Herald of joy, p.58
Herald of Joy, page 58
part #2 of Wintercombe Series
To make matters absolutely certain, she locked the door of the gaoler’s room. She wanted to lock the tower, too, but someone might well notice her doing it. Better just to take the keys with her, and drop them in the Avon on the way home. She pushed the heavy clanking ring deep into the pocket of her gown, and with an expression of intense satisfaction, slid out of the door, closed it behind her, and walked proudly towards the Katherine Wheel, well pleased with the success of her plan.
No one in the inn so much as glanced at her, as she hurried up the dark stairs to the chamber, the cloak, mask and hood still disguising the blatant garment beneath. She would be glad to loosen her stays, to scrub her face, and to step back once more into her safe, respectable russet riding-habit, a gentlewoman of unimpeachable modesty.
She knocked on the door, a single and then a double tap, lifted the latch and swept in, pulling off the hood and mask, unbuttoning her cloak. ‘It worked!’ she said exultantly. ‘We did it — he’s free!’
She cast the cloak on to a chair, wondering why Tabby was not speaking, why she had not rushed up to greet her. Her niece was sitting by the fire, the book of Bacon’s Essays open on her lap, her face unnaturally pale — and streaked with tears.
With a sudden dreadful foreboding, Patience turned, in all her overflowing glory, and saw Nat, standing by the window.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘The reward of a villain’
(Much Ado About Nothing)
It was well past dinner time when Jeremy Walker and Mally came down the steep way to Bath, and the bridge over the Avon. They had stopped for a snatch of bread and cheese at a wayside inn, hardly sufficient for a mouse to dine, and Mally, who had a healthy appetite, was ravenously hungry. But she had promised Silence that she would find out all she could in Bath, and so her belly would have to wait a while for its sustenance.
They rode over the bridge and up Southgate Street. There were plenty of people about, fine ladies and gentlemen taking the air, country people, beggars, and, as was usual in Bath, the halt, the sick and the lame, making their way to and from the waters. Jeremy guided the horse between them, and up to the Southgate.
As was also usual, in these still troubled times, there were a couple of militiamen on duty. Their presence was no more than a token one, however, and they were chatting amicably to a group of women obviously well known to them. Mally ignored the twitch of guilt between her shoulderblades, and kept her eyes firmly to the front, past Jeremy’s rather prominent ears. Of course, the two soldiers paid them no mind whatsoever, and they passed under the stone arch, with its three weathered stone statues, many hundreds of years old, of a king, a prior, and a bishop.
‘Here,’ said Jeremy suddenly. ‘Looksee, Mally, bain’t that Master Wickham? Tis his horse for sure, I’d know that girt bay anywheres.’
Mally stared. Surely, Wickham had intended to go home to Glastonbury. He had certainly said nothing about a trip to Bath. But Jeremy was not mistaken: it was indeed Tom Wickham, his plain pleasant face suddenly very wary, sitting in his solid farmer fashion on the bay gelding with its distinctive white face.
And behind him, almost unrecognisable in humble russets and a greasy felt hat, riding an ewe-necked hired horse, was Nick Hellier.
Mally’s heart began to pound erratically against her stiff bodice.
At all costs, she must prevent Jeremy giving away the secret. She could not remember if he knew the Captain by sight, but it would be as well to take no chances. Those soldiers were only a few yards behind them, and she had a sudden dreadful vision of Jeremy, blunderingly innocent, saying in his loud Somerset voice, ‘Why, if it bain’t Captain Hellier — aren’t ee supposed to be in the city lock-up?’
‘Good day, Mally — good day, Jeremy,’ said Wickham, drawing rein. To her profound relief, she realised that Jeremy seemed to be paying Hellier no mind whatsoever. Perhaps, he had in fact never seen him before. She prayed that he would not query the sudden presence of a servant, when Wickham had ridden to Wintercombe without one.
