An Honourable Estate (19 page)

“Good boy!” called William and fondled the animal’s head and
ears as it returned to sit at his feet.  He snapped his fingers and
Hengist came to him, reins trailing, and pushed his nose against William’s
shoulder, snickering at his master.  William rubbed the horse’s soft muzzle
at the same time as he patted the dog with his other hand.  Then, aware of
eyes upon him, he looked across at Scallard and Tegg who had lowered their bows
and were staring at him in speechless admiration.

Behind him a branch moved and he turned quickly, but it was
Martha.  “Are you safe, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied with an attempt at a smile, though he
heard her voice break a little in fear.

 “I think we should go back to the village in case
Lymesey’s men have gone for help,” he said as he reached out a hand towards
Martha.  But as she moved towards him he caught sight of a movement behind
her.

“There!” he cried to Tegg and Scallard.  “Another
one!  Don’t let him get away!”

He watched in satisfaction as the two men plunged into the
woods and heard Tegg cry out at someone to stand still or die.  Moments
later he heard their footsteps returning and Tegg came out of the trees, his
fist holding the tunic of a young boy.

“Come here lad, I’ll not hurt you,” said William as he handed
Hengist’s reins to Martha.  “And I’ll take a bet that your name is
Dicken.”

“How... how did you know?”  trembled the puzzled
boy.  He was not much older than Bella, thought William, as he held out a
hand and beckoned the child forward.  As the others watched, he pulled aside
the boy’s tunic to reveal the purpled web of scabbing weals across his
back.  “I did not know for certain but this confirms it,” he said, wishing
that he’d given Lymesey an even worse kicking.  “You are safe now.”

“Where... where will you take me?” stammered the frightened
boy.  William let the tunic drop as the boy shivered. 

“Don’t be afraid.  We are your friends,” he said. 
“I’m Sir William Bradshaigh.”

“Mistress Bradshaw’s husband?”

“Lady Bradshaigh’s husband ‒ though you speak of the
same person.  I believe she has been kind to you?”

“She has been very kind to me, sire.”

“I would expect nothing less from my Mab,” William told
him.  “We will not send you back for another beating.  You can be an
outlaw now, like us.”

“I... I do not think my father would like that,” said the
boy.

“A father who would leave you with a man like Lymesey is no
father at all,” William told him as he cupped a hand around the back of the
boy’s head and looked into his anxious blue eyes.  “You may consider
yourself answerable to me from now on.  Come along,” he said.  “We
are going back to Chorleigh.  Would you like to ride my horse?”

William watched as a faint smile illuminated Dicken’s
face.  “Do you mean it?” he asked.

“Every word,” said William as he lifted the lad, who was
light as a bird, into Hengist’s saddle.

Chapter Nine

Captive

Mabel
was sitting at the small scrubbed wooden table in Mistress Palmer’s house,
eating dinner with her daughters when she heard the shouting.  She was
already on her way to the door when Edith rushed in.  Her hair was
escaping from her cap, she had a smudge of black from the oven across her cheek
and she had not paused to put on her cloak.

“You’d best come quick, my lady, there’s trouble!”

“Stay here!” Mabel told Bella and Amelia.  “You too,”
she said to Mistress Palmer as she snatched up her own cloak, pulling it around
her shoulders as she ran after Edith back to the manor house.

The men holding the horses outside the door bore the arms of
Edmund Neville and Mabel’s stomach lurched.  Was it possible that William
had been found and caught, she wondered, hoping that she might yet see him
alive and yet dreading that an execution would follow.

Neville was standing in the hall waiting for her, still
wearing his cloak and gloves and with a hand resting on the hilt of the sword
at his side. 

“Where is Sir Peter?” he asked.

“Sir Peter?” repeated Mabel, momentarily confused by the
abrupt question.  “I... I’m not sure.  He went out to hunt. 
He’s always out hunting,” she added.

“Two of his men have come to me to say that they were
attacked by outlaws and that Sir Peter is missing.”  He paused and fixed
her with inquiring eyes.  “Do you know anything about this?” he asked
softly, so softly that Mabel grew far more afraid than she would have done if
he had shouted.  She felt herself begin to shake beneath his unswerving
scrutiny even though she had done nothing.

“Why... why would I know anything?” she asked, afraid that
her trembling voice would give him reason to suspect her even more.

“As you said he often goes hunting... and you may have
friends amongst these outlaws.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, unsure if he knew
something or was merely trying to frighten information from her.

He stared at her again for what seemed like a long time
without speaking and she felt herself unable to swallow as she stood before him
and her fear grew.

“So you did not know that Ned Kemp never reached
Lancaster?  You did not know that his guards were missing – and you did
not know that as my men searched the forest for Sir Peter they discovered two
shallow graves with the bodies in them?”

Neville’s eyes were so hard and cold that Mabel felt real
pain from them.  She turned away but her arm was roughly grasped in a painfully
tight grip and she cried out in fear and alarm as he pulled her fiercely back
to face him.  His mouth was inches from her and she could feel his hot
breath, smell the masculine scent of him as he held her.  “Answer me,” he
said quietly.

Mabel glanced at his face and then down at his gloved fingers
which were digging into her arm.  He was bruising her, she thought, and
then she was aware of the thick silence in the hall as everyone awaited her
reply.

“I did not know,” she told him.

“Look at me!”

Mabel raised her eyes and saw the anger on his face.  “I
did not know,” she repeated as she held his furious gaze.

The grasp on her arm relaxed but still he did not let her
go.  “You knew nothing of Kemp’s escape?”

“No.  I knew nothing,” she repeated, still watching his
eyes anxiously.

“And you do not know what has happened to Sir Peter Lymesey?”

