Throughout all this, my picklocks had remained safely in my concealed pouch and no one, it seemed, had ever thought to wonder how, when Dr Lambert found us examining the silver, we had managed to open the padlock.
When I had finished explaining things to Sybil and she had drawn me to sit beside her on the bed with her arms round me and rocked me for a few moments, as if I was a grieving child, she said: ‘Can we join the others? Do you have your picklocks?’
I pulled them out. In a few minutes I had opened our door and let us into the Brockleys’ room. They greeted us wanly.
‘A fine tangle we are in now!’ Brockley said grimly.
‘Surely it’s not so bad?’ Sybil was calm and soothing. ‘We can prove that we were asked to retrieve the silver and that Eleanor and Master Stagg wanted it. Gladys heard them ask us! Heard Eleanor plead with us, and cry. She was there!’
‘And she’s about the least useful witness we could have,’ I said bitterly. ‘Old, devoted to us because we’ve saved her life once or twice, and with a bad reputation. She’s twice been charged with witchcraft, and every respectable physician and vicar for miles detests her. Even Dr Joynings doesn’t like her, though he doesn’t make a parade of it. And Heron doesn’t like me! It will be: “Ah, well, the testimony of grateful old servants with criminal pasts can’t really count for much.” And perhaps it’ll also be what Stagg said just now and he’ll say it again, oh so sadly, more in sorrow than anger: “What a shocking thing, such a tawdry crime for a woman of standing to commit …” And he may add: “Ah, but women in middle age do sometimes do strange things. We must plead with the law to be merciful.”’
‘But the law won’t be merciful,’ said Dale, trembling. ‘Ma’am … Roger …’
‘Those two,’ said Brockley, ‘will do all they can to see that the law moves fast, before anyone can intervene. And probably nobody can intervene anyway. Even Walsingham can’t just override the law.’
‘We need to get word to him,’ I said. ‘To tell him who Stagg really is.’
‘But will it make any difference?’ Dale asked, trembling. ‘Ma’am, if you and Roger are found guilty of stealing a valuable chest and an even more valuable salt … will you ever have a chance to explain what’s behind it? And if there’s only Gladys as a witness … what then?’
We were all silent. We all knew. It could be a hanging matter. If it was not, then it could be prison, a squalid cell for a very long time. It could be the horror of public chastisement at the cart’s tail. Even if we could prove that Julius Stagg was really Anthony Hunt, who had made threats against me, that wouldn’t amount to proof that Brockley and I were innocent of theft. Nor could we prove that Philip had been murdered by Frost and Stagg. And Dale, my maid and Brockley’s wife, might well be dragged in too, no matter how we swore to her innocence. She knew it. She was crying now with fear, for herself as well as for me.
I thought of her, terrified, imprisoned, beaten, even … Oh God, what had I and the wild geese done? Even if she did escape accusation, she might still be left without Brockley. I thought of Harry, left without me; of Meg, grieving for me. Thank God, she at least had her good husband, George Hillman, to look after her.
My mind skidded wildly into the future that must follow my death or accompany long incarceration. Perhaps Meg and George would care for Harry until he came of age and could take control of his inheritance. If he had one; if my property wasn’t confiscated. If it wasn’t, then looking after my two houses, Hawkswood and Withysham, and the stud would be a heavy task for George Hillman … A good overseeing steward would be needed. Adam Wilder was getting on in years. Someone would have to be appointed …
I thought of my good, faithful, dear Brockley, dying or suffering because of his loyalty to me.
Because of his love for me.
Brockley was no doubt thinking the same things. And he was also thinking of Philip, his son, who had once betrayed us but had very likely lost his life because this time he had tried to warn us of our danger.
Dale had turned a tear-streaked face towards the window. She said: ‘It’s so dark. It’s as if the whole world’s died.’
‘It’s the dark before the first signs of dawn,’ said Brockley. ‘Daybreak will come before long.’
I wondered what it was like to see the dawning of one’s last day on earth.
After a while, I said: ‘That little Susie could be a witness for us. She was about to blurt out Stagg’s real name. She never actually said it because Frost stopped her mouth, but she must have meant that it was Anthony Hunt. What else could it be? What else would make Frost so determined to keep her quiet?’
‘Would it make any difference?’ Brockley asked. ‘Perhaps Stagg is Anthony Hunt and perhaps he has uttered threats against Mistress Stannard and myself, but we were still found creeping out of Knoll House with valuables that aren’t ours.’
‘I will plead for you,’ said Sybil. ‘With all my heart!’
