The man sniffed, looking down a long, aquiline nose and eyeing me with suspicion. ‘I wasn’t told,‘ he protested.
‘My lady doesn’t tell you everything,’ Bess answered pertly. She flashed the steward a smile, but her wiles were plainly lost on such a man.
‘If you’re certain, you’d better follow me. My lady’s in her solar.’
‘I know. She has been since supper-time. And there’s no need for you to accompany us. I’ve instructions to take the chapman to her myself.’
Robert looked affronted, but, to his credit, he did not argue, merely standing aside with a shrug of his shoulders and allowing us to pass.
Bess giggled and took my hand. ‘He fancies himself, does that one. Fancies my lady, too; and his hopes have risen since Sir Richard’s disappearance.’
She led me indoors, across the great hall and up a flight of narrow, twisting stairs to Lady Mallory’s solar in the upper storey. In spite of the evening sunlight and the continuing warmth of the day, there was a fire burning on the hearth, and the scent of the flowers strewn among the rushes was almost overpowering. An old wolfhound, lying near the window, raised his head at my entrance and sniffed hopefully; then, realizing that I was not, after all, his master, lowered it again with an air of sorrowful resignation.
Lady Mallory also raised her head to look at me, but with a good deal more hostility than the hound. It was plain that although she had agreed to see me, she resented being indebted to anyone as lowly as a chapman.
Her face, now that I could see it properly, without the veil of two days since, was thin and discontented. Its pallor above the black gown was startling; but I suspected that it was not merely grief for her father that made it so ashen. She was a naturally bloodless creature, and in addition whitened her skin with cosmetics. Her eyebrows were plucked to a thin, single line, and the hair was shaved well back from her forehead so that not a wisp escaped from inside its cage of stiffened gauze beneath the brocaded cap. The effect was curiously masklike, but then, that was the fashion among great ladies and distinguished them from their inferiors. It was the effect that Alison Weaver had not quite managed to achieve.
I noted, too, during those long moments while I was kept shuffling my feet in the rushes, that Lady Mallory’s robe was of silk, and that the ends of her girdle were tipped with gold set with rubies and sapphires. The rest of her jewellery - brooch, rings, bracelet, rosary - were all of jet as became her state of mourning, but she had been unable to resist the lure of wearing some precious stones about her person. I judged her to be a high, proud, stiff-necked woman, who put great store - more than was warranted, probably - by her tenuous royal connections, and, as a corollary, by ostentatious display of wealth and position. And no doubt her husband had been of a similar nature, hurrying up to London to offer his congratulations to a king who was more than likely unaware of his existence. Sir Richard may only have travelled with one servant for speed and convenience, but he would have left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was a man of substance. And, in his own eyes at least, a man of some importance.
I thought once again of Clement Weaver, lower in the social scale than Sir Richard Mallory, Knight, but with a father just as wealthy, and carrying a large sum of money on his person. And both men had disappeared after having contact with the Crossed Hands inn. Sir Richard had stayed there, according to Bess, and Clement had alighted from his uncle’s waggon outside it. Surely it must be more than just coincidence.
‘Well--’ Lady Mallory’s voice cut sharply across my train of thought-’sit down, for goodness’ sake! You make me uneasy, standing over me like that. How tall are you?’ Without waiting for a reply, she went on: ‘Bess! Bring a stool for your friend.‘ There was a kind of sneering quality in the way she uttered the last word which caused the blood to sting my cheeks, but I murmured a humble word of thanks as I folded myself on to the low, three-legged stool which Bess carried over.
‘It’s most gracious of your ladyship to see me.’ One thing above all others those last few months had taught me: if you need to grovel, then do it well. People who like power and flattery don’t like them in half-measures. ‘I very much appreciate your condescension.’
Lady Mallory’s icy manner began to thaw, and, for the first time since my entry to the solar, she noticed that I was not only clean, but personable as well. I don’t know how old she was; certainly not young; probably all of thirty summers, but not too old to be attracted still by men. Her thin lips almost managed a smile.
