The Saint John's Fern (22 page)

‘It’s nearly dark,’ he protested indignantly. ‘I thought I was to stay the night!’

‘You haven’t seen your parents now for two whole days,’ she reminded him. ‘You were to stay until the chapman arrived, that was our bargain. Go home, Bart! Please.’ She kissed his lips. ‘We’ll be married very soon, then we can be together all the time. Goodbye, my sweet.’

‘Sweet’ was hardly the right epithet for young Champernowne, who took his departure in a very acid frame of mind. At the door, he paused and flung over his shoulder, ‘You may not see me tomorrow! It will depend on how I feel!’ The hall door slammed shut behind him.

The two women looked at one another, then Katherine said, ‘You’ll see him. While he can sponge off you, he’ll never stay away long.’

Berenice frowned. ‘Hush, Kate! That will do! Go after him for me and make sure that he leaves the manor. He’s quite capable of sneaking back again in an effort to persuade me to change my mind.’ She waited until the other woman had left the hall before turning to me. ‘Now, chapman, draw up that stool and show me what you have to sell.’

*   *   *

An hour later, I was sitting in the kitchen in the company of the groom and housekeeper, eating a belated supper.

Greatly to my astonishment, after buying all my ribbons and a length of Italian silk that I had carried in my pack all the way from Bristol, Berenice Gifford had insisted that I spend the night at Valletort Manor.

‘It’s far too dark now to make your way back to Modbury,’ she had said. ‘You would never find the track. You can sleep in one of the outbuildings. There’s plenty of clean straw in the stables that will make an excellent bed and keep you warm, as well. But first,’ she had added, ‘you must have food. Kate, ask Nurse to come here, would you, please?’

Katherine Glover had returned from seeing Bartholomew Champernowne off the premises some time earlier. I had noted, without seeming to do so, Berenice’s raised eyebrows as her maid had re-entered the hall, and the curt nod with which Katherine had answered the unspoken query. She had been absent for well above half an hour, if not longer, and I wondered what she could have been doing to detain her all that while. I immediately suspected that Beric Gifford was somewhere on the manor, and that his betrothed had been with him. So the last thing I had expected was an invitation to stay for the night.

Now, as I ate my way steadily through two large pastry coffins filled with meat and gravy, followed first by savoury, and then by apple dumplings, I did my best to winkle some information out of Mistress Tuckett and the groom, but without success, as both were adept at parrying unwanted questions. The latter, who was indeed elderly and also extremely taciturn, was particularly good at it, and on more than one occasion cut the nurse-housekeeper short when her tongue showed an inclination to run away with her. Finally, I was forced to accept that there was nothing to be got from either of them.

My only consolation was the prospect of a night free to roam about the stables and other outbuildings in the hope of a glimpse of Beric Gifford. But, with an inward sigh, I had to admit to myself that even this was unlikely. I should hardly have been offered the freedom of the courtyard unless Berenice and Katherine were absolutely certain that Beric was safely within doors and away from my prying eyes.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and stood up.

‘Thank you, Mistress Tuckett,’ I said, presuming, in the absence of anyone else, that she must also be the cook. ‘The pasties and dumplings were delicious.’

‘It’s good of you to say so. A word of appreciation never comes amiss. But it’s too much for one woman,’ she continued. ‘In the days when I was the nurse here, we had a cook
and
a housekeeper
and
maids besides. And it’s high time we had them again, if you want my opinion, now that my young lady can afford them. But we all know where
her
money goes!’ she added angrily.

‘That’ll do!’ the groom warned; and Mistress Tuckett, with a white-eyed look, pressed her lips together.

‘The apples,’ I went on, ‘were especially fine. You must have had a visit yesterday from Master Godsey.’

‘Oh, Bevis! Yes, he was here. Went away very pleased with himself, after talking with his cousin. I don’t know why.’

‘Do you mean Mistress Glover?’ I enquired. ‘I was told that she and Master Godsey were kinsfolk.’

But the housekeeper only tightened her lips still further and started to clear away the dirty dishes. So I stretched my arms above my head and gathered up my almost empty pack and my cudgel.

‘I’ll be off to the stables, then,’ I said. ‘Good night to you both.’