‘Will he listen to you?’ I asked, and then said: ‘Well, I have heard you call him Giles. Are you on such close terms with him?’
‘I don’t know. I will try. He has told me to call him Giles,’ said Sybil. ‘He has repeatedly pressed me to marry him. More than you know. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to tell you how nearly I agreed.’
I stared at her. ‘Have you actually considered it?’
Even in the candlelight, I saw her flush indignantly. ‘I would never have gone through with it. Not really. A man who has been selling secrets to Spain! Never! Not even if I wanted to marry again, and I don’t. One bad experience was enough. And now, when it seems that he has plotted to destroy you and Brockley and may have been concerned in Philip’s murder … But I was attracted. He is attractive. I am still a woman. I don’t like or trust him, but when I am in the same room with him my eyes keep being drawn to him. I am ashamed of that. Ursula, if need be, I will marry him – but only as part of a bargain to save you.’
‘Sybil!’ I had never been so taken aback. Brockley said: ‘Madam, you and Mistress Jester should go back to your own room. You must not be caught here. Your picklocks might be found and taken away, and you never know when we may have a use for them. We should all try to sleep.’
Sleep was impossible, of course. Sybil made use of the prie-dieu and said a prayer for me and Brockley, but I didn’t join her. If anything saved us it would be human intervention, by someone who wanted to get at the truth, but we would be lucky to find anyone who could see past the undeniable fact that Brockley and I had been caught creeping around the premises with a valuable chest and a silver salt.
When Sybil had finished, we pulled off our outer garments and lay down, then drew our rugs over us and tried to doze. But we couldn’t. Outside, the dawn began at last to break, and the sky became cloudy again. The wind, which had dropped for a while, once more buffeted the windows, and I saw a cloud of leaves blow past, torn from the trees in the grounds.
Where would I, where would Brockley, be spending Christmas?
Presently, the door was unlocked and the Hambles came in with trays, bearing small ale and some bread with a small pot of honey. Not much of a breakfast, though it could have been worse. Mrs Hamble said as much.
‘I said, let them have honey,’ she remarked. ‘It’s likely to be the last honey you ever taste, Mistress Stannard. And the master says Mistress Jester’s not part of what you tried to do, though how he can be so sure, I can’t guess.’
‘You’re soft,’ said her husband. ‘I’ve no sympathy for them, but I suppose there’s no harm done. They’ll be gone from here soon enough. Master Stagg slept in this house awhile last night, but he’ll be off within the hour to call at his niece’s home and tell her the chest is safe, and then he’ll ride on to see the county sheriff, Sir Edward Heron.’
The Hambles, I reckoned, were not privy to their master’s schemes. He had no doubt told them that Brockley and I were thieves, but he was protecting Sybil. Would he spare Dale? If only he would do that … If only that much could be saved from the wreck! Sybil would look after her. So would Meg. My mind went round and round, confused and frantic.
The Hambles went out, locking the door behind them and we heard them going into the Brockleys’ room next door. Listlessly, we drank our ale and did our best to eat the food. The bread was fresh and the honey was sweet. I tried to appreciate them. Mrs Hamble was right: I might well never taste such things again.
About two hours went by. No one brought us any water for washing. Sybil and I combed each other’s hair and we dressed.
Then we were startled by a sudden disturbance. There were raised voices coming from a distance – from the ground floor by the sound of it, but loud enough to be audible in our room. And then feet were coming up the stairs and Master Frost was saying something loudly and crossly, and our door was being unlocked.
It was flung open and there stood Frost, with a face of thunder. ‘You are wanted in the great hall. Come!’
We stepped into the passage. Brockley and Dale were there already, pale and alarmed. Without another word, Frost led us down the front stairs into the entrance hall and then into the great hall.
The morning was cold and a good fire was already burning in the hearth. Several people were already in the room. One of them, who was standing in front of the fire, caught my eye at once because he did not belong to Knoll House. He was young but richly dressed, resplendent in cherry velvet with silver slashings, and looked like someone of position and responsibility. After a moment, I recognized him. He was Master Taverner, the glassmaker I had met in Greenwich, from whom I had bought a blue glass jug and six matching goblets. Another man, his valet, to judge by the quiet smartness of his dark-brown doublet and hose, stood attentively close.
Close to Taverner, side by side on the right of the hearth, were Julius Stagg and Eleanor. Eleanor seemed to be shrinking from our eyes – even though the room was warm enough, she was still huddled in her outdoor cloak and keeping the hood drawn over her head. The Hambles were absent and so was Dr Lambert, though a deferential Barney Vaughan was there. He and Frost were to the left of the hearth. Together, they amounted to a formidable row of accusers … I felt as if I and my companions had been thrust into a cage of lions.
