Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (34 page)

“Where
are you bound?”

“For
Carlisle. I have matters to attend to there and this will see us as far as the
Westmorland border; if my seat survives the nag that long!” Meg petted the
horse’s neck.

“Don’t
jest, Meg. That is a wild place, by all accounts. Are there valuables amongst
these packs?”

“Would
the packmaster confide in me if so? He was glad to have Matthew travelling with
us, though.”

George
followed her glance and saw Matthew, who was now on horseback. George waved at
him. Matthew, looking serious, raised the staff he carried in case he needed to
defend Meg. George nodded and turned back to her.

“You
heard the news of Amabilis Grasset and Philip Widderis?” George’s hand
rested on the neck of Meg’s horse as he looked up at her.

Meg did not
reply directly, but said, “That is a very determined young woman.”

“You
met her?”

“Oh
… she may have purchased some perfume from me …”

“Was
that all?”

“Well,
George, as you know, there is usually no fee for advice …”

“Would
that have included advice on how to cause an old tree to fall across a
stream?”

“Ah,
yes, I had word of that. No - that embellishment must have come from Mistress
Amabilis herself. She seems to have some liking for risk; but I would rather
she had not … delegated it …”

“Delegated?
That is an interesting description. Very interesting. You will be pleased to
hear that there has been word from them? That they are both safe. They sent a
messenger from Hull - ensuring that he arrived
after
they had taken
ship. Word has been sent to Philip’s sister in London, where they are expected.
If not married already, then they will be with speed, I think.”

“Their
families have overcome their differences?”

“Whatever
differences they had were not so great as the young people imagined. Still,
perhaps they wanted an adventure. It was cleverly arranged to ensure they made
good time before anyone realised what was happening. Young Widderis will have
his hands full, I think.”

Meg
chuckled. “It might have been you, George, if Anne Grasset’s plans had
…”

The master
was calling his horses, dogs and men to attention. A few last minute orders and
they would be ready to leave.

“The
bell should have been yours by right,” said Meg as the horses began to
move into line. She settled Cornelius more securely on the sheepskin at the
front of the packsaddle. “Yours - and Galingale’s.”

“Aye,”
replied George, walking alongside them. “I could have worn it in my hat,
like a jester. That would please you well, wouldn’t it?”

“Irony
suits you, George. Better than a jester’s bell. I imagine that there are quite
a few that are sorry at the outcome, judging by the amount of wagers placed,
secret and otherwise …”

“What
would you know of wagers? Meg - you did not wager on the outcome of this match,
did you? I hope that you did not risk much if so.”

“Indeed,
I did contrive to place a wager and - it was a substantial one.”

George
looked at her with concern, disliking the idea that Meg had lost a wager
because of his unexpected disqualification.

“I am
sorry about you losing money on the match, Meg,” he said, with genuine
feeling. “Please - let me make good your loss. I am, in a way, responsible
…”

“I?
Lose money? No, George, I lost nothing. Indeed, I have done very well in
Marcaster. Very well indeed.”

“You
lost nothing? But …”

“George,”
said Meg in a reasonable tone. “As soon as the news went abroad that the
undersheriff’s son was taking part, the outcome of the match was clear to me.
After all, he is the
undersheriff’s
son…”

George
looked at her, at first with astonishment, then with severity. Finally he said,
in his firmest tone, “Meg. You are, without a doubt, the greatest rogue in
the land. Marry me, else one day I will be sure to hang you.”

“Hmmm.
A silk halter, or a hempen one? Well, I’ll have plenty of time to consider my
choice as we go along. ‘Tis a long way to Carlisle.”

“Meg
…”

“We
are leaving now, I think, George. But never fear. D’ye know, I have the most
curious feeling that we shall meet again soon.”

The experienced
horses fell into their usual positions without any need to be fastened
together. They made a fine spectacle as they set off northwards along the main
street of Marcaster, with the bell on the bellmare ringing and the packmen
shouting out to sluggards who did not get out of the way quickly enough. The
dogs ran silently alongside, knowing they would need their breath for the long
journey ahead. Meg waved to George and then lifted Cornelius’s paw to wave too.
George, suddenly lonely in the middle of the street, waved back.

“Godspeed,
Meg. And keep you out of trouble until we meet again,” he said, half to
himself. Then he turned back into the Hart and Hawthorn and called for some
morning ale.

“At
once, sir!” said the serving man.

George
savoured the taste of the cool ale. “An excellent brew,” he said,
nodding with approval. “Excellent.” He found the serving man
regarding him with interest.

“Thank
you, sir!” said the man. “You are Sir George Paston, are you not, who
took part in the recent match riding Sir Richard Grasset’s Galingale? And
honoured our inn with a recent stay?”

“I
am.” The servant poured him some more ale.

“Compliments
of the Hart and Hawthorn, sir,” he said. “And if you wish, I will
bring you something to eat? Also with our compliments, Sir George.”

