[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (18 page)

'Are you going to stay there all day?' Martha's voice demanded wrathfully in my ear. 'Saints alive, I don't know what's come over you, for you've been mooning around this kitchen like a great calf, ever since you came down from seeing Father Godyer. Five minutes ago, you were going to clear those steps and fetch some wood. Now here you are, still standing around and nothing done! Get on with it, lad! Get on with it!'

I pulled myself together and, stooping, lightly kissed her cheek, which instantly mollified her. She began to 'giggle and blush like a young girl.

'I'm going,' I promised her, picking up the basket. 'I'm sorry. I've a lot on my mind.'
 

'You! What have you to think about, apart from where your next meal's coming from? Or which pretty girl you're going to bed down with next. Get away with you! You don't fool me !'

I grinned and went into the storeroom to collect the shovel.

Thus armed, I let myself out of the back door and surveyed the steps leading up to the gallery. Much of the night's fall of snow had already been displaced by the traffic of the morning, but what was left was freezing over fast as the day grew steadily colder. The hill behind the house rose like a shadow, and above its crest, the clouds rode high and thin.

Its slope was dotted with stunted trees and bushes, weirdly shaped now because of the snow, dwarfs and hobgoblins with outstretched hands.

I could not foresee Simeon and myself, or Mistress Lynom, escaping from Cederwell today, nor perhaps tomorrow, and I knew in my heart that, for the time being at least, I was content to remain. There was a mystery here, I could feel it in my bones. All was not as it seemed. God had brought me here for a purpose, and the weather was His means of keeping me here to do His work. Well, I thought cheerfully, as I began to shovel the bottom step clear of the frozen snow, I would do my best. The warmth began to tingle along my limbs as I hacked my way from tread to tread until the whole of the flight was clear.

Once at the top, I worked my way along the gallery, making a path between the piles of snow which had drifted over the balustrade during the night. There were two doors before the one at the end, which gave access to the female servants' dormitory, and the first of these was, in spite of the cold, standing slightly ajar, wide enough for me to be able to see inside. It was evidently the guest chamber, for Mistress Lynom was seated on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, her whole body shaken by spasms of silent grief.

Chapter Twelve

For a brief moment, I was tempted to knock on the door and enter, but then came to my senses. There was no consolation I could offer, no course of action I could recommend without revealing that I knew more than I was supposed to know.

Moreover, Mistress Lynom was a proud woman who would not take kindly to advice from a common pedlar. So I shovelled my way past the open door to the end of the gallery where, breathing hard, I rested on the handle of my spade.

I was now immediately outside the women's dormitory which, in its turn, was behind the upper half of the great hall's northern end. I was therefore at an angle to the main part of the house and in command of a wider, more extensive view of the approaches to Cederwell Manor than that afforded by the narrow passage between the kitchen and the hill. Over the snowladen roofs of the outbuildings, I could see the ground ascending towards the path by which I had so recently travelled. Yesterday in fact. Could it really be so short a time ago?

Earlier, there had been a little needle-sharp sunlight which had turned everything white and gold. But now the clouds had gathered again, their underbellies pregnant with further snow, except for one solitary, broken banner of iridescent light high above the trees. Everything seemed frozen into immobility, and over all there was a sense of eerie desolation, of a lost land, an enchanted, fairy world of silence, where nothing stirred...

A faint movement, somewhere away to my right, caught the tail of my eye and made me turn my head quickly. All was quiet, yet I was sure that I had not been mistaken; and in confirmation of my suspicion, three or four dark patches of scrubland which bordered the track showed where the undergrowth had been shaken free of snow. I waited, forcing myself to stand perfectly still, peering with narrowed eyes across the line of single-storey buildings - smithy, barn, pigsty, byre- towards the rising ground. Someone was there, watching, and I felt the hairs lift on the nape of my neck.

Whoever it was must be aware of having attracted my attention and would not break cover until I was gone.

Deliberately I resumed my work, although there was nothing much left to do. It was time to go down and collect the logs.

The door to the women's dormitory opened and Simeon emerged, looking stem and grave. In the room behind him, I could hear Adela Empryngham's muffled sobs.

'Your words of comfort have fallen on stony ground then, Brother,' I remarked.

'I was not there to give comfort,' he answered severely, 'but to point out the error of her ways. Had Mistress Empryngham not quarrelled with her husband, had she not flounced out and left him on his own, he might not now be lying stiff and cold upon his bed.'

I raised my eyebrows and pulled down the comers of my mouth.

'Dear me! Not, I imagine, what the poor soul wanted to hear. Martha Grindcobb thinks that you're condoling with the widow.'

The friar snorted. 'It is not my office to tell people what they want to hear, but to show them the truth, to help them recognise their sins.' He added, 'I'm glad to see that you've been put to work at last!' and nodded at the cleared pathway of bare boards between the banked-up piles of snow. Then he raised his head and stared glumly at the sky. 'What do you make of the weather?'

'I think it's going to snow again, tonight if not before. No good your looking like that, Brother. God's will be done. Besides, you can help me achieve His purpose as well here as on the road.'

'What do you mean by that?'

I lowered my voice. 'I've a deal of importance to tell you.' Then, in my normal tone, I went on, 'But first, I must fetch some more logs for Mistress Grindcobb. I've a basket at the bottom of the steps...'

My words trailed away into silence. As I spoke, I had half turned to face Brother Simeon, my glance straying across his shoulder to the distant prospect beyond.

'What is it?' he demanded, also turning. 'What have you seen?'

'A little while ago,' I answered slowly, 'I thought I detected a movement in the scmbland, as though someone were hiding there. And I'm sure I saw something again, just now. Yes, look! Over there! That dark patch to the right of the oak! The snow has been shaken from the bushes!' The friar's eyes followed the direction of my pointing finger, but after a moment he shook his head. 'There's no one there as far as I can tell.'

