Salvation (18 page)

Meg’s heart gave a jolt.

Beatrice looked grave. ‘Find Master Richard, John, tell him what’s happened and ask him to join us in the Hall.’

As she and Beatrice hurried through the screens passage to the Great Hall, Meg’s head hammered. ‘Who do you think they are?’ she asked Beatrice as they waited for Richard.

‘I’m not sure but I don’t like the sound of this,’ Beatrice frowned.

When Richard came in, she ran to him. A few paces behind, Father Weston’s spare form seemed even more swamped than usual by his black garments.

Gently, Richard put his hands on Beatrice’s shoulders. ‘You mustn’t be afraid.’

‘Oh Richard, how can you say that? These men - suppose they mean us harm?’

‘We were always aware this might happen. If they are priest hunters, we shall be ready for them. God is with us.’ He touched Beatrice’s cheek and regarded her solemnly. ‘You mustn
’t betray the smallest hint of fear. Do you promise me you won’t?’ He turned to Meg. ‘And I need the same promise from you.’

Meg nodded. This was a Richard she had not seen before, no longer reserved and scholarly but decisive and commanding.

‘Come, Weston, we must eat,’ Richard went on. ‘If we have to hide, it may be some time before we have the opportunity to fill our stomachs again. John, send two of the farm workers to the top field so that they can keep a lookout on the road. Tell them to watch for riders cutting across country towards the Hall as well.’

John bowed and hurried away.

Father Weston seemed rooted where he stood. When Richard shook his arm, he blinked owlishly.

‘What? Yes, yes -
you’re right.’

At the hastily assembled meal of cheese and bread, Richard ate swiftly and in silence but Meg noticed Father Weston barely managed to swallow more than a few mouthfuls.

Richard put down his knife. ‘The maids should be sent to the village,’ he announced. ‘Will you see to it, Beatrice? I don’t want them questioned. They’re young and fear is likely to make them indiscreet.’

He pushed his plate aside. ‘Weston? Shall we go to the chapel? When my sister has dealt with the maids, she can bring your belongings to be hidden as well. Beatrice, you know what to do with my books.’

There was a commotion in the screens passage and John the steward burst in.

‘They’re already at the farm! They must have come over the heath from the Barton road.’

Father Weston gave a low moan and his legs crumpled. Richard grasped him by the elbow. ‘Help me with him, John, we need to make haste.’

Dragging the priest like a sack of flour, they hauled him in the direction of the chapel, his boots scraping over the stone-flagged floor.

‘It’s too late to send the maids away,’ Beatrice said urgently. ‘Find Alice, Meg. She must make all the servants understand it’s of the utmost importance they don’t tell these men that Richard and Father Weston are in the house. If they are asked, they are to say that Richard is in Exeter on business. Tell Alice everyone should carry on with their duties as if nothing has happened. When you have done that, come to Father Weston’s room and help me.’

‘I knew he’d bring bad luck,’
Alice said grimly when Meg found her in the dairy. ‘If it weren’t for poor Mistress Sarah, God rest her’ – she crossed herself – ‘I’d have sent him packing, but there’s no help for it now. I’ll see to everything here, don’t you worry. You go and help Mistress Beatrice.’

Upstairs, Meg found that Beatrice had already gathered Father Weston’s few possessions into a heap on the bed. She was staring at them with a perplexed expression.

‘Alice is speaking to the servants, Beatrice. Beatrice?’ She saw that Beatrice was crying.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gulped. ‘I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so afraid. Oh Meg, suppose they are discovered?’

‘We won’t let it happen.’ Meg snatched up Father Weston’s black cloak, bundled everything onto it and tied the opposing corners together. ‘Where does Richard want these?’

‘In the chapel.’

‘I’ll help you.’

As they lifted the bundle, Meg froze. ‘I think I heard someone outside.’
She dropped her end of the bundle, ran to the window and peered into the dusk.

Beatrice’s voice trembled. ‘What is it? Is someone there?

