Salvation Page 18

  ‘I knew he’d bring bad luck,’ Alice said grimly when Meg found her in the dairy. ‘If it weren’t for poor Mistress Sarah, God rest her’ – she crossed herself – ‘I’d have sent him packing, but there’s no help for it now. I’ll see to everything here, don’t you worry. You go and help Mistress Beatrice.’

  Upstairs, Meg found that Beatrice had already gathered Father Weston’s few possessions into a heap on the bed. She was staring at them with a perplexed expression.

  ‘Alice is speaking to the servants, Beatrice. Beatrice?’ She saw that Beatrice was crying.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she gulped. ‘I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so afraid. Oh Meg, suppose they are discovered?’

  ‘We won’t let it happen.’ Meg snatched up Father Weston’s black cloak, bundled everything onto it and tied the opposing corners together. ‘Where does Richard want these?’

  ‘In the chapel.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  As they lifted the bundle, Meg froze. ‘I think I heard someone outside.’ She dropped her end of the bundle, ran to the window and peered into the dusk.

  Beatrice’s voice trembled. ‘What is it? Is someone there?

  Meg strained her eyes, but nothing moved. Her heartbeat slowed a little. ‘Perhaps it was a fox or the wind in the trees.’ She went back to the bed. ‘Let’s hurry.’

  Together, they dragged the bundle onto the landing. Father Weston’s silver cross and communion instruments clattered against each other as it bumped down the stairs.

  At the bottom, Beatrice stopped. ‘Richard’s devotional books… his missal, The Lives of the Saints and Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In his room.’

  Meg soon found the books on a table in front of the internal window looking directly into the chapel below. In the chapel, the chest that had once been used to store vestments had been moved to one side. She was just in time to see Richard and Father Weston slip through a small door in the oak panelling behind it.

  As she hurried out, Meg heard a distant sound like the breaking of glass. She raced downstairs and found Beatrice. Her face was bloodless as she pointed in the direction of the Great Hall. ‘Oh Meg,’ she gasped. ‘They are already in the house.’

  ‘Then we can’t go that way to the chapel,’ Meg tried to sound calm. ‘We’ll have to hide this somewhere else.’

  Footsteps made them both swing round in alarm but it was only Alice coming from the kitchen. ‘You go in and keep them talking, Mistress Beatrice. Meg and I will deal with everything.’

  In the kitchen, Cook stood astonished as Alice wrenched open the iron door at the base of the big range and recoiled from the heat that billowed out. ‘What are you doing?’ she remonstrated.

  ‘There are priest hunters in the house,’ Alice replied.

  ‘Merciful Lord!’ Cook’s knife clattered to the floor.

  Alice untied the bundle. ‘We shall have to burn all this,’ she said. She snatched up a poker and started to push Father Weston’s bands into the flames.

  ‘But what about the silver?’ Meg asked. ‘It won’t burn.’

  Cook recovered her wits. ‘The dairy. The milk churns were full this morning. Hide it there.’

  ‘I suppose it might work,’ Alice said grudgingly, her face flushed with heat.

  Cook scowled. ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  ‘This is no time for arguments,’ Meg snapped. ‘Take them please, Cook, and I’ll help Alice.’

  Father Weston’s threadbare vestments did not take long to reduce to ashes. Alice looked woefully at Richard’s books. ‘They were Mistress Caterina’s,’ she said.

  Meg touched her shoulder. ‘If she were here, she would not want them to put Richard in danger.’

  With an expression of renewed determination on her face, Alice jabbed the first volume into the flames and soon the others followed. The iron door clanged shut and she wiped her streaming forehead with the hem of her apron.

  Meg brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘We should go to the Great Hall - Beatrice will need us.’ She started for the door but never reached it. Into the kitchen came six men dressed in rough, soldiers’ clothes. They stood to one side, muskets at the ready. Then a seventh man entered and ice filled Meg’s veins. It was Ralph Fiddler.