She began to shake her head, but a sound behind her made
Neville look away.

“My lord,” said a voice.  “They have found him.”

“Where?” asked Neville.

“In the forest, my lord.  But he’s in a bad way. 
It looks as if he’s been beaten.”

Mabel felt the pressure of Neville’s fingers increase as he
asked, “Where is he now?”

“They’re carrying him back, my lord.  They’ll be here in
a moment.”

“Do not move from that spot!” Neville said to her and she
rubbed her arm as she watched him stride to the door.

There were voices outside and then they brought Lymesey
in.  His head was hanging and he looked barely conscious.  Blood
trickled from his nose and his face was so swollen that she would never have
recognised him.  He groaned as they carried him through the door to the
bedchamber.  Neville followed them in and Mabel, not daring to move,
looked across at Edith and waved at her to go.

The girl needed no more encouragement.  She slipped
behind the backs of the remaining guards and out of the door.  Mabel
prayed that she would stay at home and that she and her mother would take good
care of the girls.  She was sure that Neville had not believed her when
she told him she knew nothing and she was terrified of what he would do. 
She might even be sent to the gaol herself she thought as her legs became weak
and she found herself sinking slowly to the floor.

She sat there, listening to the voices from the
bedchamber.  One man came out and went to a horse outside and Mabel heard
him ride away.  Then another came out and after glaring at her he went to
the kitchen, returning a moment later.

“Where is the girl?”

“I don’t know.”

“There seems to be a lot you don’t know,” he jeered and
despite her fear Mabel felt angry that he should address her in such a way, but
she felt unable to reprimand him.

Edmund Neville came to the door of the bedchamber. 

“The girl is not here,” the man told him.  Mabel watched
warily as Neville looked at her.

“Get up!” he commanded.  “Go and get some cloths and
warm water and herbs.  You can bathe his wounds whilst we wait for the
physician to come.”

Mabel struggled to her feet.  She felt physically sick
and was unsure whether she could even walk to the kitchen, but Neville betrayed
no emotion as he watched her.

“Do not even think of running for the door.  I have men
positioned front and back,” he warned her as she passed him.

In the kitchen Mabel removed her cloak and took a few deep breaths. 
Whatever was going to happen to her she must face it with dignity, she
thought.  She must not let them see how frightened she was.

She reached for a bowl, for some dried rosemary flowers to
sprinkle onto the warm water and two clean linen cloths then she walked to the
bedchamber and went in.

Edmund Neville stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at
Peter Lymesey, who lay still moaning and muttering.  Mabel put the bowl
down on the coffer beside the bed and as she soaked and wrung a cloth in the
water she looked in horror at the man’s injuries.

His face, which had barely recovered from Ned Kemp’s assault,
was twice its normal size.  One eye was shut fast, the other barely a
slit.  Lymesey cried out and lashed at her with his hand as she touched his
nose to wipe away the blood.

“Be careful!” burst out Edmund Neville. 

“I... I cannot clean his wounds without touching him,” she
said, feeling tears in her eyes as her voice broke.  She dabbed again at
his face, trying to be as gentle as she could but Lymesey swore oaths, words
that made the blood rush to her face when she heard them.  “His... his
clothes will need to be removed,” she said.  “He is more hurt than just
his face.”

She moved back as Neville came around the bed.  He took
off his gloves and cloak and she cringed as his arm briefly touched hers as he
leant to cut Lymesey’s tunic and silk undershirt from him.  Beneath his
ribs were covered in swollen red marks.

“Someone has given him a kicking,” observed Neville, turning to
glance at Mabel for a moment.  “These outlaws are vicious thugs.  He
is lucky to have escaped them with his life.”  She didn’t reply.  “I
will find who did this and see them punished,” he told her.  “Perhaps you
had better pray that your husband is truly dead.  A death on the battle
field is nothing compared to what is in store for an outlaw who attacks a lord
like this!” 

Mabel squeezed the bloodied cloth in her hands, wanting to
reply but finding that she was unable to speak.  She brushed a tear from her
face as she felt his harsh gaze on her and was only saved by the arrival of the
physician from Wigan.

“Wait for me in the hall,” said Neville.  “Do not go
anywhere.  I have not finished with you.”

Mabel crept from the bedchamber.  It had been a happy room
once, she thought, but now it had been defiled and spoiled by these strangers
who had come to take everything away from her.  She stood in the hall, at
a small window with the shutters open and tried to breathe, waiting to hear
what Edmund Neville intended to do with her.  Although she had been
gladdened by the news that Ned Kemp had escaped his guards, she realised that
Neville suspected her of collusion and that it was unlikely her protestations
that she knew nothing would make him change his mind.

After a long time she heard the chamber door open and the
physician came out with a grim face and though she had prayed every night for
his demise, Mabel now prayed that Peter Lymesey was not dead.  It was bad
enough that two guards had been killed, but to kill a nobleman was a worse
crime.  She touched her neck, in fear for her own life, even though she
had done nothing but try to protect her lands from the usurper.

Neville came to the door of the chamber.   His face
was impassive and she was unable to judge what he was thinking.

“He is sleeping now with the help of a draft from the
physician,” he said at last.  “But before he drank it he expressed a fear
of being nursed by you.  He believes you betrayed his whereabouts to the
outlaws.  He says that you will either poison him or bind him by
witchcraft if you remain under the same roof.” Mabel waited, hoping that he
would say that he was going to arrange for Lymesey to be moved.  “So you
had better gather a few of your possessions,” he said.

“Where am I to go?” she asked as she realised that she was
the one who must leave. 

“I will take you to Robert Holland’s house, where you will be
confined until I have enquired into your part in this matter,” he told
her.  “You had better bring something warm to wear.”