‘Good day to ee, Master Wickham,’ said Jeremy. The tips of his cars had become rosily red with embarrassment, for the sight of the other man had reminded him once more of Tabby, and the errand on which she had sent him. Behind him, Mally allowed her eyes to meet Nick’s. He looked surprisingly well, although freedom had probably had a beneficial effect on his health, and he had shaved off his week’s growth of beard. Without it, he looked younger, more respectable, and quite different from the sickly prisoner she had encountered only a few days previously. Seemingly casual, she touched her finger to her lips, as if brushing something away, and saw that he understood.
‘Well, I will not detain you if you are on an errand for your lady,’ Tom said. ‘Pray convey my regards to her, and my thanks for her hospitality, and I hope that I will soon see you all again. Goodbye, Jeremy — goodbye, Mally.’
‘Goodbye, Master Wickham,’ she said, and watched him urge his horse past them, his shabby ‘servant’ following after. She took a deep breath, not daring to glance behind her: it would not be safe, to give this apparently casual encounter any more importance than it seemed to warrant. There was no sound from the direction of the gate, however, no cries or alarms. As Jeremy rode on up through the crowds in Stall Street, she closed her eyes with relief. The Captain was free, and apparently unpursued. It was beginning to look as if, against all the odds, Mistress Patience’s plotting had succeeded.
‘Where are we to go?’ Jeremy asked over her shoulder. ‘You haven’t said yet.’
‘Do ee keep on up Stall Street,’ Mally told him. In truth, she did not have any destination in mind, since the purpose of her journey was even now, she hoped, crossing the Avon in Master Wickham’s wake. But she would have to think of somewhere, if only to allay any suspicions that Jeremy might have. The mercer’s, just opposite the White Hart, would do as well as any. There were bound to be pins or silks or needles required, and inspiration would surely strike her, once inside the shop. Fortunately, she had enough coin in her purse to make the necessary purchase. Then, they could return to Wintercombe, and she would be able to give the glad news to her mistress, that Nick Hellier had, miraculously, escaped.
*
Master Jonathan Harley was in his study, examining various documents in connection with a law-suit which one of his clients wished to pursue, when a loud hammering on the street door disturbed his peace. He raised his head from the crabbed Latin handwriting of a deed nearly two centuries old, and listened. He heard the heavy tread of Mistress Barnard, his housekeeper, the opening of the door, and a child’s high-pitched voice. Suddenly alert, he pushed the pile of parchment and paper to one side and got up. Mistress Barnard, as fussy and protective of her bachelor employer as a broody hen, would doubtless send the brat packing, unaware of the probable importance of his message. Only one boy was likely to come to his house in Stall Street with such urgency, and that was the tailor’s apprentice whom he had paid, without his master’s knowledge, to watch the city prison from his shop hard by the old church.
He flung open the door, and called along the narrow hall. ‘Alice? If that is the tailor’s boy, show him in. He has a message for me.’
The ’prentice was about twelve years old, a sharp-eyed boy with sandy hair, ears almost at right-angles to his head, and a rather sly, furtive expression. He had readily agreed to the gentleman’s suggestion that he earn an extra coin or two, and keep his master in ignorance. And, sure enough, not half an hour past he had seen, from his position by the window, the man of Harley’s description emerge from the tower door, and set off down the High Street. He was certain that it was the same one: of medium height, brown-haired, lightly built, and somewhat pale and haggard in appearance. And, though the child had seen plenty of people coming and going at the prison, he was sure that this man was not a casual visitor.
‘And I followed him,’ the ’prentice finished. ‘Twas main simple, sir, for he never looked behind him once. I followed him to the White Hart, and I d’know one of the lads in the stable there, and whiles I were a-talking to him, I seed this man a-riding off with another gentleman, what had been a-waiting for him. Dick, he tellt me his name were Reynolds. But when they rode down to the Southgate, sir, this Master Reynolds, he met a woman riding pillion what knowed him, and she called him Master Wickham.’
‘Wickham!’ Harley said. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir, sure as my name’s Sam.’
‘And the Captain and this Wickham — where did they go?’
‘They went out of the Southgate, sir, and down toward the bridge, and I couldn’t see no further,’ Sam told him. ‘Then I thought as how I’d best come and tell ee, sir.’ He paused expectantly, and added, with a greedy glint in his eye, ‘Have I done what ee asked, sir?’