And then I noticed that one pair of eyes was not accusing but seemed to be puzzled. Perhaps one of the lions might be friendly. Taverner, surely, had not helped to set the deadly trap into which weepy Eleanor and her devious uncle had coaxed me. The gentleman in cherry velvet was an unknown quantity and just might be an ally. Giles Frost stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke first.
‘You are Master Taverner,’ I said, ignoring Frost and looking straight at my acquaintance from Greenwich. ‘We have met.’
‘Indeed we have, Mistress Stannard. My full name is Martin Taverner and I am betrothed to Mistress Eleanor Liversedge. I am here because extraordinary things seem to be going on – things I wish to hear about in greater detail.’
So this was Eleanor’s too fastidious future husband! I said: ‘It seems strange, but although Master Stagg and Eleanor mentioned you to me, neither ever told me your surname. Eleanor spoke of you as Martin, that’s all. Does she know that we have met?’
Frost glanced back and forth between me and Taverner. He was frowning. Taverner’s thin eyebrows had risen. ‘Yes, she does,’ he said.
Eleanor gave a little gasp, but he did not turn towards her. ‘Are you suggesting,’ Taverner asked, ‘that although Eleanor knew we had met at court, she did not wish you to realize that I was her betrothed?’
‘I think we are,’ said Brockley grimly.
‘No!’ Eleanor, for once, was not crying, but by the shake in her voice I suspected that she was close to it. ‘No, it’s not true. I just called him Martin, as I always do. Martin, I don’t understand. Why do I feel that I’m being accused of something?’
‘You aren’t,’ said Stagg, putting an arm round her. ‘It is these people who are being accused, who have tried to steal the chest and salt intended as part of your dowry. Master Frost had taken charge of it for me, as I had nowhere secure enough in my home.’
Brockley addressed Taverner. ‘Can we know just what has happened? How do you come to be here, sir?’
Taverner answered his question, but because of attempted interruptions from Frost, Stagg and Eleanor, it was a confused explanation. I will simplify it as best I can, as it would be pointless to repeat all the contradictory words of four argumentative people.
Martin Taverner had intended to make a surprise visit to his prospective bride. He had set off from London with his valet and groom, expecting to reach Eleanor’s home, Brookfield House, before supper. But they had been delayed when the groom’s horse went lame, and finding a stable where the horse could be cared for and another animal hired had taken so long that in the end, as it was getting late, they had found rooms in Woking, about four miles short of Brookfield. They had ridden on early next morning.
On arrival, everything seemed normal at first. The groom took their horses to the stable while Taverner and his valet presented themselves at the front door. However, it was an unusually long time before it was opened, and the butler who opened it looked worried. And somewhere in the house, there were raised voices.
The butler sent the valet at once to the kitchen and asked Taverner to wait in a small parlour, as the master and Mistress Eleanor were engaged just then. But at that point both of them suddenly appeared, Daniel Johns in his wheeled chair, pushed by a manservant with a face as blank as a sheet of unused paper, and Eleanor expostulating and in tears.
‘As usual,’ whispered Brockley.
Taverner said that Stagg had been walking behind them, red in the face, clearly very angry, and that the trio seemed to be quarrelling about something to do with a chest and a salt. Master Stagg was saying it had been stolen. Daniel Johns was saying that he had never heard of any such chest or its theft, and what was all this going on in the midst of his family that had been kept from him? A good thing he had just happened to ask his man to wheel him into the breakfast parlour in time to hear what his stepdaughter and brother-in-law were talking about!
Taverner had stood where he was, listening with astonishment and also with all ears. At this point, the trio realized that Taverner was present, and Daniel Johns promptly repeated to him what he had overheard Stagg and Eleanor saying to each other.
‘He told me,’ Taverner said to us, ‘because I was betrothed to Eleanor and was therefore an interested party.’
Stagg, it appeared, had been telling Eleanor that her dowry chest had been safely recovered and that he would now ride on to see Sir Edward Heron. If Sir Edward should question Eleanor later, she must remember that, as far as he was concerned, her uncle Julius had put the chest and its contents in the care of Master Giles Frost of Knoll House, who had caught his guests making off with it. ‘And that is the tale you must tell and hold to.’ That was the moment, said Taverner, when Daniel Johns had been pushed through the door to confront his stepdaughter and his brother-in-law.
