Mist Over Pendle (26 page)

“Eighty pounds?” Margery sounded appalled. “Eighty pounds, sir? And for what, if you please?”

“Meat for lawyers and hay for horses. Or would it be the other way? But we’re losing this tale. Tom Covell was at Westby, you say?”

“Aye sir. At Christmas.” Master Hilliard took up his tale again. He had liked Master Covell. They had all liked Master Covell, and he had been pressed to lengthen his stay. One consequence of that had been a letter in his own hand, commending Master Francis Hilliard to the Earl of Derby as a gentleman worthy of employment. Master Hilliard, scenting advancement in this, had forthwith hastened to Lathom and presented the letter; and His Lordship had read it with respect.

“He would,” said Roger. “Covell’s no fool. And he’s of some weight in the County. Besides the gaol, he’s a Coroner and a Justice of both Peace and Quorum. A letter from him would be needed by any man. And what followed?”

What followed had been the appointment of Master Hilliard as a Gentleman of His Lordship’s Household, and it had been in that capacity that he had been sent to Marton to escort the papist Southworth.

“Whom you seem to have lost,” said Roger dryly. “I doubt if it will please milord.”

But Master Hilliard was not perturbed.

“That’s as may be,” he answered easily. “There was naught else I could have done.”

But Roger remained dry.

“Which is to say,” he commented, “that you found more interest in Margery here than in your Seminary.”

“Am I then in fault for that?”

“I did not say you were. But then I know Margery and milord does not. He might see it differently.”

“His Lordship must surely---“

“Must does not apply to His Lordship. I’m not unfriendly in this, but I advise you to show some zeal. Precisely what help did you suppose I could give?”

“I had thought, sir, that you were best placed to order search and inquiry. I do not know this Pendle.”

“Who does? But as to search, that’s to waste time if you mean by it no more than to ride at large and hope to sight the fellow. Inquiry I’ll put in train. It’s best done in shadow. As for knowing Pendle---“

Roger paused, a half smile on his lips.

“That shall be Margery’s work. She has, in some fashion, brought this upon you and she shall help to mend it. She may conduct you in Pendle.”

That had Master Hilliard’s prompt approval. He thanked Roger heartily and then came promptly to what seemed to interest him most. Would Mistress Whitaker be pleased to ride with him on the morrow and show him something of this Pendle?

But Margery did not answer precisely as he might have wished. She had, indeed, no intention of not riding with him on the morrow, and whether Roger had ordered it as retribution or out of tact, she neither knew nor cared. Either way, it suited her excellently. But this Master Hilliard, she thought, seemed a shade sure of himself; and something might be risked here. Her voice expressed nothing as she answered.

“Certainly I shall ride with you,” she told him calmly. “My cousin has ordered it, and I shall show him obedience.”

That left Master Hilliard guessing. She read as much in his eyes and was well content. And the morrow, she thought, might look to itself. She turned the talk to other things.

Yet it was Roger who had the last word, as she might have foreseen. He took her, as he often did at bedtime, to the foot of the stair, and lit her candle.

“When you marry,” he told her cheerfully, “I’ll approve no husband who has not a stout arm. He’ll need it if he’s to keep you in a decent order. Meantime, you’re well placed in Pendle.”

She was all innocence as she looked down-on him. “Why in Pendle, sir?”

“You weave enchantments. God keep you I”

Nothing in Pendle, Margery told herself, ever went as it should. There seemed indeed to be a curse on the place.

She pouted through the window, and her whip slapped angrily against her boot. For here was a cool November morning, grey and windless, with a pale sun and the mist still hanging by the trees --a morning made in Heaven for those who would go a-riding. And here at her side was Master Hilliard, booted and spurred, and cloaked in green and gold. And there were the horses, pawing impatiently at the gravel. And there, beyond the horses, riding towards the house over that same gravel, was Miles Nutter. He could hardly have timed it worse.

She was bound to receive him, and he came briskly into the house. Then he saw Master Hilliard and checked abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” he said politely. “Perhaps I intrude?”

Margery had to echo his politeness.

“You do not intrude, Miles. We have a guest in the house. That’s all.”

