The Brothers of Glastonbury (16 page)

Yet – and my heart leapt at the thought – Peter Gildersleeve had managed to discover its meaning, and if he could do so, why could not I? To whom had he turned? Who had he visited in those months before he vanished? And did this parchment indeed hold the clue to his disappearance, or was it simply a distraction which I did not need?

I folded it again and replaced it in the secret compartment of the bed-head’s middle drawer, before undressing and climbing between the sheets. In the morning I would show my discovery to Dame Joan and Cicely, but not, I decided, to the two apprentices (such confirmation of the tale spread by Maud Jarrold and her father could only precipitate more trouble for the Gildersleeve family – or what remained of it). Afterwards, I would visit the abbey and seek out Brother Hilarion to ask his advice.

*   *   *

I knew that I was dreaming, but could do nothing to shake myself awake.

I was standing outside the shepherd’s hut with my hostess, while Cicely sat on the bank above us, picking daisies and fashioning them into chains. I was conscious that she was laughing at me for my failure to find her cousins, although she addressed no word to me and kept her eyes on the task in hand. Once she turned to speak to Father Boniface, who had materialised beside her in the mysterious way that people do in dreams.

For my own part, I was saying earnestly to Dame Joan, ‘Peter is not inside the hut, you can take my word for it. He is not inside the hut.’

‘But where is he then?’ she demanded. ‘And where is Mark…?’

I was suddenly wide awake, the morning sun pouring in through the unshuttered casement, warm on my face, and the plaintive query still ringing in my ears.

Later, over breakfast, I could see the same unspoken question in both women’s eyes. I waited until Rob and John had finished eating and had retired to the workshop – with firm instructions from Dame Joan to finish whatever work there was in hand – before asking them to accompany me upstairs to the solar. Lydia gave me a resentful glance at being thus excluded, no doubt guessing from my manner that I had something of interest to impart, but I thought it better that, for the time being at least, she should know nothing. She probably remained friends with Maud Jarrold, and might encounter her in the market place or at the shops. If we swore her to secrecy the importance of her knowledge would doubtless be visible in her small, expressive face and the added consequence of her manner, and Maud was sharp enough to draw her own conclusions.

When Cicely and her aunt were seated I fetched the parchment from its hiding place and, with infinite care, spread it out on the table. Both women shrank back in their chairs as though I had placed a poisonous serpent in front of them.

‘Wh-where did you find it?’ stammered Dame Joan. When I had explained, she frowned. ‘I didn’t know there was a secret compartment in that middle drawer. My husband never said a word to me about it. He must, however, have told Peter at some time or another, perhaps when he made up his mind to leave him the bed in his will. My sons have always slept in it, you understand, from their youth, but now it is Peter’s rightful property.’

‘It looks very ancient,’ Cicely remarked of the parchment, one hand creeping towards it, only to be hurriedly snatched back again without quite making contact. ‘What … what do you think it is?’

‘Could it, perhaps, be a spell or an incantation?’ Dame Joan whispered, regarding it with fear.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I answered truthfully. ‘That is something I must try to find out.’

‘And how will you do that?’ Cicely inquired, a note of mockery creeping into her voice.

‘I think we should burn it!’ her aunt exclaimed. ‘Before it does harm to anyone else!’

I refolded the parchment with a haste which enlarged at least two of the rents, and laid both hands over it, fearing for its safety.

‘Mistress,’ I said earnestly, ‘we have no proof yet that this document is connected with the disappearance of either of your sons. I’m going to the abbey to seek out Brother Hilarion and ask his advice. He’s the Novice Master and taught me all I know. I would trust him with my life. You can be sure that he will spread no stories or rumours, nor even discuss my visit with anyone at all – not even Father Abbot – if I ask him not to. He has a wisdom which comes with age, and a faith which makes him unafraid of anyone or anything.’ And I glanced down significantly at my cupped hands, under which lay the paper.

Dame Joan nodded. ‘Very well, you must do as you think fit.’ She added resignedly, ‘What else is there to be done? It’s a week ago today since Peter vanished, and it’s now nearly two whole days since we last saw Mark. Only for heaven’s sake, Chapman, promise that you won’t let that parchment out of your sight, or allow it to be seen by anyone except Brother Hilarion.’

