by Jenny Kane
‘And you forget that you told me you liked my directness. How can my father possibly raise enough money with two of his children missing? How …’
Mathilda, her jaw aching from the pressure of Robert’s firm fingers, took a ragged breath as realisation dawned. ‘You don’t intend for them to be able to pay you back, do you? I am too useful to you, and it suits your family to keep mine in debt to them.’
Sarah crashed down the jug she held in her hand, ‘Foolish woman! You are so sharp you might cut yourself!’
‘I can handle this, thank you, Sarah.’ Robert dropped Mathilda’s chin, and took a tight grip of her hand, ‘It seems our guest does not wish to be updated on the current situation, or receive our words of help and advice to get her through this. She apparently knows better.’
‘My Lord, no, I …’
Again Mathilda was cut off mid-sentence, as she realised exactly how unwise she’d been. Coterel had warned her not to reveal Hugo’s deception to Robert, and now she wished she’d listened to him.
A gloating laugh cut through the argument as Father Richard entered the kitchen, demanding a drink from a taciturn Sarah, before, with an expression on his face that made it look as if he was delighted to have witnessed such ire towards Mathilda, disappeared as fast as he’d arrived.
Robert shot the view of his retreating brother a black look, before rounding on Mathilda once more, ‘Not another word, girl. Not one. Just you listen to me. Master Hugo is a loyal friend. He had no pleasure informing me that you had shirked your duties, that you’d made him a loss rather than a profit, and had been over two hours late in starting work on his stall. He has nothing to gain from lying to me. Therefore he did not lie.’
‘Of course he did!’ Mathilda knew she’d gone too far, pushed her luck too much, but it was too late now, ‘Of course he did, he’s a clever man! It suits him to lie to you. Coterel himself claimed Master Hugo to be untrustworthy and yet you believe him over me! Me, who has put her life at risk for you in order to save the people I love. You claim to follow the example of Robyn Hode – well, you’re not doing that this time!’
She hadn’t cried since she’d first left the Folvilles’ small cell. Now, as Mathilda found herself back in the tiny stone prison, she let all the held in grief and fear escape. Tears cascaded down her cheeks in torrents, and her cheek stung from the slap of Robert’s palm that had met her face with so much power that if she hadn’t been sitting down, it would have floored her.
Why hadn’t she held her tongue? Her father had told Mathilda many times that her quick retorts would be the death of her. For the first time she considered he might be right. Literally.
Mathilda couldn’t see how she would ever leave this household alive now. She knew the Coterels were planning to work with the Folvilles, and if the amount of planning they were putting into whatever task it was they intended to undertake, she was sure it would involve a felony of some sort. She knew that Master Hugo was jealous of her, but she hadn’t a clue why, and she knew her anger at Robert was as much to do with the fact that she wanted him to think better of her than a liar like Hugo. Mathilda cradled her head in her hands. She knew too much – even if she didn’t understand any of it.
Mathilda wasn’t sure how long she’d been locked back in the shadows. She hadn’t moved from her crouched position on the floor since Robert had left her with the parting words, ‘It seems John was right; I was foolish to trust you after all.’
In spite of the truth of her ill-advised outburst in the kitchen, Mathilda was stung by Robert’s words, and the expression of disappointment on his face, which was far worse than the anger that it had replaced. Her head whirled. Why was Robert confiding in her one minute, and then blasting her with mistrust the next?
The more she thought about her situation, the less if made sense.
Thinking back, Mathilda saw how wrong she’d been to think she’d be able to leave once she’d delivered that one message. Eustace himself had told her that she was to be their eyes and ears, their messenger. He hadn’t said that there would only be one message. She’d been so relieved to have survived her trip to Bakewell that she’d jumped to conclusions.
Weary from her early awakening, Mathilda decided to escape from reality for a while and take solace in sleep. Not even attempting to get comfortable, she rested her head against the mossy stone wall, and closed her eyes.