Meg strained her eyes, but nothing moved. Her heartbeat slowed a little. ‘Perhaps it was a fox or the wind in the trees.’ She went back to the bed. ‘Let’s hurry.’

Together, they dragged the bundle onto the landing. Father Weston’s silver cross and communion instruments clattered against each other as it bumped down the stairs.

At the bottom, Beatrice stopped. ‘Richard’s devotional books… his missal,
The Lives of the Saints
and Loyola’s
Spiritual Exercises
.’

‘Where are they?’

‘In his room.’

Meg soon found the books on
a table in front of the internal window looking directly into the chapel below. In the chapel, the chest that had once been used to store vestments had been moved to one side. She was just in time to see Richard and Father Weston slip through a small door in the oak panelling behind it.

As she hurried out, Meg heard a distant sound like the breaking of glass.
She raced downstairs and found Beatrice. Her face was bloodless as she pointed in the direction of the Great Hall. ‘Oh Meg,’ she gasped. ‘They are already in the house.’

‘Then we can’t go that way to the chapel,’ Meg tried to sound calm. ‘We’ll have to hide this somewhere else.’

Footsteps made them both swing round in alarm but it was only Alice coming from the kitchen. ‘You go in and keep them talking, Mistress Beatrice. Meg and I will deal with everything.’

In the kitchen, Cook stood astonished as
Alice wrenched open the iron door at the base of the big range and recoiled from the heat that billowed out. ‘What are you doing?’ she remonstrated.

‘There are priest hunters in the house,’
Alice replied.

‘Merciful Lord!’ Cook’s knife clattered to the floor.

Alice untied the bundle. ‘We shall have to burn all this,’ she said. She snatched up a poker and started to push Father Weston’s bands into the flames.

‘But what about the silver?’ Meg asked. ‘It won’t burn.’

Cook recovered her wits. ‘The dairy. The milk churns were full this morning. Hide it there.’

‘I suppose it might work,’
Alice said grudgingly, her face flushed with heat.

Cook scowled. ‘Do you have a better idea?’

‘This is no time for arguments,’ Meg snapped. ‘Take them please, Cook, and I’ll help Alice.’

Father Weston’s threadbare vestments did not take long to reduce to ashes.
Alice looked woefully at Richard’s books. ‘They were Mistress Caterina’s,’ she said.

Meg touched her shoulder. ‘If she were here, she would not want them to put Richard in danger.’

With an expression of renewed determination on her face, Alice jabbed the first volume into the flames and soon the others followed. The iron door clanged shut and she wiped her streaming forehead with the hem of her apron.

Meg brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘We should
go to the Great Hall - Beatrice will need us.’ She started for the door but never reached it. Into the kitchen came six men dressed in rough, soldiers’ clothes. They stood to one side, muskets at the ready. Then a seventh man entered and ice filled Meg’s veins. It was Ralph Fiddler.

*

At dawn, Meg sat in the Great Hall waiting for him to return. Five of his men had gone with him, while the sixth stood guard, his musket at the ready if she or Beatrice tried to move. She felt sick with apprehension. Hours had passed since the servants had been taken away for questioning. Alice would have the strength to resist, but the rest? It was little consolation that they probably did not know exactly where Richard and Father Weston’s hiding place was.

There was the sound of a scuffle in the screens passage and Ralph appeared, propelling a spitting
Alice before him. Twisting her arm, he forced her down onto the settle by the fireplace. ‘Keep her here,’ he barked at the guard. ‘If she gives you trouble, shoot her.’

Beatrice jumped up. ‘This is an outrage. You have no right to abuse my people, or to hold us against our will.’

‘I have the queen’s warrant, madam; that is all the right I need. If you, or your servants, try to obstruct my exercise of its powers, I may do with you as I wish.’ He scowled at Alice. ‘This harpy would do well to take heed.’

Alice
lurched from the settle but the guard was too quick for her. The butt of his musket caught her across the throat and she sank back with a gasp.

