Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (51 page)

"Naturally, when I regained consciousness, I told the authorities, who had been summoned by Hollings, the groom, that there had been a
tragic
misunderstand. Why, we had everything cleared up the very next day," he laughed dismissingly. "However, Lily, the dear child, thinking herself responsible for my death, had fled Highcross with the Odells and that slow-witted Tillie. If she hadn't started screaming, none of this would have happened. But these good people, and only out of their deep concern for my welfare, were hesitant to believe my story. They have had some suspicions in the past concerning Lily. A most eccentric young woman, you must admit. Thought I was merely trying to protect my wards and so they have continued to pursue the investigation of what happened that night. They continued to search the countryside. They questioned everyone. but no one had seen my frightened wards. But, as I was about to say before you entered so suddenly, I really must insist that the matter be dropped in its entirety," he concluded magnanimously. "Don't you agree, Reverend Buxby? Doctor Wolton? Constable Martindale? I wish to hear nothing further concerning this matter. I am certain you will agree with me?"

"Of course! An
unfortunate
mistake."

"Naturally! No other actions will be necessary. No charges have been filed. There are no warrants for their arrest. Best forgotten."

The Reverend Buxby was the only one who remained ominously still, but Simon suspected it was merely because he'd had all of the hot air knocked out of him.

"The dear girl. Such a tragic accident. If only she had come to me. Why, like a mother I am to her," Mistress Fordham sighed, handing her daughter another handkerchief. "Oh, do be quiet
, Mary Ann!"
she hushed her weeping daughter.

"B-but, Mama! You said if Lily Christian were out of the way, then I'd get to become Mistress of
-
-"

"What nonsense, child!" Mistress Fordham sputtered, shaking the girl until she stared dazedly at her mother's flushed face. "You are becoming fretful again. I don't know what I am to do with you. Such a disappointment to me, both you and your brother."

Simon Whitelaw continued to stare at Hartwell Barclay, who was wiping the perspiration from his face with an oversized handkerchief. "When did this 'unfortunate affair' occur?"

"Why, uh, not too long ago," Hartwell Barclay answered, glancing around at the others, but they were all busy; the doctor picking lint off his sleeve, the constable straightening his hose with unusual care, while the reverend
seemed
lost in his next week's sermon.

"Not long ago?" Simon questioned politely. "I would think five months was rather a long time for your wards to be missing. Indeed, I am surprised, Master Barclay, that you have not found the opportunity of informing my family of this situation."

Hartwell Barclay cleared his throat. "I have been desperately ill. Not quite myself since the accident. I had hoped they would return before I had to send such
disquieting
news to your family." Hartwell Barclay explained. "I fear even to speculate upon what might have happened to the dear children traveling unescorted and unprotected across the countryside."

"You had better have the good reverend pray for you then, sir, as well as for himself and these other good folk, for if anything has happened to my sister, or Lily and Tristram, then you will wish you had died that night," Simon Whitelaw warned the astounded group, and turning on his heel, he walked from the great chamber.

Simon Whitelaw could not get out of Highcross fast enough. He was still shaking with anger when he vaulted down the steps into the courtyard. His horse was still standing where he'd left it, unattended, but as he mounted, a surly-looking groom crossed the yard.

"When I recognized ye enterin' the hall, didn't figure ye'd be stayin' long enough fer me to bother about yer mount," he greeted the young gentleman.

Simon stared down at the man, none too impressed by what he saw. "How perceptive of you."

"Well, don't know about that, whatever it be, but I ain't no fool, that much I can tell ye, and, maybe more, if'n the price was right, of course. A man has to take care o' himself 'cause no one else is."

"Quite."

"Yeah, well, reckon how I pretty much watch the comin's and goin's of anybody visitin' Highcross, I'd be the man with some o' the answers if'n I was asked the right
questions
," he said with a smug grin as he eyed the finely tooled leather of Simon's saddle. "Reckon a fancy young gentleman like yerself might find that kind o' information of interest. Reckon he might even be real grateful, if'n ye knows what I mean?"

