An Honourable Estate (20 page)

“What about my daughters?”

“Where are they now?”

“They are in the village with Mistress Palmer.”

“Then they can stay there.  I will send a message to
explain where you are,” he said and Mabel was thankful for that small kindness.

Whilst he waited she gathered a few of her things from the
kitchen.  “I have some clothing stored in the bedchamber,” she said,
uncertainly, thinking of the coffer by the bed with the money in it.

“I cannot allow you to go in there.  You will have to
make do with what you have,” said Neville shortly and Mabel felt his fingers
close around her upper arm again as he escorted her to the door.  Outside
a few of his men were milling around with horses and she waited, afraid that
she would be bound for the journey.  “See this lady onto a horse, but keep
tight hold of its reins,” instructed Neville.  “She will return with us.”

Mabel barely noticed what was happening as a large, dark
horse was led forward and a man lifted her roughly into its saddle. 
Clutching her bag in one hand and the saddle with the other, Mabel turned to
see Edith holding the hands of her daughters as they watched her go. She was
too far away to reassure them and she wanted to ask Edmund Neville to allow her
a moment to say goodbye, but he urged the horses forward and she was led out of
the courtyard without knowing whether she would ever be allowed to return.

The
manor house at Upholland was well built from stone.  It looked well
protected and impossible to escape from, thought Mabel.  They stopped in
an inner courtyard and she was told to get down.   Then Neville
grasped her arm again and took her inside.  She expected to be led
straight to some prison but instead he took her into the hall where servants
were lighting candles.  A fire blazed in the hearth and there was an
appetising smell of food coming from somewhere beyond the chamber.

“Wait there,” instructed Edmund Neville as he pointed towards
a bench near the hearth.  Thankfully Mabel sat down and waited as he took
off his outdoor clothes and handed them to a page.

Dicken, she thought, and felt appalled that it was only now
that she remembered him.   He had accompanied Lymesey as usual on the
hunt that morning, but had not returned.  Where was he, wondered Mabel,
hoping that the boy had come to no harm.

“Do not look so afraid, Lady Bradshaigh.  I do not mean
to harm you,” said Edmund Neville.

Mabel looked up as he stood over her.  “I was not
thinking of myself,” she said.  “I was thinking of Lymesey’s young page
boy who went out with him this morning.  Has no one seen him?”

A shadow passed over Neville’s face.  “I had not thought
about the boy,” he admitted.  He walked to the door and called to someone,
exchanged quiet words and then came back to the fire.  “I have given
orders that if he is found in the forest, or with the outlaws, he is not to be
harmed but is to be brought here.”

“Thank you,” said Mabel, surprised at his consideration.

He paused and then said, “I was appalled at what Lymesey did,
but I could not ignore the assault of your villager.  I hope you
understand that I did what I had to do?”

“Yet I suppose that you are still searching for Ned Kemp, to
bring him to what you call justice,” she replied, thinking that she may as well
speak her mind whilst she had the chance, before she was taken to be locked
away in some cold, dank dungeon.

Neville frowned.  “I do my job,” he said.  “And my
job is to uphold the law.  I would not remain a sheriff of the Earl of
Lancaster for very long if I were to pick and choose who I brought to the
courts.  When Sir Peter made a complaint against Ned Kemp and the man
admitted that he had struck him, then it was not for me to choose whether he
was brought to justice.  It was my job to send him to the court for others
to judge him.  And now that I find he has escaped his guards, and those
guards have been murdered, I cannot choose to do nothing.  Neither can I
choose to ignore the vicious assault on Sir Peter.  That would not be
justice, would it?”

“And what of the assault on the boy, Dicken?” asked Mabel.

Neville sighed.  “That is something I could do nothing
about.  If his father has given the boy into Lymesey’s care then Lymesey
is within his rights to punish the boy as he sees fit.”  He paused. 
“You cannot blame me personally for the shortcomings of the law, Lady
Bradshaigh,” he told her.

