Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (29 page)

Amelia and
her mother had come back from their visit, with their maids, expecting to
return to Marfield Hall soon. George saw them talking to Sir Richard and the
officials near the pavilion. Anne was shaking her head slowly as though in
disbelief. There was no sign of Sir John; but a man was riding, hard, along the
road and as George watched, he turned onto the grass and rode hell for leather
across to the pavilion. News of Philip Widderis, perhaps. Good news, with luck.
Then George frowned. He recognised the horse - and surely that was one of the
grooms who had led Galingale back to Marfield Hall? As George began to walk across
the grass, he thought he saw Meg disappearing in amongst the booths and
increased his pace.

Amelia saw
him approaching, broke away from her mother and ran towards him.

“Oh,
Sir George! Such news!” Her face was shocked and excited. “Lissy is
missing! So is her maid!”

In a brief
space of time, the common was in uproar. Richard and Jack Widderis found
themselves reluctantly joined together at the centre of attention as the
parents of two missing children. There was an increase in the hubbub as Amelia
too was found to be temporarily lost; but she had only been distracted by
something that was happening at one of the booths. Her father almost shouted at
her when she came running up to him and then suddenly clutched her to him, reaching
out for his wife at the same time. George saw a spasm of pain cross Richard’s
face and experienced his anguish. Amelia and her mother were both in tears.

“Forgive
me, father, I’m sorry!” Amelia repeated the words over and over again
through her sobs. “Forgive me …”

“All’s
well, daughter,” said Richard, trying to sound reassuring, but George saw
that he had tears in his eyes too. “You are not to blame for anything. You
are both - all - so precious to me.”

George, not
able to bear this scene, walked away in search of a horse, with some vague idea
of getting together a search party. Action - that was the thing. Riding around
the countryside would not be an entirely aimless task. Someone, somewhere might
have seen something. Must have seen something. He would find them; he would
question them. If Amabilis Grasset had been taken in revenge for Giddens,
George would do everything in his power to ensure that justice was done. He
snapped his fingers at one of the Grasset grooms and ordered him to find the
best horse that he could. The man jumped to attention and was soon back with
Richard’s own horse.

“The
master’s compliments, Sir George.” He held the horse and stirrup whilst
George swung into the saddle. George rode over to the Grassets.

“Give
me some of your men and I will start searching,” he said to Richard, who
nodded.

“Sir
John will return with us to Marfield Hall. It is nearer than Calness. There,
once Anne and Amelia are safe, we will decide on a course of action. You agree,
Jack?”

John
Widderis nodded.

“Aye.
We are as one mind in this, Dick Grasset and myself. Take some of my men also,
lad. And God go with thee.”

George
found himself liking this tough old man who saw him as little more than a lad.
It was not offensive, simply his manner.

“My
thanks to you,” he said.

In a short
time, George was setting out with Hal and eight other riders. They rode down to
the junction where the road divided, Calness in one direction and Marfield Hall
in the other. George considered. He had set out with no real plan, but he came
to the decision that, as the Grassets and Sir John were returning to Marfield,
he and his party would take the road to Calness and see what they could find.
George had a nagging, unpleasant feeling at the back of his mind, a feeling
that was trying to turn into a thought and capture his attention, but he tried
his best to ignore it. No - it couldn’t be …

The gates
of Calness between the two towers were substantial - and closed. George glanced
up at the building. It was practical and highly defensible, like several of the
houses and churches he had seen on this side of the country. Memories of
rebellions and wars with the Scots lingered in this part of the world.

“There’s
scarce a man here, Master Past’n,” said one of the Widderis men.
“Only the kitchenfolk and stockmen; and a man so old ‘is limbs creaks, to
keep an eye on t’door. Most went with us to see t’running ‘orses. They’re not
back yet.”

George
smiled. “See if you can gain entrance for us. Tell the creaking old man
that we come with peaceable intent, for we don’t want to scare him if he sees a
body of armed men on horseback.” He looked up at the towers with the
uncomfortable feeling that there might be someone watching him. This was, after
all, the home of Sir John, the Catholic; if he was hearing mass in secret, or
harbouring seminary priests, the penalties were extremely severe. It could mean
near ruin, with fines or the confiscation of most of a man’s estate, even a
year’s imprisonment. It hadn’t always been so. Life for both beliefs had been
easier at the start of Elizabeth’s reign. It was only in the last ten years,
with the flood of seditious priests from the continent, threats against the
queen’s life and the production of pro-Catholic tracts on secret presses that
tolerance had become such a rare commodity.

The serving
man dismounted and hammered on the doors, calling out loudly and finally
kicking the wood. He turned to George.

“Bit
deaf he is, an’ all, the old ‘un.”

Eventually
the deaf old man, reluctant to open the gates, was made aware of what was
happening. The gates swung open and the riders clattered onto a cobbled yard.
The house had two short wings running back from the towers. A fourth set of
buildings, consisting, it seemed, mainly of stables, linked them together and
created a courtyard. It was very quiet, with just the sound of a couple of
elderly hounds baying from the stable block. George dismounted and turned to
speak to the old retainer.

“Eh?”
said the old man, when George asked him if he’d seen anyone. “Nah, lad,
naebody but our ain folk. Everyone else’s gone t’see t’running ‘orses, they
‘ave. Didn’t ‘e tell ye?” He gestured at the servant who’d gained entrance
for them. “Why’s ‘e back here anyway? And who are ye?”

“It’s
Sir George Paston!” bellowed the serving man.

