The Betrayal (16 page)

‘… but some rosemary for remembrance,’ I finished.

She nodded. ‘The feeling against him in the village is such that I didn’t want to have his grave marked by his name on a cross, for fear people would despoil it. But how did you know?’

I just shrugged by way of answer and my ma understood, for of course she knew of my dreams and premonitions. ‘How did his death happen?’ I asked.

My mother glanced about her. ‘I cannot tell you it all here.’

‘Then where are you staying?’

‘At the Harvest Home.’

‘The tippling house?’

She nodded. ‘I wash the pots for them and have a room there.’

I looked at her in dismay. ‘What type of a room do you have?’ I asked, for I knew the Harvest Home to be no more than a run-down tavern and gambling den, filled with men and common drabs who drank, gambled and fought the night away.

Ma answered in her usual making-the-best-of-things way. ‘’Tis a good enough place to rest my head. I tuck myself away under the stairs and sleep well enough.’

‘A gambling den is not a very genteel place for a woman to live.’

Ma shrugged. ‘’Tis not too bad, and for sure I can handle a drunken man, for I’ve been used to doing so all my life.’

I hugged her again, glad that she was away from my father and yes, glad that he was dead. ‘I’ll come to the Harvest Home tonight, and we can speak more,’ I promised.

I felt immensely weary by the time the girls and I got back to the magician’s house and unpacked our provisions, for it seemed to me that I’d hardly stopped in the last twenty-four hours. To my surprise (for I’d hardly seen her out of the bedchambers before this) I found Mistress Allen in the kitchen, making a broth to try and tempt the mistress into eating. This was looking thin and unappetising, for she’d had very few ingredients to work with, but I was able to add a boiling fowl and some vegetables to the pot and by this knew it would last the family for at least two days. Longer, I
thought, if that guzzle-belly Mr Kelly kept his nose out of the trough and went back to his own house to eat. I wondered aloud what he’d do when the Dee family moved to Whitehall (hoping I’d hear that he was remaining in Mortlake), but Beth informed me that he’d already secured lodgings for himself and his servant very close to the house in Green Lane. This was not good news, but was no more than I’d expected, for Dr Dee believed Mr Kelly brought information from the spirit world to the land of the living, and where one of them went, the other was not far behind.

Having settled the girls for the night I was just about to set off for the tavern when a handbell summoned me to the library. I went in, noting with pleasure that for once Mr Kelly was not around.

Dr Dee indicated a tower of books on his desk. ‘See that you take these back to London with you, will you?’

Inwardly I groaned, for the pile was as high as a horse. ‘Yes, Sir,’ I said, ‘although I will have to hire a handcart to convey them from the wharf.’

‘Then do so,’ he said brusquely. ‘These are books that I need with me at all times.’

He made a gesture for me to go and I suddenly remembered the idea I’d had earlier. ‘About the girls, about Miss Merryl and Miss Beth, Sir …’

He glanced up from the paper he was working on. Looking at it upside down, I could see a mathematical diagram of some sort, with a moon and sun depicted. ‘Yes? What of them?’

‘Excuse my forwardness in pointing it out, but I fear they are not being properly cared for at the moment. Mistress Allen is fully occupied with Milady, and the two village girls who were employed for kitchen work are not doing a proper job. Sometimes – so I’ve been told – they don’t appear for work at all.’

He made an impatient gesture. ‘Yes, yes. But your mistress won’t allow them to go to London without her. Besides, they are still being tutored here twice a week by Mr Sylvester.’

‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ I ventured boldly, ‘but his tutoring them in French and numbers is not taking care of their well-being.’

I believe he would have liked to have dismissed me from the room for speaking so bold, but I knew that he
did
care about the welfare of all of his children – especially that of the baby, Arthur, whose astrological chart had predicted he would be a scryer when he was fully grown.

‘But what can be done?’ he asked.

‘I have a friend in the village,’ I said eagerly, ‘a clean and hardworking girl who knows Beth and Merryl and is young enough to keep up with their merry ways. She is a good, plain cook and …’

‘Let her come, then.’

I was so surprised I went on with my reasoning. ‘… she has sisters of her own and is well-schooled in running a home.’

‘Yes, yes. I said, let her come. She must come in
every day until we go to London, and then she can move in and take care of the house and its contents.’

