The Fugitive Queen (23 page)

“Good enough,” said Peter, “though . . .” At which point he broke off and he and Clem exchanged glances so meaningful that I said: “But what? Is something wrong?”

“Not about coming here, mistress,” said Clem. “However, there's summat to tell you . . .”

He trailed off. I waited, and he said: “We'd fixed to meet Mistress
Holme and the girls at t'market, and speak with Kate and Mabel and their mother about a double wedding date, now that I've a place and somewhere to bring Mabel, and a chance of a future. Only . . .”

Clem stopped and his round face suffused from outdoor pink to infuriated crimson. Then he said: “We met Mistress Holme and t'lasses, all among the crowds and t'stalls, and we were standin' together in t'road and I were tellin' Mabel and her mother what I'd got in mind, and Mabel stares at me as if I'm crazy and then bursts out that she doesn't want to be t'wife of a servant; she thought we'd rent a place we could look on as our own; maybe t'farm our new chickens come from.”

“The old tenant died. That's why t'birds were for sale. Landlord's looking for another tenant,” Peter put in.

“I know t'place,” said Clem. “Out on t'moor, ten miles toward York. I wouldn't want it. T'land's too high and soil's too thin for good crops. We'd have a hard life there. I said we'd do better here till we could rent some good land in three or four years' time. That's what I said to Mabel. I never would have thought . . .!”

“T'fact is, Mistress Stannard,” said Peter, “Clem here and Mistress Mabel had a bit of a disagreement, there and then, in the middle of t'fair. Mistress Mabel started crying . . .”

“A
bit
of a disagreement! Hah! I've never been that embarrassed, never in my life,” said Clem. He looked it, too. As an act of mercy, I refilled his tankard for him. He buried his scarlet face in it and took a long gulp before raising his head to say: “She cried and created and carried on t'way I never thought to hear any girl go on, and there were people all round, gawping and laughing and
listening
 . . .”

“As if it were a show, like the sword swallower they had there last May Day or t'freak they had the year before, with a face all skewed up,” said Peter. “Mabel were gettin' a better audience than either on 'em.”

“I saw that fellow Whitely, whose place I've taken, grinnin' in the crowd,” said Clem resentfully. “Thinkin' I'd got my comeuppance
for being after his place, I 'spect. And there's Mabel sayin' I'm pulling her down in the world, workin' for another man . . .”

“And then,” said Peter, “her sister Kate—my Kate; she's great in t'dairy and pretty as a flower but there's no doubt she's got a way of tryin' to be clever—interrupts and says no, no, lass, he's not workin' for a man; he'll be workin' for Mistress Stannard and Mistress Penelope Mason.”

“Then Mabel starts to shout that she s'poses it's all a trick to make her break off the betrothal so as I can go sweepin' my hat off to Mistress Pen and makin' up to her and her acres instead an' . . .” Poor Clem, quite overcome, gave up in mid-sentence and once more plunged his face into the sanctuary of his tankard.

“I know Mistress Holme sees Pen as a sort of rival,” I said. “She still has three girls to settle and doesn't want any new young unmarried women in the district. I suppose she's infected your Mabel. Oh dear.”

“Mistress Holme worries about t'lasses,” said Peter tolerantly. “Five's a lot and she's been on her own with t'bother of it since her man died. Infected Mabel—aye, that'll be it, exactly. She'll have fussed and talked about it at home, and said that likely enough, Mistress Pen with her good dowry will mean one prospect less for t'three younger ones, and Mabel listened and took it all to heart and can't bear to think of havin' owt to do wi' Tyesdale. That'll be t'size of it.”

“Fact is,” said Clem glumly, emerging from his ale, “Mabel's a bit excitable-like and I've never been one for much billin' and cooin'; I've not been over to Lapwings makin' pretty speeches. I reckoned it were all arranged and there weren't no need for all that. We'd wed and then I'd be a good husband, I hope, but . . .”

“Oh dear,” I said, again.