"Hollings, isn't it?"

"Well, now, ye be real smart too. Always thought that about ye, Master Whitelaw. Always figured ye to be the smart one. Not like others I might mention," he said with a broad wink toward the house.

"What exactly can you tell me about the night, and the following morning, that Hartwell Barclay was thought to have
been
murdered?" Simon inquired as he took a small leather bag from his pocket and casually weighed it in his palm.

Hollings smiled. Wetting the dryness from his cracked lips, he said, after a conspiratorial glance around, "Reckon fer one ye ain't quite as bright as I was thinkin' if'n ye believe the master's tale o' havin' heard that pretty young Mistress Lily havin' a nightmare and wanting' to
comfort
her"

"You doubt the sincerity of such a statement?"

Hollings stared up at Simon Whitelaw as if staring at some strange creature. "Ye sure we both be
Englishmen
? Ain't never heard no one speak such words."

"He's lying?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. The master's been tryin' to get into that little lady's bed ever since she come home.
Especially
of late, since she's got so pretty. Ye oughta see the way he eyes her. Wouldn't mind that fer myself," he wheezed, laughing unpleasantly, but when he saw the expression on the young gentleman's face and realized the bag of money had been moved out of his reach, he hunched his shoulders and glared up at Simon Whitelaw. "Can't hang a man fer his thoughts. But the master, now, I bet if ye was to find the mistress, she might tell ye a thing or two different about that night."

"And where might I find Lily Christian?" Simon asked, lowering the bag closer to the man's reach.

"Reckon she and them others had to have somewhere to hide, seein' how she thought they were being hunted down fer murderin' the master. And since ye didn't know about what happened until today, figure 'twas exactly what I been thinkin'
all
along, and the master never sent word to ye. At least, I never was sent to tell any o' ye folks about what happened here. So
.
.
."

"Yes, go on!"

"So
.
.
.
I reckon she went to find ol' Maire Lester. The old woman was the only one who ever cared about them three."

"Of course! The nurse. Lily was upset when she was dismissed. She would go to her
for help. She knew that Uncle V
alentine was out of the country, and Artemis is in Cornwall, and heavy with child by now, and Quinta is in Scotland. But why didn't she come to me?" he said, thinking aloud. "Of course! I'd told her when last I was here that I intended to study law, but thought I might travel to the Continent first. She didn't realize I'd changed my plans. Damn!"

"Uh, Master Whitelaw, haven't ye forgotten something?" Hollings reminded the young man, who still held the bag of money clutched in his fist.

"Where does this Maire Lester live?" Simon
demanded
, still holding the money out of the groom's reach.

"Well, I don't know that," Hollings whined, growing impatient, but as the tightfisted young gentleman continued to hold onto his purse, Hollings sighed, scratching his head of dirty, matted hair. "Well, s'pose I do recall her havin' some widowed sister livin' up north"

"Where up north?" Simon prodded.

"Could be
Warwickshire
."

"The village?"

"Ah, Master Whitelaw, now ye be askin' too much o' me. I can't be knowin' such things."

"IF you think a moment longer. I am certain you will remember, and what name you do give me had better be correct," Simon warned. While he'd been speaking, he had opened the purse and had allowed some of the coins to trickle into his palm.

"Said something about havin' a niece upriver in Coventry. 'Twould take at least a day or two to reach her from the farm. 'Twas just outside o' the village-now what was the name o' that place? A real funny-sounding name, 'twas. Two names? No, three! Like 'twas on something. The river. 'Twas on the river That's it! Let me see."

"The Severn? Perchance, the Avon?"

"Aye, now there ye be. That's the one. Ye be the smarter by far o' the two o' us. The village be similar to East Highford. On the ri
ver, ye know. A market town,"
he said with a wide, toothless grin of pleasure as he anticipated his reward.

"Stratford-upon-Avon?"

"Oh, sir, ye have impressed me, that ye have."