‘There’s no need to go through the hall.’ The groom detained me, indicating a door in one of the further corners of the kitchen. ‘There’s a passageway on the other side that leads out into the courtyard. You’ll find the stables easily enough, I reckon. They’re next to the laundry.’

The passageway, when located, I discovered to be dimly lit by a single cresset set high on the wall, close to the outside door. This was still unbolted, and I was about to lift the latch, when I was seized by the powerful conviction that someone was watching me. I stood for a moment, frozen into immobility, my heart pounding, my breathing all but suspended. Then, slowly, very slowly, my right hand curling convulsively about my stick, I turned my head first to the right, where there was nothing to be seen except the blank wall, then to the left, where I suddenly noticed a narrow arch and a flight of stairs, rising into the darkness beyond it …

My heart stopped its pounding; in fact it almost stopped beating altogether as I found myself staring straight into the eyes of someone lurking in the shadows.

*   *   *

Robert Steward, as he duly introduced himself, was, unlike the groom and Mistress Tuckett, as old and as frail as Jack Golightly had portrayed him. He claimed that he was almost ninety years of age, having been born, so his mother had told him, in that year when the Scots beat the English at the battle of Chevy Chase, somewhere in the north. But although his sight and hearing were both impaired, I found it possible to hold a perfectly rational conversation with him provided I faced him when talking and spoke with clarity and care.

To begin with, I have to admit, all was confusion and muddle until I established who he was and the fact that he wanted me to accompany him to his bedchamber.

‘Don’t know who
you
are,’ he mumbled, laying a withered hand on my shoulder, ‘but it’s good to see a new face. An honest one, too.’ He shivered, gathering the skirts of his patched and darned woollen robe about his emaciated ankles, and turned to lead the way upstairs. He shook his head so that the thinning grey locks became even more untidy. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in this house. There’s something evil abroad. I’m frightened.’

I was instantly intrigued by these words and followed him with alacrity to the top of the flight, where an iron-studded door opened into a tiny room under the eaves. A bed took up most of the floor space, and the only other object was a cedar wood chest, standing in one corner. The whole was illumined by a solitary rushlight, placed next to a tinderbox on a shelf.

My host invited me to sit on one side of the bed while he sat on the chest, facing me. ‘Now, tell me your name,’ he demanded, ‘and what you’re doing here.’

Once I had disposed of my pack and cudgel by the simple expedient of pushing them under the bed, I obliged on both counts, not disguising my interest in the murder of Oliver Capstick and the present whereabouts of Beric Gifford. When I had finished speaking, Robert crossed himself.

‘Something evil,’ he repeated. ‘Here, in this house.’

I leant forward, resting my forearms on my knees. ‘Beric’s still here, is that what you’re saying? He hasn’t gone abroad? He hasn’t run away? But are you sure about that? The Sheriff’s men couldn’t find him when they came looking, now could they?’

‘No, nor never will,’ he answered, staring at me with his rheumy, faded blue eyes.

‘Why not? Do you also believe that Beric’s eaten of Saint John’s fern?’

Robert’s gaze, which had been sharply focused on mine, now slid away from me, looking at some point beyond my right shoulder.

‘He was a sweet little lad,’ he said sadly. ‘Grew up into such a happy child. Everyone doted on him, especially his sister.’

‘So why do you think he bludgeoned his great-uncle to death?’ I asked. ‘What turned him into a murderer?’

The steward thought about this, sucking his toothless gums. ‘She did,’ he said at last. ‘Things were never the same after she came here to live.’

‘Do you mean Katherine Glover?’

‘Yes. Her! The fisherman’s daughter.’ His gaze returned to my face.

‘Why do you say that? Why were things never the same?’ I persisted.

He shrugged, the bony shoulders beneath his robe looking as brittle and as fragile as a bird’s. ‘They just weren’t. She became mistress of this place. We all had to do as she told us. All of us.’

If this were true, it explained Mistress Tuckett’s animosity.

‘But what about Mistress Berenice?’ I said. ‘She appears to me to be a strong-minded woman, one who would never tolerate such an untoward situation. And now, surely, there can be no question of Katherine Glover ever becoming mistress of Valletort Manor. Mistress Gifford’s position in the house has to be unassailable.’