Her semi sleep-like doze had been littered with nightmares and faded hopes for the fate of her family, and Mathilda felt a sense of relief when she fully came back to consciousness. With her tears dried against her face, Mathilda blinked. The shadows cast over the four walls loomed over each other as if the slime on the walls was illuminating the space, but then, and her eyes roamed the confided space, she saw a glitter of light just inside the door.
Cautiously reaching out, Mathilda caressed the unmistakeable length of a dagger. The same dagger Robert had lent her the day before. How had Robert come to find it under her bed where she’d stashed it awaiting a chance to return it to him? Had Sarah or Allward found it and, recognising the colour of the stone to name the weapon as Robert’s, returned it to him and forgotten to tell her? And why had he snuck back her and left the dagger for her? Had it been him? She must have been far more deeply asleep than she’d imagined. Anyone could have opened the heavy wooden door and slid the dagger into her prison.
The only fact that Mathilda knew for sure was that it hadn’t been there before she’d gone to sleep.
Grace got up from her desk and hit the start button on her coffee machine. Stretching her back, she closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious aroma of brewing coffee as it filled the air.
It was no longer just Mathilda who didn’t know what was happening in the Folville manor. Grace had a feeling that the plot was getting away from her; and that fairly soon someone was going to have to die to keep the plot on track. The trouble was, Grace was unable to decide how that death might happen.
Although she was very clear on who was destined to meet a premature end, and why.
Chapter Twenty-four
With the scrape of the gaol door opening, Mathilda hastily slid the dagger out of sight up her sleeve. Her heart thudded harder as she waited to see who was coming to see her.
Sarah, her jaw set firmer than ever, grey shadows around her eyes suggesting that she hadn’t slept too well either, beckoned urgently to Mathilda to follow her.
Bunching her right hand into a fist so that the hidden weapon didn’t slide from her sleeve, Mathilda scrambled out of the cell and went with the housekeeper, not to the kitchen as she’d expected, but to a bedroom.
Only when the door had been shut behind them, did Sarah speak. ‘This is my Lord Robert’s room. You will assist me in making up his bed and collecting his dirty linen for washing. And more importantly, you will keep your mouth shut and listen. We don’t have long.’
Hoping that her compliance would lead to Sarah telling her what was going on; Mathilda tucked and smoothed the rough sheet. The hems and backside of her clothes were soiled from the damp and slime of the cell, and stuck to her legs. Mathilda was thankful for the warmth from the dying embers of the fire that had been warming Robert’s room during the night.
Moving around the bed, flapping linen into place, Sarah spoke. ‘All of the brothers are out, but there is no knowing when they’ll be back.’ Sarah moved to the fire and carefully laid a couple of slim twigs onto its embers, ready to coax a stronger flame from the ashes. She sighed heavily. ‘Despite the impression my Lord Robert gave you, he knows you did well, Mathilda, but don’t think that one success has given you the right to any favours here. In truth, your position is now more perilous than it was before.’
Thinking this was something of an understatement considering where she’d just been delivered from, Mathilda asked, ‘Please, Sarah, I know I spoke out of turn, and I’m truly sorry for that. But I did exactly what I was ordered to, despite being double-crossed by Master Hugo.’
Sensing
that Sarah was having a battle with herself as to whether to say more or not, Mathilda added, ‘I was left a dagger in the cell. Did you put it there?’
‘A dagger?’ Sarah’s faced grew pale. ‘Show me.’
Easing the short-bladed weapon from her sleeve, Mathilda passed it over to the housekeeper, who sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, something Mathilda was sure she’d never normally allow herself to do, especially just after she’d finished making it.
‘It’s my Lord Robert’s, isn’t it?’ A sense of foreboding ran down Mathilda’s spine as Sarah’s eyes met hers. ‘Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?’
Grace swore under her breath. If she didn’t stop writing now she’d never get to work on time. She had a group tutorial with her research students in two hours that she hadn’t even started preparing for. Reluctantly leaving Mathilda in suspense, she headed off, checking her emails on her phone as went.