She presented Master Hilliard, and formal bows were exchanged. Then Miles turned to her again.

“I hate to seem discourteous, Margery, but I’ve messages for you if you please.”

Margery nodded. She and Miles were on easy terms by now.

“From Grace, I hope.” She turned to Master Hilliard. “You’ll give me leave?”

“Most certainly. I’ll look the horses over. They’re scraping the gravel.”

He went out with an easy nod to Miles, and Margery stared thoughtfully at his retreating back. She was considering that she might need her wits in dealing with a man who could so quickly give so deft an answer. It was wholly courteous, but it had a nice reminder that she was engaged to ride with him and had best not delay too long.

Miles said his say quickly enough once he had her alone. It was an urgent and unwelcome request that she should at last make her promised visit to the Rough Lee. His mother, he explained, had been daily expecting it, and was now asking difficult questions about his daily doings. And Grace, he added, was becoming anxious and unhappy about it. Margery hesitated. She did not like Alice Nutter and she did not want to visit the Rough Lee. On the other hand she did want to help Grace, and to appear at the Rough Lee on easy terms with Miles might make affairs flow smoother for him and Grace. Which, as far as it went, was well enough. But to appear on easy terms with Miles, whether at the Rough Lee or anywhere else, would not help her with Master Hilliard. Or--would it? She pursed her lips as she considered that. Master Hilliard did seem a shade sure of himself--and of her. Barely perceptibly, Margery nodded. Then she turned to Miles.

“You shall have your way, Miles,” she told him. “But we shall have to ask this Master Hilliard to ride with us. He’s my cousin’s guest, and it’s laid on me to show him something of the Forest.”

“Willingly,” said Miles, who would obviously have assented to much more than that to get Margery to the Rough Lee. “It’s good of you, and it will please Grace as much as me.”

They went out to the gravel, and while Miles sought his horse Master Hilliard helped Margery to mount. She had a quick word with him then.

“It’s very fortunate,” she said. “This Master Nutter comes nicely to the moment, and he may be useful. His home is far up the Forest, near to where your priest escaped, and the folk there are more likely than others to have heard whatever’s whispered. So I’ve grasped at opportunity and said we’ll ride so far with him. That’s to your taste, I hope?”

“I’m guided by you,” he answered, and she thought his tone lacked warmth.” Where is this house?”

She let Miles answer that, and he did so cheerfully. Master Hilliard, who evidently did not mean to be outshone, roused himself to talk; and Margery, riding between the two men, had the best of both of them. They went up the Forest in a merry chatter of tongues, and if Miles Nutter was pleased when they got to the Rough Lee, he was probably alone in that.

Alice Nutter received them graciously. She had, as Margery well perceived, a trick of being dressed to the last detail in whatever would colour the picture that she offered. This morning she was the housewife, the mistress of the Rough Lee; busy to be sure, but not too busy to give time and gracious welcome to her guests; and her kirtle of corded black taffeta with the white lace cap and collar supported this perfectly. She received them at the door. She had an affectionate smile for her son, a friendly one for Margery, a gracious one for Master Hilliard. She led them to her parlour, erect and dignified; and as a last telling detail, keys jingled from her girdle of silver chain. It was perfectly done, and nothing of it was lost on Margery. She saw every point, and her eyes opened a little in admiration; no bungler, this assured and observant lady.

“I give you welcome of the warmest,” was her greeting to Margery. “I’ve heard a deal about you from Miles, and I’ve been asking when we should have this honour.”

“Miles has been my good friend, madam. I’m much in his debt. I’m still learning this Pendle Forest, and Miles has been the best of guides.”

“I’m glad you say it. Truly, he does know it well--as indeed he should.” She turned lightly to Master Hilliard. “Pray, sir, do you stay in Pendle long? If so, we shall hope for your better acquaintance.”

It seemed no more than a proper courtesy, but Margery, sitting wary and alert, thought she detected more than that. Was this perhaps what Mistress Nutter was most concerned to know? If she had indeed designs on Margery for Miles, she might well be concerned about the length of Master Hilliard’s stay.

And Master Hilliard, knowing nothing of these Pendle undercurrents, made the worst of answers.