‘You have, and more,’ Harley said, unable to suppress the excitement in his voice. If Lady St. Barbe was still unwilling to marry him, this would surely prove the final persuasion he needed. Her lover freed from prison with the connivance of a man who was known to be a friend of her family — Colonel Pyne, for one, would never believe in her innocence after this. She would undoubtedly know it, and, faced with disaster and ruin, must at last bow to the inevitable, and agree to marriage.
He drew a long, triumphant breath. Now, all his planning had come to fruition, and the surge of delight which flooded him surpassed even the joy he felt when winning a particularly intractable case. He must ride to Wintercombe immediately, and present Silence with the ultimate, inescapable choice. She must agree to marry him, or he would tell Colonel Pyne of Wintercombe’s complicity in Hellier’s escape.
He became aware of Sam’s eager expression and outstretched hand. He thrust a couple of shillings into it. ‘Well done, lad. Now be off with you, and remember — not a word to anyone about this!’
‘Don’t worry, sir, I won’t tell a soul,’ said Sam, his grubby fingers closed tight around the precious coins. ‘Thank ee, sir — and if you d’want ort else done for ee, you d’know where to ask.’
‘I do indeed, Sam,’ said Harley, although, with all his dreams at last within reach, he could not imagine any further need for the boy’s services. He watched the child run out, and then glanced at his handsome new clock. Perhaps three hours to sunset: there was plenty of time to ride to Wintercombe, and lay his offer, for the last time, before the lady whom he wished to marry.
That she might hate him for it, that any future they might share would be blighted by his actions, did not occur to him. It was enough that she must marry him, must submit to his wishes. After all, it was not really a companion, nor a helpmeet, nor a lover, that he sought, for the women of Bath would supply those needs. Silence would bring to this forced marriage a pleasing body, which had already been proved fertile, and a manor sufficient to found his dynasty. Her feelings in the matter were not worthy of his notice or consideration.
Jubilant, he told Alice that he was going out on business, and might be back very late for his supper, if at all. Then, his long, usually impassive face inflamed with excitement, he walked the few doors down to the White Hart, where his horse was kept in the stables.
*
‘And what have you to say for yourself?’
Patience had never seen Nat so angry, and in fact had not thought him capable of such fury. Only a moment ago, she had joyfully assumed that her plan had succeeded, that all she and Tabby needed to do was to return innocently to Wintercombe, as if from a pleasant afternoon’s ride. Instead, by means which she could not guess, Nat had followed them, discovered their chamber at the Katherine Wheel, and had waited, with Tabby, for her return. By the look on the girl’s face, and her tears, that wait had not been a pleasant one.
She was acutely, mortifyingly conscious of the fact that her body was decorated and enhanced and displayed for male delectation, and that Nat, for various reasons, was the last person she would have wished to see her thus. Patience turned her back on him, hoping vainly that her scarlet embarrassment was not too obvious, and picked up the cloak which she had gleefully cast aside, only a moment before.
‘Yes, I should cover yourself if I were you,’ said Nat. She heard his footsteps behind her, and his hand gripped her shoulder with painful force, pulling her round to face him. He was the same height as she was, and his eyes, glittering with rage, were much too close for comfort. ‘What in God’s name do you mean by this? Tramping the streets like a twopenny whore? What if someone recognised you? Or, worse, what if you were propositioned, or raped?’
Patience found her anger rising to match his. ‘Well, I wasn’t,’ she said indignantly. ‘And no one would have known in the street — I kept my cloak well buttoned, and the hood and the mask hid my face. No one knew who I was, or saw me dressed like — like…’
‘Like a whore? I’ll say it for you, if you’re too mealy-mouthed to manage it. And Tabby had to watch while you made an exhibition of yourself…’
‘I helped her!’ his half-sister cried, jumping up. ‘I painted her face — she couldn’t do it without a mirror…’
‘I didn’t ask for your account,’ said Nat viciously, rounding on her. ‘I’ve had it from you already. So, Mistress Patience — if you were not parading through the streets bare-breasted and painted, what were you doing?’