Amongst all the offers for penile enhancements and cut-price insurance was an email from Daisy. Then Grace’s stomach did a back flip when she spotted that the email beneath it was from Rob.
Reading Rob’s email first, Grace found herself smiling at her phone screen. He was offering to take her out tomorrow night if she didn’t fancy cooking for him. Grace surprised herself by replying that cooking was no problem as long as he didn’t mind cuisine a la M&S, and that she was looking forward to seeing him.
As soon as she’d pressed ‘send’ on the email, Grace felt silly for her previous panic about Rob coming to her place. Daisy had been right. He was a nice guy. If he was the right nice guy then he’d have to accept her, warts and all. And that meant all her messy clutter and lack of domestic skills inclusive.
Flicking onto Daisy’s email, Grace looked up to check she wasn’t about to walk into a tree as she crossed the park, and scanned the message which seemed to be a list of all the jobs that needed doing before the wedding.
Vowing to give this her full attention, but knowing she’d need a cuppa and a sit down in which to do so first, Grace pocketed her phone and began to walk faster towards her office.
After a brief knock on the door, Agatha elbowed her way into Grace’s room, her arms laden with folders. As soon as she saw the lecturer properly, her face creased into an approving smile. ‘You feeling all right, Grace? Only you appear to be wearing smart clothes.’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Having prepared herself from some mild teasing, Grace returned the secretary’s smile, and smoothed out the outfit she’d worn to the viva. ‘I assumed with the wedding coming up, I should try and get used to wearing better clothes, so it isn’t so much of a culture shock parading about in a bridesmaid’s dress for the day.’
‘How long it is until wedding now? You got your shoes broken in and stuff?’
Grace hooked her feet out from under her desk and flashed her brand new dark green suede heels under Agatha’s expert gaze.
‘Oh, I like!’
‘It would be nice if you didn’t sound quite so surprised that I can have decent shoes, Aggie!’
Not fooled for a second, Agatha laughed, ‘You didn’t choose them, did you?’
‘Nope. Daisy did. They’re higher than I’m used to so I’m going to wear them at home and in the office so I get used to walking in them without breaking an ankle.’
Approving of this uncharacteristically smart and sensible Grace, Agatha asked, ‘What are you buying the happy couple as a wedding gift?
‘Oh my God!’ Grace felt like her determination to be a far more organised person had failed at the first hurdle. ‘I have no idea! I’d forgotten all about it.’
‘Well, no need to look so alarmed; I’m sure they’ll have a gift list or something.’
‘Apparently not. Daisy doesn’t want people to feel obliged to get them anything. It’s so difficult finding something for a couple who already have everything they could possibly need house wise after years of having separate homes.’
Placing two folders of completed essays ready for making on Grace’s desk, Agatha looked thoughtful. ‘You really should get them a gift though, Grace. You’re the bridesmaid! How about a time cheque?’
‘What the hell’s a time cheque?’ Grace opened the top folder, and grimaced. She already knew the first essay on the pile wasn’t going to be worth reading; well, not unless the student in question had learnt to cherry pick his answers from the internet with rather more care than he had in the past.
‘A time cheque is a sort of IOU. An offer to house-sit the animals so that Daisy and Marcus can have a weekend away in future. You know, once they’ve been married for six months, and are dying to get away from reality again for a while.’
‘That’s a great idea! Thanks, Aggie.’
The secretary headed for the door, pausing as she pushed it open, ‘Who are you taking with you, anyway? You can’t go to a wedding alone. And I assume you aren’t seeing anyone right now?’
Flustered, and not wanting to jinx things with Rob, Grace said, ‘Oh, course I’m not, but I’ll be fine just with Daisy.’
Agatha shook her head sharply, ‘Of course you won’t! You’ll need someone to balance you up on the wedding photographs. I tell you what, I’ll get my stepson Malcolm to come with you for moral support, I’m sure he’d oblige.’
Before Grace could protest, Agatha had disappeared along the corridor, ready to deliver the next batch of essays to the lecturer in the next office.
‘Damn!’ Grace stared up at the face of Errol Flynn on the back of the door, ‘Now what do I do!’