“In truth, madam, I know not. And I must give apology for our intrusion.” Clearly, he was concerned to be polite. “May I plead urgency, madam? For indeed we should not have intruded upon you had there not been pressing cause.”

Very faintly, like a snake in the dry grass, the taffeta rustled. Mistress Nutter sat a shade more erect.

“Indeed sir? Pray acquaint me then with the purpose of this visit.”

Master Hilliard wanted no more invitation. He plunged forthwith into the tale of his papist, and Mistress Nutter gave him attentive ear while Margery sat aghast, angry with herself as a fool for not foreseeing this. This visit had been intended to placate Mistress Nutter, who was now being told that it had been made only because it appeared that she might be useful. Margery pressed her lips and waited stiffly.

But Mistress Nutter did not lose her poise. She heard him to the end, and then sat as if in thought.

“I’ve not heard of a priest at large,” she said at length, “but I’ll make inquiry into that, and have my husband do the like. Between us, we may hear some whisper, and if we do you may be assured you shall hear of it at once. We are loyal folk in this house, sir, and we’ll gladly give proof of it.”

Then the door opened and a serving maid was in with the ale and cheese-cakes that were usual, and with an apple tart that was not so usual. Mistress Nutter bestirred herself and saw to her guests’ comforts. She did it graciously; she had a proper smile and she chatted lightly; she was quick to bring them all into the talk, and her guests responded accordingly. Margery bit into her apple tart and found it to be all that Margaret Crook had said it would be. Then she roused herself and took her part in the talk, and she did it with a vivacity that brought admiring glances from both the men. Master Hilliard said some proper things; Miles chattered easily, and his mother was benign and dignified in the centre; all the requirements were satisfied. But Margery was not at ease. Alice Nutter had been angered, not placated; all that was uncertain was whether her anger was directed more against Margery or more against this Master Hilliard who had her company. For all this woman’s seeming benevolence, there was one thing she could not conceal from senses as keen as Margery’s; the power that lay in her was pouring from her now, wave after hostile wave of it. She sat by her table, placid, composed and smiling, with the power flooding from her. Miles had a watchful eye on her; Master Hilliard glanced more and more at her, till he was almost staring; and Margery felt a known and hideous chill begin to touch her back. Her talk faltered and failed, and her fingers pressed sharply into her palms as she strove to stay calm.

It was Master Hilliard who broke the party. He came suddenly to his feet and announced abruptly that he must be on his way. He had much to see before dusk, he said, and Mistress Whitaker had promised to conduct him; and he said it with a glance at her so direct that its meaning could not be lost. It was not tactful; it was scarcely even courteous; but nobody showed resentment. Miles looked positively relieved; his mother kept her poise unshaken and let nothing of her thoughts be seen; and Margery, who at another time might have disputed this assumption that she was his to command, now swallowed it meekly. She would have swallowed much more than that, she told herself, to get out of this house.

There were polite leavetakings, and again the proper things were said. Nothing escaped that could make a ripple on the placid surface. But Margery, saying her polite farewell, met Mistress Nutter’s eyes, and found in their black deeps a gleam that froze her. She was trembling as she got to her horse, and once they were clear of the house Master Hilliard had to bestir himself to keep pace with her.

Miles had made no offer to come with them, and they were riding alone. Margery had led up the steep lane, away from the road and towards the high ridge that ran behind the pasture; something in her was clamouring for its cool heights, and she kept the pace with hardly a thought for her companion till he ranged alongside her.

“Is it your wish to kill the horses?” he asked bluntly.

That brought her eyes to his, and suddenly the tension broke. His brown face was easing into a smile that was sane and cool and friendly, and Margery relaxed. She pulled her horse to a halt and smiled back at him. It was a smile of relief; but the relief was overwhelming, and she felt a dimple in her cheek and a crinkle in her forehead as the smile spread. Master Hilliard was a bare yard away, and he had the full effect of it.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said quickly. “The truth of it is---“. He hesitated. “I’m sorry if Mistress Nutter is your friend, but the truth is---“

Again he stopped and it was Margery who ended his sentence for him.

“The truth is,” she said, “that you were mighty ill at ease with her.”