“Will you take a stroll with me, sweeting?” A youth with tousled brown hair called to me from a tavern door. “I’ll wager you’ve been admiring Warwick’s men today—but I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, not marching off to war. I’d be glad to keep you company!”
I tossed my head the way I’d seen Philippa do. The approving glances this won from men of all ages delighted me. Perhaps I’d make a match after all!
At supper I entertained Big Hal with Warwick’s parade.
“More trouble.” He shook his head. “These barons and their quarrels will be the ruination of the country.”
“But Mistress Attemore’s a great admirer of the Earl of Warwick.” I tried to stifle a yawn. “She says he’s very generous to the poor.”
“A mighty clever man,” replied Big Hal, “but don’t listen too much to Maud Attemore. Gossips like her thrive on hearsay. We’ve no need to worry about him and his schemes. The bakery’s what matters. People always need bread.” He laughed at my yawns. “Get yourself to bed, Nan. It’s been a long day.”
Philippa showed no desire to talk. Closing my eyes, I nestled down in the bed, recalling with pleasure the comments I’d roused amongst the youths in the streets. If only I could find my black-haired man—
My dream drove me through endless, winding corridors where stones oozed damp and flickering torches smoked. A reedy river smell clung about the place, and sounds grew distant, muffled by barred windows and stout walls.
“Don’t hurt me!”
Sudden fear filled the chamber like the frantic beat of black wings. A child’s white face pierced the gloom, its mouth stuffed with feathers, and then the walls unravelled. Stone by stone the dark descended and pressed and pressed—
“Jesu! What a noise!”
Philippa was squealing like a sow in farrow while Mistress Mercer panted up the narrow stairs.
Drenched in sweat, my arms tangled in the bed-clothes, my voice hoarse with shouting, I glared at Philippa cowering in a corner, crossing herself and whimpering.
“What’s the matter?” Margaret Mercer’s voice betrayed alarm.
“She woke me with her screaming,” began Philippa at a furious pace. “She has these terrible dreams and it frightens me. She tells horrible tales of murder—and she sees spirits. I can’t stand it anymore.”
“Get dressed and go down to the bake-house,” Mistress Mercer told the hysterical girl. “Hal’s there already, raking out the ovens. Ask Harry or Meg to give you something to eat. If you start work early, you’ll not have time to dwell on nonsense.”
“I’ll not stay another night with her.” Philippa threw on her clothes. “She’s a witch.” Her voice shook with a passion which made me wince but I noticed Margaret Mercer didn’t scold her. Instead she fixed me with a wary glance.
“Now, Nan,” she said, when Philippa was gone, “what am I to do with you?”
“It was just a dream.” My heart still thumped with fright. “But it was so real—It was all muddled up. I didn’t mean to shout—”
Margaret Mercer’s eyes pierced mine. “Just a dream, eh? These dreams of yours cause a deal of trouble.” She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Your Aunt Grace was very disturbed by your tales and some fortune-telling episode frightened your Uncle Will out of his wits. And now Philippa—What are we going to do?”
Speechless, I stared into her face, realizing she intended to send me away. The thought of leaving Harry and the comforts of this place I thought of as home, horrified me. Hadn’t I tried to suppress the Sight? Mounting rage forced me to confront the future. Why must I be different from other girls? Would I be sent from house to house for the rest of my life, a victim of this curse, forced to see the future and yet unable to prevent it? It didn’t matter what I did, I always ended up in trouble. What were these spirits? Was I truly a witch?
“I don’t want to send you away.” Mistress Mercer lifted up my chin with her finger and thumb so she could scan my face. The kindness in her homely features broke my resolve. Folding me into her stout arms, she kissed away my tears, stroking my hair, murmuring soothing words as though I were her daughter. “Shush, we’ll think of something. I’ll send for that priest of yours. In the meantime, you shall have a room of your own.” She kissed me on the nose, smiling at this notion. “I’ll get Hal to sort it.”
