Shadow on the Highway (3 page)

She turned and snatched the cloth from my hand. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ She rubbed vigorously at her neck and her face, then her arms. As she scrubbed, the back of her chemise gaped open and I saw faint criss-crosses of white scars. That was shocking enough, but down below there was a big purpleish bruise across her back. I gasped. I had done that. To Lady Katherine Fanshawe. I was horrified.

She swung round. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing m’lady.’

‘Then fetch me a towel and clean linen. If I stand here uncovered who knows what disease may find its way in?’

I wiped gently, and saw her wince. She turned and pulled the cloth from my hand. ‘Not like that. You’re too clumsy.’

‘There’s a bruise m’lady.’

‘It’s nothing. I’ve suffered worse.’

I lowered my eyes and she threw the cloth back in the basin. She confused me, this child-woman with the arrogant look. And she was never still, full of a strange restlessness. There was a trunk in an adjoining dressing room and I rummaged inside, glad to find a dry cloth and a clean nightdress.

I held out the cloth for her to dry herself but she shook her head. Her foot tapped on the floor and her eyes showed she was thinking of something else. ‘When my husband Thomas is home, you will sleep here,’ she announced.

She seemed very young to be married, but I curtseyed to this order and bunched up the nightdress for her to put her arms through the sleeves. ‘You can bring your bedding down,’ she said. ‘And you are to help me move that chest against the door.’ Her hands fluttered as she talked.

There was another door in the wall opposite the dressing room, and she saw me look to it.

‘Yes, that’s his room. My step-father has the key.’

Her face showed she did not like him. I tied the strings at the front of her gown in a bow.

‘Both doors,’ she said, looking into my eyes. ‘We’ll secure both doors.’

*

When I left Lady Katherine it was full dark. Coming out of her well-lit room was a shock and I took a moment to steady my breath. I gripped tight to the banisters with one hand, the basin of dirty water slopping in the other, reaching out for the steps with my toes.

There was not enough light to do chores, though Mistress Binch had left unfinished pewter on the kitchen table with the sand and sawdust for polishing. A stub of candle was in one of the drawers so I lit it gratefully, and sat on a kitchen stool a moment, feeling the pressure lift from my feet. I was bone-weary. The remains of a meal lay on the table, and I crammed an edge of pie-crust and some cold pease pudding into my mouth with my fingers.

The doors in the house were well-bolted by Mistress Binch, except the back door, so I slid the bolts home. Shielding my precious candle, I wound my way upstairs. The door opposite mine was closed. I guessed Mistress Binch lodged there.

My room was as I’d left it, flickering now in the light from my single flame. It seemed like twelve months since I’d first set foot here, not only twelve hours.

I did not undress, but took my cloak from its peg on the door. I flung myself onto the bed, but there was no softness or bounce, just the planks. The thin straw mattress smelled of mould, so I spread out my cloak on it and lay down, watching the candle-flame dance. I prayed that if I closed my eyes to sleep the candle would not set anything alight. At night I was always caught between these two fears – the fear of fire and the fear of waking in the dark.

Nobody except a deaf person knows how it feels to lie in the inky blackness, unable to know what has woken you, unable to hear, unable to see. The way the dark closes in as if you’re locked in a box, muffled from the rest of the world. The fear that some danger might be behind you, and you’d never know until it was too late.

I thought of home; Mother and Elizabeth sleeping companionably, their shawls tangled together, and of my brother Ralph, downstairs on the proddy rug, his long legs spread out before the fire, feet still in his boots, his sword ready in case of trouble. I missed them already with a hollow pain below my ribs that made me clutch my side to keep from crying. Outside, an owl flashed by my window. I felt the fear in my chest fluttering hard to get out.

I wound my fingers into the cloak, holding it tight as if it might shield me against the night terrors. Thomas Fanshawe was coming with his stepfather and there was all that huge house to clean before they did. How could I do it all with no help? I heard Ralp
h’s voice saying, ‘You can do it, Abi!’ the way he used to when I was struggling with my letters, or learning to form new words with my lips.

I pictured my brother’s smiling face, his tousled hair
– my wayward brother who was always caught in the grip of some new-fangled idea or other, and never listened to a word anyone said, except to me. He always made time to listen to me. Perhaps because of what happened to me, and because I didn’t talk much. He talked to me when he needed to discover something for himself – he’d lay it out before me like laying out a fleece for inspection, thinking I could not really hear, and I’d read his lips even more easily when he spoke slow and soft.

And it was Ralph who’d encouraged me to read Mother’s recipe books, though it was hard, so I wouldn’t lose my language. He wanted me to learn the look of folks’ words on a page. The dancing letters that matched the shape of people’s lips.