‘I can’t promise that, but I will be guided by his advice. And don’t forget,’ I warned, ‘that if Peter solved the riddle of this strange writing, it’s improbable – although, I have to admit, not impossible – that he did so on his own. There may already be at least one other person in this town who is aware of the paper’s existence, as well as Father Boniface.’

I rose to my feet. ‘Now, if I’m to carry it around with me, it will need stronger protection than my pouch can offer. Dragging it in and out of that would only cause yet more damage, and it’s fragile enough already. If I might borrow one of Master Gildersleeve’s books I can place the parchment between the leaves, and the cover-boards will keep it from further harm.’

‘Take whatever you need.’ Dame Joan fidgeted with her leather girdle, knotting the ends around her fingers. The washed-out violet eyes roved unseeingly about the room. Never a big woman, she seemed to be growing even smaller, as though fear and care and worry were like physical burdens, crushing her with their weight. She was withdrawing into herself, suddenly frightened of the world beyond her doors – a world which had, in the past week, become such a menacing and terrifying place. ‘I think,’ she added, ‘that I shall go back to bed. Cicely, my dear, tell Lyddie I shall require only a little broth at dinnertime.’

‘Aunt, you must eat…’ Cicely was beginning, when she was interrupted by the clatter of feet on the stairs. A moment later the solar door burst open and Lydia almost fell into the room.

‘Mistress,’ she panted, holding her side, ‘you’d best come down. There’s someone asking to see you.’

Dame Joan scraped back her chair, her eyes alight with sudden hope. ‘Is it Mark?’ she demanded.

The little kitchen-maid shook her head. ‘No, no, Mistress! But…’

‘But what? Speak out, you stupid girl!’ Dame Joan was trembling.

‘It’s Edgar Shapwick from the stables in Northload Street. He says he wants to speak to you. Urgent.’

Disappointment seemed to have rooted Dame Joan to the spot, but Cicely and Lydia each seized one of her arms and urged her out through the door and down the stairs. For the time being, I concealed the parchment inside my pouch and followed them.

I recognized Edgar Shapwick at once as the man who looked after Barnabas and to whom I paid my daily fee for the cob’s board and lodging. He had a couple of boys to assist him, but he was the owner. I had already judged him to be a pleasant fellow, and it was apparent from the manner of Dame Joan’s greeting that she regarded him as a friend.

‘Edgar, what brings you here? I didn’t hear you knock.’

He was standing just inside the street door, and at Dame Joan’s approach he tugged the forelock of yellow hair which fell almost to his eyes. ‘Lyddie was coming out to sweep the step just as I arrived.’ He indicated the long-handled broom propped against one wall where Lydia had abandoned it, and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘I thought I’d better…’ He paused uncertainly, then blurted out, ‘Are they true, Mistress, the rumours that Master Mark has disappeared along with his brother?’

Dame Joan groped for and clutched her niece’s hand, holding it in a fierce grip. ‘My younger son is from home at present, on business,’ she lied. ‘He will be back soon, although we aren’t sure exactly when. You may say so on my authority to anyone who asks you, Edgar.’

The brown eyes avoided hers, and again the man shuffled his feet. ‘I’ll do that, Mistress, if that’s what you want. But it ain’t true, is it?’

‘How dare you!’ Dame Joan drew herself up to the full extent of her unimpressive height. ‘Do you doubt my word?’

Edgar Shapwick sighed and forced his glance to meet hers. ‘I haven’t any choice but to doubt it, Mistress. A man – a stranger, fortunately – in the town on business, just brought your Dorabella into the stables. Found her wandering out on the moors, midway between here and Godney.’

There was a moment’s silence charged with disbelief, but that soon gave way to panic.

‘Are … are you certain it’s Dorabella?’ Dame Joan asked in trembling accents, as soon as she could speak.

‘Not a doubt of it, Mistress. Don’t I know the mare as well as any horse that’s in my stables? Better, in fact, than most, who spend only a night or two before their owners ride them away again. It’s Dorabella all right. Come and see for yourself.’

But Dame Joan was in no state at that moment to go anywhere. With a queer little sigh, her knees buckled under her and she fainted. I caught her in my arms as she fell and, on the vociferous instructions of Cicely and Lydia, carried her into the shop where the armchair, used during her vigil the night before last, still stood beside the counter. While Cicely hovered agitatedly around her aunt, the more practical Lydia ran to the kitchen, returning several minutes later with a cup of water and a handful of feathers. These latter she piled in a heap on the floor, and proceeded to light them by means of the tinder-box kept on a shelf in the room. The acrid smell was soon making all our eyes water and searing our throats.