They put me in the little store-room. Between them, the men converted it into a tiny chamber, bringing in a pallet and making it snug. Harry fixed up a shelf for my little horse and promised he’d make another to match it. Afterwards, I avoided Philippa, but if we met on the stairs she shrank away as if I had the plague. How trusting I’d been. I wondered what she might tell Maud. I didn’t want to be the subject of the latest city gossip. The Londoners relished witch hunts, and flocked to executions at Smithfield—suppose someone pointed me out?
Chapter Fifteen
Brother Brian arrived in late August but he didn’t come to the bakery. Instead Margaret Mercer sent me to meet him at St John’s.
“I think he’d rather speak to you privately.” She gave me a half-hearted smile and squeezed my hand, but she didn’t meet my eyes.
Over-joyed at having the chance to talk to someone who understood me better than anyone else, I shrugged off her odd manner and raced through the streets, heedless of the curious stares and cries for caution.
The small chamber at the Priory of Saint John gleamed mellow in the candle-light. Brother Brian crouched over a desk strewn with scrolls, but his face lit up at my entrance.
“Mistress Mercer asked me to talk to you.” He returned my impulsive hug and set aside his writing implements. “And the prior is after loaning us the use of his private chamber for it.”
Smiling encouragement, he indicated a stool by the hearth. A tiny fire danced, shedding its glow upon the shelves of books and papers, illuminating the faded arras on the wall.
“Did Mistress Mercer tell you about the dream?”
“It caused a bit of an uproar, I’m thinking?” Listening to my version, his eyes clouded. “The reoccurrence of these visions reminds us of the need to discover their meaning. Niall spent much time interpreting dreams—for they were prophecies—and so we must pursue the purpose of yours.” He took my hands in his own, squeezing them gently, and smiled at me. “You’ve surely been chosen for a special task. Between us, we must solve the riddle.”
“But I frighten people. Even the Mercers are scared.”
“The Mercers are good people. They speak of you with great affection. Indeed, they’re loath to part with you—” He looked at me with such gravity then, my heart skipped a beat. “Nan, for your own safety we think it’s best to find employment for you elsewhere—at least for now. I’ve been making enquiries about a young widow who requires a maid-servant—”
“They’re sending me away.”
Betrayed, disappointed, angry, I shrank from his solicitude.
“Listen to me Nan.” His voice shook. I guessed then the Mercers had elected him to break the news. “This widow’s husband was killed fighting for King Henry in one of the foolish quarrels amongst the barons—She’s presently renting a house in the city while she petitions for the restoration of the estates that were confiscated on her husband’s death. And because she’s only few of her old servants with her, she’s after hiring others. We thought—”
“To be rid of me.”
It was a cruel judgement born of self-pity. But the gentle priest offered no recrimination. Instead he tried to soften the blow. “It’s safer to find you another place while that wench, Philippa, remains in the shop. Her accusations rouse gossip. Witchcraft’s a dangerous matter.” His blue eyes flashed a warning.
“But Harry’s my friend — and I don’t want to go to new people—”
“It’s just for a little while—until the gossip dies down.”
“But what about the dreams?”
A wary expression entered his eyes. “Say nothing to arouse curiosity. Who knows, but workin
g in a new place might drive them away for a while—as they did when you first came to the Mercers—”
“But I need to find the boys.”
The priest looked at me steadily. “There are no child prisoners in the Tower, Nan. I made enquiries.”
“But—”
“Perhaps the time is not yet come.” He took my hand and spoke slowly, almost tenderly. “Niall taught us that such prophecies can’t be hurried. You must be patient a little longer.”
I snatched my hand away. “People will talk about my sudden dismissal from the Mercers.” How petulant my words sounded.
“I’m sure we can tell them something plausible.” But his argument failed to convince. I knew Maud would gossip. There was only one way to prevent it. I must lie. I’d tell her the Mercers had given me a marvellous opportunity to work in a noble household. That would quash any of Philippa’s malicious tales.
“There’s something else.” I glared at the priest so his eyes seemed to slide away from me. “Something you haven’t told me yet.”
