The Herb of Grace (10 page)

‘Coldham, on your trail?' Tom sneered. ‘What would he want with two grubby gypsy brats? It's the lord duke he wants!'

‘He's been chasing us for days,' Luka said. ‘He hates gypsies! He wants to drag us back to gaol.'

‘He's been chasing
us
for days,' Tom responded hotly.

‘He has not,' Luka cried. ‘It's us he's after.'

‘Sssh, lads,' Lord Harry hissed. ‘Do you want the whole inn to hear you?'

The two boys fell silent, though they glared at each other angrily. On Luka's shoulder Zizi jumped up and down, gibbering and baring her teeth at Tom.

‘Keep the monkey quiet,' the duke said. He had a very slight Irish accent.

Luka dug around in his bag and pulled out a prune, which Zizi at once snatched in delight and began to nibble. The duke raised his eyebrow at his servant, who was watching the room through one of the peepholes. His servant made a gesture to show all was quiet.

The duke looked back at Tom. ‘These two are friends of Lord Harry, and some kind of kin to Gypsy Joe,' he said softly. ‘I do not think Joe would have hidden them in here with us if he was not certain of their loyalty. Do you indeed suspect them of being spies?'

Luka made a quick movement, but the duke held up one hand and he subsided.

Tom, when he spoke, was much more subdued. ‘I do not know, my lord. But I saw them in Kingston-Upon-Thames, when I was there to try and see the Leveller, Gerard Winstanley. The next thing I know, Winstanley is thrown in gaol, and constables are everywhere in the town, and the pursuivant directing them. I barely managed to escape!'

He took a deep breath and went on. ‘Then we manage to get you away safely to Epsom, and again I see these two, and again the pursuivant turns up with soldiers, and again we barely manage to get safely away. Then here we are in Salisbury, and again that pursuivant manages to track us down, and lo and behold! Here are Luka and Emilia!'

‘They are young to be spies,' the duke said.

Tom flushed. ‘Luka is only a year younger than
me,' he said. ‘You said it was because of my youth that I was likely to be useful!'

‘True,' the duke said, smiling. He rubbed his bristly chin. ‘So what is your explanation, my boy?'

Luka glanced at Emilia, who stared at him intently, willing him to think before he spoke. He must have heard her silent pleas, because he replied quietly and steadily. ‘We know nothing of you, my lord. We were in Kingston-Upon-Thames to try and raise some money for Emilia's sister's dowry. But the pastor saw Beatrice singing and had her nabbed, and then when the rest of us tried to help her, he had all of us arrested. Coldham was there, he was the one who grabbed Beatrice. Then Emilia and me, we escaped, and Coldham chased after us with the town constables. He's been chasing us ever since. He nabbed us in Southampton and said he was taking us back to gaol. If Lord Harry hadn't held up the coach . . .'

‘I found them in Coldham's coach,' Lord Harry
said. ‘They said they'd been kidnapped and begged me to rescue them.'

‘But you don't know whether their story was true?' the duke asked.

Lord Harry shrugged. ‘No, my lord.'

Just then his servant made a hushing noise with his hand. Everyone fell silent.

They all heard Coldham coming back into the room, accompanied by two soldiers. ‘What do you mean, you can find no trace of them?' he said irritably. ‘I tell you, the guards on the gate said this inn was where that highwayman always brings his stolen nags to sell! We know he's a Royalist spy, we know he rescued those gypsy brats from me, and we know the Duke of Ormonde was heading for a safe house in Salisbury! So if we find that highwayman, we'll find those gypsies, and more importantly, we'll find the duke, I know we will. And believe me, we want to find that duke!'

The soldiers murmured a feeble response.

Within the stuffy dimness of the secret room, Luka and Emilia exchanged agonised glances. They seemed to have got themselves tangled up in a plot to restore the king to his throne, when all they wanted was to rescue their families. The punishment for treason was far crueller than that for vagrancy and begging. Suddenly, desperately, they wanted to be out of that hideaway, and far away from the Herb of Grace. But there was no way out. They were stuck there.

‘I tell you, I want the duke, I want that highwayman, and I want those sneaky little gypsies,' Coldham snapped. ‘And the horses! The pastor will be very displeased with me.'

‘But, sir, we've looked everywhere!'

‘Start ripping out the panelling,' Coldham said. ‘They're here somewhere.'

B
eatrice sat on the hard stone floor and watched the light fade.

Although she was very tired, she knew she would not sleep. She was cold and hungry, and the sound of the sick man coughing next door echoed through the gaol. It sounded as if he was coughing up his insides.

Her misery and fear kept sleep away, as well. Beatrice was only fifteen years old. She did not want to die on the gallows. She wanted with all her heart to grow up and be married, and have
children of her own that she could love and look after, and teach the way of her people. She wanted to dance and sing and have pretty clothes, and to travel about the roads, seeing all the beautiful places in the world.