I looked at him, startled. ‘I see,’ I said, thinking that
this
job might better suit my ma.

‘There have been several robberies in the great houses around here and I can’t leave the rest of my books without someone living in to take care of things.’

‘I am not sure my friend would stay …’ I began, for I knew that Isabelle found the house exceeding creepy and would never, ever, submit to spend the night alone in it, no matter how much she was paid. Glancing around, I saw several sinister objects she might object to: the skull, the stuffed bird with its malevolent eye, the dangling ally-gators, the mysterious gold-banded box … As my eyes fell on this latter object I only just managed to hide a gasp of surprise, for the box, which was usually locked, was now
not
. Its padlock lay nearby, almost covered by the feathered end of a quill pen.

‘Let her come here and I’ll speak to her,’ he said, making the impatient gesture of dismissal again, and I left him, my mind now occupied with the gold-banded box, which I knew held the show-stone and the dark mirror. When I’d looked into the stone before, I’d seen a most wondrous thing: I’d seen the future …

That evening, with Merryl and Beth safely a-bed, I walked through Mortlake village thinking about the show-stone. How I’d love to look again into its depths!
What would I see? Would it show that I was going to continue in the service of the queen? Would I discover if Tomas and I had a future together? Or might I get a glimpse of something I didn’t want to see?

I heard the bellman call that it was eight of the clock. This was late for a maid to be walking out alone, and I drew several curious glances as, well-wrapped against the cold night and holding a candle-lantern aloft, I made my way towards the tavern. I walked swiftly, taking care to keep away from dark corners, for this was in an area of Mortlake set away from the river, with mean dwellings inhabited by beggars and pick-pockets.

I reached the Harvest Home safely, however, and pushed open the door. Inside I found two large rooms furnished with long trestle tables and a great quantity of stools, some of which were upturned on the floor. A poor fire glowed in the hearth and the floor was stamped earth, which had been puddled over with spilt ale (and probably worse) and smelled damp and unwholesome. Several men were already slumped on a table, seeming to be as drunk as lords, and another group were shouting in each other’s faces even though they were but inches apart. A man sat on the end of one table playing a violin, while two or three women danced to his tune, weaving in and out of each other’s raised arms and laughing immoderately.

It was not the sort of place you would wish your ma to be living or working in, and – seeing her before she saw me – I noted her hunched and nervous demeanour
and saw her staggering away from someone who’d sent her on her way with a shove in the back. Watching her, my eyes filled with tears. She’d endured a life of misery with my father, and now, when he was dead and she might have expected to find a little peace, she had not done so. In fact, she was not now at the mercy of one drunken man, but of forty-and-one, and probably sixty-and-one on a Friday night.

I persuaded her to take a pause in her collecting of glasses and we went outside and sat on the low wall there. She began to tell me about the decline and death of my father, about how, before his heart had quite given out, he’d expressed sorrow for the sort of man he’d been and for the misery he’d caused in all our lives (for my sisters, too, had suffered at his hands). I heard what my ma said but I couldn’t forgive him, nor, after a while, even sit to listen to her tales of how he was truly sorry.

‘I can hear no more!’ I said at length. ‘I know it’s your duty to speak up for him, Ma, but I shall never forgive him for all the things he’s done to us over the years.’

‘You mustn’t speak ill of the dead, Lucy!’

‘I’m not going to speak ill of him, in fact I’m not going to speak of him at all,’ I declared. ‘I undertake never to mention his name again, nor ever to refer to him as my father.’

She sighed. ‘Poor girl! Has he truly blighted your life so much?’

I shook my head. ‘No, he has not,’ I said, for I didn’t want her to bear the burden of thinking such a thing. I took her thin hands in mine and rubbed them to warm them, as she oft used to rub mine when I was a child. ‘But let’s speak of other things. Tell me of how my sisters fare, and my nieces and nephews, and give me all the gossip of Hazelgrove.’

She laughed a little. ‘Why, hardly anything happens in Hazelgrove – you know that.’

‘Then at least tell me why you’re homeless; why Sir Reginald didn’t allow you to stay on in our cottage for charity’s sake after … after he died.’

‘Sir Reginald may have been persuaded, but I didn’t dare to ask, for the rent hadn’t been paid for so many months that they were on the verge of making us go into the workhouse. Besides, Sir Reginald has not been himself lately, since he and Lady Ashe suffered the bereavement.’