‘Helping Nick Hellier to escape,’ Patience told him, in a low, furious voice. ‘And I succeeded — he’s free, and no hue and cry, no alarm, and no one knew that I was responsible. You can rant all you like, Nat, but I succeeded, he’s free now, and there’s nothing you can do to alter it.’
In the quiet, Tabby glanced from one to the other, trying not to cry. She could not understand Nat’s savagery, not when their plan had worked. The interrogation to which he had already subjected her had left her far more upset and frightened than had Colonel Pyne’s. She had always been close to Nat, had thought him her special friend, and the manner in which he had turned on her left her feeling bereft and betrayed. He had not really listened to her frantic explanations, he had accused her of lying, of stupidity and disobedience, and while she knew that those charges were strictly true, surely the reason justified her actions?
Quite plainly, he had not thought so, and now he was not sparing Patience either. But her aunt was made of strong metal, and had honed her argumentative skills on her father and, later, her hapless brother Joseph and his wife, the formidable Grace.
‘You have put Wintercombe in hazard,’ Nat said, softly venomous. ‘You have risked your freedom, and your sister’s, and mine, for some ridiculous notion of escape — after you’d been expressly forbidden to take any further action. My God, girl, you’ve nearly ruined us once already — isn’t that enough for you?’
‘It wasn’t her fault!’ Tabby interrupted. ‘It was my idea — I asked her to help!’
‘I don’t want to hear another word from you!’ said Nat viciously. She stared for an anguished moment at his face, and then turned abruptly away, trying to suppress her tears. It was very unfair — they had succeeded, their plan had worked, so why was he so angry?
‘Anyone would think I’d put a bill on the prison door, advertising the escape of Captain Hellier, with the assistance of the St. Barbes of Wintercombe,’ said Patience. ‘And the reason I’m dressed as a whore is so that no one would recognise me. Who would imagine that I’m really a respectable woman? If there had been another way, Nat, I would have taken it, but there wasn’t — and I am not in the least sorry for what I have done. Wintercombe is safe, as safe as we can make it — I doubt they even know yet that he’s escaped. Unless,’ she added unpleasantly, ‘you’ve made the whole inn aware of it.’
Nat gazed at her defiant face for a long moment. Then he said curtly, ‘We’ll discuss it later, on the way home. I presume you did not ride all the way from Wintercombe dressed like that?’
‘I doubt you could have been more offensive if I had,’ said Patience caustically. ‘I suppose that you wish me to change my clothes? Then, with your permission, sir, I will retire to that closet, and Tabby can help me.’ Her eyes hard and unfriendly, she surveyed him. ‘And perhaps you would consider using those few minutes to ponder the advisability of a return to more civilised behaviour — if you know how.’
She swept up her russet riding-habit and walked over to the closet, Tabby close behind. He received one more withering glance, and then the door was slammed shut.
Nat would dearly have loved to throw something at it, but he had long ago left childhood behind. His anger almost suffocating, he turned and strode to the window, his hands gripping the stone sill, while the bright busy bustle of Bath passed to and fro below him, a never-ending pattern. She had acted with unforgivable stupidity and rashness, she had embroiled Tabby once more in her plots, and then she had insolently defied him. And to walk the streets in that indecent attire, to take the part of a whore…
He found his mind dwelling on her body, tempting and undeniably attractive, even if laid out for purchase with all the subtlety of a butcher’s stall. Then the realisation struck him with devastating force. He cared not a fig for propriety, he was normally tolerant, to a fault, of all the foibles and perversions and peccadilloes of his fellow humans, so long as they did not harm others. But Patience’s disguise had repelled him because he wanted her for himself.
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. He had flirted with her, he had enjoyed her company, her laughter, her lighthearted sophistication. He had appreciated her beauty, he had tacitly acknowledged, as had she, the spark of attraction between them, rapidly fanning to a flame. But it had taken the sight of her in the rose-coloured gown, shocking and blatant, to force the message home. He desired her, as he had never desired any woman before.
