An Honourable Estate (8 page)

“Lady Bradshaigh, if your husband is not here then there is
no reason not to admit me and allow me to make sure for myself.  If you
will co-operate only I will come inside.  But if you are unco-operative,
then I will be forced to assume that you are concealing him and I will have my
men tear the place apart.”

His threat was so at odds with the reasonable tone of his
voice that it took a moment for Mabel to comprehend what he had said. 
Then, glancing at the armed men waiting for a signal beyond the door, she
stepped back and allowed Sir Edmund access.

“Wait there,” he told the men, then walked to the centre of
the hall and looked around.  “Tie up the dog and light some more candles,”
he instructed Mabel, taking the one she held from her hands.

Trembling she slipped a rope through Calab’s collar and managed
to secure the growling hound to a ring in the wall near the hearth.  Then
she lit a taper from the glowing embers of the fire, but her hands were shaking
so much that she found it impossible to transfer the flame to the wicks. 
From the corner of her eye she watched as Sir Edmund pulled off his gloves and
threw them irritably to the table.  She flinched as he moved towards her,
but he merely took the taper from her hand and lit the candles and a lamp
himself.

“They are all I have!” she burst out as the room filled with
light.  He looked down at her.  “We are short of oil and wax. 
We are short of everything,” she told him as if it was his fault.

“I will not be long and then you may extinguish them again,”
he told her as he held the lamp up to the walls and turned to survey the hall,
confirming to himself that there were no hiding places.  “Where does that
door lead?”

“To the bedchamber.  But my daughters are sleeping
there,” she added as he strode towards it.  She caught at his arm but he
brushed her aside and pushed open the door and went in.  Mabel rushed
after him, afraid and also angry at his intrusion.  “There is no one else
here.”

She watched as he ignored her pleas. She glanced at the
coffer, filled with their valuables, but he didn’t touch it.  He pulled
aside the bed hangings and the covers on her bed and bent to look underneath
before holding the light up towards the rafters to check that nobody was
concealing themselves up there.  Then he turned and held the lamp out
towards Bella and Amelia.  Mabel saw their stricken faces as they stared
up at this imposing stranger; Bella with her arms around her little sister as
they cowered together

“Get up!” he told them.

“Please!” begged Mabel. “They are only children.”

“Get up,” he repeated, and although his voice was gentler in
tone none of them could mistake his determination.  Mabel nodded and her
daughters ran to her.  She covered them with her arms as they shook
against her, their thin, barely clad bodies shivering with cold and terror as
they watched Sir Edmund turn for one last sweep of the bedchamber.

Mabel held the girls close and comforted them as Sir Edmund
searched the kitchen and buttery and bake house before he was satisfied. 
Then he returned and stood in the doorway to the bedchamber and watched her for
a moment as she stroked and kissed the heads of her children.

“Has your husband returned here?” he asked.

“No.”  She was angry with herself for allowing her voice
to quaver as she spoke.  Sir Edmund watched her for what seemed like
endless time.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you can hide him
from me,” he told her at last.   “He is a rebel and a traitor and I
am determined to bring him to justice.  I will come back, and I will keep
coming back, until you either show me where he is hidden or tell me where he
can be found.”

“I do not know where he is,” she repeated.

“For now I believe you,” said Sir Edmund.  “But they all
creep home sooner or later, and when he does he will be mine.”

“And what then?” asked Mabel, though she immediately regretted
asking such a question in front of the girls.

“That is for a judge to decide,” remarked Sir Edmund as he
met her eyes reluctantly.  But Mabel did not need to be told that if
William fell into this man’s hands it would mean his certain death.  “For
now I will wish you good day,” he added, then hesitated.  “And I offer my
apologies if I have distressed your daughters.”

Mabel watched as he put out all but the one candle, glanced
at Calab who barked at him menacingly and then left, closing the main door behind
him.  As her daughters clung to her with their small hands she listened as
he gave orders to his men and within a few minutes she heard them move away and
a tense silence filled the house, punctuated only by occasional barks from
Calab.

At last Mabel thought it was safe.  She rubbed the arms
and backs of the girls and tried to reassure them.  “It’s all right. 
They’ve gone now.  I’m sure they won’t come back, despite what he
said.  I think he was only trying to frighten us.”

“I am frightened, Mama,” said Amelia and Mabel hugged her
daughter and wiped the tears from her pale cheeks.

“There’s no need.  Come on now.  Edith will help
you to get properly dressed and the boys will bring some bread for
breakfast.  And then we must milk the cow and feed the geese,” she
encouraged them, trying to make it sound as if life would continue as normal at
Haigh Hall, although, deep down, she realised that they all knew as well as she
did that their lives had changed irrevocably, and that if William was not
already dead then he soon could be, and that they were alone and vulnerable.

As soon as she saw that the girls were calmer and had been
given something to eat, Mabel put on her outside boots and her cloak and
cautiously drew back the door.  Apart from the muddied ground beyond the
hall where the men and horses had gathered there was no sign of the visitors,
although from the barn came muffled barking and Mabel realised that the other
dogs had been shut in.  With thoughts of how the rebel army had ransacked
the stores of those who were Lancastrian supporters she ran to the barn door
and pulled it open, expecting to find the meagre store of hay and grain
gone.  The dogs rushed at her wildly, jumping up and barking
frenetically.  Mabel let them go and they dashed outside growling and
sniffing at the flattened grass.

In the pale dawn that crept through the open door she saw
that, although the bundles of hay and sacks of grain had all been moved aside
and lay strewn across the floor, nothing was missing.  She counted to be sure,
but not one had been taken and for some reason that she couldn’t understand she
sat down heavily on the nearest sack and wept.

“My lady?”  She looked up as Mistress Palmer came
towards her and gently touched her shoulder.  “Are you hurt?  They
didn’t...?”

