Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (4 page)

Her
companion, Moll, was known as the Sad Mort because of her drab clothing. As
they walked, she sighed, as ever, over the Jingler.

“Ruby,”
she said to the Egyptian Mort. “I think I might be carryin’ again.”

Ruby looked
at her with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance.

“Well,
me dear, if only you’d take note o’ my advice - ” She glanced across at
the Sad Mort. “Naught showing yet. Yer belly’s smaller, if anything. Yer
not eating enough. Ye look a bit white. Why not ride on the ass for a
while?”

They halted
for a while to let the Sad Mort get onto the donkey. The sun had been up for a
few hours now and they were all hungry.

“Rest
up,” said Clink to the Sad Mort. “Th’ Frog’ll stay with yer. Ruby,
girl, come along and let’s see what we can find up ahead.”

There
seemed to be a dearth of anything to steal and no barns. Usually they would
have kept an eye out for linen or anything that they might sell or exchange;
but for now, hunger was the spur and all they sought was food.

“Aw,
Clink, I’m famished!” said Ruby, after a hour or so.

“Looks
like a township up ahead,” said Clink, with some relief, as they rounded a
corner of the lane. It was; of the kind that is little more than a large hamlet
or small village, a group of farms and cottages mostly owned by members of the
same family or related families. There were stands of elms around it filled
with old rook nests; and a strong smell of pigs and cow manure filled the air.
The principal farmhouse was quite large, bringing thoughts of dairies, milk,
cheese and hams to mind. The windowless wall of the byres and barns faced the
lane, which ran straight through between the buildings and up a small hill.
Ruby and Clink stepped off to the side at the corner of the byre to take stock
and discuss possibilities.

“Quiet,
ain’t it?” said Ruby.

“Most
of the men’ll be off working and some of the women too.”

“D’ye
think there’d be a milkmaid or two wanting her fortune telled?”

“Wouldn’t
risk it,” said Clink. “Y’never know what these dewse-a-ville folk
will do.”

“Aye,”
agreed Ruby fervently. “Gi’ me the town any day.” She sounded
regretful. “But - I could go to the door, mebbe? And ask ‘em for
something.”

Clink
looked at her. The clothes she was wearing were plain; they’d lifted them off a
hedge a few days ago. They made Ruby look - respectable. Ruby was perhaps too
big, too rounded, too handsome and experienced a woman to look like a needy
beggar going from door to door. She worked well with the Frater and the Sad
Mort when they collected for imaginary causes, with the women playing the part
of widows of seamen or soldiers. And of course, she could dance a bit and sing;
and tell fortunes. She looked the part, when she had some finery to wear.

“Weeell
- ” said Clink, “y’can try. Tell y’what, Ruby, you do what you can
and I’ll take a look round the back of these barns and see what I can find.
Don’t look ‘em in the eye and whine a bit. Hunch yer shoulders.”

“Aye.
Trust me, Clink.” Ruby wrapped her kerchief around her head and dropped
her chin. She made her way slowly and uncertainly, limping slightly, towards
the entrance to the farmyard and Clink, having watched her on her way, started
around the back of the byre wall. He discovered that the wall ran all the way
around the farm, enclosing not only the yard but a garden and orchard further
away. He found a place on the wall with some footholds behind the house and
climbed up it, peering over the top. He couldn’t see the entrance to the
farmhouse from this angle but he could see a dairy; and to his left, outside
the wall, was a muddy enclosure with some pigs rolling and grunting
contentedly. He watched as a maid, wearing pattens and an apron, left the dairy
and headed towards the house.

He couldn’t
see anyone else about. No dogs barking. Cautiously he slung a leg over the wall
and lay for a second along the top; then he dropped down onto the far side.
Half bent, he headed towards the dairy. It was an open run; nowhere to hide. No
shouting followed him; nothing at all. A worn stone staircase outside the dairy
led to the upper level where, he guessed, there might be some cheeses. Clink
gained the dairy door and flattened himself against it. It was standing ajar.
Inside he could hear someone humming and there was a thumping sound; churning,
perhaps. He tried to get a sense of where the person was standing; yes, he was
fairly sure now, at which end of the dairy she was. He peeped in, ready with a
tale if he was spotted. He couldn’t see anyone and therefore there was a good
chance they couldn’t see him, especially if they were concentrating on their
task.

Clink walked
briskly past the door and towards the staircase. Still nothing. He glanced
round and swiftly mounted the steps that led to a loft above the dairy.

Ruby was
engaged in pleading conversation at the door of the house. Her audience was a
girl of about ten and a maid from the dairy.

“Me
mam’s bakin’,” said the girl. “I’ll ask.” She disappeared. The
maid glanced at Ruby, half pityingly, half critically. She sniffed. Ruby
ignored her, thinking that if only the girl would go back to her work, it would
give her the chance to see if there was anything in the porch that was worth
lifting. Ruby doubted it; all she could see were old boots, crooks and staves;
and some ropes and woollen capes hanging up. The house, like the yard, smelled
mainly of muck and wool, but there was also the delicious smell of baking bread
and some sort of broth that was cooking.

The girl
came back.

“Me
mam says y’can have this,” she said, holding out a loaf and a large hunk
of cheese. “N’some blue milk and a pat o’ butter from t’dairy.
N’this.” She handed over two farthings.

“Thank
ye!” said Ruby, with genuine surprise and gratitude. “And - bless ye.”
She was glad now that she hadn’t taken anything. The dairy maid, who had come
over with a question, received an answer and she and Ruby set off together.

