Salvation Page 3

‘As you wish.’

  Tom gave a curt nod then swallowed hard. ‘Swear to me again you won’t harm her.’

  Ralph shrugged. ‘I’ve already told you that.’

  With a swift movement, Tom seized him by the collar of his shirt. ‘Swear it,’ he hissed.

  Ralph’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  For a moment, they held each other’s gaze then Tom’s shoulders slumped and he let Ralph go.

  ‘That’s better,’ Ralph said coolly. ‘Now be on your way.’

  Without another word, Tom set off. It was a steep climb out of the valley and in spite of the morning chill he was warm by the time he reached the ridge. There, he stopped to rest. He wrapped his threadbare cloak around him and gazed at the city below. Its walls glowed in the morning sunshine and the mist had rolled away to reveal the silver ribbon of the Avon threading through the green fields. The spire of the great cathedral soared into the pale blue sky. The image of Meg rose in his mind. She was probably asleep, unaware they would never see each other again.

  Rage seized him. He had to go back; he would kill Ralph if it was the only way.

  Then a chill entered his veins. If Ralph had spoken the truth, the risk of exposure was too great. He might destroy Meg’s life as well as his own. His heart’s battle with his head was soon over. It was a chance he dared not take.

  Wretched, he turned and walked away.

  2

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, child?’

  Sat with her mother in the parlour at Stuckton Court later that day, Meg’s head swam. It was a question she had dreaded ever since Tom had stayed so late on their last morning together. With a great effort, she steadied her voice.

  ‘What do you mean, Mother?’

  ‘By the time I was your age, I had given birth to both your brothers. Edward wants an heir and your task is to give him one.’ She tapped a be-ringed finger on the arm of her chair, ‘It is a year since you married.’

  Meg’s head cleared. They were still safe. It was only her mother’s usual reproach - the subject she fastened on with increasing frequency, like a terrier shaking a rat. She could not bear to listen to it yet again.

  ‘Perhaps it is not God’s will that I should have a child,’ she said, lowering her eyes.

  ‘God’s will? God’s will? What nonsense you talk, child. Why should the Lord concern himself with you?’ Anne Bailey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Edward does come to your bed? You do not deny him? It is a wife’s duty to submit to her husband, let no one say I haven’t taught you that.’

  Meg’s knuckles blanched. ‘I never wanted to marry Edward, you knew that.’

  ‘Your father and I did what was best for you.’

  ‘Marrying me to a man I could never love? Was that what was best for me?’ Meg bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘It is not your place to question our judgement.’

  ‘I’m not a child, Mother.’

  ‘No, and by now you should have learnt to accept the way the world works and be grateful. Most women would be proud to be mistress of such a house as this.’

  Anne Bailey rose from her chair with a frown and shook out her silk skirts. ‘This floor is dusty. You must be harsher with the servants. The house was without a mistress for far too long after poor Jane Stuckton died. They have become slack.’ She glanced around the room. ‘That silver jug is tarnished and the fire irons are black with soot.’

  Meg coloured, but she did not want to prolong the argument or the visit by retaliating so she remained silent.

  ‘Well, I must return home,’ her mother sniffed. ‘Your father has visitors coming to do business this afternoon. They will want refreshments and I must make sure the new cook prepares them properly.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Think on what I’ve said. It surprises me you do not seem to share my concern. Even if Edward doesn’t chide you now, the time will come, I assure you.’

  Meg did not trust herself to speak.

  At the door, her mother turned. ‘I know these things don’t always run smoothly,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should consult a physician. There are herbs, cupping to correct the humours…’

  ‘Please, Mother, not yet. Something will happen. I’m sure it will.’

  ‘Very well, we shall wait, but for all our sakes, I hope you are right.’

  She swept out, leaving a lingering scent of expensive sandalwood in her wake. Meg buried her face in her hands. A child was only the half of it. If Mother ever found out about Tom, imagine how ferocious her reaction would be. With a shudder, Meg pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She must compose herself. At least she had a few hours alone before Edward returned from inspecting his farms.

