Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (23 page)

“Says
here that someone might have been tampering with your horse, Sir Richard; and
there might be even more underhand dealing, with another black horse!”
said the undersheriff bluntly. “I’d call that more’n irregular! And it
also says that someone has been intending to feed poison to your horse and that
of Sir John Widderis at the Hart and Hawthorn. I recall we had something
similar last year. Not as bad as this, though.”

“No,”
agreed Richard. “But we have the perpetrator of last year’s threats under
lock and key; and so we know that this time he is not to blame; although I
imagine he has friends and family who might want seek vengeance - or hope that
a threat or two might result in his release. That will never happen. I believe
Sir John and myself, although we do not see eye to eye on many matters, would
agree to sacrifice our match and indeed our horses, much though we value them,
to ensure that this villain stands trial.”

The
undersheriff nodded approval. “With regard to the forthcoming match, you
do indeed confirm that the horse currently stabled here is your horse?”

“It
is.”

“Good,
good. For our anonymous letter-writer has indicated that it might not be the
correct horse. And also - ” the Undersheriff turned to George -
“something that might concern you, sir - “

“Concerning
me?” George was genuinely surprised.

“Yes,
sir. It says that there is one that you might know who is presently in
Marcaster who may have a hand in this - although it does not go so far as to
implicate her as such …”

“Her?”
George was instantly on the alert.

“Yes -
one who might travel under the name of Mistress Loveday?”

“Ah
… ” Had he managed not to give anything away? Richard was looking at him
closely. George felt an overwhelming urge to sneeze, and did so, covering the fact
he’d been momentarily startled.

“You
need to find some clean, dry garments, my boy,” said Richard.
“Galingale - that is, my horse - is somewhat lame, but it may not be of
consequence. This we’ll all discuss, over a glass in the undersheriff’s parlour.
There is a great deal to talk about.”

The
undersheriff nodded agreement.

“Certainly,”
said George. “But - excuse me - Hal! come with me - I will - your pardon,
gentlemen, I will find …” as he was saying this, he was backing away
making vague gestures, leaving the others looking at him, and then at one
another, with confused expressions. George headed off in the direction of the
Hart and Hawthorn. The inn sign had caught his attention as he rode along the
high street and now that he knew it was the place where Sir John’s horse was
stabled he was nearly certain she would be here. Very shortly afterwards he was
in the yard, wondering whether to seek out a porter or simply run up the
gallery stairs and bang on every door one by one.

“Hal,
find me a shirt and some hose, breeches, trunks. Anything will do if it be
clean and dry. And my hat.”

“Aye
sir. I have your hat here.” Hal ran off.

“Now,”
muttered George. “Where is she?”

“Can I
help you, sir?” said a passing groom.

“Yes,”
said George. “I am seeking a woman, with a serving man, and a little dog,
who may be staying at this inn.”

“Oh,
yes,” said the groom, looking slightly surprised. This wasn’t the
customary visitor. The woman sold perfumes or some such and her clients were
mainly women. However - he nodded towards a door. “Use the inner stairs,
sir. ‘Tis one of the best chambers in the house and very private; and easiest
gained that way. The Columbine Rooms, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“And
when my man comes back, tell him to wait on me here.”

George took
the stairs three at a time and was soon rapping on the door, trying to express
urgency without drawing too much attention to himself. Within the room,
Cornelius started to bark. Meg opened the door with a surprised look on her
face.

“George!
What a pleasure it is to see you. Matthew and I were just saying that …”

“Never
mind that. Meg, I need to talk to you. I have no idea what has brought you to
Marcaster, but if it is aught to do with the match then I have to warn you that
…”

“The
match between Sir John Widderis and Sir Richard Grasset? Or rather their
horses, I doubt the gentlemen themselves would give good sport. No, George,
although of course it is of interest to me because …”

“Meg,
I am warning you in all sincerity that if you are intending to benefit from
this match in some way then …”

“How
would I benefit?” interrupted Meg.

“I
don’t know,” said George impatiently, “by guessing, or divining the
horse that would win, or taking wagers, or making wagers on the winner, or, or
…”

“Don’t
be silly, George. Who would place a wager with me? If I claim any sort of
special knowledge - not that I am so doing - how could I find someone to wager
with me? After all, if I - or any person - can divine the winner, then the one
who places a wager with me - as an example only, you understand - is certain to
lose; or else the person who is believed to know the future is made to look a
fool. And who would risk that?”

“Don’t
jest with me, Meg. This is not a prank. And can you make your little dog be
quiet, please. Your name has been mentioned to the undersheriff in connection
with a possible …”

“Mentioned
to the undersheriff? Well, I must say the pleasure is not returned - quiet,
Brother Nose-all - for I do not know the man.”

“Be
serious, Meg. This
is
serious. There is some - underhand dealing going
on to do with the match - and our - acquaintance - the man once known to me -
and you - as James Jostler, is currently at liberty in Marcaster, although not
for much longer if I have anything to do with it. And one of the Guildern
rogues is to be tried at the Assizes …”

“That
much I knew,” said Meg. “Is that the only reason you are here? Here
in Marcaster - Cornelius, quiet, please! Matthew, do take him …”

“No,
it is not the only reason …” George sneezed and Cornelius barked even
more loudly, then fell silent as George glared at him.