She wondered where Emilia was, and hoped that she was safe. Beatrice worried a great deal about her little sister. She had tried to teach Emilia to be quiet and good, and to keep her eyes cast down, and to not step in front of a man, or to speak unless she was addressed, but Emilia never listened. Because of her sweet, wheedling ways, everyone was far too indulgent with her, and did not scold her or slap her, and gave her whatever she asked for. Beatrice knew she was as guilty of this as anyone. She felt she had been too weak, and so had failed Emilia, and she worried terribly about what might happen to her, out in the cruel world, with no one to protect her but Luka, who was only thirteen himself. At least Luka was a
sensible boy, Beatrice thought. He would not let Emilia do anything too dangerous.

The guards brought the evening meal, but it smelt rank and Beatrice could not eat it. None of the women did, and she noticed that Luka's mother, Silvia, had lost a great deal of weight, so that her skin hung loosely on her. Beatrice's grandmother Maggie was always as thin as a stick, but she now looked gaunt and ill, sitting hunched in her corner, her eyes hooded. Lena and Sabina were playing cat's cradle with a bit of old string, while Mimi rocked her rag doll and sang to it softly. They were waiting for Maloney to bring them their supper.

He came in half an hour later, and the little girls flung themselves on him with cries of delight. He was a big man with a red face, a flat nose, flabby ears, yellow teeth, tiny eyes and huge hairy hands, but under the ugly exterior was a soul of great beauty. Without the many small services Maloney
had done for them over the past few days, Beatrice knew that they would have suffered much more.

While Mimi and Sabina went through his basket with shrill exclamations of joy, Maloney went and bent over before Maggie, who could not stand up any more, the damp of the cell inflaming all her sore joints.

‘Excuse me, ma'am, but I've brought my wife in to see you,' he said shyly.

Maggie nodded. ‘Did anyone see?'

Maloney shook his head. ‘We were very careful.'

‘That's good, because I'm pretty sure that dear sweet Pastor Spurgeon would disapprove of fortune-telling even more than he does singing and dancing,' she said.

Maloney looked uncomfortable. Beatrice could tell that he was uneasy about the godliness of consulting a gypsy fortune-teller, since such things smacked a little too much of witchcraft for his
simple country soul. He must desperately want Maggie's guidance to risk it.

It was dark outside now, and the only light came from the lantern by the door. It struck through the bars above the door, striping the filthy floor with shadows. Maloney went back outside, and came back a few minutes later, ushering in a small, plump woman with a brown shawl wrapped over her head.

‘This is my wife, Jenny,' Maloney said. ‘Jenny, this is Maggie Finch, Queen of the Gypsies.'

‘Excuse me not getting up, Mistress Jenny,' Maggie said. ‘My rheumatism is just terrible.'

Jenny bobbed her head and said something in such a low, terrified voice that no one could understand her.

‘Don't be afraid,' Maggie said. ‘All of us here wish you well because of the kindness of your husband. Come, sit down with me and show me your hand.'

Jenny crouched down on the floor and shyly held out her hand. Maggie took it between her
own two, clawlike hands, and turned it over so she could examine the palm. She was silent for a long time, and Jenny said hesitantly, ‘What can you see? Are there . . . will I . . . ?'

Maggie said slowly, ‘I see children in your future, there's no doubt of it at all.'

Jenny drew in her breath and glanced up at her husband in pure joy. He smiled at her, dropping a big hand on her shoulder.

‘When? How many?' Jenny asked eagerly.

‘Two, I think, maybe even three,' Maggie said.

Jenny cried aloud in pleasure.

Beatrice stared at her bare toes. She knew that Maggie was a true
drabardi
, but she also knew that her grandmother would tell the fortune she thought someone wanted to hear, particularly if it suited her. Locked up in this gaol, with no future ahead of them except that the magistrates chose to give them, Maggie was working with all her strength to save as much of her family as she could. She knew Maloney and his wife had lost their daughters a few years earlier. She knew they desperately wanted more. She hoped that if the judges chose to spare the youngest of the gypsies from death by hanging, the Maloneys would be moved to take them in. Otherwise there would be
no future for them except the workhouse. Already Maloney was fond of them all. Maggie was sure he would beg the judges for leniency, and perhaps offer to adopt some of them. Beatrice hoped so with all her heart.

Her grandmother was now describing a potion Jenny could make with nettles and other herbs to help her conceive, and telling her to count the days from the full moon before using it. Jenny was glowing with happiness as she went out of the cell, and Maloney stopped to thank Maggie gravely before locking them all in for the night. ‘If I can do anything for you?' he said hesitantly.

Maggie looked up at him grimly. ‘I wish that you could,' she answered. ‘But there's nothing.'