“T'fact
is,
” Clem burst out, “I want a good sensible lass, not one that carries on in t'middle of a fair and pulls a crowd just
like
a bloody sword swallower! So I told Mabel that I hadn't thought of it up to now, but t'way she was actin' and shoutin', maybe I
would
do better elsewhere—though I said nowt about Mistress Mason,” he added hastily. “I'm to be workin' for her and I know my right place and how to show respect. It's Mabel that wasn't
showin' respect, mistress, and I'm sorry you should even know of it, except I knew I'd have to explain that Mabel wouldn't be coming here after all. I never meant to speak of it so frankly, but it just burst out of me, like. All I said to Mabel was, I might do better elsewhere. Then I said it was up to her; if she wanted to call it off, it was all right by me and she said yes she did . . .”

“What on earth did her mother say to that?” I asked.

“Mabel, now, don't be hasty,”
said Peter. “I think she saw things were gettin' out o' hand. But Mabel just bawled louder than ever and screamed at her mother that she wouldn't marry Clem now if he were t'last man on earth, so there!”

“Mistress Holme started apologizing to me and saying t'lass was upset, and maybe if I took her for a walk round t'stalls and we had a quiet talk, it could all be put right,” said Clem. “But by then I didn't want to go walkin' wi' Mabel anywhere! So I said no thanks; I'd been dismissed in front o' witnesses and that was enough for me.”

“He got on his dignity and said he hoped he'd allus be Mistress Mabel's friend and good neighbor but there was no more question of marriage,” said Peter. “And then Mistress Holme smacked Mabel's head and told her she was a fool, and pushed Kate at me and told me at least to take
my
lass round t'market and not to let this spoil our plans. Which I did. I didn't even tell Kate off for interruptin' and upsettin' Mabel. Reckoned I ought to take it softly. I'm fond enough of Kate and she of me, and she
is
a great hand wi' t'butter and cream.”

“And I just walked off on my own,” said Clem. “But there it is. Mabel won't be comin' after all, mistress.”

“It'll probably all come right,” I said awkwardly. “Mistress Holme obviously wants the match to go ahead and I'm sure that when Mabel gets over her upset . . .”

“She can get over it or not as far as I'm concerned,” said Clem. “She broke it off there in front of half Fritton and that's it. I'll not lay myself open to't twice over. I won't marry her now, no, not if she and her mother both come here together and go down on bended knee to me.”

Peter set down his own tankard and stood up. “Time I took
my leave, mistress. I'll be over to see you, Clem, when I get time.”

“I'll dance at your wedding,” said Clem. “As long as Mabel's not my partner.”

“Maybe if she were . . .” I began.

“No, mistress,” said Clem quietly. “Beggin' your pardon, but not now. Truth to tell, her mother and mine fixed it up for me and Mabel. I'd been keen on another lass, over Bolton way, but her parents found her someone better off than me, so I didn't argue when Ma said she'd got Mabel for me. She didn't ask me my opinion. If she had, happen I'd have said I weren't that struck on Mabel. She's pretty but we all have our tastes and she's not that much to mine. Too much of a kitten-face and not
practical.
Kate's that, but not Mabel. I wouldn't have picked her, 'cept that at the time I didn't care much. Well, now I'm out of it, I'm staying out. Not Mabel now or ever.”

Away from Cecily, both the Moss boys seemed to blossom into forceful characters in the most remarkable way. Clem's angry flush had subsided, but his round face, which at first had looked so ingenuous, had somehow acquired contours of firmness, and when he said
not Mabel now or ever,
he meant it. “You're welcome with or without a wife,” I said.

Peter took his leave. Brockley and Ryder had just returned from another fruitless search for traces which might mean Harry's grave, so Brockley was in the house. I asked him to take Clem on a tour of the Tyesdale land. Then I took Pen and Meg out to discuss creating a proper herb garden next to the vegetable plot. As I had hoped, talking about the herb garden caught Pen's interest and when we went indoors again, she fetched writing things and made a list of the plants we wanted.

Ryder and Brockley were growing discouraged by their failure to find anything suspicious. I, too, now thought that our search would probably be in vain. I had still not written again to Hugh, but I couldn't put it off much longer. I must do it tomorrow, I thought. I must also talk with Brockley and decide how long we should go on looking before we gave up.

