Mist Over Pendle (43 page)

“You’ve been very--well disposed,” she whispered.

“That’s what the Seminary said to you.”

She nodded.

“With a shade of difference, I’m saying it now to you.”

He spoke no answer, but his arms came round her and he kissed her with a quiet assurance. And then she flung her head back and pushed him away.

“That must wait,” she said quickly. “There’s work to do.”

“Yes?”

His tone showed that he accepted a necessity. She marshalled her scattered thoughts, and then spoke lucidly.

“Tony’s deadly sick. There’s malice in it, and I think there’s a venom used. His sister, who has him in charge, is kindness alive, but she’s no match for this Devil’s work. Also, with fear for him and lack of sleep, she’s so worked on that she should be
in
a bed, not beside one. So it’s urgent to have them safely lodged at Read--both of them, and the old man too. We can’t leave him.”

“What old man?”

“He was leading out my horse when you came. I hope he’s not still doing circles on the gravel.”

“More likely he’s led mine in.”

“You may look to that. But what’s urgent is to have men and horses and a litter---”

“Which I’m to contrive?”

“You are.”

“How?”

“That’s for your wits. Such things must be at Read if they’re rummaged for. Meantime I’ll be busied here. His sister’s given to wordiness, and how she’s to be soothed and persuaded---”

“That’s for your wits.” He flung the words back at her. Then he opened the door and peered out at the dripping greyness. “The light fades, and if this is to be done before dark I’d best be moving.”

They found the old man wearily swilling the spilt curd from the kitchen floor, and they let him continue while Frank took the speedier course and saw to his horse himself. Margery watched him ride away, and then, reluctantly, she climbed the stair once more. The news that her young guest had coolly made plans to uproot her from hearth and home might not commend itself to Margaret, and Margery foresaw an argument. But to her deep relief she was wrong, and once she had explained matters she had her way without dispute. Margaret Crook was too tired, and too worn with trouble, to care much what was done, if only somebody else saw to the doing of it.

Margery came down the stair again and went into the parlour that could be so pleasant in the sun. But now there was no sun. The curtains were still drawn across the window; the fire had burned out, and a thread of smoke was flaring from the neglected candle. Margery looked with distaste. She pinched the candle and drew back the curtains; and for a moment she had the lattice open to let the reek from the room. She pulled it close, and in the last light of the waning afternoon she sat on the window-seat, alone with her thoughts, and peering at the unending rain.

The room was quite dark, and the last glimmer of dusk was on the pines, when the lanterns came in sight; and when the horses crunched on the gravel, Roger Nowell was the first to dismount.

Roger’s friendly parlour seemed like a corner in Heaven.

Tony Nutter, quieter now, was in peaceful sleep above, and Margaret had with no great difficulty been persuaded to bed also. Margery, who had missed dinner without a thought of it, had made amends for that at supper; and now, in ease at last, she was telling the tale of the day. She ended it, and then she laughed as she saw Frank’s puzzled face; he had not known of the coppice where the purple flowers grew, and he had not been told the half of what was suspected of Alice Nutter; but he was soon enlightened and then he showed a fine indignation, looking at Roger as though in expectation of instant action.

But Roger puffed smoke of tobacco and stayed in his comfortable ease.

“With poisons as with sorceries,” he said lazily, “it’s best to have some evidence. And I’m not fool enough to commit without it.”

“But surely, sir, with this tale---”

“What does this tale amount to? That Margery thought she tasted bitterness in a syllabub--no more.”

“Something more, surely?” Margery had come upright in her chair. “Tony Nutter had all the Herbal said--the fever, the eyes, and the rest.”

“Who’ll hang Alice Nutter from a Herbal? That woman’s no fool. Tony did in truth take chill from the snow. He did in truth come to fever by that. As like as not, he did in truth bring his fever back by adventuring out too soon. And when he’s found all but dying of a fever, is it not the same fever?”

“Yet if other things were sworn to?”