  She picked up the embroidery she had neglected for days and sat down on the scarlet-cushioned window seat, but after a few stitches, the canvas slipped to the floor. Was this all life held for her? Married to a man she could not love; trapped in a gloomy house that surrounded her like an ugly cloak she did not want to wear? She leant her cheek against the stone mullion and felt the warmth it had absorbed from the morning’s sun. Its smooth texture reminded her of Tom’s lean, hard body. All at once, such a strong rush of longing and sorrow went through her that she almost cried out.

  She still sat by the window when, close to dusk, she heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles. There was a hammering at the front door and a voice she did not recognise spoke briefly with Stephen, the steward. She looked out and saw a man vault onto his horse and ride away. It was late for a messenger to come to the house. She wondered what news he had brought.

  A few moments later, there were hurrying footsteps on the stairs and an urgent knock at the door. Wide eyed and flustered, Bess rushed in.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Meg frowned.

  ‘The master sent to say he isn’t coming home, madam.’

  Meg repressed a guilty surge of relief. ‘Oh? Is that all? Did he say why?’

  Bess drew a deep breath. ‘Something terrible’s happened, madam.’

  Meg felt a stirring of irritation. ‘Well?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘He’s gone to New Street, madam. Lawyer Kemp’s been found dead in his bed, dead as a doornail, an’ Stephen says Tom Goodluck killed him.’

  *

  ‘It can’t be true, Mother!’

  ‘The law will be the judge of that when he is caught, but your father and Edward have little doubt in their minds. Why would he run off if he were not guilty? In any case, when Ralph Fiddler went to tell him of Master Kemp’s death, he found a good deal of money at the wretch’s lodgings, far too much for a poor clerk to have come by honestly. The baker’s wife wept and said he must be innocent, but these common women are always fools for a sweet-tongued villain.’ She scrutinised Meg. ‘In any case, what is Tom Goodluck to you now?’

  ‘Nothing … I just never thought … He was such a gentle boy when we were young.’

  ‘You are easily swayed, child. Ralph Fiddler told your father and Edward that Tom Goodluck had a violent temper if he was crossed. Fiddler said he was even afraid for himself at times. Master Kemp often had reason to chastise Tom for idleness and bad work, but instead of accepting the rebukes humbly and learning from them, he often boasted he would be revenged on his master one day. Mark me, his father came to no good and bad blood will always out.’

  Meg stiffened. Her sweet Tom was not a murderer, she was sure of it. She wanted to cry out against the injustice of it all but she knew she must resist. She steadied her voice, determined not to let her feelings show.

  ‘Does anyone know where he has gone?’ she asked.

  ‘Ralph Fiddler says he often heard him boast he would go and fight in the Low Countries and make his fortune, but I doubt that a coward who kills an old man in his sleep to steal his money would make much of a soldier.’ She smoothed her skirt. ‘Edward thinks Ralph Fiddler is a very able fellow, and the sorrow he showed over his master’s death did him great credit. I shouldn’t wonder if Edward won’t do something for him,
now Kemp is gone.’

  That was not the Ralph Fiddler Meg recognised from Tom’s description of him. She would be surprised if he felt any grief for Lawyer Kemp’s fate.

  ‘Fiddler lodges in the house,’ her mother was saying. ‘It was he who found his master. When he returned from the May Day celebration, he was alarmed to see the side door unlocked, but nothing seemed out of place so he decided it must be an oversight. He went up to the attic stairs to make sure Kemp’s servant had returned, and heard him snoring in his bed. Master Kemp had not gone to the celebrations and Fiddler knew he always retired early, so Fiddler was reassured and went to bed as well. In the morning, he began work at his usual time. There was no sign of Tom Goodluck but that did not surprise him. He was concerned, though, that his master had not appeared. Kemp’s servant said he had not seen him so Fiddler went to enquire if he was ill, and that’s when he found the body.’

  Anne Bailey stopped and peered at Meg. ‘You’re very quiet, child. Are you quite well?’