As I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand, I became aware that Rob Undershaft and John Longbones were standing in the open doorway, the voices and commotion having naturally aroused their curiosity and brought them creeping out of the workshop to discover what was going on. There was no chance of keeping Dorabella’s return, riderless, a secret from them – indeed, Edgar Shapwick was already regaling them with the story – and therefore no hope of preventing the tale from spreading. Even if Dame Joan could have persuaded Edgar to hold his tongue, neither of the apprentices would do so. Their parents had already aroused their fears, and Rob’s father had ordered him home if Mark failed to return today. There was small likelihood now that he would do so, unless, for some reason, he had been thrown …

Dame Joan was recovering, her eyelids fluttering against her pallid cheeks. She began to cough and splutter as the pungent aroma of burnt feathers assaulted her nostrils, and she brushed indignantly at the drops of water which had been splashed in her face. She stared around her vacantly for a moment or two, trying to recollect where she was and what had happened. Then the pale eyes widened in shock and fear as memory came flooding back.

She tried to rise from her chair. ‘I must go to the stables at once,’ she protested feebly as Cicely and Lydia forced her down again. ‘I must see the horse for myself and make sure that it really is Dorabella.’

‘Mistress,’ Edgar Shapwick assured her earnestly, ‘I swear to you that it is. There’s no need for you to come to the stables. You’re not fit; you should be laid down upon your bed, and that’s a fact. Don’t worry your head about the mare. I’ll look after her for as long as is necessary. You can settle with me when the time is right, but there’s no need for any haste. Meantime, if it will set your mind at rest, one of these lads can accompany me back to Northload Street and inspect the horse for you. Either one of ’em’s bound to recognize her.’

Dame Joan glanced at the apprentices. ‘I suppose it’s useless to ask you two to keep still tongues in your heads,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ll be off home now to your families with this latest tit-bit of gossip.’

But to our astonishment, Rob Undershaft and John Longbones, after another of their wordless consultations, proved themselves staunch and loyal allies after all.

‘We’ll stop, Mistress,’ Rob said, ‘for as long as we can be of any use. You never know,’ he added ominously, ‘you might yet be glad of two extra men about the house.’

Cicely, Lydia and Dame Joan were torn between thankfulness and further anxiety by these words, but in the end gratitude prevailed. The Dame tearfully embraced them both and called them good boys before allowing her niece to escort her up to her room.

I turned to Edgar. ‘Do you happen to know the name of this stranger who brought in the mare?’

‘He did say, but I didn’t rightly catch it. Gilbert, was it?’ Edgar scratched his head. ‘Ay, Gilbert something – but Gilbert what? That’s the question. Perhaps you’d better come down to the stables too. One of my lads might remember what he was called.’

So he and Rob and I set out for Northload Street, and while the apprentice went to look at the mare, I had a word with the stable-boys.

‘Oh ay, I remember his name all right,’ said the smaller, freckled one of the two. ‘Gilbert Honeyman his name is. A beekeeper from near Bristol. Leastways, that’s what he told us, and no cause that I can see to think he’s lying.’

The second stable-boy nodded vigorously in corroboration, and I thanked them.

‘Do you also know whereabouts in the town he was headed?’ I asked.

At this point we were joined by Rob Undershaft and Edgar Shapwick.

‘It’s Dorabella all right,’ confirmed the former, nibbling at a piece of loose skin on one thumbnail. ‘And by the appearance of her, she’s been out on the moor for some time, wouldn’t you say so, Master Shapwick?’

Edgar looked glum. ‘She’s tired, hungry and thirsty, and hasn’t been groomed for a day or two. Ay, lad,’ he said heavily, laying a hand on my shoulder, ‘she was abandoned a while ago, I reckon. Moreover, she’s saddleless and bridleless, so Mark wasn’t thrown. It seems like the rumours going round about him, how he’s met the same fate as his brother, might be true after all. Whatever that fate may be,’ he added hastily.

‘Do you know where I can find this Gilbert Honeyman?’ I asked.