  *

  At dawn, Meg sat in the Great Hall waiting for him to return. Five of his men had gone with him, while the sixth stood guard, his musket at the ready if she or Beatrice tried to move. She felt sick with apprehension. Hours had passed since the servants had been taken away for questioning. Alice would have the strength to resist, but the rest? It was little consolation that they probably did not know exactly where Richard and Father Weston’s hiding place was.

  There was the sound of a scuffle in the screens passage and Ralph appeared, propelling a spitting Alice before him. Twisting her arm, he forced her down onto the settle by the fireplace. ‘Keep her here,’ he barked at the guard. ‘If she gives you trouble, shoot her.’

  Beatrice jumped up. ‘This is an outrage. You have no right to abuse my people, or to hold us against our will.’

  ‘I have the queen’s warrant, madam; that is all the right I need. If you, or your servants, try to obstruct my exercise of its powers, I may do with you as I wish.’ He scowled at Alice. ‘This harpy would do well to take heed.’

  Alice lurched from the settle but the guard was too quick for her. The butt of his musket caught her across the throat and she sank back with a gasp.

  Ralph’s lip curled as he offered Beatrice his arm. ‘I have no objection to your accompanying me on my search, madam. Or Mistress Stuckton if she so wishes.’

  In the entrance hall, a heavy-set guard met them. His black hair and beard were silvered with plaster dust and he held a thick iron bar in his hand.

  ‘We’ve opened every chest and wardrobe, master, and broke into the wall where you said, but there’s nothing.’

  A furrow deepened between Ralph’s eyebrows. ‘Then get back to work with the measuring rods and go over the house again, inch by inch if you have to. Call me when you find anything that does not tally. Are the others still in the kitchen quarters?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  The stench of beer greeted them and a dull tapping sound. Swaying a little, one of the guards was working his way across the flagstones, tamping a metal rod on each one as he went.

  ‘Nothing yet, master,’ he slurred.

  Ralph grabbed him by the throat. ‘Did I say you could drink?’

  ‘No, master.’

  ‘Borresbie! Shore!’

  Two more guards appeared.

  ‘Take him outside, find a pump and sober him up.’

  As the tipsy guard was manhandled away, Ralph glanced around the large kitchen. ‘Borresbie and Shore can continue in here when they come back.’

  He raised an eyebrow when Borresbie returned. ‘Apart from the cellars, where have you searched?’

  ‘The dry pantry, master.’

  ‘Show me.’

  In the pantry, Meg stared in dismay at the ripped sacks and smashed jars. A tide of flour, sugar, oats and salt covered the floor, dark and sticky where preserves had mixed with it. Months of stores were unusable. Beatrice’s eyes flashed. ‘Just what did you think to find here, sir?’

  ‘There are many types of evidence, madam. Be assured I shall uncover them all, however long it takes.’ He turned to Borresbie. ‘Where now?’

  ‘No one has been in the dairy or the outhouses yet, master.’

  Meg’s heart missed a beat. The dairy was separate from the house; she had hoped it might be overlooked. She did not dare glance at Beatrice as Borresbie led them there.

  In the cool, shadowy room, the air had a milky, sweet scent to it. Neat rows of muslin-wrapped cheeses were ranged on the shelves alongside the earthenware crocks containing fresh curds and butter. Meg winced as Borresbie removed their covers, plunged in a ladle and emptied them out, sc
owling when he found nothing. Silently, Ralph pointed to the churns in one corner. Meg saw Beatrice grip the folds of her skirt.

  The first churn hit the floor with a thump. The lid flew off and milk streamed across the floor. Ralph stepped back with a grimace as it spattered his well-polished boots and black hose. At least, Meg thought, it was a small punishment, but in a few moments, it would be nothing.

  When the second churn went over, something metallic glinted in the white liquid. Borresbie picked it up and Meg knew at once they were lost. Ralph took the chalice and rotated it slowly so that the silver caught the light.

  ‘You seem to have taken some pains to keep this hidden. Do you still expect me to believe you are not harbouring a priest?’

  When Beatrice did not answer, he brought his face very close to hers but she remained impassive.