“They’d be disbelieved. Please to remember that Alice Nutter is not a Demdike. She’s of substance and good estate, and she stands in good repute. She’s reared a son who may be thought a credit, and she’s known for fair speech and charitable works. And I say again, she’s no fool. Her way, even in this, shows it. She waits till he truly has a fever, and then she uses what brings the look of fever. It’s perhaps to be deplored that the old fellow swilled that floor. We might have saved the stuff else, and fed it to a dog. A dead dog’s poor proof, but it’s better than we’ve got.”

And with that Roger seemed to dismiss the topic. He turned to Frank and spoke in a different tone.

“This Seminary, Southworth--he’s had uncommon fortune. A Massing priest who escapes thrice should indeed believe in miracles. It’s well enough in itself, and I don’t doubt we can hush it. But what of you? I understood your fortunes at Lathom to wait upon his capture.”

Margery sat stiffly. Her head had been so filled during the day that she had thought of none but Tony; she had never even asked herself what it might have meant to Frank to stand easily while that priest departed; and now, when it was brought to her, she was at once acutely anxious. But Frank still seemed at ease about it.

“That’s no matter,” he answered cheerfully. “I said this afternoon that I’m not milord’s catchpoll these days. The truth is, I’m better placed in the world than I was.”

“Why, what’s this? You never told me---”

He told her with no more delay. His mother, he reminded them, had been distressed partly because her brother had died; but this brother had died childless, and his modest estate had passed to his sister--Frank’s mother; and she, considering that her elder son was heir to his father’s estate, had at once made her younger son heir to this one, and by so doing she had, as he pointed out, wholly changed his prospects.

“Almost,” he said, “I may claim the status of an elder son. And in the meantime there are some rents made overtome. Wherefore I have it in mind to ride this week to Lathom and be quitted of milord’s service. He may keep his favour for another, since I want it not.”

Roger eyed him shrewdly. Then he had a warning to give.

“Quit milord’s service by all means, if you’ve a mind to. I think you may be wise in that. But spare your resentments and show him the courtesies.”

“Why sir, I---”

“Spare your resentments.” The note of authority was in Roger’s voice. “To provoke his anger might well provoke his inquiry into your doings here. And they will not stand inquiry Nor will Margery’s.”

That settled it, and Frank was firm that he would show no resentments at Lathom. He would be smooth, he said, as any Jesuit.

“One thing more,” said Roger. “I think you’d waste your time at Lathom. Milord’s at Lancaster. He attends the opening of the Lent Assize, and he’ll be there all week.”

“Then I’ll seek him at Lancaster, sir. And perhaps I may come to a word with Master Covell too.”

“Very like. He seems to have some softness for you.” Roger’s smile broadened. “You say you have some money now?”

“Sufficient, sir. But---”

“You’ll need it, if you let him lodge you at the
George.”

And Margery led the laughter as her quick mind recalled what Roger had once said of the ways of Edmund Covell.

Then Roger made an end to talk, telling her roundly that it was high time she was abed; but he did not, this night, take her to the stair to light her candle; instead he stayed by the fire and left that work to Frank. He hastened to it, and Margery stood very still as he lit her candle; she gave no sign that she had seen the tallow spill as his hand shook, but she took the candle from him and then paused.

“My thanks,” she said steadily. “And for more than this.”

He looked up at her as she stood above him on the stair, and a slow smile was on him.

“These new days,” he said. “May we once more--ride in Pendle?”

Her forehead took a crinkle, and a gleam of mischief flickered in her tired eyes.

“Yours to command,” she said. And then she was away, leaving him to consider the possible meanings of that; it was, she thought, no bad end to a wet Sunday.

He was in no hurry for Lancaster, and Friday had come before he took his departure; and in the afternoon of that day, Margery being then in the parlour with Roger, Alice Nutter came to Read.

Roger saw her first, and Roger was not pleased. She came most elegant in ash-grey velvet--the new ash-grey, as Margery promptly noted--and she rode a grey mare whose saddle-cloth was black and gold. Roger saw her through the window, and his sniff brought Margery to his side. Together they watched the lady dismount.

“We may suppose,” said Roger, “that she learned something of Sunday and is here to learn more. I think we’ll prick -her a little---”

Margery nodded hastily, and then salutes were punctilious as their guest was shown in. She addressed herself to Roger.

“I’m told,” she said, “that my brother is your guest just now?”

“Your husband’s brother, ma’am.”