I steeled myself, set myself to pray. I prayed for forgiveness as I did every night. God had already punished me by bringing me the spotted fever. Four days I had fought the demons of the disease, but when I had awoken, the music had left my life. No more creak of the sails on the windmill, no more lowing of cattle or the ripple of my brother’s laughter. No more birdsong. So I had to pray, with all my heart. Perhaps then God would forgive me and my hearing would return.

I pinched the candle out with my eyes closed, so I could pretend I liked it here at the manor, that I’d chosen the dark myself and it was still daylight beyond my eyelids. Then I put my face towards the window determined to waken at the first inkling of light.

3.
Diggers’ Dreams

I was awake long before dawn to wash myself at the well and because I was too scared of the day ahead to go back to sleep.

Mistress Binch had left porridge bubbling, but was out of the kitchen. I took the pot off the heat whilst I scrubbed the pewter from the night before and milked the five cows. There was too much milk for such a small household, but I put some in the butter churn and some to sour before serving the porridge.

Mistress Binch arrived back with some eggs, complaining before she had even shut the door. ‘Look at the place,’ Mistress Binch said to me. ‘There’s grass growing in the gutters, the vegetable garden hasn’t been sown, and Mr Grice won’t let Lady Katherine take on more servants. And when I asked her yesterday how I was to manage to feed Sir Simon and all his serving men with no help in the vegetable plot, she just shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Ask Mr Grice”.’

‘Who is Mr Grice?’ I asked. He was the man who didn’t want me here and I was curious to know more about him.

‘He’s the overseer that looks after the house and looks to Lady Katherine whilst her menfolk are away fighting. He’s been with the family for years. Here – get these boiling in the pan.’ She thrust the eggs at me. ‘He was her guardian too when she was smaller, so there’ll be no riding out like a wild thing when he’s back, I can tell you. She’ll have to behave like a proper lady then.’

‘Is he fighting with her husband for the King?’ I’d broken one of the eggs and it was swirling round in the water. I tried to fish it out with a slotted spoon without Mistress Binch seeing.

‘No. Mr Grice was wounded at the battle of Naseby, so he can’t fight.’

I struggled to make out the rest of her words, because she kept turning her head whilst she was putting things away. ‘Mind, he slashed d
own a whole band of roundheads ... cut him off his horse. Praise God, he got away, but lost his foot. Terrible thing. He’s sharp as a falcon, mind, despite all that.’

I managed to get rid of the broken egg into the pig bucket. She turned round and I put on my innocent face.

‘These days nothing comes from Grice’s purse without Sir Simon’s say so,’ she said. ‘Not unless it’s for weapons for the young King.’

‘When will Mr Grice be back?’ Already I did not like the sound of him.

‘I don’t know. But you’ll know when he gets here, because the whole house sits up to take notice. Now, stop standing about and…’ She turned away to the sink and then gave me a mouthful of instructions that I didn’t catch.

‘Beg pardon, Mistress?’

She turned again and spat out more words. I caught, ‘silver,’ ‘polish’, and ‘board’. But I still did not really understand. I twisted my apron in my hands and begged her, ‘Please, would you say it more slowly.’

This made Mistress Binch even crosser and her words shot out twice as fast. Too embarrassed to ask again, I hurried from her sight and through to the main chamber. I was relieved to see three rows of ornate silver spoons laid out there on the table. It was a fine collection, such as people show guests to prove their wealth in company. We’d had some like it ourselves, before the accident…

I pushed that thought away. I must hurry with this if I was to sweep the house too. Next to the spoons was a small glazed pot with a lid. I searched for a polishing cloth and saw one on the sideboard. This must be what she meant. I was to polish the spoons.

I lifted the lid of the pot and saw it was filled with a greasy brown paste. It smelt foul. I sat on the bench and scooped the spoons into my apron. They had a family crest of horseshoes and a motto I recognised, ‘Dieu Donne’
, which I knew meant ‘God Gives’, implying of course that God also takes away, something I knew only too well.

I dipped my cloth in the pot and slathered a generous quantity of the paste over the first spoon.

I was just putting polish on the last one when the light from the doorway disappeared and it made me glance round. It was Mistress Binch, an expression of outrage on her face. Instinctively I stood up.

‘What are you doing?’ she said.

‘Polishing the spoons… like you said.’

She was over at the table in an instant. ‘I said to put them away! In the cupboard! What’s this?’ She picked up a spoon and it slipped from her fingers. ‘What the…?’ My face fired up with heat as she pounced on the pot of polish. She thrust it under my nose, her eyes popping, ‘My duck liver paste! It was just setting. I’d left it there to set. And you’ve stuck a dirty rag in it.’