‘My maid tells me that you know of someone else who recently disappeared in London from the Crossed Hands inn. She has given me her garbled version of these events--’ out of the corner of one eye I saw Bess pull a face-- ‘but I should wish to hear them from your own lips. You may begin.’
So I told her all I knew concerning Clement Weaver and explained how I had come by my knowledge. This necessarily entailed some personal history, and the realization that I could read and write thawed her manner even further. The fact that I had very nearly taken holy orders convinced her of my probity; a mistaken conviction, perhaps, in view of some of the priests and princes of the Church whom I have known since then, but a common enough error.
When I had finished speaking, she made no answer for a while, staring into the flames whose reflections flickered and curtseyed in a wild shadow-dance across the walls. It was growing dark, and already, beyond the windows, a pale scatter of stars gleamed in the dusky heavens. A couple of young lads, fussily tailed by the steward, came in, carrying thick wax candles which they thrust into wall- sconces and lit with tapers from the glowing heart of the fire. Prompted, they closed the shutters against the encroaching night, made their obeisance to Lady Mallory and departed, again closely followed by Robert, who, before making his own deferential bow, sadly raised his eyes to the smoke-blackened ceiling. It was plain he thought himself indispensable to the smooth running of the household.
When the door had closed, and the echo of his footfalls had died away on the stairs outside, Lady Mallory removed her gaze from contemplation of the hearth and addressed herself at last to me.
‘What you have just said is most disturbing. My husband stayed at the Crossed Hands inn two months since, when he went to London, as you have no doubt already learned from Bess. Yet he has stayed there in the past without ill befalling him. So why should it now? And according to your story, no connection was made between the disappearance of this ... this….’
‘Clement Weaver,’ I put in, and she nodded graciously. ‘This Clement Weaver and the Crossed Hands. Indeed if I understand you aright, the boy’s father and uncle made thorough inquiries there.’
‘If your ladyship will forgive me, the landlord could hardly be expected to answer their questions truthfully, assuming he had something to hide. And it seems a fair assumption in the circumstances. Until hearing of your husband’s disappearance from Bess, I had been strongly of the opinion that Clement Weaver had been set upon by thieves, robbed and his body disposed of in some manner. Though why footpads should bother to remove all trace of their victim did trouble me a little, I confess . . . May I inquire what happened to Sir Richard’s and his servant’s horses?’
‘They were still tethered in the Crossed Hands yard, the saddle-bags packed and ready for departure. My husband had settled his account earlier in the morning, shortly after rising. He had wished to be off, he said, as soon as possible after breakfast.’
‘And that was the last that anyone saw of him? Or said they saw of him?
‘At breakfast, yes.’
‘And Jacob Pender?’
‘He slept in the stable and ate in the kitchen with the other servants.’
‘And the landlord... Do you know the man’s name?’ Lady Mallory shook her head and I continued: ‘The landlord swore to this?’
‘Of course.’
‘What was the last that anyone remembers seeing of your husband and Jacob Pender?’ In my anxiety to get at the facts, I had forgotten, as I had done at the Weavers ‘, my humble status. I received a sudden flashing look from those haughty eyes and at once set about retrieving my position. ‘If your ladyship will be so gracious as to tell me.’
‘They were seen together in the courtyard by one of the cook-maids, through the kitchen window. They were standing by the horses’ heads, talking. She thought they seemed to be arguing, but could not be certain. Just then the cook called her to get water from the well and to start cleaning the vegetables for dinner. It was some while before the girl looked out again, and by that time, my husband and Jacob Pender had vanished. The horses, however, were still there, ready saddled for the journey, tethered to the bar beside the mounting-block.’ Lady Mallory drew a deep breath, steadying her voice. ‘That was the last known sighting of either of them.’
‘Provided you believe the girl’s story,’ I said quietly. ‘Presumably it was told to your father or to one of your men?’
‘Yes. When Richard failed to return home on the appointed date, I at first despatched some of my servants to inquire after him along the way. When they came back, having been as far as London without news, and having received this account from the maid at the Crossed Hands inn, my father insisted on going himself. He was very unwell, but I was unable to dissuade him. He, too, could find no trace of my husband or of Jacob Pender, and when he asked after them at the inn, the cook-maid was summoned to tell the same story.’