  ‘Make no mistake,’ he said silkily, ‘I shall dismantle this house stone by stone until I find what I’m looking for. Why not tell me now where the priest is and prevent its destruction?’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, sir.’

  ‘Take her upstairs, Borresbie, and lock her in her room. I’ll deal with her later.’

  A chill came over Meg as she remembered Ralph’s ways.

  Beatrice shook the guard off. ‘I have no need of your assistance.’

  Ralph waved a dismissive hand. ‘Tell the others what we have found, Borresbie, and tell them to keep searching.’

  Alone, Meg and Ralph stood facing each other. His eyes glittered and she smelt the sharp tang of his sweat.

  ‘Not many people surprise me, Mistress Stuckton,’ he smiled, ‘but I must admit you have. I did not expect to find you in such company. I imagine I don’t need to tell you that your departure caused your husband considerable distress. Naturally, he was unable to believe a woman in her right mind would reject what he had to offer.’ He pulled her close. ‘You scorned me once before. I do not advise doing so again, unless you want me to inform your husband of your whereabouts.’

  Meg tensed, half-knowing what was to come. Suddenly, his expression was sombre. ‘I hope we understand each other,’ he murmured. ‘The priest and Richard Lacey are here. Sooner or later I shall find them. Unless…’

  Meg’s mind raced. ‘Unless?’

  ‘Don’t pretend to misunderstand me. I still want you. I think it is a fair exchange for two men’s lives, don’t you?’

  Meg felt her stomach lurch. ‘Why should I trust you?’ The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  ‘So they are here,’ he smiled. ‘Well, what is your answer?’

  She bowed her head. ‘What will you tell your men?’

  ‘That you have confessed that Lacey and the priest were here but they left before we arrived.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Borresbie and Shore will escort you to London while I and the rest follow the “trail”. Of course we shall find nothing.’

  ‘You swear to leave here without harming my friends?’

  ‘I swear by everything that is holy.’

  ‘Then I will come.’

  16

  The hallway of the London house was narrow with dark, battered wainscoting and shabby walls. As Meg followed the manservant into a small parlour, the rushes on the floor crackled under her feet, giving off a musty smell. In the parlour, an uncurtained window looked onto a blank brick wall. So this was Ralph’s house – as ugly and unappealing as he was.

  The journey to London had left her weary and desolate; the memory of her departure from Lacey Hall still twisted in her gut like a knife. She had saved Richard and Father Weston, but the hurt in Beatrice’s eyes at what must have seemed like a desertion would not be easy to forget.

  The days of waiting for Ralph began. Anticipation of the consequences of their bargain only deepened her distress. More than once, she dreamt of escape – what did it matter if Ralph carried out his threat and Edward found her? Only the fear of endangering the family at Lacey Hall held her back.

  Her sole companion was William, Ralph’s manservant, who had been left in charge of the house in his absence. William brought in meals from a nearby cook shop and attended to what little work he deemed necessary in the house. Meg wondered wryly what her mother would have said about such a lax regime.

  *

  Ralph arrived a week later. It was evening and they sat in the parlour as he recounted the events after she had left Lacey Hall. On his orders, his men had abandoned the search there, but for several days he had made them scour every other house, cottage and barn in the locality.

  ‘I thought that would do to convince my masters that if the birds had ever been there in the first place, they had long ago flown.’ He reached for the bottle of wine at his elbow and refilled his glass.

  ‘Did Mistress Beatrice give you any message for me?’ Meg asked.

  ‘No. Are you sure you won’t join me in a glass of wine?’ He held up the bottle. ‘It’s a good vintage.’

  ‘No thank you.’

  He drained his glass and poured another. ‘Meg, I have kept my side of the bargain. Now you must keep yours. Surely it’s not impossible for us to live together amicably?’

  Meg coloured. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He filled a second glass and held it out to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. What was the use of antagonising him? She was in his power now and whatever he had promised, quarrelling with him might still endanger Richard and Father Weston.

