Anna Jacobs (26 page)

Jem left the others at the top of the servants’ stairs while he went to find Merry and tell her to break the ornament now. He returned, nodding to show his mission had been successful, then stood at the top of the stairs, head tilted in a listening position.

There was the sound of a crash, then a shriek from the front of the house, followed by loud sobbing. Mrs Simley erupted from the kitchen below them.

“What’s wrong?” Jem called from the top of the stairs.

She paused to scowl up at him. “Sounds like that dratted girl has broken something else, and as long as I’m working here, she’ll not get away with it.”

When she had gone through to the front of the house, Jem ran lightly downstairs, checked the kitchen and found it empty, so returned to beckon to the others. He and Matthew made their way swiftly out towards the stables. George would follow a few minutes later, quite openly.

* * * *

Deborah looked across the cottage at her mother and Bessie, thinking how tired and bedraggled they both looked. She wished she could ask how they’d got here, but Mag had said no talking or they’d gag her, so she didn’t dare try. If there was a chance to shout for help later, she wanted to be free to do so. Her mother had that vacant look on her face again and it upset her.

As Mag turned her back to add a piece of wood to the small fire, however, Isabel’s expression changed briefly into alertness and she blew a kiss at her daughter, then lapsed back into the absent look.

Deborah’s heart lifted, but she tried not to let it show. “Could I have a drink of water?” she asked, wondering if the old woman ever left the room. Not that she could have done anything even so. Her bonds were too tight.

Mag shuffled across the room and slopped some water from a bucket into a horn beaker, then came back to hold it to Deborah’s lips.

Deborah drank thirstily. “Thank you. It’s good.”

“Best water there is, out here. Don’t get folk soiling the streams like they do in towns.” Mag went to sit by the fire, subsiding with a sigh and holding her gnarled hands out to the warmth.

Deborah tried to think how to escape. There must be a way, surely? But though she racked her brain she could think of nothing. An hour passed, maybe more, and her thoughts grew darker and more unhappy, for she was terrified of what would happen when Elkin returned.

Eventually a man came in. “Want owt doin’, gran?” he asked.

Mag looked across the room. “They’ll need to relieve theirsen, I reckon.”

“Oh, yes!” Isabel said at once. “Please.”

Mag went across and untied Isabel’s legs. “You take this one out to the privy, lad. I doubt she’ll manage to escape from there. She can’t hardly walk, let alone run.”

Isabel went out with the man, moving slowly and painfully, which was not like her normal gait. When she returned a little later Mag tied up her ankles again.

Bessie followed her out, rubbing her back as if it ached and walking as if her feet hurt.

When she came back Deborah said, “Me, too, please.”

Mag scowled and looked from the two older women to the younger one. “Take good care of that one, lad. Master will kill us both if she escapes.”

Deborah went outside and used the primitive privy at the end of the garden while her guard stood outside. She scanned the horizon as she walked to and from it, but the place was as bleak and desolate as it had appeared when they arrived. There was no other house in sight, just the moors with the dull green grass rippling across them at the wind’s whim.

Elkin had chosen his spot well. No one could possibly know they were here.

She remembered the innkeeper passing her and Elkin, and wondered if he’d recognised her? John had given no sign of it, but if he had, he would at least know who she was with. Surely Matthew would realise that she hadn’t gone willingly? Surely he would trust her?

But there still remained the question of how her husband would find her? She doubted he’d be able to. Which meant that Elkin might be able to carry out his threat to ravish her. Even the thought of that made her shiver.

Elkin had also threatened to kill Matthew before he returned.

Surely he’d not be able to do that? Matthew was a clever man, with many friends in the district. And he had Jem, too.

No, she had to believe that her husband would outwit Elkin—even if he didn’t rescue her in time. And had to believe, too, that he wouldn’t blame her for what might happen. Another shudder racked her body.

* * * *

Frank watched Walter Lawrence ride along with his usual grim determination. His master wasn’t a good horseman, but a carriage would make slow time on such roads and there was money at stake. Frank rode in front of him, warning his employer of obstacles and trying to find the best way round the badly rutted parts of the road.

