations are so very serious. I had no more idea of them than Mistress Gould had. It’s true that I knew that the two missing men had been here and I also knew that Mistress Gould didn’t want to tell the tale of how her sister had bought the book back once and then stolen it from Master Spelton and subsequently hidden it so that you can’t get at it. None of that concerned me. Mistress Gould bade me keep all that to myself and so I did. I am here on quite another matter, with orders to maintain my pretence of being in the service of the ladies until my task is done.’
‘Pretence?’ I asked. ‘And who gave you the orders?’ I sat down on the bed, and Sylvia and Dale joined me, seating themselves one on either side of me while all three of us gazed in astonishment at this unexpected ally. Joseph was staring, too. Things were moving too fast for comfort. I was tired and hungry, and wished that I could simply have something to eat, and then just get into bed and go to sleep. But no. It seemed that a whole new batch of revelations was about to be unloosed on us.
‘My orders came from Sir Francis Walsingham,’ said Cogge. ‘Are you aware that he has been worried of late because of a suspected agent, at court, working secretly for Mary Stuart and the Catholic cause?’
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘I did know that. I believe he has some idea of who it is, but needs to prove it.’
‘Exactly. He has laid a trap. He has agents on the Continent and through them it is known that the Jesuits are planning a kind of … invasion of England by Jesuit priests, whose task will be to raise money for Mary’s cause and also to make converts if they can.’
‘We knew that too,’ Brockley said.
‘One of those agents reported that this invasion is now beginning, in a small way. Five priests are due to arrive in England about now, travelling separately, apparently as respectable individuals here on business or to visit relatives, but intending to meet at the house of a family called Brownlow, who live between here and the east coast …’
‘Is all this certain? The agent seems to have found out an amazing amount,’ I said.
‘Walsingham has also placed someone in the Brownlows’ household. They’ve been suspect for a long time, but so far Walsingham has left them alone because he thought he might have a use for them, if priests started coming into northern ports, which was probable because there is a good deal of support for Catholics here in the north. We know that the Brownlows have been collecting details of routes and sympathetic families and so forth; in other words, the priests would get their final instructions from them. The priests will be coming in through Whitby and Scarborough, and the first plan was that they should gather at the Brownlows’ house and spend a couple of days there, while they settled who precisely was to go where. Have I made myself clear so far?’
Several of us said, ‘Yes,’ in unison. Brockley said: ‘What about this trap?’
‘I’m coming to that.’ Cogge was brisk and businesslike, displaying a cool, well-informed mind that negated his hulking build and massive facial bones so completely that I suddenly found it strange that I had ever noticed them. ‘Sir Francis Walsingham arranged for the man that he suspects of being the spy at court to be approached by someone he didn’t know well, but who declared himself to be a Catholic and one of Mary’s supporters. This man told the suspect about the priests and said that they would be picked up at the Brownlows’ house; that someone was on watch and the authorities would descend on them probably the day after they were all assembled, when they might well be caught in the midst of discussing their maps and lists. This obliging informant said he himself could not send a warning, for he was a very humble court employee who couldn’t afford to hire a courier and couldn’t take the time to go himself, either. Indeed, he didn’t know where the Brownlows lived and doubted if he could ever find his way there, anyhow. But he did know about the ladies of Stonemoor, as he was related to one of them. He said that since he believed the suspect to be a sympathizer like himself, and knew him to be better able to communicate with people in the north, he was wondering – could the suspect get a warning to the Brownlows? He suggested that as soon as the priests had all arrived, they should be sent on to Stonemoor without delay. There, they would be welcomed.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Or I think I do. You are here to warn the authorities if and when the priests arrive here?’
‘Yes. They’ll bring their maps,
lists, and so on with them, to study them here. Nice, useful evidence! The helpful informant who talked to the suspect pointed out that the priests would need such things, and in any case, they had better not be found in the Brownlows’ possession. The authorities would probably swoop on their house anyway and search it. The point is,’ said Cogge, ‘that if the priests don’t arrive here, then the suspect probably didn’t pass the warning on and may, after all, be innocent. But if they do – then it is as certain as it can be that Sir Francis suspects the right man. By the way, it isn’t certain that Philippa Gould realizes that her prospective flood of guests are priests. When she told me to expect them, she said they were travellers on private business, journeying together as travellers often do, for safety in strange places. The Brownlows may have deceived her; it’s quite possible. The ladies of Stonemoor are not very worldly, any of them. Not even Mistress Gould.’
