The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 9

When I had finished speaking, Janet Overy rose and refilled my mazer, then resumed her place at the table, folding her hands in front of her.

'A remarkable story,' she said, 'with another behind it that you haven't told me, or why would so important a personage as the King's own brother have picked on you for such a mission? Rest assured, I shall certainly keep my eyes open for any strangers about the manor. As for Silas Bywater, I think I know the man you mean. I recollect seeing him once in Master Underdown's company when I went to Plymouth for stores. My son was with me at the time.' She changed the subject abruptly, balking at memories which were too painful to bear.

'You'll keep what I've told you to yourself,' I urged. 'Although I think Alwyn may know something.'

She smiled. 'I don't gossip with kitchen-maids… What was that?' She rose suddenly from the table, one finger held up in warning. On silent feet, she crossed to the door and looked outside, while I watched her anxiously. After a moment or two she turned round with a shake of her head.

'There's no one there. I'm hearing things. In any case,' she added optimistically, 'I don't think anyone could have overheard us. We've been keeping our voices low.' Relieved, but not quite convinced, I went outside to see for myself. The courtyard was still busy — the logs which I had earlier heard being carted up the track were now safely unloaded and stowed beneath the undercroft — but there was no one near the kitchen. I went back inside to finish the last of the doucettes. As I did so, I remembered something and opened the pouch attached to my belt, pulling out the limp, withering stem of knotgrass.

'This is what Silas Bywater asked me to give Master Underdown. Does it mean anything to you?'

The housekeeper picked it up and stared curiously at it before shaking her head. 'It's just knotgrass, as you told me. It's a common enough weed.'

'My mother once told me that it was poisonous.' Mistress Overy looked doubtful. 'I've never heard that said of it. But I don't know everything,' she admitted cheerfully, 'and your mother could have been right.' She put her head on one side, considering me. 'I thought you said Philip Underdown threw it away after you'd shown it to him. If that was the case, how do you still come to have it?'

'I picked it up and put it in my pouch when he wasn't looking. Don't ask me why. I suppose I was just curious about it and the effect it had on him. I could see that it meant something, even though he strenuously denied it. I'd forgotten about it until just now. Here, I'll get rid of it.'

I carried the grass to the door and tossed it outside. A small breeze caught it, whirling it up into the air, then dropping it in the dust of the courtyard.

'I'm keeping you from your work,' I said. 'Thank you for the food and for listening to me. I'll go now.'

'Get some rest,' she advised me, 'like your so-called master. James and Luke should have taken the truckle-bed up to your room by now. I'll send one of them to wake you if I see or hear anything suspicious. After being up all night, you must be tired.'

I acknowledged the fact and thanked her yet again. I was glad I had told her the truth. Janet Overy was a capable woman, and I trusted her ability to do as she had promised.

Furthermore, there was a good stout lock on the bedroom chamber door and a key to go with it. Neither Philip nor I could be surprised by anyone, provided I shut the window, for the vine worried me a little. When I reached the room, I found that the truckle-bed had indeed been set up against one wall, but its arrival appeared not to have disturbed my companion, who was still snoring lustily.

I laid down my cudgel, kicked off my boots and, without even stopping to remove my jacket, dropped on to the narrow mattress and was soon as soundly asleep as Philip. And, for all I know, as loudly snoring.

The sun was high in the sky when I awoke, and pouring in through the leaded panes of the window. Philip was sitting up on his bed, watching me closely.

'Ah,' he said, swinging his feet to the ground, 'you're awake at last, are you? I've been thinking.'

I was barely attending to his words, caught as I was by the sudden realization that I had exchanged one prison for another; the Turk's Head for Trenowth Manor, and that there was still a week of Philip Underdown's company to be endured before I was finally relieved of my charge. More, perhaps, if the situation on St Michael's Mount convinced King Edward that the Falcon must remain where she was. I thought longingly of my own company, the open road and freedom from care as I peddled my wares from one village to another. If only I had decided against visiting Exeter last Thursday morning, I should not now be wet-nursing a man I found it increasingly difficult to like.

I became aware that Philip was thrusting something at me. 'So here,' he said, 'you take it.'

'W-what?' I stuttered, trying to gather my thoughts together.

He almost spat in exasperation. 'You haven't listened to a word I've been saying. I want you to keep the King's letter until it' s time for me to embark at Plymouth next week — if all goes well, that is.' His reservations uncomfortably echoed my own. 'Put it somewhere safe.'

'Why?' I demanded, making no move to accept the letter from him.

'Because, as I have just explained, while your wits were plainly woolgathering, if — which St Michael and all his angels forfend! — anything should happen to me, it could be the first thing my attacker would look for about my person.

No one,' he sneered, 'would think of you carrying it. Put it in your pouch and guard it with your life.' The look he gave me implied that this was not a very valuable commodity.

