Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (14 page)

“I
caught a glimpse. And when I asked about him, he matched the description; but
this man was named - Will Aitchison.”

“What’s
in a name to the Jingler?” said Meg. “It would seem likely that our
friend the Frater
was
following us, then.”

Matthew
nodded. “He did well to keep up with us; we rise early.”

“And
travel fast, sometimes. But - ” Meg paused. “The Jingler is at the
stables of the Blue Boar and so is Sir Richard’s horse. That is - “

“An
ill coupling?” suggested Matthew. “Perhaps the Jingler might view it
in a different light.”

“The
Jingler might see it as a heaven sent opportunity,” said Meg.
“Someone should tell Sir Richard Grasset to guard his horse well.”

“He
has done that,” said Matthew. “Two servants keep watch there. You can
see one of ‘em ride the horse out any morning. However, should we send word to
him?”

“Consider
it, Matthew. The Jingler stole Sir George’s horse; but so did we …”

“After
a fashion, yes, but …”

“I’d
rather attention was not drawn our way. And the Jingler may have a card or two
to play of which we know nothing; best be watchful for the moment.”

* * * * *

The funeral
was over. The Frater glanced down at the fresh earth on the grave and muttered
a prayer under his breath. All had been done correctly, of course, in the new
style. The clergyman here was nothing if not correct. A cold, hard thing, this
new way, the Frater still thought it, with its emphasis on preaching and Bible
reading; and such prayers as were said sounded like the wheels of a cart
grinding over a rocky road. There was no mystery, mused the Frater; no warmth
or light for a cold soul going into the dark. There was something comforting
about the idea of a candle being lighted for the dead. And music and prayer.
Aye, comforting. Jugg hadn’t asked him to stand with the mourners, but it
seemed right. It was a young man - younger than the Frater, anyway - who had
died after a sudden fever with great heaving of the lungs. So he and Jugg and
the mourners had stood together whilst the coffin was lowered. Now the Frater
felt chilled to the bone, despite the warmth of the afternoon and the sweat
he’d worked up helping Jugg to fill in the grave afterwards. And the thought he
was pushing away all the time was that one day - soon - a grave like this would
be dug for Clink, and …

No. He was
not going to think of it. Whilst he was staring at the newly dug ground, Jugg
disappeared. The Frater made his way towards the church, knowing that he would
find Jugg in there. He had a bottle put away under the stairs and that’s what
would have drawn him, the Frater was sure. He licked his lips. Now he came to
consider it, a sup of something strong would go down well. A sad thing indeed,
a burial. A drink would drive the shivers from him.

The Frater
looked around the church, wondering what it would have looked like lit with
candles and smelling of incense. Once, there would have been sacred images
everywhere, on the walls, in the niches, filled with colour and symbolism. Now
the walls were bare and starkly white, the images broken, hacked away or
painted over. Most of the congregation would stand, with only a few benches for
the easement of the old and infirm. Where was Jugg? No sign of him in the porch
or by the stairs. Then the Frater spotted him, bent over beside the rough piece
of wood that served now as an altar table. As he went towards him, Jugg glanced
up.

“Here
y’are, Jack. Take a sup.”

“Thank
‘ee, Uriel,” said the Frater gratefully. He tipped the bottle up.

“A
sup, I said!” grumbled Jugg, but not unkindly. The Frater wiped his mouth.

“What’re
ye about there?” he asked curiously. Jugg tapped his nose.

“Just
giving a helping hand to - a bit o’ business, you might say.”

When the
Frater saw what Jugg was holding in his hand, he was genuinely shocked.

“The
Host, Uriel! Of what use would that be to ye?” His voice had dropped to a
whisper and he looked round as though they might be overseen or heard.

“It’s
naught but a bit o’ bread wi’ a few words said over it, when all’s said and
done!” hissed Jugg, but he had dropped his voice and he looked around him
furtively too.

“The
bread, though, the sacred wafer that was! What can y’need that for? ‘Tis used
in spell casting, I do know that.” The Frater was almost anguished.

“Pish,
Jack!” said Jugg in an exasperated way. He wrapped the bread in a clean
cloth and stowed it away. “Even the preachers do say it’s naught but
bread. Anything more than that is Popish, according to their reckoning.”

“But
what’s it for?” pressed the Frater. Jugg took a long swig out of the
bottle, then stared hard at the Frater.

“You
take care for the bottle and I’ll tell ye when we’re away from here. And -
” his voice took on a chilling edge ” - ye’ll keep it to
yourself.”

“Of
course, Uriel!”

They
hurried away from the church.

The Frater
was not entirely surprised to see Ruby standing on the corner of the road that
led from the church to the centre of Marcaster. They had met several times
since Clink had been jailed. She waved at the Frater. Jugg was not pleased to
see her as he had warned the Frater not to do anything that might bring him,
Uriel Jugg, into disrepute with his employers. When the Frater had challenged
him regarding Jugg’s own drinking and card playing, Jugg had said that was of
no account; nobody saw him and what they didn’t see didn’t hurt ‘em. It was
matters such as this, with Ruby flaunting herself out in the open road as
though they were bosom friends that he wouldn’t tolerate. He continued on his
way - warning the Frater to keep the bottle well hid and not to drink it all -
whilst the Frater crossed over to where Ruby was standing, looking up and down
the way as though expecting to see a constable at any minute.