  ‘Only a headache,’ Meg said hastily. ‘It will soon pass, I’m sure.’

  Her mother stood up. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to rest.’ She planted a cool kiss on Meg’s cheek. ‘You must come and visit us soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother.’

  The moment the door closed, the tears Meg had restrained brimmed over. Her mind was full of jumbled thoughts. If Tom was innocent, and how could it be otherwise, who had killed William Kemp? She racked her brains and tried to think who might speak up for Tom. Adam, Kemp’s groom, had been at the May Day celebrations. She had seen Tom lead him away, but he had been so drunk it was unlikely he would remember anything that had happened afterwards.

  Her stomach churned at the memory of Edward’s descriptions of the cases he presided over as Justice of the Peace. His readiness to believe that any defendant must be guilty, particularly if they were poor and lacked influential friends, had always seemed to her far from any notion of a fair trial. If he was already against Tom, the situation was desperate.

  It was some time before she dried her eyes and resolved what she should do. Perhaps all was not lost; this might be the spur they had needed. If Tom had not left Salisbury yet and was hiding somewhere, she must try to find him so they could escape together.

  Edward had left the house early that morning. He would not return until it was time for supper. Her heart pounding, she crept to his study and found paper and ink. Hastily, she scrawled a note then dusted it with sand. It seemed an eternity before it was dry enough to shake off, and all the while, her ears strained for any sounds from the rest of the house, but none came. In the passageway, she closed the door as quietly as she could then hurried back to the parlour. This afternoon, she would slip away to the oak tree where she and Tom left messages for each other. She prayed there would be something from him that would explain everything.

  *

  The path led through the knot garden Edward’s first wife had laid out: sweet herbs, lavender and roses set in low, neatly clipped hedges, but Meg was oblivious to the heady perfume the flowers gave off. Her heavy silk dress seemed to drag her down and her hair felt damp under her gabled hood. By the time she reached the lime walk and the shade it afforded, her head throbbed.

  The ancient oak at the far end was well hidden from prying eyes, but she still glanced over her shoulder to be sure she had not been followed before kneeling at the base of the tree. With a sharp flint, she scraped away at the earth; her throat was dry. At the first glimpse of the rough, rag paper Tom used, she snatched the letter up and tore it open, scanning the words anxiously. He made no mention of Kemp’s murder.

  Dismay overwhelmed her. She pressed her forehead against the hard ridges of the oak tree’s bark. If Tom had left Salisbury as her mother claimed, he had gone without a word of explanation.

  A scarlet-and-black butterfly settled on a patch of sunlit grass nearby, fanning its wings. Tomorrow its life would be over; how she envied it. She bowed her head and several minutes passed before she regained her composure and vowed not to give up hope. Tom would never abandon her in such a cruel way. She had to believe it or she would go mad. She read the letter once more. It was a few days old – it proved nothing. She would come tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that if she had to. Tom would not fail her.

  She planted a kiss on the letter she had brought with her then tucked it among the tree’s roots and refilled the hollow with earth. A handful of moss scattered on top satisfied her that no one but Tom would ever guess the ground had been disturbed.

  When she returned to the house, one of the grooms was leading Edward’s mare towards the stable yard. Meg’s head reeled. Oh why did Edward have to come home earlier than expected? Today of all days, she could not face one of his ill-tempered lectures. She bit her lip. There was nothing to be done about it. She must endure his moods as best as she could. Ignoring the groom’s curious glance, she picked up her skirts and hurried on across the cobbles.

  Indoors, the lofty, oak-panelled hall was cooler than the garden. Roundels of stained glass brightened the high windows, and the late afternoon sun, streaming through them, cast patches of gold, green and crimson on the stone-flagged floor. Edward sat in his chair by the fireplace, still in his riding clothes.

  ‘I’m sorry I was not here to greet you, husband,’ she stammered, not meeting his eye.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Reading in the park.’ She held up the book she had taken the precaution of carrying to hide her letter.