  ‘No doubt you wonder why my circumstances have changed so much since the days we enjoyed together in Salisbury,’ Ralph said, sitting back in his chair.

  Meg bit back the urge to offer a scornful reply. ‘Enjoyed’ was not a word she would have used.

  ‘I have you to thank for it,’ he went on.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I had been dissatisfied for a long time with my life there. The work of a clerk is often tedious and there was little prospect of advancement. After your sudden departure, it occurred to me it was time to turn the situation to my advantage. I already had your husband’s confidence. A certain piece of information put him in my debt. After all, what man would want it known he was a cuckold, particularly a man of his pride and standing?’

  Meg felt sick. ‘You told him about Tom?’

  ‘At first he flew into a rage but then wiser counsels prevailed. On my advice, he let it be known you had miscarried and the tragic loss had driven you out of your wits. For your own safety, you had been removed to an asylum some distance from Salisbury. The physician there insisted on complete seclusion.’

  Meg stared at him. ‘He told people I was mad?’

  Ralph laughed. ‘In your husband’s mind, you were, in truth, not far removed from that condition.’

  ‘But my family? Did he tell them the same thing? Surely they would not have let me be taken away.’

  With a shrug, he fetched a new bottle of wine, opened it and replenished his glass. ‘As far as I could tell, their main concern seemed to be the avoidance of a scandal. My departure from Salisbury suited everyone,’ he went on. ‘Thanks to your husband’s generosity, I arrived furnished with a goodly sum of money to make a fresh start. I never looked back - London is a city full of opportunity for those who know how to make use of it. The work I am engaged on is only the beginning.’

  He tossed back his wine, stood up and took an unsteady step towards her. ‘Enough of this talking. Shall we to bed, madam?’

  It was the moment Meg dreaded, but she was painfully aware she had no choice. She took his proffered hand and let him raise her to her feet. The room swam. The wine had been stronger than she realised.

  Upstairs, in his sparsely furnished room, she shivered. Ralph put the wine bottle on the table and frowned at the empty grate. ‘I told that lazy fool of a servant to light a fire.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Meg said quickly. The banal exchange heightened the strange awkwardness of the situation. Ralph’s inability to meet her eye made her think he felt it too. />
  With difficulty, she suppressed a shudder as he unhooked her gown then clumsily unlaced the ties of her bodice and petticoats. Naked but for her shift, she clasped her arms over her breasts and watched him strip off his breeches and hose.

  He came towards her and uncrossed her arms then pulled down the loose neckline of her shift. His mouth explored the curve of her breasts, his tongue running hungrily over her skin. Beads of sweat matted his hair and his breath smelt of wine. ‘Lie down,’ he muttered.

  The mattress sagged as he clambered onto the bed beside her. His legs straddled hers and his hand reached for his manhood. Meg tensed, waiting for him to enter her. She felt his probing fingers and a wet, slippery pressure, but after a few moments of fumbling, he started to curse. All at once, the grotesque comedy of the situation overtook her and an involuntary gurgle of hysterical laughter rose from her throat.

  The sinews stood out on Ralph’s reddened neck and his eyes narrowed. ‘You cold bitch,’ he snarled, ‘this is your fault.’

  The first blow split her lip and she cried out at the stinging pain. The second smashed into her left cheekbone.

  ‘I’ll teach you to mock me,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget.’

  Twisting towards the foot of the bed, he pinned her by the chest with his knee and seized the wine bottle. He wrenched her shift up to her waist. The remains of the wine spattered her as Ralph rammed the bottle’s cold rim between her thighs. Desperate, she jerked up her head and with all her force sank her teeth into his bare buttock. He yelled and in the brief moment that he relaxed his grip, she shoved him away and jumped from the bed. In the corridor, she raced towards her room. If she could lock herself in, she would be safe, at least for a while.

  At the head of the stairs, Ralph’s servant, William, loomed out of the shadow, the light of a candle illuminating his astonished face.

  ‘Get back to your quarters, man,’ Ralph bellowed. ‘This is no business of yours.’