“But I would expect you to use some discretion,” she replied.

“And why do you think you are here rather than on your way to
a dungeon in the castle at Lancaster?” he asked her.  “There is much that
points to your involvement in this.  You have refused to give up Haigh to
Sir Peter when he has a legal right to be there.  As Ned Kemp was taken
north he was rescued and his guards murdered by men who cannot have been there
simply by chance.  And now Sir Peter has been attacked and left for
dead.  I cannot believe that it is all coincidence.”

“You have no proof that I am involved!” she protested.

“But I have enough circumstantial evidence to send you to
trial.”

“And is that what you mean to do?” she asked, her heart
beating faster as her fear grew.

“No,” he said.  “But I do mean to keep you here so that
you will have no more opportunity to send messages to these outlaws.  And
I will find them, Lady Bradshaigh.  And they will be brought to justice
for their crimes both old and new.”  She looked up to find him studying
her closely.  “You are an enigmatic woman,” he said.  “I do not know
whether to believe your protestations that you know nothing or whether you are
a very convincing liar.”  He held up his hand to silence her as she began
to speak.  “But if I discover proof that you have been in communication
with these outlaws then I will not hesitate to see justice done,” he warned
her.

“I have done nothing wrong!” she told him, afraid that she
would be accused of crimes for which she could not prove her innocence. 
As he had said, the circumstances made her appear guilty even though she was
not. 

 “In the meantime,” he continued.  “I am having a
chamber prepared for you and you are welcome to warm yourself at my fire, and I
hope that you will share some supper with me.”

She was about to tell him that she would rather starve than
sup with him, but the food smelt good and she was very hungry.  Besides,
she told herself, it would be foolish to antagonise him when her future lay
within his control.  So she nodded her agreement and he seemed satisfied.

“Will you take off your cloak?” he asked.  Whether it
was because he was concerned for her comfort or because he wanted to deprive
her of its warmth should she seek to escape Mabel was unsure, but she
unfastened it and handed it to him.

Servants came in with cups and platters and laid them on the
table.  Then, once they were seated and had washed their hands in scented
water, a platter with a roasted chicken was brought in.  It was a long
time since she had eaten any meat and Mabel watched, feeling her mouth water as
Edmund Neville sliced generous portions and laid them in front of her before
filling her cup with wine.

“Eat,” he said.  “I’m sure you must be hungry.”

She tore off a piece of meat and placed it in her
mouth.  It was tender and moist and tasted better than anything she could
ever remember eating before.  Hungrily she tore some more then took some
of the freshly baked bread and tasted the heady fruitiness of the wine. 
It was very different from the meagre portion of bean stew and oatcakes she had
had for her dinner at Mistress Palmer’s house.

When he seemed satisfied that she had eaten enough he stood
up.

“Will you allow me to escort you to your chamber?” he asked.

“I take it my choices are limited,” she said.  Although
she had been glad of the food she felt suddenly guilty now as she thought of
Bella and Amelia and hoped that they had not gone to bed hungry.  She
considered asking him how he had come by the food and if he would send some to
Haigh, but she was wary.  For all his apparent hospitality she was still
more than a little afraid of him.

“You do have some choices,” he replied in answer to her
question.  “You can do as you are bid and I will treat you as a
guest.  But if you make trouble, I will treat you as a prisoner.”

Mabel stood up and placed the tips of her fingers on the arm
he offered, feeling the sumptuousness of the quilted sleeve.  He led her
up a winding stone staircase until they came to a door which he held open for her
to enter.  She stepped in and looked around.  It was only small but
there was an adequate bed with blankets and thick hangings, a stool, a low
coffer with a single candle burning beside a bowl and a pitcher of water, and a
fire had been lit in the small hearth.

 He walked across to the shuttered window to check that
it was secure.