Ralph’s lip curled as he offered Beatrice his arm. ‘I have no objection to your accompanying me on my search, madam. Or Mistress Stuckton if she so wishes.’

In the entrance hall, a heavy-set guard met them. His black hair and beard were silvered with plaster dust and he held a thick iron bar in his hand.

‘We’ve opened every chest and wardrobe, master, and broke into the wall where you said, but there’s nothing.’

A furrow deepened between Ralph’s eyebrows. ‘Then get back to work with the measuring rods and go over the house again, inch by inch if you have to. Call me when you find anything that does not tally. Are the others still in the kitchen quarters?’

‘Yes, master.’

The stench of beer greeted them and a dull tapping sound. Swaying a little, one of the guards was working his way across the flagstones, tamping a metal rod on each one as he went.

‘Nothing yet, master,’ he slurred.

Ralph grabbed him by the throat. ‘Did I say you could drink?’

‘No, master.’

‘Borresbie! Shore!’

Two more guards appeared.

‘Take him outside, find a pump and sober him up.’

As the tipsy guard was manhandled away, Ralph glanced around the large kitchen. ‘Borresbie and Shore can continue in here when they come back.’

He raised an eyebrow when Borresbie returned. ‘Apart from the cellars, where have you searched?’

‘The dry pantry, master.’

‘Show me.’

In the pantry, Meg stared in dismay at the ripped sacks and smashed jars. A tide of flour, sugar, oats and salt covered the floor, dark and sticky where preserves had mixed with it. Months of stores were unusable. Beatrice’s eyes flashed. ‘Just what did you think to find here, sir?’

‘There are many types of evidence, madam. Be assured I shall uncover them all, however long it takes.’ He turned to Borresbie. ‘Where now?’

‘No one has been in the dairy or the outhouses yet, master.’

Meg’s heart missed a beat. The dairy was separate from the house; she had hoped it might be overlooked. She did not dare glance at Beatrice as Borresbie led them there.

In the cool, shadowy room, the air had a milky, sweet scent to it. Neat rows of muslin-wrapped cheeses were ranged on the shelves alongside the earthenware crocks containing fresh curds and butter. Meg winced as Borresbie removed their covers, plunged in a ladle and emptied them out, scowling when he found nothing. Silently, Ralph pointed to the churns in one corner. Meg saw Beatrice grip the folds of her skirt.

The first churn hit the floor with a thump. The lid flew off and milk streamed across the floor. Ralph stepped back with a grimace as it spattered his well-polished boots and black hose. At least, Meg thought, it was a small punishment, but in a few moments, it would be nothing.

When the second churn went over, something metallic glinted in the white liquid. Borresbie picked it up and Meg knew at once they were lost. Ralph took the chalice and rotated it slowly so that the silver caught the light.

‘You seem to have taken some pains to keep this hidden. Do you still expect me to believe you are not harbouring a priest?’

When Beatrice did not answer, he brought his face very close to hers but she remained impassive.

‘Make no mistake,’ he said silkily, ‘I shall dismantle this house stone by stone until I find what I’m looking for. Why not tell me now where the priest is and prevent its destruction?’

‘I have nothing to say to you, sir.’

‘Take her upstairs, Borresbie, and lock her in her room. I’ll deal with her later.’

A chill came over Meg as she remembered Ralph’s ways.

Beatrice shook the guard off. ‘I have no need of your assistance.’

Ralph waved a dismissive hand. ‘Tell the others what we have found, Borresbie, and tell them to keep searching.’

Alone, Meg and Ralph stood facing each other. His eyes glittered and she smelt the sharp tang of his sweat.

‘Not many people surprise me, Mistress Stuckton,’ he smiled, ‘but I must admit you have. I did not expect to find you in such company. I imagine I don’t need to tell you that your departure caused your husband considerable distress. Naturally, he was unable to believe a woman in her right mind would reject what he had to offer.’ He pulled her close. ‘You scorned me once before. I do not advise doing so again, unless you want me to inform your husband of your whereabouts.’