Geoffrey Condit (14 page)

8

Catharine ran her fingers along the rough wood walls, traced the edges of the room, and checked every space, crack and flaw.  A narrow space next to  a thick wood beam caught her attention.  Daylight spilled in, but closer inspection found the crack less than a fingers thickness and eight inches long.   The wood would not give to foot, shoulder, or prying.  Through the crack the alley seemed so near, yet so far.  “I’m out of ideas,” she said.

    “Let’s try the window.”  Bess stood.  “Give me a boost.”

    “Good thought.”  Agnes put a chair to one side below the window and helped Bess to climb from the chair to Catharine’s shoulders.  Bess teetered and straightened.  “Got the bars,” she said.  “But they’re solid.”  They wouldn’t budge no matter how she strained.

    “Agnes, how about you trying?”  Bess climbed down to the floor

    “A weak old woman like me?  But I can boost you up, my lady.”

    Bess steadied Catharine when she climbed on Agnes’ back.  They eased her up until she reached the bars.  Agnes grunted.  “Hurry.  My back is old.”

    “Ha.  Your back is strong as an ox.  I’ve often thought you ought to hire yourself out for plowing, Mistress Scoville.”

    “Thank you, my lady.  Gracious you say so.”  Agnes shifted and when Catharine swore, she snickered.

    “A bar is loose.”  Catharine worked at it, pounding with the heel of her hand.  The wood frame cracked and the bar shot into the alley.  Catharine froze, expecting the door would be jerked open, the room filled with armed men.  Anxious seconds passed while they waited in terrified silence.  Then a fist crashed into the door.

    “Silence, sluts!”  Ned had tried to make his young voice sound deep, but Catharine recognized it.  Seconds passed but no one came.

    Catharine got down and bent to Bess’ ear.  “I think you can squeeze through the opening without your gown.”

    Bess gave a strained grin.  “How exciting.  Then I can flee half-naked to the Town watch, and raise the Hue and Cry to free you.”

    Catharine laughed at the girl’s spunk.  “I think we can shove your gown after you.  A skinny old lady like Agnes could squeeze through that hole.”

    Agnes scowled at the narrow opening. “Can a camel go through the eye of a needle?  I have not that faith, my lady.”

    “Want to try for another bar, Mistress Scoville?”

    “My old back is up to it, if you are, my lady.”

    Catharine pounded on the middle bar, but it didn’t budge.  “Use this spoon,”  Bess said, handing it up.  Catharine dug and stabbed at the wood, but the spoon bent and then snapped. She used the handle to stab the wood, and bloodied her hand on the splinters.  Nails broke to the quick.

    “You need to take a break, Catharine,” Bess said.  “Look, your hand is all bloody.”

    “But the bars are beginning to wiggle,” Catharine said, getting down from Agnes’ back.  She dabbed the blood from her hands with a piece of cloth torn from her chemise.  “Are you up to it once more, Agnes?”

    “If you think you can get us out of this pest hole, my lady.  I pray you’ll refrain from doing this too often now that you are married.”

    “I do seem to be getting into a remarkable amount of pickles since my marriage to Peter.  I wonder if this is going to be standard fare from now on.”  She teetered on Agnes’ back. Bess held her behind her knees, and Agnes grunted. In less than a minute the bar gave before Catharine’s determined onslaught.  The bar slipped out of her fingers and tumbled out the window to the ground.

    Bess darted to the crack.  “No one is there.”

    Catharine climbed down.  “Beautiful, but we’ve no time to lose.  Bess, you first.”

    “But ... ”

    “No time for argument.   Up you go.  We’ll hope no one sees you.  It’s the only chance you have.”

    Catharine boosted Bess to the window.  The girl grabbed the one bar, and pulled while Catharine heaved, pushing with her legs.  Bess disappeared out the window with a low shriek.  They heard a thump as she landed on the ground.

    Damn.  At the crack, Catharine watched Ned grab Bess.  The girl kicked, bit, and scratched until a hard cuff stunned her.

    Seconds later the key grated in the lock, and the door flung open on a cocky Ned and a stunned Bess.  He dumped Bess on the floor at Catharine’s feet.  “Yer fun to watch,” he said, closing the door and locking it from the inside.  “I been watching ya work on da bars fer da last ’our.  Ya caint escape ya know.”  He held up the key.