Sadly, Maloney went out.

‘Isn't it a little cruel, to get their hopes up like that?' Beatrice asked hesitantly.

Maggie pulled her empty pipe out of her
mouth. ‘I spoke true. I do see children in their future.'

‘Really?'

Maggie nodded. ‘I saw them running, laughing, in a garden with flowers. Little girls in long smocks, and a boy in breeches.'

‘Was it our children you saw, safe and happy?' Beatrice whispered. ‘Noah and Mimi and Sabina?'

Maggie shook her head. ‘They were Jenny's own children.'

Beatrice dropped her eyes, ashamed that they were suddenly full of tears. ‘And what of our darling ones?' she asked. ‘What do you see for them?'

‘You know I cannot always see when I want to,' Maggie said. ‘Visions come and go unbidden. Often all I have is a feeling of foreboding, like a shadow falling upon me. If I had my cards, or my ball, I could try and see what the future held for us, but I don't. I gave them to Emilia.'

‘Hopefully they will not lead her to her death too,' Beatrice said.

‘I am hoping they will help her find the way to save us,' Maggie replied.

Luka woke Emilia gently.

She was sleeping on the ground, her head pillowed on their bag, covered with her shawl. She murmured and yawned, and Luka hissed, ‘Ssssh!'

At once Emilia was quiet. She sat up and looked around her. The only light came from the lantern held by Gypsy Joe, who was looking in through the secret door, beckoning them urgently. All the men were getting up and stretching, looking very pale and dishevelled.

Joe passed in the lantern and Lord Harry set it on the bench, then Joe's face disappeared as he climbed back down the ladder. One by one they all
followed, Lord Harry coming last and bringing the lantern with him. Emilia clung close to Luka as they crept through the dark bedroom. There was a snoring lump in the bed that must be Coldham, and every creak and scuff made Emilia's heart leap into her mouth in case he should wake.

Zizi was clinging tightly to Luka's neck. She had not liked being shut up in a tiny closet, and it had been very difficult to keep her quiet. Luka had not wanted to feed her too many prunes in case they made her sick, and besides, they had needed the food Lady Anne had given them, since Gypsy Joe had not been able to smuggle in any for them and everyone was very hungry.

‘Well, this is the first time my sister has done anything to help me out,' Lord Harry had said through a mouthful of bread and cheese during one of the few times Coldham had left the room. ‘I wonder what Anne would think if she knew she was saving me from starving!'

‘I think she'd be glad,' Emilia had replied softly.

Lord Harry had snorted in derision, and Emilia would have liked to have said more, but Coldham had returned and she had had to fall silent again.

It had been very difficult for everyone to keep still and quiet for so long, but most difficult for Luka, who was as restless as a grasshopper on a hot griddle. He was usually in constant motion, running, playing, singing, whistling, turning cartwheels or walking on his hands. Even at mealtimes, he would tap with his spoon on the fallen log that was his usual seat, and squirm about, his foot swinging, as he ate. It was utter torture for him, cooped up in that narrow space, unable to hum or drum his fingers. Eventually he had stretched out on the floor, with his coat pillowed under his head, and gone to sleep, Zizi curled up against his shoulder. Emilia had lain down beside him, and they had slept all afternoon, the men's
legs stretched over them. Both felt much better as a result. The duke's servant, Nat, had also fallen asleep at one point, but he had snored so loudly that Lord Harry had had to clamp his hand over his mouth and nose and wake him up.

Joe had another lantern out in the hallway. He held it high to examine them all as they tiptoed out the bedroom door, whispering, ‘How do you feel? Are you all right?'

‘I'm damn thirsty,' Lord Harry said. ‘You could have locked us up with a keg of ale, mine host.'

‘I'll make sure one is kept there always from now on,' Joe said, smiling. ‘Come on! Let's get you all away from here.'

A guard was lying slumped in a chair on the landing, fast asleep, snoring loudly, and another slept at the bottom of the stairs, a tankard rolled from his hand.

‘What did you do, Joe, drug them?' the Duke of Ormonde asked, his blue eyes dancing with
merriment in his unshaven face. Emilia was amused to see how fair the stubble on his chin was.

‘Let me guess, Joe. Fish berries?' Lord Harry asked.

Joe grinned and nodded.

‘It's a wild berry from the Indies,' Lord Harry explained. ‘Apparently the Indians used to throw it into rivers to stun the fish. Wily innkeepers like our Joe here use it to lace their ale, so no one realises how much they've watered it down. Add enough of it to the ale and everyone gets very merry and then passes out cold. It's a jolly useful little berry.'

Luka grabbed Joe's sleeve. ‘Can I have some? Please?'

Joe looked down at him, rubbing his bristly chin. ‘You thinking of using it to drug your family's guards?'