“Eh?
Sir George? Who’s he?”

“Never
mind that,” said George. “Have you seen either Philip Widderis or
Amabilis Grasset; or, indeed, anyone riding near or past here today? D’ye know
Mistress Grasset?”

“Aw,
well now,” said the old man. “I didn’t rightly understand ye at first
when y’asked had I
seen
anyone. Thought y’meant had I seen any
foreigners
,
like ye, begging yer pardon, Sir George. Aye, I know Sir Richard’s lass. Used
to visit, they did, once on a time. I mind a merry Christmas years ago when my
lady was living. But then all’s changed since she died. No, I didn’t see them,
but I see Master Philip’s serving man ride out leading one of t’master’s
‘unters. That’ll be to bring back Master Philip, thinks I, after the running
… one of t’other ‘orses must ‘a gone lame …”

The nagging
thought at the back of George’s mind grew more insistent.

“And
he hasn’t come back?”

“Nah,
nary a sign,” said the old man. “But if ye’ve come from t’match, ye’d
‘ave seen ‘im, eh?”

The men
were standing about, staring at George, wondering what to do next.

“Marfield
Hall,” said George, almost thoughtfully. “Perhaps - we’ll find some
answers there.” The men looked at one another and shrugged. In a short
time, they were clattering back out over the cobbles and thundering down the
road towards Richard Grasset’s home.

At Marfield
Hall, a full search of the grounds was in progress. Richard came out to greet
George and immediately set the men to join the search party. Then he led George
into the hall, where Sir John, Anne and Amelia were seated awkwardly around the
fireplace, which was not lit, due to the season; but it seemed as though simply
sitting there around the original heart of the home brought them comfort in
some way. Amelia was white-faced and scared; Anne was tense. Sir John, sipping
his wine, seemed the most relaxed of all of them, but George read anger and
stress in his ruddy colouring and the corded veins in his neck and the back of
his hands.

George
nodded his thanks as Richard offered him a glass of wine. Then he said,
“Forgive me - I am sure that you have done this - but has the house been
searched?”

“Of
course,” said Richard, thinking it was simply a casual enquiry.

“And -
was there any sign of a struggle?”

Richard
stared at him as though he had been insulted.

“What
d’ye mean, Paston?”

“I am
- simply trying to understand what has happened. How Amabilis might have been
taken - if she has been taken - by one of Giddens’ supporters.”

“I
understand you now,” said Richard. He sighed and the muscles in his face
tightened. “No, there was no sign of any - struggle - and none of the
servants saw anything unusual. The casement of her room was open a little
…”

“I
told her not to let the air in to cool the chamber,” fretted Anne.

“‘Tis
a warm day. The lass would have taken little harm from a bit o’ fresh
air,” said Jack Widderis, bluntly. They understood that he didn’t mean it
unkindly; he simply meant that Anne should not distress or blame herself any
further.

“The
door was not locked?” said George.

Richard
shook his head. “No; and the key was inside the room.”

“Forgive
me again, Richard; but - is there any way to - or from - the house that is less
- well-known - more secret, so to say?”

Richard
began to see that George was leading somewhere with his questions. He frowned.

“There
is an old staircase down to the cellar with a passageway that leads to the
kitchen and larder; and another that leads to the servants’ chambers and
garret; the door to the garden is used principally by the gardener and his lads
…” Richard carried on thinking, travelling his house and estate in his
mind.

Amelia
suddenly started. “The casement by the linen press is not always fastened,
father.”

“How
would someone gain access in that way, Amelia? It is not at ground level.”

“No,
but the creeper there that clings to the wall outside is …” Amelia
tailed away. She and Amabilis knew that some of the maids used it to meet their
followers on occasions. And she had climbed up and down it once for a dare.
Only Amabilis knew that, because she was the one who had challenged Amelia to
do it. It was easy to get round to the garden from there without being seen.

“You
mean, someone might climb it and gain entry?” Sir Richard looked cross.
“I’ll see that it’s cut down immediately. And the casement will be
securely fastened from now on.”

“Mistress
Amelia,” said George, formally, as though Amelia were all grown up,
“has anyone searched your chamber?”

“Nnnoo
…” said Amelia, a little scared, because his voice had sounded serious
and her father still looked angry.

“Then
- ” George turned to Richard. ” - I suggest that it’s done, Richard.
Send someone with your daughter, to make sure that she is safe.”

“I’ll
go,” said Anne, rising.

“Take
Judith as well.”

The women
returned quickly. Anne almost ran down the stairs, with Amelia close behind
her.

“This
- we found this, tucked between the pillows on Amelia’s bed … from Amabilis
…” Anne held out the paper to Richard, then put a hand to her throat.
She sat down suddenly and put her face in her hands. Richard read the note and
glanced across at Sir John and then at George.

“It
says - it says that she and Philip have run away to be wed …”

“Give
it here, man,” said Sir John. He scanned the note and looked up. The two
men stared at one another. There was a long, cold moment. Then finally, Sir
John spoke.

“Some
would say they should be horse-whipped, the pair of ‘em!”

George,
watching the scene with impatience, wondered whether an argument would break
out. As always, the issue was action - if these men wished to intervene in this
elopement, then it was action that was needed, not talk or dispute. He was
conscious that he could only await the order, however, not initiate it.

Eventually
Richard spoke.

“We
must apply ourselves together on this, Jack, not fall out over it. If we act
now, we can send riders after them and perhaps catch them up …”