Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (35 page)

Meg smiled
wryly. “Not only did I think of doing so, but I did so. Broaching the
subject as gently as I could, when I encountered him one day, brought on such a
flood of denial that I was forced to leave the matter. He was in fear of
discovery.” She paused, then resumed again. “To answer your question
- I think it was not an intentional act on Goldspink’s part. Everything about
his manner spoke of a man with a burden and I think he was not in his right
mind. Gold has that effect on a man, if he’s not careful. Gold comes to own
some people, when they think they own
it
. And then the ripples spread
out … Zacharias Kane could be implicated. Y’see, Matthew, little acts that
seem to hurt nobody; crimes without a victim, felonies carried out without
harmful, or even with beneficial intent … these are the ways that many a good
man has slipped into wickedness - why, what is so amusing?”

“Naught,”
said Matthew, suppressing his grin and returning her innocent look. “Only
- look to Brother Nose-all. It seems to me that
he
might be slipping. Oh
- I saw my acquaintance from the inn again this morning before we left - the
old man. He was disappointed that there would be no opportunity to tell him
about San Domingo …”

“Perhaps
we’ll be back this way again.”

“A
curious thing, though; when he saw you, he said you put him in mind of a woman
who used to stay in Marcaster years ago, when he was a youth. A woman with rare
skills - something like yours.”

“Some
wicked ancestress, I don’t doubt.”

“Yes.
That would be it - no doubt.” There was amusement in Matthew’s voice.
“Meg …”

“Yes?”

“I
hope you packed sufficient liniment?”

Meg
laughed.

The horses
jogged steadily onwards towards the hills.

Clink
stepped out blinking into the sunshine. Behind him, the door of Marcaster Keep
closed with a thud. Free …

Feeling as
vulnerable as a chicken fresh from the egg, Clink’s first instinct was to find
some hideaway to replace the one he had just left. The world was his again and
it was momentarily terrifying. No-one had explained to him what was happening.
He had simply been taken from his cell and put out into the street. What
worried him was that he had heard nothing from the Frater or any of the others.

He started
to creep away and was just wondering which way to go when a voice behind him
said: “John Parkins? I must ask you to accompany me.”

Clink swung
round.

Sir George
Paston was standing behind him with an almost apologetic look on his face.
Beside him was a lad holding three horses. Sir George indicated the smallest of
the three and then spoke to the lad.

“Hal,
help this man onto the horse.”

Clink
mounted the horse in a stupefied manner. What was happening?

“And -
” said George warningly, ” - do not plan on escape. We will leave
your hands untied, but mark well - we are both armed. Hal, lead the horse. I
will ride behind you both.”

The three
of them set off towards the Marcaster Road. They were well on the way before
Clink dared to speak.

“Where
- where are ye takin’ me? Where are we headed?”

“Guildern,”
said George, shortly. “For questioning.”

“Y’can’t
try me for the purse!” said Clink. “I’ve stood trial for that. Never
called me back, did ‘e, the judge? Said ‘e would, but ‘e didn’t …”

“No,”
said George. “It’s not for that. There are other matters; such as breaking
out of custody.”

Clink
thought hard and then decided staying silent was the best option. The others
said nothing more and so the silence continued as they rode westwards. Clink
was thinking about Ruby and the others and wondering where they were. George
was considering, very grimly, the cost of the jail charges he had paid to have
Clink released. He felt he had little choice in the matter. Judge Selby had
shrewdly realised that if George did not voluntarily take responsibility for
Clink, the Marcaster justices - with the full support of the undersheriff -
would simply send him back to Guildern anyway. There was not a parish in the
land that would voluntarily take responsibility for the cost of dealing with a
rogue or vagrant if they could pass it on elsewhere.

A stench
blew towards them as they rode along Gibbet Hill towards the Marcaster Road and
the three of them covered their faces briefly to avoid breathing the
contaminated air. The further they went, the further Clink felt he was riding
away from everything and everyone that he knew. He glanced back at Sir George,
whose air was slightly preoccupied.

George was
studiously trying to ignore something. At first he had thought it was simply
his imagination, or perhaps a buckle making that faint, light jingling sound
that seemed to come from his saddlebag. Impossible; but then he heard it again,
a mocking, bright sound, that made him recall Meg’s voice at the inn. “The
bell should have been yours …”

“Don’t
look back,” he said to Clink, more sharply than he had intended. Clink
quickly turned his eyes on the road ahead. Scattered to the four winds, when he
and his companions might meet again, only God - or the devil - knew.