I sighed in exasperation. 'There is, but he's lying' low. He can see us up here on the gallery. We can't see him because he's hidden from our view by the undergrowth, but we can guess where he's been by the way that the snow has been disturbed.'

Simeon, however, preferred to put his own, more optimistic interpretation on the facts.

'It may simply mean that the thaw is setting in.' His eyes brightened at the prospect.

'No,' I said. 'Don't delude yourself, Brother. At present, the snow on the ground is freezing hard. I've had to chip it piece by piece from the steps and the gallery boards. If it gets even slightly warmer, we shall have another heavy fall.

You've only to look at those clouds to know that. No, there's someone out there, I'm certain of it.'

'What fool would be scrambling about amongst dense undergrowth in this weather'?' Simeon's tone was scathing. 'You're the one who's deluding himself, Chapman. We've enough tragedies under this roof without imagining trouble where none exists.'

I saw that he was unwilling to be convinced, and we walked along the gallery and descended the stairs in silence.

As we passed the guest chamber I noticed that the door had been shut, which was hardly surprising. Mistress Lynom could not have remained ignorant of our presence. I wondered if she had overheard any part of our conversation; but if she had, I did not feel that she could have learned very much from it. Even had she listened that long, she would probably share Simeon's scepticism of my assertion that someone was watching the manor.

'I shall go and warm myself at the fire,' the friar announced as we reached the bottom step. 'You can tell me whatever it is you have to say when you return with the logs. Bring plenty of them and be quick about it.'

On this parting shot, he scuffed his way through the snow choking the narrow channel between hill and kitchen and disappeared inside the back door with a whisk of his rusty black habit. I grinned to myself as I propped the shovel against the outside wall and stooped to pick up the basket: Friar Simeon was not always as unworldly as he liked to seem. Then, with a silent curse, I realised that I had not inquired of Martha the whereabouts of the woodpile. I was just going indoors for her instructions when I was saved the trouble by the appearance of Fulk Disney. Booted and cloaked, he rounded the western corner of the house, his thin face red and raw with cold, a drop of moisture suspended from the end of his long, pinched nose. He did not look to be in the best of humours.

'Master Disney, well met!' I exclaimed cheerfully. 'Where can I find the woodpile?'

At the sound of my voice, he jumped in alarm. His eyes had been firmly fixed on the ground and the five or six inches of snow which reached well above his ankles. I wondered why, in such conditions, he had been out walking.

'D'Isigny,' he snapped. 'How many more times do I have to tell you?'

'All, yes,' I murmured. 'Your ancestors came over with the Conqueror. You must forgive a mere Saxon peasant. Can Your Honour direct me to the woodpile?'

For a moment he glared as though he would like to hit me, but thought better of it once he had weighed up my size.

He jerked his thumb backwards over his shoulder.

'You'll find wood stored in an empty stall in the stables.' I thanked him politely and would have pushed my way past, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. 'What is that friar saying about me and Maurice?' he demanded fiercely.

I hedged. 'What is there to say?'

'Why was he brought here? Surely he must know why Lady Cederwell sent for him?'

'How can he? She was dead before his arrival.'
 

'But her messengers, Jude and Nicholas Capsgrave, they must have given him some idea of what she wanted from him.'

'If they did, he has not confided in me. And now, if you'll excuse me, Master Disney, I must fetch in the wood, or Martha Grindcobb will be wondering what has become of me.'

He snatched his hand from my arm.

'Don't get uppity with me, Chapman, or I'll have you turned out into the snow. And for the last time, I am called D'Isigny!'

'Do you have that much ascendancy over Sir Hugh, Monsieur D'Isigny?' I asked with heavy emphasis on his name. 'Or is your influence all with Manrice?' His face was suffused with colour.

'I've warned you, Chapman, watch your step. I'm not a person to cross in this household. I make a bad enemy.'
 

'I'm sure we all do that,' I answered levelly, 'especially Brother Simeon.'

He stared at me for a moment, the grey eyes full of anger and dislike, the blood draining from his face and leaving it pale where before it had been bright red.

'You can prove nothing,' he muttered at last. 'Sir Hugh will ensure that no charges are ever brought against his son, now that that woman is dead.'

He elbowed me to one side and entered the house. I gazed after him thoughtfully.

It was surprisingly warm inside the stables. Much of the snow had been cleared from around the building, presumably by the grooms, and the doors fast shut to keep out the cold.

Within, straw had been piled high in every occupied stall and braziers lit where they could do least harm, the glowing coals encased in narrow-barred, iron cages. The mingled scents of sweat and dung and leather filled the air, and the horses shifted and whinnied as they chomped the hay in their mangers. I recognised the big, white-stockinged black belonging to Sir Hugh which I had noted yesterday morning at the Hall, and also the chestnut mare with the pale mane and tail, owned by Mistress Lynom. There, too, were the cob and Jessamine, the raw-boned grey, presumably ridden here by Jasper and Hamon. The remaining occupants of the stalls I had not seen before, and must therefore be the property of the manor.

There were two further stalls at the end of the line, one containing firewood, stored for safekeeping out of the winter weather, and the other empty except for the grooms, Jude and Nicholas Capsgrave and their guests, Jasper and Hamon.

The four men were huddled around a brazier, taking it in turns to drink from a black leather bottle and, judging by their long, sombre faces, discussing the gruesome discoveries of last night and this morning.

'God be with you, gentlemen,' I said.

I had unlatched and relatched the stable door so quietly, and they had been so absorbed in what they were saying, that no one had heard me enter. One of them yelped and Hamon, who was holding the bottle, spilled some of its contents on the floor, while the other two clutched wildly at each other as they all swung round to face me.