He always kept his amusement at his employer’s poor seat to himself. At least Walter Lawrence stayed on a horse once he got up there. Perhaps no horse would dare to toss such a choleric gentleman off its back, for fear of a whipping.

They changed horses twice. The first time Mr Lawrence was known at the inn and there was no problem about getting new horses. The second time they had to endure a catechism about their destination and identities from the innkeeper before he’d trust them, and even then they had to leave five guineas as earnest of their good intentions, four of the guineas to be returned to them when they brought the horses back.

“The impertinence of it!” Mr Lawrence muttered as they rode off at a smart pace on their fresh mounts. “Has the man no respect for his betters? What is the world coming to when rascals such as that question gentlemen going about their lawful business?”

Not so lawful, Frank thought, but profitable, he hoped.

After the third change of horses, his master was noticeably silent and was starting to look tired, so when they came to a small inn, not the sort of place usually patronised by gentry, Frank suggested a glass of ale to revive them and perhaps some cold meat and bread. They were getting quite near to Marymoor from the information on the last milestone but it wouldn’t do to arrive too tired to act.

“Good idea!” Walter said. “I don’t know why you didn’t think of that at the last inn, which was much more suited to persons of my status than this one.”

Because if I’d let you carry on ranting at the innkeeper like that, Frank thought, he might have changed his mind about letting us have the horses. “I’ll go and inquire if they can cater for us, sir,” was all he said.

A lad came rushing from behind the inn to hold their horses and seemed to know his business. Frank went inside and came striding out almost immediately. “There’s a corner of the room at the rear where you can be private, sir, and the place is nearly empty. Shall I help you down?”

Inside the inn, Walter allowed Frank to relieve him of his hat and sank down on the settle with a groan of relief.

The landlord came bustling out with tankards of his best ale, followed shortly afterwards by his wife, who fussed over them and provided them with slices of tender roast lamb and pieces of crusty new bread.

Made mellow by the sight of food, Walter waved one hand in permission to Frank to eat with him and the two men fell to with hearty appetites.

* * * *

Simley came into the stables just as Jem and George were saddling up the horses, while Matthew kept out of sight.

“Where do you think you’re off to, then?” Simley asked in his usual surly tone of voice. “You should stay here till the mistress comes back. No one’s give you permission to take them horses out. I could have you cried for thieves!”

“Who by?” Jem asked scornfully. “Anyone in the village knows we’re honest.”

“Where are you going?”

Jem could see the man’s eyes darting hither and thither as he tried to assess the situation, and was relieved they hadn’t saddled the third horse yet, something they’d not have been able to explain away.

“Me and George are going about our business, which is no concern of yours.”

“Who’s to look after the body until then?”

“Ben’s doing that.”

“He’s an outsider, don’t belong at Marymoor. It’s me as should be doing that.”

“You thank your Maker he is there. He’s got a pistol and is a good shot. You won’t get any rascals coming into the house shooting at you with Ben there.”

“Why should anyone do that?”

“Why did anyone shoot at the master? There’s a madman on the loose, I reckon.”

Simley stared at him, then shuffled off, grumbling to himself.

George tiptoed across to the stable door, clicking his tongue in annoyance and returning to say, “He’s standing outside keeping watch on us. How are we going to get you out of here without him seeing you, sir?”

“Hit him over the head and knock him out. He won’t see anything then.” Matthew was in a fret of anxiety about his wife and also in more pain than he would admit.

“I’ll do it.” Jem walked outside, nearly bumping into Simley, who was standing staring suspiciously round the yard. “You still here? Haven’t you got work to do?”

“I’m waiting for Mr Elkin. He rode out earlier. He’ll need someone to see to his horse when he gets back if you two aren’t here.”

“Well, let me get past to the tack room. I need a new strap. There’s a buckle come loose on one of ’em.” In the tack room, Jem picked up a piece of wood and went outside again, concealing it behind his back. To his relief, Simley was facing the other way. Quickly, before he lost the will to attack a defenceless old man, he hit the fellow over the head and watched him crumple to the ground. A check showed him to be unconscious so Jem rolled him out of the way, then went to tell Matthew and George the coast was clear.