    “You could join us.”  Catharine gestured.  “My offer of working for the House of Trevor still holds.”

    “Me da would ’unt me down if I disobeyed ’im.”

    “We have half a hundred manors where we can hide you or we could send you over the Narrow Sea to our trading concerns in the Low Countries.  We can protect you.”

    Ned shook his head.  “Lady Trobridge, me life be worthless if he found I betrayed ’im..   I be sorry.”

    Catharine dived for the boy, and knocked him down.  Bess and Agnes joined in the wild tangle of flying feet and fists.  Twice Ned broke free, but they downed him again and again until the boy lay stunned on the floor.  The women bound and gagged him with strips of cloth torn from their clothes.

     A heavy fist banged on the door.  “Shut up or I be comin and give ye what fer,”  the cook shouted. After several minutes of silence, Catharine pointed to the window.  Bess climbed through and landed with a thud. Agnes followed.

    “Hurry up, Catharine,”  Bess whispered urgently against the crack.  “I can hear Carnahan in the public room.”

    Catharine leaped and grabbed the single bar to pull herself up and the door latch rattled..  Every nerve in her body jumped.

    “Where’s the key?”  Carnahan’s voice demanded.  Catharine almost lost her grip, but scrabbled against the wall with her feet for support.

    “Ned must have it,” the cook said.

    Halfway through the window her skirt caught.  She kicked again and the skirt tore free, dropping her to the ground in only her chemise.  Agnes poked the skirt and tugged.  It fell free in her hands.  The three of them ran for the main street, Catharine fastening the skirt as they went.

    They darted between carts, horses, and shops.  Catharine  glanced back and saw several armed men in pursuit.  Where do we go now?  We can’t keep this up for long.  Bishopgate Street and the Trevor Great House were still too far.  There - a small church.  St. Ann’s of Renet, a sanctuary church.  They’d not committed a civil crime so they could not claim sanctuary, but the idea of committing violence in a church ran against the nature of most men.  That might save them.  “To the church!  We can rest there and send someone to Peter.”

    They dashed into the church only steps ahead of their pursuers.  Catharine slammed the heavy door in their faces, but their angry eyes and grimaces made her flesh crawl.  The men made no attempt to follow.

    Dim and cool inside, the church was lit through stained glass windows representing the Nativity and scenes of the young Christ in the Temple confounding the elders.  Catharine genuflected to the alter and moved off past the pews to the chapel of St. Giles.  They stood in the shadows, allowing their eyes to adjust.  Candles lit for the souls of the living and the dead banked the great alter.  A shadow, gigantic in size, moved toward them with purposeful strides.  “Who’s there?”

    Catharine drew in a surprised breath.  “Father Nesbit.”

    The tall priest stopped.  His face pale in the dim light, brightened in recognition.  “Lady Trobridge.”

    “Aye.  Criminals are chasing us.  We were seeking safety,”  Catharine said.

    “No one will brother you here,”  the priest said.  “This must be Lady Elizabeth Trevor.”  He frowned at the child, and glanced sharply at Catharine.  “But I don’t understand.  All the city knows she was taken for ransom three days ago.  We’ve been praying ever since.”

    “We found her, but the criminals captured us.  We’ve just escaped.”  Catharine sensed anger in the priest.

     His dark eyes accessing her, he tapped his ink-stained fingers together.  “I will send a man to your husband, Lady Trobridge.  He will send an escort I’m sure.  You’ll excuse me while I send my servant,”  Nesbit disappeared wraith-like into the shadows.   

    “I don’t trust him, Catharine,”  Bess whispered.  “He makes my skin crawl.”

    “A strange one, lassie,”  Agnes muttered.

    “I know what you mean.  He’s made to walk the graveyards at night,”  Catharine agreed.

    “Did you see his fingers?” Bess asked.  “Uck.”

    “Aye.  He was at Lady Stanley’s that day,” Catharine said.  “The man is Bishop Morton’s nephew.”

    “Here he comes,”  Bess said, voice uneasy.