“Jack!
Jack!” The Frater hadn’t seen Ruby so animated for some days now. She was
quite her old self, with colour in her face, life in her dark eyes and a smile
on her lips.

“What
is it, Ruby girl?” said the Frater grumpily. “Didn’t I tell ye not to
come and find me here?”

“I
know Jack, I know. Forgive me, but I had to tell ye this. It’s for Clink’s
sake, Jack. I - it came to me - that we can help him, get him safe from jail
like …”

“And
how’re ye going to do that, then?” snorted the Frater. “There’s a
lock on this jail, my mort, and it has walls of stone, not like that mouldy old
shed they threw us in at Guildern. Clink’s not going to piss his way out of
this’n!”

“I
know - but listen. Supposing - supposing the pigman wasn’t to bear witness
against Clink, eh?”

“Why
wouldn’t he? Change of heart?” said the Frater with deep sarcasm.
“Christian love of his fellow man?”

“No,
but supposing he couldn’t? If he wasn’t there, like?” Ruby was determined
not to tell any of her acquaintances that she had consulted with Meg. It would
- complicate matters too much. No, best claim the idea as her own. It was,
anyway, in a sense. The cunning-woman hadn’t told her to do anything. She had
just - put a thought in Ruby’s head, that was all.

“Well,
if he was to be called away elsewhere, I suppose …” mused the Frater. He
suddenly thought he saw where Ruby was leading. “No, girl, yer not
thinking of doing him harm?”

“No,
Jack, of course not,” said Ruby, frowning. “Just - putting him away
for a time. That’s all.”

“I
follow ye now. Well, it might work; but there’s Sir George to think of, and
all. He’s to be in court - you knew that.”

“That’s
so,” said Ruby. She sighed. “But, without the man who was the reason
of it all to witness …”

“Look
ye,” said the Frater, conscious of the bottle and suddenly hungry again.
“I can’t help ye now, cause o’ Jugg - but if you and the Frog and the Sad
Mort was to do it somehow - I don’t want to see Clink hang, no more than do
you. “

“Well;
I was wondering if ye knew of somewhere, Jack? Somewhere we might hold him for
a day or two?”

“I’ll
think on it.” As they talked, the Frater took out a couple of coins and
chinked them together, before pressing them into her hand and looking at her
earnestly as though she was simply a needy woman he had encountered along the
way.

“Where’s
the Sad Mort and the Frog now?”

“Hid,
Jack. Moll’s been poorly.” Ruby and the Frater parted, after making
arrangements for their next meeting. The Frater returned briefly to the lych
gate for a few sips at the bottle before following after Jugg.

The instant
Jugg had walked in through the door, he knew something was wrong. Some subtle
change in the atmosphere. He stopped in his tracks and at the same time a
familiar voice spoke behind him.

“It’s
been long since we met - Francis.”

Jugg did
not correct the speaker. He simply said, without turning round, “Y’always
did have the gift of breaking and entering, Jingler. Bad coins always roll back
again, eh? You ain’t the first today. Quite the day for it. I’ve already seen
the Egyptian Mort, standing out on the side of the road like a bawdy
basket.”

“Aye.
She brought me news o’ Moll. I told Ruby I had a bit of business - didn’t tell
her what - or who with.”

“I
didn’t know of any business between us.”

The Jingler
laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one, that is. Lost your memory, have ye?”

Jugg turned
round and looked straight at him. It was quite dark in the room but the Jingler
did not have to see Jugg’s expression to know that if looks could kill, he
would be lying on the floor stone dead.

“I
said,” growled Jugg between gritted teeth, “I didn’t know of any
business between us.”

“A
small matter, Francis. Was it ten pounds?”

“What
ten pounds is this?”

“The
ten pounds ye cheated me of - the last time we met.”

“Won
fair and square,” said Jugg, with finality. The two men locked gaze and
held it, each attempting to stare the other down. The Jingler was smiling, his
light eyes fixed for once; Jugg’s sleepy eyes were bulging slightly and his jaw
was set like a bulldog’s. Almost imperceptibly he began to inch towards a chest
where he kept a pistol that he’d taken against a debt in a card game - much
more valuable than money - and a short blade. The pistol would take too long to
prime of course but if he could get to the blade …

The
Jingler, guessing what he was up to, stepped quickly to the side.

“Oh,
no, Francis. I know ye. Don’t try any tricks on your old friend the Jingler,
who has one or two himself …” There was suddenly a knife in the
Jingler’s right hand and he tapped the blade on the back of his left. Jugg knew
him well enough to know that this was partly the Jingler’s nervous energy
showing itself. He was fast and unpredictable. The only advantages Jugg had
were solidity and determination. They carried on staring at each other, each
waiting for the other to make a move.

This was
the scene that the Frater walked into, not suspecting anything. Immediately
taking in the situation, he attempted to walk directly back out again.

“My
apologies, gentlemen, I didn’t realise what y’were about, I’ll leave …”

“Stay
where you are!” growled Jugg, while the Jingler snarled “Stay your
carcass, for your life, Jack!”

The Frater
held his ground and his breath. As the two men continued to stare at each
other, he ventured, “I don’t like to see old friends falling out wi’ each
other.”

This
prompted an explosive, derisory laugh from the Jingler and an oath from Jugg.