‘But we know that Mistress Gould does expect a group of five,’ I said. ‘So the trap has worked.’
Cogge smiled. ‘I think so. But it must still be sprung. The quintet must arrive here before they can be seized. It will be my business to get to York and alert William Fairfax. He will be pleased with the news, I think.’
‘Who is this suspect you keep talking about?’ asked Sybil.
‘I know his name,’ said Cogge. ‘But I mustn’t risk pointing a finger at the wrong man. Even now, we don’t know definitely that the expected guests are the priests. That’s why I said that I only think the trap has worked. When the High Sheriff’s men pounce, they’ll search the quintet’s luggage for evidence – the lists and maps, I mean.’
‘What is going to happen to Bella?’ I asked.
Brockley said: ‘Her sister has withdrawn to her room to consider. But she has no choice, of course. Bella admitted her guilt in front of witnesses. Word about that will also have to be sent to York and that’s that. We left Bella down on her knees in a cellar, weeping and praying.’
‘And much good may it do her!’ The words snapped out of me before I could stop them. Bella had murdered Christopher. It was coming home to me, more every moment, that I had liked Christopher Spelton more than I had ever dreamed of liking any man again. That when I refused to marry him, I had thrown away a golden opportunity. He would not have stopped me from continuing to care for Hawkswood and Withysham, or going on with my plans to create a good inheritance for my son. I had been too determined to keep my life unchanged, I thought. I had also been afraid of having further children, I recalled, but women did have babies successfully when they were in their forties, and why shouldn’t I? Harry’s birth had been easy.
They were all looking at me in startled fashion. I wasn’t usually vindictive. ‘She has killed a friend of mine,’ I said shortly and added: ‘Isn’t it time we had something to eat and went to our beds? I wonder if anyone is going to provide us with supper?’
‘I think I can find the kitchen,’ Sylvia said. ‘Didn’t we smell cooking from the gallery where the library is? Perhaps Dale would come with me. We can ask for some supper or get it ourselves, if necessary. We’ll bring it back with us.’
However, before she and Dale could depart on this mission, a tap at the door announced the arrival of Mistress Angelica Ames, tall, gaunt and unsmiling as ever, to tell us that supper was being put on the table in the guest hall. ‘Mistress Gould has ordered it. Dear God, the revelations of today …!’ She stared inimically at us as though it were somehow all our fault. ‘If only you had stayed away – if only you had not found that accursed boot – none of this need have happened!’
‘None of it would have been found out, you mean,’ said Brockley. ‘The worst had happened. Two men have died.’
‘So Mistress Gould has told me. Bella Yates is a fool, an ignorant fool, and always has been, and there are others here who are not much better, and because of that, yes, two men have perished. But can today’s trouble and the horrors that will follow bring them back to life?’ enquired Angelica pungently, before whirling round and sweeping off down the stairs and out of the guest wing in what looked like high dudgeon.
‘There have been rulers in the world who used to kill messengers who had brought bad news,’ remarked Brockley. ‘Mistress Ames would agree with them, I think. Why ever did her parents name her for the angels?’
We laughed, and the laughter did us good, as did the supper that was indeed awaiting us downstairs. We ate fried chicken and this time there was good white bread to go with it. Afterwards, came a pie filled with preserved plums, and there was a reasonable wine as well. We were being well treated. Perhaps Philippa Gould was afraid of us. Well, that was a pleasant change, I thought, from us being afraid of her!
While we were eating, Brockley said: ‘There’s one more thing we have to do before we can retire to sleep.’
‘Is there? Must we?’ asked Dale wearily. I sympathized. ‘What is it?’ I asked, also wearily.
‘Joseph and I will make everything ready,’ said Cogge, standing up. ‘One of us will fetch the rest of you when we’ve finished.’