“I count it the same, sir.”

“He doesn’t.”

The dark head reared a little, and Margery watched with interest; that had seemed a very promising beginning. Alice Nutter’s foot tapped the floor imperiously.

“At the least, sir, I hear poor Tony is with you?”

“You set me to marvel, ma’am.”

“How?” Her eyebrows were arching, but Roger’s smile was bland.

“Here’s Friday,” he said. “He came to me on Sunday, and you’re but newly told?”

“You, sir, did not tell me at all.”

“I accounted it needless, ma’am. You are at all times so well informed.”

“Not in this, it seems.” The foot was tapping again now. “I’m here, sir, to pay him my respects.”

“You’re gracious, ma’am. I’ll convey them to him.”

“By your leave, sir, I’ll convey them myself.”

“Alas, ma’am! His condition---”

“What of it, sir? What’s his condition?”

“Did they not tell you, ma’am, that he was come near to dying?”

The dark eyes flickered suddenly, and the watchful Margery had the ghost of a smile. That hit had gone home.

“Dying?” There was consternation in her voice. “Then most certainly I must---”

“Not so, ma’am. Pray do not fear for him. He’s watched most carefully. Yet to one in his state---”

“Yes, sir?”

“Visitors could be dangerous.”

There was no doubt about that one. The head reared again, and the narrowed eyes took a glitter. Roger stayed poised and watchful. Margery was almost on her toes. Then Alice relaxed; almost, she took on graciousness.

“If it’s so, I must not press. Convey my condolences and my sympathies, if you please. My husband’s also.”

“Be assured of it, ma’am.”

His bow was formal as Alice moved to the door. Margery ran to open it for her; if they were playing this to the courtesies, she knew her part, and she went politely out on the gravel to help the lady mount. Alice gathered her bridle comfortably into her hand and then looked down at Margery.

“What ailed Tony?” she asked abruptly.

That gave a chance, and Margery went at it with zest.

“Who’s to say, ma’am? But I think it may have been the pine trees. There are so many of them by that house, and there’s such an effluxion comes from pines.”

“Pines, indeed!” Alice snorted with contempt.

“Yes, ma’am.” Margery had a sweet little half-curtsey for her. “Or if not from pines, perhaps from some other plant that grows in Pendle.”

The eyes blazed, and Margery was warily on her toes. It was well for her that she was, for with no warning Alice stiffened her back and her whip hissed viciously. Margery saved her face by sheer speed of movement, and Roger, hurrying out as Alice rode off, was quickly reassured.

“No harm done,” Margery told him. “She missed hitting me.”

“But barely so. But what a temper the woman has!”

“Aye sir.” Margery laughed, as much in relief as in mirth. “But all being said, you set yourself to stir it.”

“An enterprise in which I
did
not note that you were backward. Yet I scarcely thought we’d stir so much. I ask myself what will come next. We’d be prudent, perhaps, to expect some counter-stroke.”

He went thoughtfully within, and Margery went as thoughtfully after him. She was wholly in agreement that it would not be the way of Alice Nutter to pass so much without some counter-stroke, and in the days that followed Margery was watchfully alert for it. Yet no stroke seemed to come. Frank came back from Lancaster, duly freed from his service in the Household, and Margery rode with him in Pendle whenever the windy days of March allowed--which was not often, for there was day after day of wind and driving rain, when riding for pleasure would have been a madness; and then, when they had all but lost their wariness, their peace was broken.

Frank Hilliard went out of Pendle for the last week-end of March. His cousins the Listers, he said, had shown him many kindnesses, and it would scarcely be within the courtesies that he should let them continue in ignorance of his new status and of the events at his home; so off he went, with some grumbles and some reluctance, to make the visit that was called for; and Margery was left with Roger.

That Sunday, the last in March, was a day so foul that even Roger refused to go beyond doors, church or no church. He would stay by the fire, he said, and dine in a decent dryness; and Margery, peering gloomily through the glass, soon agreed with Roger. The wind was out of the north-east, and the driving rain was mixed with a freezing sleet that spattered on the windows and came sliding down the glass in icy stars. Only the nearer trees were sharp; all else was blurred in the swirling grey.