The three of them rode out quickly through the back garden, skirting the village and aiming for the track over the moors. Matthew kept George’s shapeless felt hat pulled down over his face, hoping they wouldn’t meet anyone. You couldn’t easily explain two Georges, yet he preferred to have a third man with them.

Once on the track they spurred the horses to a gallop.

“Show us the place where you lost sight of the old ladies,” Matthew said, wincing as he was jolted over some rough ground and trying not to let Jem see it. The wound might not be serious, but it was hurting.

The thought of Deborah in Elkin’s clutches was hurting even more. He’d kill Elkin if he’d hurt her in any way, or if he’d . . . Matthew pushed that thought back sharply. He should probably kill Elkin anyway. None of them would ever be safe while he still lived.

Only Matthew didn’t think he could kill someone in cold blood. Not unless the man had hurt Deborah.

* * * *

Harriet Elkin heard the noise and sent Denise to find out what had happened.

When her maid returned, she was ashen-faced.

“What has he done now?” Harriet quavered.

No need to ask who the he was. “Someone’s killed Matthew Pascoe. Shot him.”

There was silence, then Harriet began to weep, burying her face in the pillow because she didn’t want Anthony to hear and start shouting at her again. They both knew who must have done it.

Denise went to pat her mistress’s shoulders, trying to comfort her, but couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder from time to time.

At last Harriet was calm enough to sit up and have her face washed. “Bring me my Bible and my eyeglass,” she said as Denise straightened the covers. “I’m going to ask the Lord’s help.”

When she had the well-worn volume in her hands, she opened it at random, as was her custom when seeking enlightenment, holding the magnifying glass so that she could make out the small print, then reading it aloud to her maid:

“What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” St Mark, Chapter 9, Verse 36

She moaned and clutched the book to her bosom.

Denise watched her wide-eyed, knowing how much importance her mistress set on this process.

Taking a deep breath Harriet opened the book again.

“Eschew evil and do good” Psalm 34, Verse 14.

Tears were running down the old woman’s cheeks now, but she closed the book and opened it a final time.

“All they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.” St Mark, Chapter 26, Verse 52.

She sat in silence, with the maid standing beside her, head bowed. “Anthony was such a charming little boy,” she said at last, her voice breaking on the words. “How has he come to this? And why have I let him drag me into his sins?”

Denise made an inarticulate murmuring sound.

Silence lay heavily upon them for a long time, then Harriet threw back the bedcovers. “I can’t let him do this any longer. I’m nearing my end and I dare not face my Maker with a guilty conscience.”

Her voice was stronger than it had sounded for a long time, but when she tried to move, she stumbled and nearly fell so that Denise had to hold her up. “I can’t go myself.” Harriet sank back on the bed and raised one trembling hand to clutch her maid’s arm. “You must go for me.”

“Go where?”

“To the parson. He must hear me confess my sins and then surely a man of God will know how to stop my son from doing any more evil?” She shook Denise’s arm. “Go quickly! Take a horse from the stables and ride into the village. Tell Parson I’m dying. Tell him anything, only bring him to me.”

Denise found only an old mare in the stables and no one to saddle it for her. However she was the daughter of a farmer, so she did it herself, muttering in annoyance at how long it took because she was out of practice. All the time she worked she was terrified of Elkin or Seth catching her. At one stage she thought she heard a sound, but when she tiptoed over to the stable door to look out, she could see nothing.

Getting up on the horse with great difficulty from the mounting block, she rode slowly towards the village, turning off along the lane that she knew led to the parson’s house just before Elkin came round the bend, heading in the other direction towards Marymoor House. She saw him and nearly screamed out loud, clapping one hand to her mouth to hold the noise in as she reined in to watch him ride past, his tall figure showing clearly over the top of the hedge.

He would have seen her had he glanced to the left, but he didn’t. Her heart sank when she saw he had that triumphant look on his face, a look he only got when he was gaining something he wanted.