  He glanced at it then stretched his legs.

  ‘Idle nonsense. It’s been a hard day and I’m weary. Pull off my boots. This business with old Kemp has the whole city in an uproar, seeing murderers everywhere. Some fools would be afraid of their own shadows. All the same, the sooner Tom Goodluck hangs the better.’

  Knelt at his feet, Meg felt her heart give such a violent jolt that she was surprised Edward did not notice anything. If Tom was found, he would have no hope. She struggled to keep her hands from trembling. The leather creaked as she pulled off the first boot.

  Edward gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Ah, that’s better. What a pretty thing you are.’ He tilted her chin and bent to cover her lips with his, pushing his tongue into her mouth. His hand moved to fondle her breasts. Meg forced herself not to recoil. When he let her go, she looked down to hide her burning cheeks and busied herself in pulling off his other boot.

  ‘Tell the servants to serve our meal early,’ he said.

  At dinner, Meg sat at the far end of the long table, watching him eat copiously and with relish but the smell and sight of the roasted meats sickened her. She toyed with some bread and took a few sips of wine, wishing she was alone.

  ‘You’re very quiet, wife,’ Edward observed, when he had gnawed the last of the flesh from a capon leg and wiped the grease from his lips.

  ‘Forgive me, husband, my head aches and the heat has tired me.’

  ‘And the reading, no doubt,’ he grunted. ‘It’s time you had other occupations. Too much time spent with books does women no good. Their brains are weak and should not be overtaxed.’

  He tossed back the last of his wine. Meg winced as he stood up and his chair grated over the stone floor. ‘Steward!’ he shouted. ‘I have no appetite for more. Clear all this away.’

  Stephen, the steward, hurried forward.

  Meg waited for Edward to help her up from the table. He put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. His breath was laden with garlic and wine. ‘But I have an appetite for something else,’ he murmured. ‘Tell your maid to make you ready for bed. I have some accounts I must look over, but it will not take long.’

  Upstairs, Bess helped her out of her clothes and into her nightgown.

  ‘Shall I unpin your hair, my lady?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it myself. You may leave me now.’

  Bess bobbed a curtsey and went to the door; it clicked shut behind her.

  Left alone, Meg opened a drawer and took out the letter fr
om Tom she had found that afternoon. She knew she should burn it. Tom always insisted they should not keep each other’s letters once they had read them, but she was tempted to disobey. She could hide it somewhere. Even if Bess or one of the maids came across it, it would not matter, none of them could read. She looked around the room but then changed her mind. Tom was right. Even if it was unlikely the letter would be discovered, it was a risk she need not take.

  Reluctantly, she carried it to the hearth and placed it gently on the stone. She took a candle from the mantelshelf and touched its flame to the paper then watched the letter flare up. Slowly it twisted and shrivelled until nothing but ashes remained. It seemed to her that her heart had turned to ashes too. Suppose the letter was the last she ever received from Tom? What would she do then?

  A breeze from the garden made the candle flame flicker and stirred the tapestry on the wall beside the open window. The bright, silken huntsmen and baying dogs it depicted moved in endless, fruitless pursuit across the imaginary greenwood. If nothing changes, she thought, and what hope is there of that, my life will be as empty as theirs.

  She put down the candle and sat on the side of the bed. If only disaster had not visited Tom’s family, everything would have been so different. She and Tom might have been husband and wife by now, but as it had fallen out, it had been impossible to oppose her parents’ wishes. She wrapped her arms around herself for comfort. In the corridor, Edward’s familiar footsteps approached.

  *

  When she woke, the sun was up and the air in the room was stifling. Beside her, a deep indent remained in the crumpled sheets. She shuddered as she remembered Edward’s shoulders heaving above her and the sweat glistening on his forehead.

  With a great effort, she banished the image and got up to look out at the day. In the courtyard below, a horse she did not recognise was tethered to the post by the porch. Fear overwhelmed her. Had the rider brought news of Tom?

  ‘Good morning, madam.’