At this point in Taverner’s account, Stagg intervened with fury.
‘What are you talking about? You’ve got it all wrong! I was simply telling Eleanor about the gift and explaining that Master Frost had been looking after it and had caught Mistress Stannard and Brockley trying to steal it. Eleanor hadn’t known about my gift before. I’d meant it to be a surprise for her, but when it was stolen from Master Frost I knew there would be such a to-do that it couldn’t very well be a secret any longer. I was explaining all this to her when Master Johns burst in.’
‘Rubbish!’ Taverner didn’t shout. He merely used a voice that would carry and silence opposition. ‘Master Johns repeated to me, without doubt or hesitation, every word that he had overheard only a very short time before. And they were the words of deception. Eleanor must remember that as far as Heron was concerned the chest was in the care of Master Frost, at Master Stagg’s wish, and Master Frost had caught his guests making off with it. That is the tale she was to tell. The tale!’ said Taverner with emphasis. ‘One does not think of recounting the truth as telling a tale. What Master Johns heard – what he well knew he had heard – was Eleanor being instructed to tell lies to Edward Heron. I want to know just what is going on. I am here on Johns’ behalf to find out.’
‘But will anyone believe the truth when they hear it?’ Dale whimpered, pressing herself against Brockley’s side. Sybil was standing aloof, holding herself stiffly, head high, her mouth set, her hands clasped in front of her. But I saw that they were trembling.
‘These people were caught creeping out of my house with that chest,’ said Frost. ‘As far as I am concerned, they are thieves.’
‘Once again,’ said Taverner, with an air of patience, ‘was it necessary to remind Eleanor that she had to remember that “as far as Heron was concerned”? If it’s true, what else would she say, to Sir Edward Heron or anyone else?’
It was high time to declare the real situation. I drew a deep breath, stepped forward and used my most commanding voice. ‘I believe that all this has been a deception aimed at me!’ Everyone turned towards me and I seized my audience, especially Taverner. ‘Last night the maid Susie tried to shout out that Master Stagg’s real name is Hunt and Master Frost prevented her. But I think …’
‘What is this nonsense?’ Frost cut in sharply. ‘Master Taverner, this woman is appealing to you as if you were a judge on the bench. Well, are you?’
‘I have to admit,’ said Taverner, looking more bemused then ever, ‘that I am not. But I would like to hear more.’
‘Hunt is the brother of Simeon Wilmot, who was hanged for kidnapping and treason, and I was mainly responsible for getting him hanged,’ I said succinctly and quickly, before anyone could interrupt me. ‘I believed Eleanor when she told me her chest had been stolen. Oh yes, she knew about the chest all along. She came with Master Stagg and told me that it had been stolen from her uncle’s house by Giles Frost and, since I was to stay at Knoll House, implored me to try to get it back quietly, because she was afraid that you, Master Taverner, might not go through with the marriage if any breath of scandal were to touch it.’
‘What!’ shouted Taverner. ‘Eleanor, what in hell’s name is Mistress Stannard talking about? What sort of man do you think I am?’
Frost said: ‘I regret to observe that, as well as being a clever thief, Mistress Stannard is also a clever and extremely inventive liar.’
‘Eleanor!’ thundered Taverner. ‘Did you ask Mistress Stannard to retrieve the silver for you? And did you say the fear of scandal might drive me away? As though I would hold you responsible because something of yours had been stolen?’
Eleanor went to him, pawing at him. ‘Of course I didn’t ask anyone to steal the chest for me! It’s all lies! But I did know about the chest and knew it had disappeared. And yes, Martin, I was afraid you would think the whole business scandalous and be upset. Perhaps I was wrong. I’m sorry.’ Predictably, she broke down all over again, shedding anguished tears, like a child.
‘Stop that wailing, for the love of heaven! Could you really believe …!’
‘We didn’t wish you to know anything about this,’ said Stagg. ‘That much is true. You couldn’t be expected to like it. I had good reason to fear that Mistress Stannard and her associate Brockley might have designs upon it. I overheard them talking about it when they saw it at my premises. They said: “Oh, we could pay our bill easily if we could lay hands on that …”’ I gasped indignantly but Stagg ignored me. ‘The lady has ordered some costly work from me and I fear she may not have the wherewithal to pay me. That is why I placed the chest and the salt in what I thought would be the safe care of my friend Giles Frost. I was alarmed when I learned that Mistress Stannard was actually going to stay in his house. I warned him, and a watch has been kept upon these people.’