‘And did he believe her?’
This time, Lady Mallory did not seem to notice my impertinence. She lifted one hand to her face, shielding it from the heat of the fire.
‘He had no reason to disbelieve her. There was nothing at all to suggest that Richard and Jacob Pender had come to harm. No bodies have ever been discovered.’ She raised her eyes suddenly and looked straight into mine. ‘They have simply disappeared, like your Clement Weaver, off the face of the earth.’
In the quiet which followed Lady Mallory’s last remark, Bess stirred uneasily on her stool in the corner, where she had retired to listen. It was as though for the first time some sense of evil or impending disaster had touched her consciousness. I suspected that until now Sir Richard’s disappearance had been something of a joke to her; a cause of prurient speculation that he might have absconded with a secret light-o’-love whom he had maintained in London. Suddenly, the seriousness of the situation, the very real possibility that harm could have befallen her master, had been borne in upon Bess, and she was frightened.
Her fear seemed to transmit itself to Lady Mallory, whose fingers began closing and unclosing convulsively around the arms of her chair. Perhaps she, too, had toyed with the idea that her husband could have left her for another woman; had not been totally convinced that anything dangerous had happened to him. Bess had assured me that Sir Richard and his wife were happy together, but who knows what really goes on beneath the surface of a marriage? What one partner truly feels for another? Lady Mallory might have had good reason for thinking herself deserted. Certainly she had abandoned her efforts at search with surprising speed, but, to be fair, the death of her father must have considerably occupied her thoughts and
time during the past few weeks.
The silence had grown uncomfortable. I nervously cleared my throat and said: ‘As I told your ladyship, I promised Alderman Weaver that on reaching London I would make what inquiries I could for his son, even though, at the time I thought it foolish. Now, however, I feel that there must be some link between both his and your husband’s disappearance and the Crossed Hands inn; enough, at any rate, to justify my taking an interest in the place. If I discover anything, I will inform you.’
With an effort, Lady Mallory stopped fidgeting, clasping her hands together in her lap. The firelight turned the silk of her robe from black to plum to amber.
‘I should be grateful for any news of Sir Richard.’ She spoke stiffly, and I could see that the idea of being obligated to a common chapman did not please her. But, like Alderman Weaver, she realized that I had advantages not enjoyed by her servants nor even by the Sergeant of the Watch. No one would suspect me of over-much intelligence nor of having any interest in her husband’s disappearance. I was in a position to make inquiries without actually seeming to do so, and might also pick up scraps of information which would give me a clue to his fate.
I rose from my stool and made her a bow. ‘That is agreed, then. And now, I must take my leave. It’s dark and I have a long walk back to Canterbury.’
She said reluctantly: ‘You must have food and drink before you go. Bess! Take your friend to Robert with instructions to feed him, then come straight back here. I want you to brush my hair before I go to bed. And you can find Matthew for me. I need him to sing to me before I sleep. ‘ Lady Mallory shivered suddenly, as though someone had walked over her grave. ‘I shall ride the nightmare, otherwise.’
Bess came across and curtseyed demurely, but it was obvious from her expression that she was disappointed by the command for her immediate return. She had had hopes, that girl, as I had, of a fond and protracted farewell. But it was not to be. With a pout of resignation, she inclined her head in my direction and said: ‘Come with me.’
The steward’s room was next to the buttery at the back of the house, and was furnished as befitted his exalted status among the household servants. A fire burned on the hearth beneath the carved stone mantelpiece, which was painted red and blue. The rushes covering the floor had obviously been fresh that morning: no stale odours arose from them, such as would have been noticeable after one or two days. A long table stood in the centre of the room, and, in addition to a couple of benches, there was also a single armchair, old and blackened, it was true, but carved from good, solid oak. Tallow candles flared in the iron wall-sconces, sending shadows across the scarlet and white painted walls. A comfortable room for a steward; perhaps just a little too comfortable. I recalled Bess’s words concerning Robert’s aspirations. Maybe they were founded on firmer ground than she had thought. Maybe Lady Mallory had given him reason.