Feeling it was far too early in their friendship to assume too much with Rob, Grace hadn’t mentioned their previous or forthcoming dates to anyone but Daisy. She desperately didn’t want to spark any gossip around the office; especially via Aggie who, for all her kindness, loved a juicy rumour.
Grace had heard a fair bit about the secretary’s stepson Malcolm, and it always seemed to be along the lines of him being a really nice guy, but rather thoughtless. Knowing she had to act fast to stem Aggie’s well-meaning matchmaking, Grace got up and wobbled on her new heels to the secretary’s office.
More tottering than walking, Grace made it to the office without breaking her leg, and put her head around the door, preparing to decline Aggie’s offer. On arrival however she found that the secretary was already on the phone. Grace’s heart sank as she listened to the conversation in process.
‘You’ll love Grace, Malc, she’s pretty, bright, and totally lovely. Shall we say coffee this afternoon?’
Sensing she was being watched, Agatha twirled her swivel chair around, and beamed at Grace, ‘and here’s the woman in question!’ She held up a hand to indicate to Grace that Malcolm was still talking, before she finally hung up the phone.
‘Four thirty today, in the New Walk Museum cafe. OK, Grace?’
What else could Grace do but say, ‘Sure. Why not?’
Running after Sarah back to the little prison, Mathilda’s blood pounded in her throat. She didn’t know why she was being hurried back into confinement; the housekeeper’s worried expression made it clear that it was for her own safety, not out for some malicious intent.
Once Mathilda was back inside, Sarah crouched at the door, glancing behind her nervously, her ears alert from any sound.
‘Please, Sarah …’
Shaking her head urgently, Sarah spoke fast, ‘Father Richard might be back soon, and if he learns I let you out, or indeed have done more than bought you some bread and ale, then he’d have my hide. He’s been waiting for an excuse to get me out of here for years.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his brothers trust me. They haven’t always done the right thing, but they believe what they are doing is the best thing. The rector just believes blindly, and his brand of justice is frankly frightening.’
‘Why do the others trust you?’
‘Because I’m merely their housekeeper, you mean?’
‘Forgive me, but yes.’
‘I brought them up, ra
ised them from pups. All but for Richard, who was carted off to a monastery at the age of five. He never grew to know or trust me like his brothers did, and has always held the fact he was sent away against me, although his departure was none of my doing.’ Sarah was getting more agitated, and Mathilda could tell the housekeeper was thinking fast. ‘Give me the dagger. It is best it was never here.’
‘What do you mean? Robert obviously thought I might need it.’
‘If the dagger wasn’t here when you first arrived in the cell, then it wasn’t Robert who left it. He went back to Derbyshire the moment you were imprisoned.’
Mathilda drew in a sharp breathe, ‘Do you think he believed me about Master Hugo lying about me after all? Has he gone to quiz the leatherworker?’
‘No. But I believed you, and that made Robert think.’ Sarah took the dagger and wrapped it in her apron, ‘It is very important you do not have this dagger when they come to release you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because word has not long come from Derby. Robert didn’t get to ask Hugo if he was telling the truth or not.’
‘Why not? What word? Who from?’
‘From Hugo’s apprentice, Roger. Master Hugo was found dead just after Vespers last night.’
Grace paused, flexed her fingers, and gave in to the nagging doubts in her head about what time of day Vespers actually was. She knew that the church clock was something of a moveable feast depending on the time of year, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what time of year she’d decided to set her story; if she’d ever really thought about it in the first place.
Quickly googling the monastic calendar to check that she was right in thinking that it was about 7 o’clock in the evening. Grace told herself off for not having kept any sort of continuity notes, and promising herself she’d check to make sure that all her characters had the same colour eyes and hair at the being of her story as at the end, she read through the information on the screen.
Vespers was at seven in the evening, although that was only the case during midsummer. If her story was based in mid-winter, Vespers would be nearer 3 p.m. ‘Why the hell can’t I remember what time of year I’ve set all this stuff in?!’