‘Bereavement? Who was it who died, then?’ I asked, for I knew Lord and Lady Ashe had no children.

‘Their niece,’ Ma said. ‘Lady Ashe doted on her and loved her as her own.’

‘Their
niece?
’ I asked, incredulous.
Juliette?
‘Are you sure?’

Ma nodded. ‘Why are you so surprised?’

‘Because … because her niece is at Court and I saw her only the other day, riding a horse and as fit as a flea.’

‘Never!’

‘Are you sure it was their
niece
and not a cousin or someone?’

‘It was their niece,’ Ma said firmly. ‘The girl lived abroad – Italy, I believe – and was expected to make a prestigious foreign marriage. The whole village has been talking of it.’

‘She lived abroad? Then perhaps they have many nieces …’

‘They have seven nephews, but only one niece,’ Ma said.

‘And she died two weeks back?’

‘Just before your father.’

‘Do you know the girl’s name?’

‘I may have known it, but now I can’t remember.’ She shook her head slowly, then continued, ‘Lord and Lady Ashe went to Italy for the funeral, and their house is even now draped about with black crêpe.’

I was lost in thought. I was quite sure Juliette had told me she was Lady Ashe’s niece. Or had I misheard and it was another, similar name? Surely not …

Ma’s hand smoothed my cheek. ‘But how are you faring, my lass? You look fine and bonny enough – although your hair is as short as a boy’s.’

‘I’m managing well, Ma. I’m happy in London,’ I said, knowing I didn’t have the time to tell her about the company of actors, or of Tomas, or of my dressing as a boy.

‘Is it not, then, as dissolute as people say?’

‘It may be, in parts, but not where Mistress Midge
and I are living,’ I replied. ‘The house Dr Dee has taken lies close to Whitehall, where the queen’s palace is.’

‘All the same, I shall not think to follow you there, for they say the smell, disarray and noise are beyond bearing.’

A cry of ‘Where’s the pot-woman?’ came from within the tavern and Ma looked nervously towards it. ‘I must get back, Lucy. I don’t want to lose my position here.’

‘’Tis a shabby place you’ve chosen to live,’ I said, surveying the outside of the tavern.

‘’Tis not ideal. But I shall look around for something better.’

‘I may have something to tell you tomorrow then. And you are sure that you don’t wish to return to Hazelgrove?’

She smiled wryly, but shook her head. ‘There I’m known as Drunk William’s widow and people spit on the ground when they say his name. And you’ll be back here in Mortlake before too long, will you not?’

I said I would (though in truth I didn’t know) and, as another roar came from the tavern, bade her good-night and promised to go and see her in the market place the following morning.

I called on Isabelle on my way home, and though she’d already retired to bed and was mighty surprised to see me at such a late hour, she was pleased with my news and readily agreed to take my place on a daily basis, looking after Beth and Merryl and doing a little
cooking and cleaning for the rest of the family until they all went to London. As I’d thought, however, she said she wouldn’t undertake to sleep at the house under any circumstances, especially once the family had left.

‘Not with those critters – those ally-gators,’ she said, ‘and the dead birds stuck on branches – and those bones! No, you’ll have to find someone else to bide the nights.’

I said I would, and moreover knew the very person.

It was probably near to eleven o’clock when I returned home and found the magician’s house in darkness, and the fire in the kitchen almost out. I lit a candle and banked up the fire, then, hearing no sound at all from any of the downstairs rooms, tiptoed along the corridor and pressed my ear to the library door. The precious show-stone had been at the back of my mind the whole evening, even though I was sure that Dr Dee would have remembered to lock it up before he retired. I told myself he had done – but to no avail, for ’twas near impossible for someone as curious as I to pass up the chance of holding and perhaps looking into this most curious and strange object once more.

As no sound came from within the library and there was no light to be seen, I pushed the heavy door open. The candles in the wall sconces were out and the fire, which had been burning well when I’d been in the room earlier that evening, didn’t show as much as a firefly glow, so it seemed that Dr Dee must have retired
some time back. I turned so that the light from my candle fell across his desk and drew in my breath sharply. The box was there, and – perhaps due to Dr Dee’s absent-mindedness – still without its padlock.