“There is only a sheer drop beneath,” he told her.  And
with a nod of the head he closed the door with a final thud and Mabel heard the
key scrape in the lock.  It may not have been a dungeon, she reflected,
but there was no doubt that Sir Edmund Neville intended to keep her securely
confined.

She pulled the low stool closer to the smoky hearth and sat
down, reaching her hands towards the flames.  She was better fed than she
had been for a long time, the room was growing warmer and the bed looked clean
and comfortable, but she was a prisoner and she was at the mercy of Sir Edmund
Neville whom she knew little about except for his reputation as a conscientious
sheriff.  Now that his anger had abated he had shown her courtesy and
consideration.  He had neither threatened to hurt her nor to seduce her as
Peter Lymesey had, but there was still something about him that made her
cautious.

As she sat watching the flames she hoped that Bella and
Amelia were not too worried about her.  She knew that Mistress Palmer
would comfort them as best she could, but her daughters had never been
completely parted from her before and Mabel knew that they would find it
upsetting.  She wondered too about Dicken and hoped that he wasn’t alone
and afraid in the forest.  She prayed that someone had found him and was
taking care of him and that they would never send him back to Lymesey. 
Yet she prayed for Lymesey’s life too.  If he died there would be even more
trouble for her.  Suspicion was bound to be directed at her because
everyone knew how incensed she was that he had been given her lands.

She was considering what to do when she had the idea of
asking Edmund Neville if she could see Father Gilbert to make her confession
and receive his blessing.  It might make Neville think that she had
something to hide, but it would at least be a way of getting some news that
might not otherwise be forthcoming.  Mabel decided that she would ask
him.  He might refuse her, but she knew that even prisoners in gaols were
allowed a priest, though maybe that was only if they were to be executed, she
thought with a frown.

When the flames had burned down to no more than hot ashes and
the candle was flickering its death throes Mabel slowly took off her shoes and
gown and slipped into the bed.  She doubted that sleep would come, but at
least it was warm.  As she lay there, reliving the events of the day she
suddenly realised that it was not just Dicken who had not returned home. 
Lymesey had been very impressed with William’s horse and had decided to ride
it.  She remembered watching as one of his men had heaved his squat little
body up into the saddle and thinking how ridiculous he looked, perched on the
huge stallion that did not look pleased to be ridden by anyone but its
master.  And they had taken Calab with the dogs as well, despite her
protestations.

“If I am to feed the animal then it must earn its keep,”
Lymesey had told her.  “It isn’t a pet.”

Mabel had been afraid that he would lose patience with the
dog, which was devoted to William, and harm or kill it.  A tear crept down
her cheek at the thought. 

But Hengist, she knew, would always come home.  She doubted
that Lymesey would have been willing or able to kill the stallion and she knew
that if he had fallen or been dragged from it then the horse would have simply
trotted back to its stable.  Maybe the outlaws had caught and kept it, she
reasoned.  It was a beautiful and valuable animal.

She turned over in the bed as the thoughts raced around her
mind.  Was it possible that William was one of the outlaws who were
causing so much trouble?  She hoped he was, though if it was true she
couldn’t understand why he hadn’t sent a message to her to reassure her and let
her know that he was alive.  Of course if he had done she would have had
to lie to Neville, but if he didn’t believe her anyway what difference did it
make?

When
she woke, she couldn’t understand why everything looked strange.  Then she
remembered where she was, and why, and a despondency fell over her that she
couldn’t shake off, no matter how often she tried to convince herself that
everything would eventually be all right.

She pushed back the covers and shivered as she put on her
clothes and used the pot that had been provided, feeling ashamed, and pushing
it quickly back under the bed when she was done.  Then she waited and
after a long time she heard footsteps and the door was unlocked.  A man she
didn’t recognise stood guard at the door as a girl brought in bread and ale on
a tray and placed it on the coffer before hurrying out again without
speaking.  Then the man slammed the door shut and locked it.  Mabel
sighed.  Was this to be her life from now on?