“No!”  She took the woman’s hand in hers and squeezed it
to reassure her.  “No, they didn’t hurt me.  He... Sir Edmund
Neville... was very polite,” she said, thinking back to how much respect he had
shown her which, under the circumstances, she would not have expected. 
“Did they search the houses as well?” she asked.

“All of them,” replied Mistress Palmer. 

“Was anything taken?  Was anyone harmed?”  asked
Mabel, suddenly anxious for all the other undefended women who, like herself,
had been so brutally awakened.

“No.”  Mistress Palmer shook her head, but Mabel saw the
hesitation in her eyes. 

“What happened?” she asked.

“They pulled old Elmer Andrew from his bed and questioned him
quite fiercely,” she said.   

“Did they hurt him?” she asked, anger rising in her. 
Old Elmer was the only man left in Haigh.  He was growing old and frail
and had not been strong enough to go with William.  If he had been harmed
and Neville did return then she would tell him exactly what she thought of him,
Mabel decided.

“No,” said Mistress Palmer.  “The sheriff shouted a bit
and made some threats but in the end he seemed satisfied that no one knows
where Sir William is.”

“I will go and try to reassure people that all will be well,”
said Mabel. She drew the door of the barn closed and secured it against the
wind, then pulled the hood of her cloak around her face and walked down to the
village.  Smoke was rising from all the houses she saw, relieved that
everyone was at least still able to find some warmth, but there was an
unnerving silence as she went from house to house to inquire after the
wellbeing of her tenants.  No children played outside; they clung behind
their mothers’ skirts looking pale and tired and the women too all looked
afraid although Mabel tried as best she could to reassure them.  It had
made everything worse, she thought, this rebellion of Adam Banastre’s.  He
wasn’t here to see the women’s faces as they wondered if their husbands were
alive or dead or if they would ever see them again − and if not how they
would manage to farm the land and feed their children without them.

Returning to the hall, her legs feeling weak and weary, Mabel
caught sight of a movement in the trees.  Her stomach lurched as she
thought it might be Neville and his men come back, but when she heard the soft
snicker she called out and William’s horse plodded tiredly towards her.
 It pushed its soft muzzle against her hands and she felt its warm breath
as she reached up to stroke the long hard nose, rubbing the small white mark
between its eyes.

“Hello boy,” she soothed it.  “You look as if you’ve
come a long way.”  She ran a hand along its neck noting the broken,
trailing reins and the muddied saddle.  There was a drying wound along its
flank and blood still seeping down its hind leg from a deep cut.  “Where’s
William?” she asked, but the horse only pushed its head against her, seeking
its own reassurance that it was home and safe.

Mabel picked up the trailing reins and led the horse to the
stable where she took off her cloak and, after hanging it over a wooden
partition, unsaddled the animal and brought it water and a couple of handfuls
of hay before bathing its wounds and brushing what dried mud she could from its
coat.  Hengist, William called it.  They were almost inseparable, she
knew.  He had ridden the stallion to the Scottish war last year and they
had come home safely, and together.  Now Mabel worried that her worst
fears for William could be true.  What had happened to part him from the
horse?  And if the horse had come home alone where was he now?

She went to draw more water for the few cows and oxen that
were left in the shippon, feeding them a ration of hay and hoping that the
drying straw would see them through the coming winter months.  She checked
them carefully for signs of disease then went to see the sheep that had been
brought down to pens for the harsh months to come.  She counted three
dead, but would need to call one of the boys to help her to lift and bury the
bodies.  She prayed that the men would come home soon; that they were
hiding in the forest until they thought it was safe and that they had not all
perished.  If they did not come home, she didn’t know where she would get
the help she would need to survive until springtime.

Back in the manor house she put her cloak and boots to dry
near the fire and went through the kitchen to the bake house.  It was warm
and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air.  Edith was washing dishes and
utensils in the large barrel and Bella was drying them on a cloth and putting
them back on the scrubbed table.  Amelia was sitting near the oven on a
three legged stool playing with a small dough man.  For a moment Mabel
felt annoyance at the waste, but the concentration on her younger daughter’s
face quickly dispelled it and she was glad that Edith had made something to
distract the little girl’s mind from the earlier trauma.

“It smells good.  You must have been working very hard,”
she told them.  “I think it must be nearly dinner time.”

“I’ve begun a stew, though it’s mostly peas,” said Edith.

“Good,” said Mabel, who was sickened of the sight and smell
of peas but knew there was nothing more.  How she longed for the feasts
they used to have, with three different varieties of roasted meat, poultry and
fresh salads from the herb garden.  Even the thought made her hungrier
than ever and she tried to dismiss the images of filled platters from her mind,
though it was not easy.

Later as they sat eating near the oven to take advantage of
the warmth, there was a scratching noise and Mabel thought at first that it
might be a rat.  She was afraid of rats more than ever now that food was
short and William had promised to bring a cat for the kitchen − although
it would be another creature to feed if it didn’t manage to fill itself with
vermin.  But the scratching came again and Mabel became aware that it was
someone or something at the back door.  With a glance at the girls, who
had all stopped eating and were staring anxiously in the direction of the sound,
Mabel called out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, my lady, Ned Kemp.”

Mabel scraped back the door.  “Come in,” she bade him,
taking in the split lip that was turning purple and the swelling to one side of
his forehead.  “Do you have news of Sir William?” she asked eagerly. 

Her hopes fell as she watched him look down at his filthy
boots and shuffle his feet slightly.

“Come and sit down,” she said trying to ease his
discomfort.  “Have something to eat.  Fetch a bowl of stew,” she said
to Edith. And as she turned to do as she was bid, Mabel ached for the girl
whose father was also missing. “Have you any news?” she asked the man.