I gasped again. It was a wild, loose fabrication. A tapestry with more holes than fabric in it that would be remarkably hard to substantiate, but it might just hold. I was sure now that all this was an offshoot from the mad plan to force me into becoming an assassin. It had the same hallmark of being ramshackle and muddled – and yet also a trick that might just possibly succeed if Stagg, Frost and Eleanor were all prepared to stand together and tell lies. Frost was still talking.
‘Mistress Stannard and Master Brockley here were caught stealing that chest. There is no more to be said, and they will be tried for it. I will add,’ Frost continued, in a forbearing sort of voice, ‘that I do not hold Mistress Sybil Jester responsible for any of this, nor the tirewoman Frances Brockley. Mistress Stannard and Roger Brockley are the guilty ones. Guilty in every way, and Sir Edward Heron must be informed …’ What are you doing here?’
He was responding to a new interruption. The door to the entrance hall had opened while he was speaking, and the twins had stepped inside. They looked as if they had dressed in haste. Joyce’s cap was not on straight; and Jane had put on yesterday’s gown, which had a mark on the skirt, and she was still fiddling with a cuff button. Their father looked at them in consternation. ‘I ordered you to stay in your room! You should not have come down. Return to your room at once, or sit in the parlour if you wish, but leave this hall instantly.’
‘But what is happening?’ asked Jane in her gentle voice. ‘Why is our dear Mistress Stannard here, looking as though …? We heard you call her guilty! What do you think she is guilty of?’
‘Yes, what do you say she has done? We want to know. We are fond of her!’ Joyce backed her sister up.
‘She has been so kind to us, and so has Mistress Jester,’ said Jane, smiling towards us. Then she seemed suddenly to notice Martin Taverner and at once became touchingly formal – a young thing suddenly shouldering an adult duty. ‘We are sorry, sir. You have not been properly received. We have no mother and so must fill her place as best we can. Have you been offered any refreshment?’
‘Yes, indeed!’ Again, Joyce supported her sister. ‘You are a stranger to us, sir, but clearly a guest here. May we know your name? And indeed we must ask if you need any refreshment?’
‘It is very early,’ said Jane. ‘Have you breakfasted, sir?’
‘Jane!’ shouted her father. ‘Cease this play-acting! Go back to your room, I say, both of you …’
‘The young ladies are more courteous than their father,’ Taverner remarked. He inclined his head towards the twins and smiled at them. And then his gaze lingered. On Jane.
I saw it happen and, although at the time I didn’t realize what I was seeing, I nevertheless remembered it, and later on I understood. Looking back, yes, I saw it happen. I saw the moment when Martin Taverner, master glassmaker in the City of London, and Jane Frost, daughter of courtier, minor landowner and possibly traitor Giles Frost, looked at each other, light-brown eyes meeting greenish hazel ones, and fell in love.
It can be like that. I have heard it variously described. Some say that it is like being struck by lightning or knocked over by a runaway wagon. Some say it is like falling down a well but falling towards light and not into darkness. For others, it is like coming indoors out of a snowstorm to find a bright fire on the hearth and a friend there waiting.
It was something like that between me and my last husband, Hugh, though that was gradual, not instantaneous. But I have known the lightning too – known what it is to be knocked off your feet. That is how it was the first time I set eyes on my first husband, Gerald Blanchard, when he was introduced to me as my cousin Mary’s betrothed. It was mutual. And so was this.
It was also interesting, or so I have since thought, that the personable and authoritative Taverner gave his heart not to the stronger-minded Joyce, with her dashing near-auburn looks, but to the gentler, less colourful Jane. But give his heart he did, and immediately. In that moment, the lachrymose Eleanor lost her chance with Martin Taverner for ever.
Brockley was muttering something in my ear. I turned and looked at him, blinking. Because of the confusion that had reigned since the moment we entered the great hall, and because my own fear and anger had muddled my mind, I had let myself be distracted from something obvious. But Brockley had not and was reminding me.
‘Joyce and Jane,’ I said, ‘Where is your maid Susie?’
‘We left her in our room,’ said Jane, ‘brushing things.’
‘A pity you didn’t let her dress you properly,’ said Frost acidly. ‘You look as if you scrambled into your clothes more or less by yourselves.’
‘We did,’ said Joyce. ‘We heard footsteps going by, a lot of people going downstairs, and then raised voices from down here, and Mistress Stannard’s voice … We had to know!’
I raised my voice again. ‘Will you summon Susie and bring her here? I have something to ask her.’