‘What …?’ I began again.
‘We have to dig a grave in the garden,’ said Cogge. ‘Just a little one, but those are Mistress Gould’s instructions and I think she is right.’
Some time later, by lantern light, we witnessed the burial of the boot with Bernard Hardwicke’s leg inside it. ‘It’s all we have of him,’ said Philippa, when we joined her in the garden. ‘But we must do what we can.’
So, wrapped in thick cloaks, we stood beside the tiny grave that the men had prepared – it could have been a place made ready for some departed pet – and there the pathetic remnant, wrapped in a white cloth and still inside the boot, was placed, with reverence. Walter Cogge, mindful of Philippa’s presence and therefore maintaining his role as priest to the Stonemoor ladies, recited a Latin prayer and then asked God, in English, to receive the soul of Bernard Hardwicke, even though he died unshriven and did not subscribe to the true faith. Then the three men filled the grave in, and with that done, we all trooped away.
I wept during the night, though mostly, it was for Christopher’s sake. That, for me, was a private thing and I did it silently. Even Sybil, lying beside me, did not know.
In the morning, which was cold and clear, we were all awake early and as soon as we were downstairs, I rang the guest hall bell, to ask for breakfast to be served.
We had just finished our porridge and were embarking on more white bread, with butter and cheese, when a disturbance out in the courtyard brought us all to our feet. We hurried to the outer door of the vestibule, where we stopped, not certain whether to go further. Joseph and Cogge were out in the courtyard. Joseph was standing aside, looking worried, while Cogge seemed to have joined an agitated conference which was going on between the porteress of the moment, whom he was loudly addressing as Mistress Greene, and the goblin-like Will Grimes, who had just slid down from his shaggy pony and was making frantic gestures and exclaiming in a voice high-pitched with alarm, though from where we were we couldn’t make out his words.
Angelica Ames appeared, hastening down the main steps and marching on across the courtyard to find out what was happening. She listened to Will for a moment and then began to protest and shake her head. Will grew even more agitated. Cogge waved a signal to us to come. We went forward.
‘… what dost tha mean, no, they can’t be?’ Will was shouting now. ‘Who says no they can’t be? I tell thee, they are, and they mean it and they’ll be here afore tha knows it! Vicar’s leading ’em! Go to t’gate and look down t’hill if tha doan’t believe me! They’re coming!’
I looked at the others and while Angelica continued to shake her head and make disbelieving noises, we all, including Joseph, did what Will had recommended and made for the gate. There we stopped. Walter Cogge, who had got there first, planted himself in the archway, hands on hips and feet apart, while Mistress Greene, who was round of face and figure, with plump arms and fat little hands, stopped at his side, visibly agh
ast. We were all aghast. Will was right. They were coming.
By they, he had meant a whole crowd of people, who were now making their way up the zigzag path from Thorby. They seemed to be coming slowly, but even from a distance, they had a curiously purposeful look, and in the forefront was a short dumpy figure who might very well be Doctor Rowbotham though I couldn’t at this distance see his face. I stared in bewilderment.
‘What’s it all about? Who are they?’ I demanded.
‘It looks to me like about three-quarters of Thorby,’ said Cogge. ‘With Rowbotham in the lead. Will says they’re coming for Mistress Bella Yates. And they mean business.’
TWENTY-ONE
The Deputation
‘What do you mean, they mean business?’ I demanded.
‘They want Mistress Bella.’ Will Grimes and Angelica Ames had joined us. ‘Keep trying to tell thee, so I do!’ Grimes said. ‘They says she’s a witch, that she did kill Master Butterworth with a magic potion; that this here’s most likely a house of witches but it’s her they’re sure of, her they want, and they mean to have her. Village has been muttering for a while now and that there Rowbotham; he’s egged them on.’
‘Then why aren’t we barring the door?’ Brockley and I said it together and Brockley strode forward to seize one of the open leaves.
‘Don’t bother yourselves,’ said Cogge, not moving.
‘What do you mean?’ I demanded.
The Heretic’s Creed Page 18
