Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (24 page)

George sat
down again and waited.

“I
would not wish,” said Richard slowly, “that anyone else should suffer
for my own behaviour. So - I must tell you that whatever deception there has
been regarding the horse - I know naught of any charms, however - is my
own.”

“
Your
deception?” Davison regarded him disbelievingly.

“Yes.”
Richard was frowning as though trying to make sense of something. “The
truth is that - I
have
received threats - made directly by
correspondence to me, and recently - relating to my horse, Galingale, from -
acquaintances of this Giddens.”

“And
you told no-one of this?”

“I
told one other. One that I believed would help me.”

“And
that other was?” asked the undersheriff.

“Sir
John Widderis,” said Richard.

Davison
threw back his head and laughed. “Sir Richard! You expect me to believe
that? Come now!”

“It is
the truth,” said Richard. “He had received no such threats, but then
he is not a Justice of the Commission of the Queen’s Peace. Together we came to
an agreement that he would aid me by putting my own horse, Galingale, under the
scrutiny of his servants, the ones he set to guard The Fly, at the Hart and
Hawthorn. In the meantime, the horse lodged at the Blue Boar
is
also my
horse, Galingale’s full brother Gallus, older by two years. I did not lie to
you.”

“But
everyone knows that you and Sir John are at odds with one another in all
things!”

“Not
all
things
,
” corrected Richard. “And do not believe he
assisted me entirely from Christian duty - ” he gave the word
“Christian” an ironic twist, “- nor neighbourliness only. Sir
John, like me, wishes to match his horse with the best - and would do whatever
was required to ensure the horses were fit to run against each other on the
morning of the match. It served his needs as well as mine. The true Galingale
was disguised only slightly by covering his star.”

“And
the horse I rode?” asked George. “Which one was that?”

“You
have ridden the true Galingale,” said Richard, with the ghost of a smile.
“They are very alike. Gallus is a fine horse, but he has not the heart of
Galingale; and he has a slight deficiency in one leg, a splint that is
currently causing occasional lameness. He may pass through it to soundness
again. Neither of them should come to harm, if I could so choose it; but of the
two …” He left the words hanging in the air. Silence fell for a time as
two of them digested what Richard had said; and Richard himself pondered on the
outcome of his revelation.

Eventually
he spoke. “With regard to the match …” He stopped.

“It is
very irregular, Sir Richard,” said the undersheriff soberly. “Very
irregular. Did you not consider how it would appear? That - you might be
attempting to - to - effect a particular outcome to the match? That the very
reason for our calling for the horses to be stabled in Marcaster prior to the
match - to avoid deception - would be subject to abuse - and by one of the
participants in collusion with the other! It looks very bad, Sir Richard.”

“Yes.
There is - more - that I think I must tell you.” Richard seemed very
reluctant to speak. “It was not only my horse that was threatened. It was
also - my family. My daughters.”

“My
God, Richard,” said George. “Does Anne know of this?”

“No,”
said Richard, soberly. “I did not tell her. I thought it best to wait
until - after the Assizes.”

“You
have been bearing this knowledge all alone?”

“Yes.
Even Sir John does not know the full extent of it.”

“D’you
have the letters?” asked the undersheriff.

“Yes.
But not with me. They are safe.”

“From
what you recall, would you say they were in the same hand as this? From the
same source?”

Richard
shook his head slowly. “No, I would not; I would need the other notes to
compare; but no, I would say they were a different and less educated hand; and
the paper was not so good.” He turned swiftly to George. “Forgive me,
my boy, for not telling you the whole of it; it concerned me that you might
also be at risk if word spread that you were to ride my horse for me in the
match. It was a difficult decision, but I hoped that the Assize would deal with
all - bring all to an end.”

Silence fell.

“I had
hoped that Sir George would ride Galingale,” explained Richard to the
undersheriff.

“You
do not wish to continue with the match?” asked Davison. “You wish to
withdraw your horse?”

“As
you say - the circumstances are - irregular.”

Davison
called for more wine.

“As to
the irregularity,” he said, “it is so; but perhaps the circumstances
justify it.”