Clink found
himself in a hungry man’s paradise. The loft was quite clean and airy and still
held a good amount of last season’s salted cheese; and, even better, there were
some hams hanging up in cloths suspended on strings, to help foil attacks from
vermin. The boards underfoot were rough and incomplete, leaving big gaps
through which the dairy floor could be glimpsed. At one end of the loft there
was a sleeping place with mattresses made from sacks stuffed with straw and
chaff. Hearing voices below him he paused, with his hand out towards a ham;
better not take one that was too big to carry; didn’t want a small one either!
He was fairly confident he could make out Ruby’s voice and grinned as he
realised she was telling one of the dairymaids that she would meet a tall,
wealthy man with black hair by midsummer and would live in contentment for the
rest of her life. That must mean she had been given something!

Having
selected his ham - and a piece of cheese - he stole back to the door and peeped
out. Ruby was just walking quickly away from the farmyard. Fortunately, she had
remembered her temporary limp. She was holding something in her arms. Good. Let
her get ahead - better if they left separately. While he was waiting he munched
on some of the cheese and ham. His mouth had been watering. He could hear the
two dairymaids discussing possible husbands and the identity of the man whom
Ruby had described. Now, while they were occupied, he would make his escape
too. He peeped out through the door and, seeing no-one, slipped through.
Stuffing the ham and cheese into his jerkin, he heaved himself up onto the top of
the wall above the stone landing outside the loft. Lying along it full length
as before, he slid his legs over the lane side of the wall and hung there for
an instant. Then he slid down the outside of the wall into the lane, catching
on protruding stones wherever he could to slow his descent. Once on the ground,
he did not stop to look but ran back the way he had come as though all the farm
dogs in Yorkshire were chasing him.

* * * * *

Marcaster
smelled interesting, Cornelius decided. The delicious roast rabbit breakfast
was now just a fading memory. He was weary and wondered where they would be
resting for the night. Why, in heaven’s name, they could not have stopped at
that inn that smelled of chickens and wool; or the one that smelled of lavender
and oak; or the one that smelled of cheese and cats - now that was the one he
would have chosen - he did not understand. As they walked along, Meg and
Matthew talked of things they saw that were of interest to them. Not to him.
Cornelius sighed and laid his head on Matthew’s shoulder. They had stopped,
finally, and were looking up at the sign that hung outside a building that
smelled quite pleasantly of honey, wax and fresh bread. And beer. That wasn’t
quite so pleasant, thought Cornelius. Rather have cheese. Matthew and Meg were
talking. Again.

At first
glance, the sign showed simply a mass of frothy white blossom with touches of
pink, green and shadowy black or midnight blue. The flowers almost surged out
of the frame, giving the impression they would grow and flow into the street.
Another glance, though, revealed a creature dwelling in the depths of the
blossom - two dark patches for eyes, another for a black nose and - possibly -
a double point of horns leading up towards the corners of the frame. Perhaps -
because a second glance showed just the flowers again. It was cleverly done, or
was it simply a coincidence? The flowers were quite crudely drawn when viewed
closely. Then a deer-like creature appeared - or did it?

This meant
nothing to Cornelius. This building smelled good enough and he was sure, from
past experience, that there would be a room with a fire, some cushions and a
bone with lots of scraps on it. Come on, let’s enter! He exerted every ounce of
willpower that he could. To his relief, Matthew and Meg went under the strange
sign and through the carved and painted doorway.

The Hart
and Hawthorn was small and peaceful and the plain furniture in its rooms was
dark with age and cleaning. It was busy though and no-one took any notice of
the two strangers and the little dog for a few moments. Finally Matthew caught
the eye of an apronman who had two fistfuls of beer in jugs.

“A
moment!” he called over his shoulder. He was quickly back and talking to
Matthew whilst Meg sat on a bench and examined her dusty boots. Cornelius was
so coated in dust from the road that he was no longer a little black dog with a
curious monkey face, but a ghost with round dark eyes and a grey beard.

Meg watched
as the man glanced across at her. He was smiling sympathetically but shaking
his head as he talked to Matthew. Meg heard Matthew say “I am her servant.
Her name? Mistress Margaret - ” there was a pause ” - Loveday.”
The man’s face changed.

“Wait
here,” he said. His voice sounded warm and a little surprised. Not long
now, thought Cornelius.

Rooms were
found for Meg and Matthew. Soon they were settled in comfort sipping spiced ale
after supper. Cornelius, brushed and washed, snored on a cushion in front of a
low fire, gathering energy for another attack on the knuckle bone that lay in
front of him. Meg, wearing a warm gown borrowed from the hostess of the inn,
rested her feet on a footstool. Matthew, wearing clean servant’s garments taken
from his pack, cracked some more hazelnuts and threw the shells into the grate.

“On
certain nights of the year,” began Meg, looking at the fire, “if a
maid takes a pair of chestnuts and puts them together on the grate, she can
tell whether her love is true or not.”

Matthew
raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“If
her love is true, the two will heat together without flying apart or bursting
asunder; if her love is not true, then one chestnut will fly from the
other.”

“As
sound a basis for matrimony as I have yet heard,” said Matthew.

“But
only on certain nights of the year.”

“The
rest of the time it is in the hands of fate …”

“Or
fortune - more usually, fortune.“They both laughed. There was a knock at
the door and the maidservant who had brought the supper dishes in came to
collect their dusty travel clothes for cleaning.

“Pleas’um,”
she said, dropping a half curtsey, “Mistress Metcalf said you met have
summat for ‘er.” She pronounced “Metcalf”
“Meayetcaalf” with the vowels drawn out richly.