A sudden image of Alys filled my head. Golden coins lay in her lap but her eyes streamed tears. “Something about Alys.”
The priest flinched, his face full of shadows. “She’s to be married.”
“But not to Robin.”
He averted his glance to stare into the fire. “Young Robin’s joined the army—to mend a broken heart, I fear.”
“I told you Alys would marry an old man and Robin will die in battle.”
The priest shuddered and crossed himself. “The reeve’s not so old—”
“Old and rich. Poor Alys!”
“It’ll be a prosperous marriage.”
“But she loves Robin!”
“Sometimes we can’t choose the things we most desire.” The priest smiled wryly, gazing into long, painful distance. I wondered then what demons troubled him and fine-featured Alan Palmer flashed across my mind.
“Is there anything else you’re wanting to tell me now?” His sombre blue gaze fastened on me once more.
Bile rose in my throat. Dare I speak of the black-haired stranger with the fierce blue eyes whom I welcomed with wanton delight in my dreaming and whose presence I looked for daily in the scores of men who patronised Mercers’ pie-shop?
A muted squawk distracted us. I spotted a hunched black bird in a domed cage of osiers hanging from a beam in the corner. It winked a bright eye.
“Nothing else,” I lied, accepting the bird’s warning.
* * * * *
By autumn they’d condemned me to be this Dame Eleanor Butler’s new maid-servant.
“Shall I come with you?” asked Harry.
I picked up my basket to make my last bread delivery. “No, I promised to see Maud.” My cold answer kindled a dark flush in his cheeks.
“It won’t be for long,” he said with an unaccustomed stammer. “You’ll be back before you know it.”
I flashed him an accusing glance. “You promised I wouldn’t be sent away.”
I turned on my heel then, ignoring the honest youth’s blustering protests. I left the little horse on the shelf in my chamber. I hoped it hurt when he found it there.
Maud left off serving a talkative matron in a stained, rusty-coloured gown to greet me. “You’re early.” She took her loaves with a quizzical look, pressing them against a plump, linen bodice edged with damson ribbons. “Are you in a hurry? I suppose you know the latest news?”
I glanced from her to the stout customer. A bubbling excitement simmered between them. They watched me eagerly like dogs who’ve caught the scent, but I just shook my head and shrugged.
“That bold-eyed wench who works in that shop of yours has been jilted by the Fowlers’ lad,” Maud said. Her companion nodded smugly, arms folded across her ample bosom. They awaited my signal of approval or astonishment, their eyes bright with expectation.
“I didn’t know.”
“Oh aye.” Maud plumped herself up like a pigeon. “We were just talking about it.”
“The Fowlers have fine plans for their son,” the stout woman said. She wobbled her head from side to side for emphasis.
Maud winked at her. “They say that lass’s no better than she should be.” She lowered her voice, inviting me into their confidence. “I expect she told you a thing or two about her trysts with Ralph, eh?”
“Philippa doesn’t tell me anything—”
“Well, talk is she’s been to Nell Waters—”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” My snapped response outraged the gawping matron. “I came to tell you this is my last day at the shop. I’m going to a new place in Silver Street where I’m to serve Dame Eleanor Butler.” I waited a beat, allowing them time to take this in. “Her father was Lord Talbot, a great hero in the French wars, and her husband was Thomas Butler, Lord Sudeley. I expect you’ve heard of them.”
Awe-struck, bold eyes bulging, Maud spluttered her astonishment. But she recovered her composure quickly. “Well, it’s not far away, so don’t forget your old friends now you’ve risen so fine.” A calculating glint entered her eye. “Come back and tell me all about your new mistress.”
I left her with the inquisitive matron, their heads locked together, evidently much impressed. Though ashamed of my lies, I knew they’d give Maud something to feast on, but would they keep me safe?
