A Spy For The Redeemer

Twenty-three

Geese squawked in the courtyard at Freythorpe Hadden, chased by Walter the gatekeeper’s young boy. The gatehouse was silent today, the men away for the day, cutting timber. Tildy moved her stool out of the sunlight. Mending was easier in half-light, where she did not squint.

‘It is pleasant out here,’ Daimon said. ‘I thank you for your trouble.’

‘And who deserves it more than you?’ Tildy dropped her work, smiled at Daimon. She hoped the sun might revive him. She did not like his pallor, the shadows under his eyes. He had good reason to be so, trapped in the house all this while. He had insisted on walking across the hall and out to the chair, but two servants had walked with him and he had been grateful for their support when he stumbled. Tildy had set out a high-backed chair, a stool so he might prop up his legs, a blanket and some cushions. Once settled, he looked much cheered to be outside.

‘A man is not meant to sit idle by the fire,’ Daimon said.

They sat in a companionable silence for a time, until Hoge, the gardener, appeared. Taking off his sweat-stained hat, he bobbed his head towards Daimon and Tildy. ‘Master. Mistress.’ His dark hair was matted to his head on this warm day, his young face spotted with sunburn. He did not meet Tildy’s or Daimon’s eyes, but rather watched the ground. ‘I would have my say to Master Galfrey, if he were about, but as he is not, I shall say to you. If you be not pleased with my work in the garden, you might make your complaint afore having others come behind my back.’ He twisted his hat in hands stained green and brown by his work.

Tildy could see that the speech had cost him much anxiety. ‘I am satisfied with your work, Hoge,’ she said. ‘I know nothing of others coming behind your back. Whence comes this complaint?’

‘The maze, Mistress. All tilled up. I know not why you would wish me to do such a thing, encourage the mud on the paths, but you had only to ask.’

‘Tilled the paths?’ Daimon muttered. ‘What nonsense is this? I pray you, go with him, Matilda, see what has happened.’

Hoge turned round and with his characteristic gait, caused by a poorly formed foot, led Tildy to the maze, where someone had, indeed, been digging up the paths. The gravel was mixed with the dirt.

‘I do not understand,’ said Tildy. ‘Why would one do this?’

‘I ask the same, Mistress. What does Master Galfrey know of the garden?’

‘Do you know that he ordered this?’

‘Nay. But who else? You have more sense, as does Master Daimon.’ Hoge shook his head at the mess.

Tildy was pleased by his words, but disturbed by her second puzzle today. She could not think of a reason Harold might order this. He was too busy with the gatehouse. ‘I suppose you might press it down well, then add more gravel,’ she said.

‘Aye, that is what is to be done, for certain, Mistress.’

But why had someone done such a thing? ‘Is it so all the way to the heart of the maze, Hoge?’

‘Aye, it is, and dug up well even beneath the benches. But the path the other side is not so much disturbed.’

Had someone been digging, not tilling? Tildy did not want to put thoughts in the man’s head. ‘Could you guide me through the maze so I might see?’ She had been through the maze many times the past summer, with Gwenllian and Hugh. She thought she might notice if anything had been changed, but Hoge would be the more likely one to make note of anything. ‘Show me all that is amiss.’

‘It is muddy, Mistress. Are you certain you wish to walk it?’

‘I am.’

She stepped with care and soon regretted her idea. But how else might she be able to describe this clearly to Alfred and Gilbert? They were away today, searching for the thatcher who Daimon thought might bear a grudge against the D’Arbys. The digging seemed rather shallow, though in some places the soil was quite churned up, with various textures visible. In the centre, where four stone benches flanked a flagstone area rather overgrown with thyme, one of the flagstones had been pried up and reset.

‘Careless work, that,’ Hoge said, shaking his head mournfully.

‘Can you reset it properly?’ Tildy asked.

‘I can if it pleases you.’

‘It would, Hoge.’ Tildy looked round, saw nothing else amiss but the digging. ‘What a great deal of pointless work.’

‘Someone made sport of me, mayhap,’ Hoge said.

‘Why?’

He ducked his head and looked away. Tildy was mystified, but asked no more. ‘Thank you for showing me this, Hoge. Please repair it when you have time. I shall tell the steward to loan you a good worker to assist you.’

‘Thank you, Mistress.’

Tildy walked back to Daimon wishing he were not so frail. She would like to confide in him, but she did not wish to worry him.

She could not connect this incident to what she had witnessed early this morning. She had come across Nan with a basket of food. Seeing Tildy, the cook quickly covered the contents, said she was taking food to Walter the gatekeeper and his family, who had moved into the cottage the previous day. Later Tildy had learned that Walter’s family had not yet moved.

She wondered whether Nan’s son was about.

Late in the afternoon, after helping Daimon inside, Tildy went out to the stables to confide in Alfred and Gilbert. Unfortunately, Harold came in as they talked. Alfred and Gilbert nodded as Tildy described the churned-up garden path. Harold shook his head.

‘A riddle, that, the garden path,’ said Gilbert.

‘A puzzling mischief it is,’ Harold agreed. ‘I shall have two men watch either entrance tonight. If the deed is not complete, we might just catch the culprit.’

‘What of Nan’s son, Joseph?’ Tildy asked. ‘Has anyone seen him?’

‘Have you asked Nan about him?’ Harold asked.

‘She might not wish us to know,’ said Tildy.

Harold grinned. ‘She is too much for you.’

Alfred and Gilbert smiled.

Tildy wondered about trusting them. They seemed too friendly with Harold.

‘I know that she is ill-tempered,’ said Harold, ‘but who here could replace her?’

I could, Tildy thought, and peace would reign. ‘Thank you for setting a watch tonight,’ she said to Harold. Then, turning to Gilbert and Alfred, she asked, ‘What of Jenkyn the thatcher?’

Gilbert stretched out his legs and yawned as Alfred said, ‘We found him easy enough. He is working on a roof nearby. He seems a courteous sort.’

‘Jenkyn is a courteous sort, is he?’ asked Tildy. ‘That is not what some of the maidservants have told me.’

Alfred shrugged.

Tildy turned to Harold. ‘Will you be talking to Jenkyn?’

Harold had two reactions to Tildy of late. He either frowned at her as if she had said something quite irritating, or he laughed at her. Now he frowned. ‘And why would I be doing that? Surely he is too weary at day’s end to come over and dig up the maze.’ Now he grinned.

Tildy’s right hand burned she wanted so to slap him.

Alfred and Gilbert also smiled.