“Both
my horses have been - will have been - stabled in Marcaster for the necessary
period before the match,” Richard pointed out.

“Just
so,” said Davison. “And this evidently provides no problem for Sir
John.” He sounded thoughtful. “Perhaps the circumstances could be
overlooked, if … if … ” He glanced at Richard questioningly and then
across at George, “if you gentlemen - and Sir John, of course - would
accept a third runner in this match?”

“In
principle, yes,” said Richard, sounding surprised. “Who did you have
in mind?”

“My
lad, Ned,” said Davison. “It would give me - and Ned - great pleasure
to participate and we have a suitable horse, here in Marcaster.”

It was
difficult for George to read Richard’s expression. Irritation? Confusion?
Surprise? Eventually Richard nodded and there was no mistaking the genuine
surprise in his voice.

“Aye,
I agree to it, if Sir John agrees; and I see no reason why he will not.”

“Good,
good,” said Davison, looking pleased.

“And
now,” said Richard, rising to his feet, “there are many matters that
I need to deal with regarding my horses. Gallus is slightly lame and that is in
need of attention. And as I need to communicate with Sir John, I will advise
him of our agreement in principle and of events to date.”

Somehow in
all of this, George thought with relief, Meg has been forgotten. He glanced at
the undersheriff, who was looking quite satisfied with himself. George decided
he would take the first opportunity to visit Meg at the inn and say that there
would be no further action - yet - but that she had better keep her nose out of
sight and be on her best behaviour. He found the opportunity when they went to
visit Galingale - the true Galingale - at the Hart and Hawthorn.

But Meg was
not there; nor was Matthew. When asked of their whereabouts, the host simply
shrugged and looked blankly at him. They might return; or they might not. They
had paid for several more days, but of the three of them and their belongings,
there was no sign.

“We
have a choice here, George,” said Richard Grasset as they viewed the
ground. “To take a longer course round the woodland - it would make the
entire course some five miles - or to divert through the wood along this
ride.”

George
nodded, trying to avoid looking across to distant Gibbet Hill, where an empty
cage swung about gently in the breeze. The remains of the last criminal to hang
out to view had now been thrown into unhallowed ground. Before too long though,
it was likely to have another occupant, Giddens, the robber and murderer.
George told himself to attend to the matter in hand. They had seen to Richard’s
horses, who were now both standing in the stables of the Hart and Hawthorn
alongside The Fly, and under the care of some very chastened servants who had
been warned to let no-one else -
no-one else
- other than Sir Richard or
Sir George anywhere near them. Sir Richard had said he was minded to make the
servants eat a little of the hay that was fed to his horses and drink some of
their water, to make sure it was not tainted in any way. And by the look on his
face he meant it.

It was a
relief to the two men to ride out to view the course itself and to walk it. The
woodland was mostly second growth and as they walked along, the ride became
little more than a path in parts. Under last autumn’s fallen leaves, the earth
was rich and black. It began to run downhill, leading to a small stream. They
stood on the bank to examine the slight drop. The ground sloped out of the
water on the further side with an old rotting tree stump about five feet high,
quite thick-girthed, to the left as they viewed it. A broader access ride
crossed the track at right angles at this point, roughly following the course
of the stream.

“The
leap will be nothing to Galingale,” said Richard and George agreed. He
mentally assessed the best angle to leave the bank, avoiding the stump and
getting the best start on the further side. After a few minutes he nodded, sure
that he had a strong visual impression of the place. They both managed to jump
onto the further side without difficulty and turned to view the bank from the
far side.

“Very
well,” said George, half to himself, as they carried on through the wood.
The track opened out and they came back out onto turf again.

“So,
then, we can sweep round once more - the course will be marked with flags - and
come back round to the start. What think ye?”

George
shrugged. “‘Tis all one to me, Richard. What of Sir John? He should have a
say in this; and the sheriff, who will oversee all?”

“The
undersheriff, you mean. I think Sir John will be content with our decision, whatever
that may be; and as for the undersheriff …” Richard left the thought
hanging, and George once again thought that there was some deeper matter there.