    Nesbit appeared from the shadows at Catharine’s elbow.  “Lady Trobridge, I sent my servant to alert your husband.  Please come this way. You can use the chamber next to my quarters to rest and feel secure until Lord Trobridge arrives.”  He led the way through a series of rooms to the right of the alter.

    “You must forgive me,” he said.  “I have a small business as a scribe.  It affords me a modest living.  I have clientele waiting.  Please make yourselves comfortable.”  He gestured to an ancient settle, and several worn chairs scattered around the room.  A table with crucifix and two candlesticks stood in one corner.  “Tis poor, but comfortable.  I would offer you food and drink, but I have none.”  He bowed and shut the oak door between the chambers.

    Catharine sank into a chair backed on the edge of the doorframe between the two chambers.  Bess wandered the floor, restless, and Agnes stretched out on the settle.  Catharine leaned her head back and close her eyes, trying to relax.  But her body refused, remaining taught, expecting more action.  Nothing worked.  Low urgent voices rumbled in the next room.  She sat up, something inside screaming danger.  Pressing her ear to the door and door frame, she waved Bess to silence.

    “Carnahan wants them back,” the low voice whispered hot with anger.  “No one knows they’re here but you.  We can take them quietly.”  Catharine felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

    She heard a chair shove back.  “This is a church,”  Nesbit said, voice sharp.  “I will not have it.”

    “You’d cross Carnahan?  You hold your life cheap.”  A short laugh barked from the disbelieving man.

    “Don’t threaten me.”  Nesbit spat. “I am Bishop Morton’s nephew, and worth a hell of ’a lot more to certain people then Carnahan is.”

    “We all know your trade, Robin.”  Admiration mixed with contempt filled his voice.

    “I prefer my corruption with a certain education, Harold.  I create events in other people’s minds with what I do.”

    Harold laughed.  “So how can we accommodate Carnahan and still keep your church inviolate?”

    “You can take the women outside the church.  I told them I sent my servant  to Lord Trobridge.  I didn’t of course, but Lady Trobridge believes me.”  He chuckled.  “Shortly, I shall tell them Lord Trobridge has arrived.  Wait, in the street, outside this door.  I’ll send them into your waiting arms.”

    Harold’s laugh ended in a whistle.  “They said you were the lowest of the low, and cunning, too.  And you a priest.  Why?”

    “I am sworn to certain loyalties, Master  Harold.  I am answerable to mighty people even as you are.  I don’t know the rewards of heaven, but I have a healthy regard for what will happen if I cross these people on this Earth.  Wait outside.  I’ll send them to you.”

    Betrayed.  A sick feeling moved through Catharine’s body.  She stood, and moved to the candlesticks on the table.  The door opened and Nesbit smiled his way into the room.  “Your husband is outside waiting for you, Lady Trobridge.”

    “Thank you, Father,”  Catharine said.  When Nesbit turned back to his room, Catharine swept the candlestick up and down.  He crumpled to the floor under the astonished gazes of Agnes and Bess.  “He betrayed us,”  Catharine whispered.  “Carnahan’s men wait outside that door.”

    They hurried into Nesbit’s room, and quietly barred the door to the outside from the inside.  The room was littered with parchment.  Letters and documents stacked on the tables and chests.  Catharine picked up a letter, and something was familiar about the handwriting.   Disturbed and curious, she folded it, and tucked the document in the waist of her skirt.

    Catharine opened a chest, and fished out a cloak, and two monk’s robes.  “Put them on,”  Catharine said.  They walked out of the room, passed the unconscious Nesbit, and went into the church proper.

    Agnes chuckled.

    “What’s so funny?”  Catharine cracked the front door open.

    “I can imagine you telling Lord Peter how we escaped from a brothel.”

    “Mother of God, Agnes.  That’s one thing I can do without.  We have a mile to get home.  Let’s go.”  They left the church and fell in behind a manure cart.

    “A foul experience, Aunt Catharine,” Bess said with a snicker.

    “Do try to avoid stepping in what’s falling off the cart.”  Catharine slipped  and cursed.  Agnes grabbed her, and pulled her out of the way of another cart right behind them. They stood to the side of the street while Catharine attempted to clean the stinking mess off her legs.  Agnes cackled.  Bess laughed.