I could see the force of his argument and was faintly surprised that he should show so much concern and foresight for his mission. Until now, he had behaved, in spite of all that had happened to him, as if he were immune to danger.

But at last he was beginning to act like a sensible man, conscious of his responsibilities. It was not therefore for me to discourage him. I took the letter, sealed with the royal seal, and put it into my pouch as he requested. I felt weighed down even further, as though my burden had increased tenfold.

It suddenly occurred to me that he had not asked about the stranger he swore he had seen that morning from the window. An odd omission for someone who had displayed so much anxiety at the time. And now I came to think of it, it was also strange that he had not stayed awake long enough for my report, but had fallen asleep on the bed. My earlier uneasiness returned. What had he been up to in my absence?

'Isobel Warden,' I began abruptly, then hesitated. 'what about her?'

'It would be foolish to antagonize the husband. We have other enemies to think about. To make another, deliberately, of the bailiff would be courting unnecessary trouble.' The curl of his lip became more pronounced. 'Do you think I'm a fool? I can work that out for myself.' 'I think you're rash and can be hasty when provoked. Although in this case, it was you who offered the provocation.'

He turned his head so that the light from the window fell on his bruised lip and swollen jaw. 'You don't call this provocation?'

'No. Retaliation. You knew the lady was married before you touched her.'

Philip laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. 'Holy Mother preserve us! What a prudish, pious young man you are, Roger Chapman! And if you think Isobel Warden is a lady, let me tell you you're mistaken. That woman is a harlot if ever I saw one. Before their marriage is much older, her husband will have more to get angry about than one arm around her waist and a gentle squeeze.'

'That's as may be,' I answered, swallowing my resentment at his reading of my character. 'But that's between him and her. Our priority is to make as little stir here as possible. If Edgar Warden starts complaining about you in the local alehouse, your whereabouts will soon be common property. We need to lie low. And since you have still failed to ask, I found no one in the woods this morning.'

'What?' He stared at me for a moment, obviously puzzled.

Then he recollected. 'Oh… Yes.' He seemed disconcerted, unsure how to reason away his forgetfulness. 'I came to the conclusion, after you had gone, that I had been mistaken.

What I saw was no more than a shadow of some branches moving in the breeze.' It was a lame explanation and he knew it. Before I could cavil, he got swiftly to his feet.

'Judging by the sun, it must be nearly noon. Dinner will be eaten and cleared away if we don't hurry.'

I let the matter drop, but resolved to keep an even closer eye on Philip and not let myself be duped again. But the suspicion that he had used my absence for some purpose of his own was stronger than ever.

The rest of the day passed as I feared much of the week before us must pass, eating and dozing and eating again. The life of the manor went on around us, but we had no active part to play. Philip attributed the servants' lack of curiosity about us to whatever explanation o four presence the steward had seen fit to give them.

'For you must know," he said, 'that I felt it necessary to tell Alwyn at least some of the truth.'

'I guessed as much.' I forbore to mention that I had imparted the whole story, including some bits of it which I was sure he would rather not have had told, to Janet Overy.

If the lady kept her counsel, as I felt certain she would, I saw no need to excite his anger. The only thing which worried me was Janet's fear that we might have been overheard, in spite of her later conviction that we could not have been.

Neither of us strayed from the courtyard, spending the afternoon with our backs propped against a wall of the house, basking in the frail warmth of the October sun and waiting until it should be four o'clock and supper-time. I guessed Philip was beginning to realize, as I had already done, that Trenowth Manor offered little more in the way of diversion than the Turk's head, and hoped that he would become reconciled to the fact. Otherwise, he was likely to try and make his own amusement, an attempt which would inevitably, in my view, involve Isobel Warden.

We attended Vespers in the manor chapel, which, on this Eve of St Faith, was conducted by the parish priest in the absence of the Trenowth chaplain, who had accompanied his master and mistress to London. He came fussing across the churchyard, hot and flustered and with apologies for being late, just as we were sitting down to supper. His rheumy old eyes brightened at the sight of the laden table, and there was no possibility of his refusing to stay and share it after the service. When we were all once more assembled in the kitchen and seated round the table, the first rumblings of hunger appeased by boiled chicken, bacon and peas, he allowed his attention to wander, settling it on Philip and myself.

'Alwyn has been telling me that you are a friend of Sir Peveril,' he said to Philip, 'and that you are travelling in this part of the country.' He raised his shaggy eyebrows, plainly inviting further confidences, but Philip merely grunted and continued eating. The priest went on unctuously: 'Sir Peveril is a good man. A great benefactor of the church." 'A very fine fellow,' Philip agreed and helped himself to a second portion of chicken.

'As for you sir,' the priest, whom the others addressed as Father Anselm, persevered, 'may I say how pleasant it is to find a gentleman who does not object to taking his meals with the lowlier members of the household and a humble parish priest, such as myself.'