“Well,
I am content with the woodland course,” said George, thinking that it
would give an opportunity for skilful riding.

“Very
well,” said Richard. “I am happy with your choice, George. Galingale
is sure-footed and the going will suit him well. And he flies obstacles like a
bird. I have heard that The Fly, perhaps despite his name, does not …”

“Are
you sure that Sir John will approve then?”

“The
Fly will manage the bank, if not as skilfully as Galingale. I think Sir John
will be depending on the horse’s speed to get ahead and keep that lead. But I
doubt if he can do that over three trials. There is an advantage for him in
agreeing the shorter course, because I think The Fly will be winded before
Galingale … “

“That
is useful knowledge,” said George. “Y’make no mention of Davison’s
lad, though?”

“He’ll
do well to keep either of you in view!”

“Let
us hope so,” said George.

* * * * *

The
Guildern pigman, who had lodged himself in Marcaster to await Clink’s trial,
was surprised, but not displeased, when a small boy arrived with a message to
say that his father had some pigs for sale and would he come and look at them?
After all, his principal business on this side of the country had been as a regrater
- purchasing young pigs and arranging to have them fattened and sent to
wherever he could find the most lucrative market for them. Acting as a
middleman like this was seen as almost a moral crime, but for the pigman it was
all in a day’s work.

And so he
found himself following the lad through a maze of streets and alleys in
Marcaster, to a dirty, rundown and derelict-looking row of cottages. The roof
of one was burned and fallen in and the whole row looked deserted. Still - this
was certainly a place where pigs might be kept. There was the smell and look of
piggeries about it and when dwellings were abandoned they were often used for
storage or animal housing. The boy gestured to him to come along.

“How
far now, lad?” asked the pigman.

“Just
here, master,” said the lad. “Back o’ this wall.”

As the
pigman walked round the corner, he was grabbed by several people and a gag
forced into his mouth. Then a sack - a very smelly sack - was put over his head
and his arms were pinned to his body by a rope encircling him. The next thing
he knew was that he was being hustled inside some building - things went even
darker in an instant - and dumped into a wet, stinking place. His legs were
fastened up quickly and finally the sack was removed and replaced by a blindfold.
He realised that not only was he tied up, he was fastened to a ring in the wall
that permitted him only enough freedom to lie on the floor.

“Mmmmfff,
fffmmmfff!” said the pigman, trying to kick and hurl himself about. He
guessed that there were three or four of them - it was hard to tell precisely.

“See
how ye like it, then!” said a woman’s voice. There was the sound of a door
shutting and something that might be a piece of wood being rammed against it
hard. Then - nothing.

“Fmmmphh
nnnmfffmphhh!” said the pigman, kicking his bound feet out wildly in
frustration.

Distantly,
there came the sound of a woman’s raucous laughter.

* * * * *

George had
been in court before when Judge Samuel Selby was presiding and so he had some
idea of what to expect. It was difficult to say who was more in awe of Judge
Selby; criminals or the officers of the law. There was certainly silence in
court when he came stamping irritably into the courtroom. The Clerk of the
Assizes did not have to ask for all to rise; they were already standing and the
room was so quiet that even a dropped pin would not dare to make a noise.

The air was
filled with the smell of herbs. Rosemary, rue and lemon balm predominated, as
they were strewn everywhere, but there was also the fresh scent of lavender and
the rich odour of southernwood. All the court officials, including the judge,
carried tussiemussies with the same herbs in them to help ward off sickness,
since jails, criminals and courtrooms were held to be sources of disease. Some
of the people in the courtroom carried comfort apples, which were apples
stuffed with cloves, with the same purpose as the tussiemussies. As the day
went on, the fresh, strong scents would be overcome by the smell of humanity.

Judge Selby
was small, irascible and sandy-haired, with a face that could quickly turn
purple and eyes that seemed to pop from his head when roused to anger. He
dominated the bench. George, taking careful mental notes to recount to Sim
afterwards, thought that he would enjoy teasing his cousin that this was the
fate that awaited him in due course if he rose to authority and did not curb
his own peppery temper.