"My family visited the Comptons at their home, Compton Wynyates, 'tis just south of Stratford. And we traveled with the queen to Kenilworth Castle, the Earl of Leicester's home. 'Tisn't far from Stratford."

"Did ye really now, sir? Well, if that ain't amazin'," Hollings said, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand.

"Here, you deserve it all, and thank you," Simon Whitelaw said, dropping the plump bag of coins into the man's palm. "I had better find them at Maire Lester's," he added as warning to the man.

The groom shrugged. "Can't help what happened to 'em after they left Highcross. But I do know they reached the mill, 'cause Romney Lee, the miller's wife's brother, he come here to Highcross to find out what was goin' on, and when I told him what had happened, that the master had an accident, but was goin' to be all right, more's the pity, he says that he saw Mistress Christian and her brother and sister and them damned Odells headin' up the road way past the mill. Reckon they was headin' toward London. Sent out the villagers after them, but never found them on the road," he puzzled. He must have misunderstood the gypsy, he thought. Glancing up, he watched as the young gentleman galloped out of the courtyard. Long ride ahead of him, he thought unconcernedly as he poured the coins out of the
purse
, his smile widening.

Simon Whitelaw was looking
grim
as he rode toward London. Hartwell Barclay hadn't heard the end of this yet, he vowed, wishing Valentine Whitelaw had returned to England. He would know how to deal with these people who had driven Lily, Tristram, and Dulcie from Highcross. He would know what to do. He would know how to find Lily.

As good luck would have it.

Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty

"
C
innamon
cakes
! Cinnamon cakes!
Freshly baked cinnamon cakes!" the little girl called out, shaking a blue and red tambourine over her head while she twirled in front of a small, gaily decorated cart being pulled by a mastiff.

Dressed in crimson velvet, with a richly embroidered kirtle sweeping the ground, and a brightly colored scarf of fringed, Indian silk crisscrossed over her bodice, she seemed an exotic creature with her golden earrings, necklace of pale pink shells, and an amethyst stone gleaming
mysteriously
from the gold ring on her finger.

"Posies! Posies! Sweet-scented posies!" she cried, curtsying prettily while holding out a bunch of colorful wildflowers tied with a length of silk ribbon.

"Dance, Sweet Rose, dance!" a handsome young man strumming a lute called to her, his nimble fingers plucking a lively tune while the little girl danced faster and faster.

On the toes of her dainty velvet slippers, with petticoats flying, she raced away. She returned quickly with a cinnamon cake for him, then danced away again to entice the crowd with an armful of posies. The troubadour, spying the fair maiden who was standing beside the cart and who had bestowed a smile upon him as well as a cinnamon cake, began another ballad:

My lord's daughter went through the wood her lane,

And there she met the cap'n, a servant to the king.

He said unto his livery man, "Where't na agin the law,

I would tak her to my own bed, and lay her at the wa."

"I'm walking here my lane," says she, "among

my father's trees;

And ye may let me walk my lane, kind sir, now gin ye please.

The supper bell it will be rung, and I'll be miss'd awa;

Sae I'll na lie in your bed, at neither stock norwa."

He said, "My pretty lady, I pray lend me your hand,

And ye'll hae drums and trumpets always at your command;

And fifty men to guard you wi, that weel their swords can draw;

Sae we'll both lie in one bed, and ye'll lie at the wa..."

"O keep awa frae me, kind sir, I pray don't me perplex,

For I'll na lie in your bed till ye answer questions six..."

"O what is greener than the grass, what's higher than the trees?

O what is worse than women's wish, what's deeper

than the seas?

What bird craws first, what tree buds first, what first

does on them fa?

Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa."

"Death is greener than the grass, heaven higher than the trees;

The devil's worse than women's wish, hell's deeper

than the seas;

The cock craws first, the cedar buds first, dew first

on them does fa;

Sae we'll both lie in one bed, and ye shall lie at the wa."

Little did this lady think, that morning when she raise,

That this was for to be the last o' her maiden days.

But there's na into the king's realm to be found a merrier twa,

And she must lie in his bed, but she'll not lie next the wa.