George
wondered whether the servant was feeling generous because he had wagered on the
winner on Meg’s advice. Or whether he simply wanted George’s patronage. Then he
told himself not to be such a cynic. He found himself a seat on a bench in the
empty common room indicated by the serving man.

“Many
said you were the true winner, sir,” said the man as he hurried off
towards the kitchen. “A most curious thing about the bell, though, was it
not?”

George
shrugged, wondering what he meant. By the time the man returned with bread,
cheese and beef, his curiosity was piqued.

“You
said something of the bell?” he said. He felt suddenly hungry and began to
eat the food with relish.

The man
looked surprised.

“You
mean, you have not heard, sir?”

“One
or two matters have had a claim on my attention in recent days,” replied
George, with dry understatement.

“Well,
Sir George, the bell - it appears that it went missing on the day of the match.
Some thief seems to have taken advantage of the confusion over Master Philip’s
disappearance - and everything that followed - to enter the pavilion and take
the bell …”

George
paused, with a piece of bread with beef on it in transit.

“You
didn’t know, sir?”

“I did
not know.” George put the bread back down. “And it has still not been
- discovered?”

“No,
sir. Indeed, with so much confusion, the theft was not discovered until the
next day; and then it was thought for a time that the undersheriff or one of
his men had taken into safe keeping; and curiously, the goldsmith who made it
is away journeying and so enquiries cannot be made of him … not that he is
implicated in any way …”

As George
stared at the man, he could hear the sound of Amelia’s voice. “The
funniest thing, though, was the little dog that did the tricks … at the back
of the pavilion where there weren’t many people … a curious black dog with a
tiny face that looked as though it knew some secrets … it could bring things
and unfasten things … and do all kinds of funny tricks …”

That was
what he was
hearing
. What he was
seeing
, though, with his mind’s
eye, was the same little black dog, whilst the common was in uproar, entering
the pavilion, going over to the table where the bell was set out in all its
glory ready for the presentation, and picking it up by its satin ribbon …

Somewhere
to the north west of Marcaster, Cornelius tried to settle himself more
comfortably on the piece of sheepskin. It was not the first time that he had
ridden on horseback and he knew what to expect. He needed to be patient; it
would be a long journey. Suddenly he heard Meg speaking his name. His special
name.

“Well
done, Brother Nose-all.” Her tone was amused and kind, but the reason that
he knew she was really pleased with him was that she had just given him a piece
of deliciously smelly cheese. It was because of that business with the bell.
That was what had pleased her. But what pleased him, Cornelius, most of all,
was the memory of his last encounter with the stable cat. It had sneaked up on
him twice again and given his ears a clawing before he had a chance to tell it
what was what. So the last time, this morning in fact, whilst it was sitting on
a barrel swishing that big tail and eyeing the pack train dogs, he had crept up
behind it and - WOOF!

The cat had
leaped off the barrel, under the feet of one of the ostlers carrying a full
pail, who had tripped, fallen and spilled the water and - yes, altogether a
satisfactory conclusion to his stay at the Hart and Hawthorn.

Cornelius
closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Somewhere along the way there would be
another inn, with another cushion and another meaty bone - and a stable cat.

Meg heard
Matthew’s voice calling to her. He moved his horse’s nose up as close as he
could on the narrow packway.

“Well?
Will you satisfy my curiosity about the sovereign now? About both
sovereigns.”

Meg smiled.
“I was given the first by Goldspink in payment for the remedies I gave
him. I would have used it in payment for my provisions from Hull, but something
warned me. I weighed it and found it to be light. It had been clipped; and I
was certain that it was Goldspink that had done it.”

Matthew
whistled. “Whewww … to be caught passing a clipped coin. That could be
the end of more than our reputations. I understand now why we needed to
exchange it, instructive and amusing though the experience was otherwise. Was
it in error or was it with intent? “

“Of
that, I’m still not certain. It put me in great difficulties, as it does the
receiver of any light coin. What to do with it? Had I given it to the justices,
I would have lost the money, unless I were prepared to tell where I’d received
it. To have brought George into this situation would have made unnecessary
difficulties for us both and might have sent Goldspink to the rope. To pass the
sovereign on to another as good coin would have put you and I in great danger,
to say naught of the slyness of it. And the loss of thirty shillings is no
small matter, to our finances.”

“And
the sovereign I took came from a bag that had been delivered by Goldspink - so
you were able to discover whether or not that had been clipped - and it had
not. You weighed it and the goldsmith confirmed it.”

“Yes;
I deduce that was one of the latest deliveries he made to the goldsmith and so
he had not had time, or not wished, to clip the coins.”

“If
the coin I took from the goldsmith’s house had been a false one …”

“We should
have been no worse off; and I would have known with greater certainty the
extent of Goldspink’s crime.”

“Did
y’think of confronting Goldspink?”