“S’blood,
as you would say, cousin,” he imagined himself saying, “I swear, I
could see a similarity betwixt you both - only you have the advantage of more
hair than Judge Selby - for the present.”

Selby was
looking down the list of presentments as though he had never seen it before.
Then he sniffed and looked around the courtroom with a bored expression on his
face whilst the Clerk read it out. The first on the list was Clink, who had
given one of his various names to the constable who had collared him. So it was
that “John Parkins” was brought into court and stood up before the
judge and jury.

Clink
seemed thin and poor to Ruby, who was perched on the end of a bench in the
public part of the court, hoping that Sir George would not see or remember her.
Clink was so white and unhappy looking that her heart went out to him. The
people around her were not really interested in Clink’s trial. They were
awaiting the arrival of the villain who had threatened the horses the previous
year and who had yesterday been in court accused of murdering the old man in a
robbery. He had been found guilty and would hang for sure and if Clink hanged
too, well, all the more fun, thought the crowd. Ruby found herself twisting her
hands together in an agonised way. If only their ruse worked; few people passed
by where they’d left the pigman and, God willing, there he’d stay till it was
all over. Then they’d let him out. This must work. It
had
to work.

The Clerk
of the Assizes was asking Sir George to step forward for a last word on, the
deposition he had brought. Then he glanced round the court. Not seeing what, or
rather, who he wanted, he spoke to George and then the judge. Selby’s face
began to turn purple.

“Well,
man, where in God’s name is he? Eh? Eh?”

George,
realising that the principal witness - and victim - was missing, prepared for
the explosion. The Clerk sent a messenger scurrying off to the pigman’s
lodgings in search of him. Selby waited, irritably drumming his fingers, for
some time. Suddenly he banged his fist down hard on the arm of his chair.

“I’ll
wait no longer, man! This case is already rotten with irregularities and
Justice Brough himself is not in attendance due to some indisposition.
Feeble-witted, the lot of you! What have we next on the list? Eh?”

Clink was
removed again and the next case brought. Proceedings moved along fairly swiftly
through minor matters until they reached the principal event of the day. When
the short, stocky bald man was brought in chains to be sentenced, accompanied
by two strong warders with cudgels, George looked at Giddens with interest.
After all, this criminal had threatened Richard’s horses - and his family. The
man looked as though he had great strength and spirit and on a couple of times
it seemed he would shake off his warders’ restraining grip and reach for the
judge. He reminded George of a bulldog he had once seen that had pulled its
handler off his feet and dragged him along the ground.

Judge Selby
seemed to relish the murderer’s proximity. Yesterday he had taken little interest
in the uncontested evidence and, now that the man had been found guilty, he
sentenced him to hang with as little compunction as if he had been sending him
to have his hair cut. Of the various methods of capital punishment available
for such a notable robbery, Selby decided that Giddens was to be hanged until
dead and then his body taken to Gibbet Hill and exposed in a cage. The prisoner
was taken out bellowing and threatening the judge. It took five men to remove
him safely and the courtroom was filled with gasps and murmurs. George found
that he was watching Selby wide-eyed, much as he might regard an unpredictable
animal.

Passing the
death sentence seemed to leave the judge in as good a mood as if he had eaten a
grand meal. He settled peaceably onto the bench and almost smiled. There was
some discussion as to what should be done regarding Clink, with the judge
increasingly of the opinion that it was growing late and the case should be
dismissed.

“Hell
take it, man!” he said to the Clerk, although everyone could hear it.
“If the victim himself is not sufficiently concerned to appear … and I
am sure Sir George and Sir Richard have more important matters to attend …
eh? Eh?”

George
murmured something. The judge prepared to leave the court. Everyone stood up.
Then it was, to Ruby’s horror, that a man came hurriedly into the courtroom,
pushing aside the officials that tried to stop him. Reeking, covered in dirt,
with filth all over his face, the pigman was the personification of an
indignant victim. He started on a long explanation of what had happened to keep
him from court.

“Oh my
Lord,” said Ruby, putting a hand to her face to hide it.