Robert Steward shook his head dolefully. ‘The master’s disgrace doesn’t seem to have made any difference to that trollop’s position. It’s as though the mistress still regards her as the true chatelaine of the manor. Oh, don’t mistake me!’ He flapped his bony, brown-mottled hands in one of those displays of irritation that old people indulge in every now and then. ‘Katherine Glover would never presume to take liberties with the mistress. But the rest of us have to do as she says. She was the one who evicted me from my room next to the hall and pushed me away in this piddling little cupboard, and all because I’m too old now to carry out my duties properly.’ He added with a venom that sent the spittle flying from the corners of his mouth, ‘She’d have turned me out altogether if Mistress Berenice would have agreed to it.’

It crossed my mind that Robert might be exaggerating Katherine Glover’s part in his humiliation, but his story raised a more interesting question.

‘Why do you suppose a new steward has not been appointed in your place?’ I asked. ‘The omission seems strange to me, especially as you were made to vacate your old quarters. And why does Mistress Berenice not employ more servants in general? Money can no longer be an object with her. Mistress Tuckett was complaining about the lack of help while we were eating our supper.’

Robert considered the problem for a moment or two. ‘Maybe she can’t get people to come and work here,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe she never will until Beric’s caught and sent to the gallows. It’s lonely here.’ He shuddered suddenly and gave a whimpering cry. ‘And there’s a murderer loose.’

It was an explanation that I should have thought of for myself and I was ashamed that it hadn’t occurred to me. I prayed that my powers of deduction were not deserting me.

‘Of course. You must be right,’ I said, and rose to my feet. ‘Well, I’d best be off. Your mistress has offered me accommodation in the stables for the night. I’d hoped for a warmer berth, like the kitchen, but, alas, beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘You could stay here, with me,’ my new acquaintance suggested with a pathetic eagerness. ‘I’d be grateful for your company. You’re a big, stout lad. I’d feel safe. For this night, at least.’

‘What is it you’re afraid of?’ I asked gently.

But he didn’t seem able to say, simply repeating that there was something evil in the house. ‘You can share the bed with me,’ he added hopefully. ‘There’s room for two.’

I looked at the softness of the mattress, but regretfully shook my head. He followed me, shuffling and wheedling, as I descended the stairs to the outer door.

But this had now been securely bolted top and bottom. Furthermore, the key had been turned in the lock and then removed. While I had been upstairs, Valletort Manor had been secured for the night.

I smiled ruefully at my companion. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it seems that I have no choice. Master Steward, you’ve got yourself a bedfellow.’

Chapter Sixteen

I could easily have returned to the kitchen to inform Mistress Tuckett that I was still in the house, and ask her to unlock the outer door. But the suspicion that I had been deliberately relegated to the stables because Beric was sleeping inside that night had taken a firm hold upon me. I suddenly felt sure that this was a God-given opportunity to bring me one step closer to Oliver Capstick’s murderer.

‘They’ve locked up early tonight,’ Robert volunteered as I followed him back up the stairs to the room beneath the eaves, once more stowing my pack and cudgel under the bed, where neither of us could hurt himself by tripping over them. My companion resumed his former seat on the chest, beaming his toothless smile.

‘You didn’t answer my question just now,’ I said, also sitting down again on the edge of the mattress. ‘I asked you if you thought Beric Gifford had eaten of Saint John’s fern.’

‘He may have done,’ was the dismissive answer. ‘I suppose it’s possible. But it doesn’t make you invisible for ever, you know. Leastways, not that I’ve ever heard of. You have to keep on eating the leaves if you want to stay unseen for any length of time.’

‘Well, the plant grows plentifully around the manor,’ I pointed out. ‘And no one would want to remain invisible for very long, surely. In Beric’s case, just long enough to help him evade the law and justice.’ I added, ‘You’re an old man and have lived a great many years upon this earth. Honestly, now! Have you ever known anyone who’s become invisible through eating the hart’s-tongue fern?’

Robert Steward thought this over. ‘A distillation of the leaves is a well-known cure for the hiccoughs,’ he offered at last.

‘I’m aware of that fact,’ I retorted irritably. ‘But what I’m asking you is: does eating the raw leaves cause you to vanish?’

‘Everyone says so.’