At least, life within Tyesdale was becoming more normal. We
had some music in the hall after supper that evening. Dick Dodd played his lute for us and everyone sang. Clem reported that he had removed the rusty old plow—“Broke it up, put it in sacks, in bits, mistress, and buried it in t'old diggings”—and assured me that his mother would be glad to let us have some herb plants.

I retired that night feeling quieter in my mind. I had performed my errands for the queen and Cecil. That at least was done. I ought to find a proper tenant for Tyesdale, who would pay a healthy rent to Pen. After that—well, perhaps we would have to give Harry up for lost. We knew who had killed him but what use was that if we couldn't prove it? I must, very soon, write that promised second letter to Hugh. When I did, I could ask if Harry's sword had had any other distinguishing mark besides the amethyst in the hilt. Meanwhile, I ought to think of sending Pen home, ahead of me if need be. I ought to get her away from here. I talked of these plans to Sybil for a while before we went to sleep and we agreed that they were good sense.

They were swept away within hours of being made. I was wakened by Meg, anxiously shaking me. “Mother—oh, Mother!”

“What is it?” I sat up in alarm. So did Sybil. It was daybreak and the birds were singing. “What's the matter, Meg?”

“Mother, I woke up and Pen was gone and I can't find her anywhere and then, on the window seat, weighed down with a workbox, I found
this,
” said my daughter, and thrust a note into my hand.

It was in Pen's writing. It was on the back of the list of herb plants. She was running away with Tobias. She had been meeting him when she rode out alone. Brief meetings, I gathered, but somehow they had managed it. Whenever she had been out of sight for ten minutes or so, she had not been simply on the other side of a stone wall or a fold of the land, but having a tryst with Tobias.

By the time I saw her again, said her note, she would be Mistress Tobias Littleton. She hoped I would understand and forgive her. She was sure I would. Had I not run away with my first husband? She was grateful for all my care of her, but she loved
Tobias. Like birds freed from a cage, they were taking flight together.

“She went during the night,” said Meg. “She must have
crept
out. I suppose he was outside, waiting to meet her.”

“My God,” I said, “what will her mother say to
this
?”

I left Meg at home, with Sybil, Dale, and the Appletrees. The rest of us rode off to hunt for the pair. Clem being new to the household, I told him how Meg had recognized the Thwaites at her kidnappers. Someone must go to Fernthorpe, I said, since Whitely knew the Thwaites and Tobias was his cousin. Clem at once volunteered, but he was so indignant that I sent Ryder and Dodd instead and despatched Clem to ask if the couple had approached the vicar at Fritton and to call at Moss House in case Cecily had news of them. Tom Smith I sent to Lapwings, while I took Brockley to Bolton.

We were all back home by sunset. There had been no trace of the missing lovers anywhere. The Thwaites said they hadn't set eyes on Whitely or Tobias in the last few days and had no idea where either of them might be. Ryder had asked bluntly if he might look upstairs “and they put on a show of being affronted but they let me. The bedchambers are better kept than the rooms downstairs, though not much, but there was no one up there.”

At Fritton vicarage, Moss House, and Lapwings, it was apparently all shaking heads and no, sorry, we've seen nothing of Master Littleton or Mistress Pen. The vicar and Cecily Moss were both scandalized and promised to keep a sharp lookout, but Cecily reckoned the couple had probably put as much distance as possible between Tyesdale and themselves and had very likely
made for York. She might well be right, I thought, in which case they had far too great a start.

At Bolton, Sir Francis had told me that Tobias had left the castle two days before. “Asked the Douglases to tell me on his behalf, packed his things, and went! Well, he must have thought he'd been caught out. I daresay he's annoyed with Lady Mary for being so indiscreet with you! I never said anything to him, you know. He must have wondered when I would! Maybe it's surprising he didn't go sooner. And now you say your ward's gone with him? What a way to behave!”

Sir Francis's inquiries into Tobias's background hadn't revealed that he was related to the Tyesdale steward. He did suggest that Tobias might have taken Pen to his own parents in Bolton, but a messenger who was sent off at speed to inquire came back to say that Tobias's family were very shocked to hear of the matter, knew nothing about it, and could not even suggest where Tobias might have taken Pen. They didn't know where Whitely might have gone, either.