“Well,
Meg?” said George, sniffing. “D’you have anything else to say for
yourself?”

Meg looked
back at him.

“Don’t
you think you should divest yourself of those wet garments, George? It’s
difficult to take you seriously when you are dripping water everywhere and
‘neezing. Matthew will find you something.”

Matthew,
taking the hint, and also Cornelius, left.

* * * * *

Not long
afterwards, George made his way to the undersheriff’s house below the brooding
tower of the jail. It was a large and pleasant dwelling and, as a servant
ushered him in, he felt momentarily self-conscious in the somewhat motley
collection of garments that had been provided by Hal and Matthew. He could
still hear Meg’s last words, whispered gently to him as he left her room.
“I have seen the winner’s bell - it’s a beautiful prize and should be
yours, George. Sir Richard chose his rider well. The Grasset horse must surely
finish ahead of that of Widderis.” It was not what she had said; rather,
how she had said it, that seemed to hold some mystery that he did not
understand.

Richard and
Edward Davison were sitting in a well-appointed room drinking wine.

“Paston,”
said Davison, nodding to him. One of the servants brought wine. Richard seemed
completely at ease; but George noticed that he was occasionally twisting the
stem of his glass round in his fingers.

“I
trust you have not taken harm by your - unexpected - exertion,” said
Richard. Doing his best to appear calm and collected, George took too large a
gulp of wine and coughed, shaking his head.

“My
apologies, no, I have taken no harm, from that, nor from the soaking.”

“Good,
good. Davison and I have been discussing the contents of this letter.”
Richard reached for the note and handed it to George. It was well-made paper,
although it appeared to have been used previously and cleaned; cut from the
bottom of a sheet as well, probably. The handwriting, too, was decent. Some of
the words had been stressed by extra pressure or underlining.

“A
friend believes your honour should be made aware that there is some
danger
to
the horses belonging to Sir John Widderis and Sir Richard Grasset, that is to
match together. There is some that would give them things that might do them
harm
,
although intended to make them run the better. And are your honours aware that
there is one with whom Sir George Paston, who is to be present for the
assizes
,
is not unacquainted, a women travelling by the name of
Mistress Loveday
,
who, if not intending some deception, might have more knowledge than she is
willing to say; and the same woman has known skills in presenting horses to be
other than they are. These are matters that both you and Sir George and the
other gentlemen might like to examine. As you might a certain
black horse
that is kept in the Hart and Hawthorn and charged to Sir John; but
does he
know of it
? A word is sufficient to the wise, whilst many words are
insufficient to the ignorant. Believe me to be, your honours, needing naught of
benefit to myself,
A
Well-wisher
.”

George read
it and re-read it. There was a curious - familiarity about it. As though
someone he knew had written it. It was a literate hand but not, George thought,
that of a very highly educated person. It managed to hint cleverly at all sorts
of things without pointing a definite finger. And it almost implicated him but
the writer did not seem to be aware that he was Sir Richard’s guest. A few
words had been heavily inked out after “
does he know of it
?”
George held the letter this way and that to see if he could make out what those
words had been, but he could not. Strange. He frowned at the letter.

“Perhaps
we should find and interview this woman,” said Davison.

As George
began to say “But this is mere speculation …”, Richard moveing
restlessly and speaking simultaneously, said “An anonymous letter? This is
simply more matter to attempt to frighten either Sir John or myself.”

“Into
withdrawing your horses? Or worse?” Davison looked sharply at him.
“Then you are certain this came from supporters or friends of the man
Giddens?”

“Yes.”
Richard glanced across at George, who was looking at him in puzzlement. Richard
had not spoken too much about this case; but he had mentioned the murderer who
was to stand trial at the forthcoming assizes. “I’ll enlighten you
further, George. This man, Giddens, made a threat to harm my horse last year.
Perhaps he intended to wager on Sir John’s horse since he also threatened
another participant. I took his threats seriously and the owner of the other
horse eventually withdrew it from the match. Giddens is a trouble-maker and
we’d have taken him in time, but he sped up the process by committing murder.
And - before you ask, Sir John was as hot after the villain as any of us.”

“Would
it not make more sense if the letter mentioned this Giddens?” said George,
hoping to draw away attention from the reference to himself - and Meg. “If
the intention is to make you fear his supporters, surely the letter would -
contain more threatening matter?”

Sir Richard
shrugged, but George thought he was not entirely comfortable.

“Well,
let’s find this woman and have her interrogated to see if she can guide us to
the truth.” Davison got to his feet. Richard sat upright, but looked down
at the floor as he flicked at one hand with his gloves. Well, Meg, thought
George, as he prepared himself, I have no idea of what you are plotting; and I
don’t know if you can talk your way out of this - but I will try to help if I
can.

“Wait,”
said Sir Richard suddenly. “Sit down, please, Master Davison. There is
something - I have not been entirely truthful with - either of you. That is, I
have been entirely truthful, but you do not know the whole of it.”