Chapter Sixteen
Joan, the plump cook-maid with the frizzled hair, met me at the kitchen door of the shabby, aristocratic house in Silver Street, and ushered me inside just as the first flakes of snow fell from a livid sky. She’d been appointed to show me round, and after a fleeting introduction to a shy kitchen wench with a scarred face, and an impish scullion, whisked me away through a maze of dark, twisting passages.
“Of course Sir Thomas was much older than the mistress.” She indicated a portrait hanging in the draughty corridor outside Dame Eleanor’s chamber and I noted the haughty features of a sumptuously dressed man. “He was a wealthy gentleman and we lived in luxury at Sudeley. It’s a pity he didn’t think to make sure my lady was well provided for after his death though.” The sigh and the sadness in her eyes plainly expressed regret for a much-loved home as well as concern for the widowed Eleanor.
Lowering her taper and dropping her voice to a whisper, Joan confided, “Dame Eleanor’s been left with few means. Her manors are all forfeit to the crown.” She nodded to where the greedy shadows swallowed up the inscrutable face. “It was a foolish oversight on Sir Thomas’s part and has brought shocking changes on the household. She’s barely enough to pay us, let alone run this place—but you’ll find her a kindly mistress.”
Joan spoke fondly. I was struck by her loyalty to the Butlers in spite of their fallen fortunes. “You might think her rather giddy at first.” A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks. “She’s inclined to sudden whims and can be rash in her affections—but she’s still a young woman. She hasn’t been used to shoulder responsibilities—”
She darted a sudden glance over her shoulder, plainly ill at ease. Looking along the gloomy corridor, I experienced a curious prickle of dread.
“This house—?”
“Belongs to my lady’s cousin.” Joan grimaced with distaste. “It’s a damp, old building. I suppose it was once a grand place, but there’s something about it—I don’t know—I can’t explain. I daresay it’s because we were so happy at Sudeley. But it’s convenient for the city and suits my lady’s present purpose—”
Joan’s unreasonable dislike of the house came as no surprise. A familiar tingling sensation alerted me to the presence of an unquiet spirit. Involuntarily, I turned to gaze along the shadowy corridor.
“This way.” Joan placed a hand on my arm. I jumped like a startled hare.
“Are you nervous?” She feigned a laugh, apprising me of her own poorly concealed fright. Shivers ran down my spine. “But perhaps you’re trembling from cold? This is a cheerless house and I’ll be mighty glad to quit it. It gives me—well I’ve never felt at home
here. Every day, I pray my lady’s petition will bring success and return us to our rightful place. But since we’ve some leisure I’ll show you the rest of the chambers.” Her eyes darted unwillingly towards the steep oak staircase. “We don’t use the upper part of the house much.”
As we crossed the chilly passageway I wondered at these cryptic words. Already I sensed danger. A smell of mould and decay pervaded a deserted chamber with its shrouded furniture and I flinched from the sinister, grim-faced portraits whose eyes followed our progress back to the kitchen. Here, at least, a meagre fire burned, and stringy-haired Alison with the pock-marked face smiled up at me from toiling over dishes. Gratefully, I hugged the hearth while Joan issued brusque instructions regarding food and little Jack pulled faces at her as he turned the spit.
Presently, Lionel, another of the remaining Sudeley servants, staggered in under the weight of fresh logs. “It’s freezing out there,” he said. He awarded me a welcome nod. Dropping his burden by the fireside, he shook himself like a dog, scattering droplets of moisture from sandy hair and eyebrows and stamped thin, sodden boots. “I reckon we’ll have a blanket of snow on us by morning if this goes on.”
“You’d better fetch more wood for my lady before that happens.” Joan flashed him an impudent smirk. “We’ll soon use this lot up.”
Lionel blew on his hands and winked at Jack. “You’re a hard-hearted wench, Joan, condemning a man to such a cruel task.” Joan puffed out her cheeks in mock exasperation. “If I don’t return within the hour, I trust you’ll send someone to look for me.” Assuming an expression of martyrdom, he stepped outside, allowing a vicious blast to swirl snow into the kitchen. Joan shrieked at him to close the door. The affectionate banter between them spoke of long familiarity.
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