'I don't like eating alone,' Philip answered brusquely, cramming his mouth with food and so preventing himself from speaking further.

Father Anselm smiled thinly, accepting that he was being bested in a game at which he normally excelled; extracting information from other people. 'Nevertheless, I regard it as praiseworthy that you do not hold aloof from your fellow men, unlike the other stranger in our midst who arrived at the ale-house in the village this morning. Not only did he not come to church for Vespers, but Thomas Aylward, the landlord, tells me that he has not deigned to leave his room since his arrival, and must have all his meals carried up to him by one of the serving wenches.'

I saw Philip's hand waver as it conveyed more food to his mouth, and my head jerked up.

'A stranger?' I demanded. 'In the village?' Village was perhaps too dignified a description of Trenowth, through which we had passed at first light that morning. A cluster of cottages grouped around church and hostelry served those families who worked on the manor but did not live in the house itself. The hamlet was set back from the water's edge on a spit of land embraced by the sheltering arm of a small tributary of the river. It had looked prosperous enough in the rosy light of dawn, and plainly benefited from the protection of Sir Peveril and his lady.

Father Anselm must have heard the note of alarm in my voice because he looked surprised and a little curious.

'I admit we are isolated here, and out of the mainstream of events, but strangers are not unknown, as you and your master bear witness. And with the news which reached us yesterday, that the Earl of Oxford has taken St Michael's Mount, I should imagine that we may expect some coming and going of authority even in this backwater.' Philip had cleared his mouth by now and recovered his self-control. He kicked me sharply under the table.

'You are quite right, Father. Such a serious event is bound to make traffic on the roads. This haughty gentleman staying at the inn sounds as though he might well be about the King's business.' He deftly changed the conversation, deflecting the priest's interest with a query that took my breath away. 'Will you be hearing confessions before you leave us?'

'Of course, my son.' Father Anselm was immediately reminded of his parish duties. 'For all those who wish to make them, I shall be in the chapel after supper.' I could not imagine Philip Underdown wishing to cleanse his soul, but I could appreciate the sleight of hand by which he had made good my blunder. Too much interest shown in the stranger lodging at the ale-house could be reported to the landlord, who, in his turn, might reveal our presence to his guest. Personally, I had very little hope of the fact being kept secret for any length of time, and if the visitor were indeed our gentleman of Buckfast Abbey he must already have a pretty good idea of our refuge. But he might also be a perfectly innocent traveller, and until I had confirmed his identity by some careful reconnaissance on the morrow, it would be as well to allay Father Anselm's curiosity and to curb his obvious propensity to gossip.

I glanced around the table. Apart from the priest, Philip and myself, the only other people present were Janet Overy, the steward, two of the little kitchen-maids, who slept in the kitchen at nights, snug on straw pallets by the warmth of the fire, and Isobel and Edgar Warden, who were housed in the servants' quarters along with the housekeeper and Alwyn.

Everyone else had homes in the village and would walk up to the house each morning as soon as the gates were open. I caught Janet Overy' s eye and looked away quickly. Only she, except my companion and myself, had realized the possible significance of the stranger's presence at the inn because I had told her the whole story, and that indiscretion I had to keep secret from Philip at any cost: I could weather his anger, but not his scorn. Of the rest, Alwyn plainly knew too little to scent any danger, Isobel Warden kept her eyes sullenly on her plate — the badge of her husband's wrath showing in a dark bruise on one side of her face — while Edgar was preoccupied with his own thoughts, none of them happy ones, judging by the venomous glances he kept darting at Philip.

When the meal was at last finished and cleared away, Father Anselm said that he would hear confessions as soon as possible, as the October evenings were drawing in and he wished to get back to the presbytery before twilight. He bustled off across the courtyard to the chapel, which was situated in the comer, between the laundry and the great chamber.

I grinned and hissed in Philip's ear: 'The biter bit. I'm afraid you have no choice but to go first.' We were standing at the kitchen door, looking out at the thin veil of blue dusk which was beginning to shroud the buildings. I added on a more serious note: 'This stranger, do you think he's our attacker?'

'My attacker!' was the abrasive answer. 'That's why I've given you the letter. D'you have it safe?' I nodded and he went on: 'It may be that we were followed after all. But we saw no one, and I'm inclined to doubt it. We are beginning to look for trouble where none exists and jump at our own shadows. You would have had the priest agog with curiosity but for my timely intervention.' He said on an ugly note: 'And now thanks to your stupidity I'm committed to making my confession, something I've avoided doing these many years.' He laughed mirthlessly. 'I could tell a tale which would make the poor man die of fright, but I shan't. What's the point? No penance he could give me would wipe away my sins. When I die, I'm going straight to Hell.'