I backed away. But she followed me, jabbing her finger towards my chest, her eyes accusing. ‘Do you know how many ducks died to make that? It was for tomorrow’s dinner. And you’ve used it on the spoons –’

The realisation of what I’d done robbed me of words. I cringed back against the wall. Mistress Binch was opening her mouth wide now, so wide I could see the gaps and black stumps of teeth.

‘I can’t believe it. How dare they send me some witless numskull who can’t even follow orders? Isn’t my life hard enough?’ She turned from me, unfastened her apron and threw it down on the table. ‘That’s it. Enough. Lady Katherine can find herself another cook.’

‘No. Oh please don’t do that.’ Shame flooded through me. ‘I didn’t understand. I’m going. I should never have come. Sorry Mistress Binch, sorry.’

I fled from the room, past the stiff figure of Mistress Binch and out through the back door. I ran and ran until I was out of sight of the house and then I leant on a five-barred gate and tried to stop the hot tears seeping from my eyes.

I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks to cool them. I was never going back there. The humiliation of it, to do something so foolish. I’d have to go home. But the thought of going home scared me too; Elizabeth would laugh and poke fun at me with her sharp tongue, and what would I do then, where could I go? I’d never be taken on again, not after this. The stupidity of it. I’d never live it down.

*

When I pushed open our cottage door Ralph took one look at my face and said, ‘What happened?’

It was such a relief to see his dear face and his easy familiar way of speaking that tears sprang to my eyes again, but I caught hold of myself in time. For Jacob Mallinson was there too, at our table, and I did not want him to see them. That would be just too shaming.

‘I’m just going,’ Jacob said.

‘No, it’s all right.’ I pulled myself together. I liked Jacob, he was dark and handsome and just to look at him gave me a breathless fluttery feeling inside. I hoped I did not look like I’d been crying. I tried to be casual, behave normally. I took a deep breath and said, ‘Shall I get you some small beer?’

Jacob grinned and said, ‘Now that’s a nice thought.’

‘Where’s Mother?’ I asked.

‘Luton, at the market,’ Ralph said. ‘Elizabeth’s got a day off, she’s taken Martha out for a walk.’

Martha was my little sister. I went to peep in at baby William, who was sleeping in his crib. I did not kiss him for fear of waking him. It was so good to be back in our cottage where everything was within reach and in its right place. I never ever thought this crumbly little place would feel like home, but today it did. I felt like I’d been away for weeks and not only one night.

‘Is there no bread?’ I asked, looking into the empty cupboard, and turned to watch Ralph reply.

‘There’s no more flour,’ he said. ‘Last year’s harvest wasn’t enough to last us, and there’s no money for grain to grind.’ Ralph’s hands were signing to me too, in a way that made him easy to understand. ‘But Jacob’s said he’ll exchange some of our dried peas for corn,’ he said.

‘Glad to,’ Jacob said. ‘But things will be different now. Now we’re following the Diggers way.’

‘Aye. It’s time. It can’t come soon enough,’ Ralph said. ‘I swear, Mother will never go hungry again. That bailiff was here again this week, demanding our tithe. And I’ll warrant it will go straight from the Fanshawes’ bailiff to the King, like always. And from the King to his blasted Army to kill good honest men like my father. I’m telling you, when that bailiff showed his poxy face on our doorstep I nearly put my boot in his mouth.’

‘Then it’s a mercy someone was there to stop you.’ Jacob said, laughing.

I agreed with Jacob, though I was too shy to join in the conversation. My brother had such a temper. Like milk waiting to boil over. Not that you’d guess it to look at him – with his angel face, his fair hair shining like gold. I paused in my thoughts to ladle ale into a tankard.

But he was unpredictable, as if two Ralphs lived in his skin side by side, and you never knew which Ralph you’d meet. Often he was on fire with some new enthusiasm, but other times he’d be bitter and morose. Once he’d nearly strangled a tinker man who’d cheated him of his change, and Elizabeth and I had to pull him away. But Ralph was always ‘good Ralph’ wi
th us and never ‘bad Ralph’.

Ralph and Jacob continued talking, poring over a printed pamphlet that was out on the table. I leant over Ralph’s shoulder as I put down the beer and read the headline.
A
New
-
year’s
Gift
for
the
Parliament
and
Armie
. Further on, the word
DIGGERS
appeared in big letters. Another of Ralph’s crazed ideas, no doubt.

How could I tell Ralph I wasn’t going back to Markyate Manor?

Just then the door burst open and my older sister Elizabeth flew in. ‘Ma not back?’ she asked, untying her bonnet.

‘Not yet,’ Ralph said. ‘You know Jacob, don’t you?’

Elizabeth threw her ribboned bonnet down, revealing her curly hair, and gave him a cursory smile. I couldn’t help but notice how Jacob’s eyes lingered on her and it gave me a choking sensation in my throat.

‘Is Martha outside?’ Ralph asked.

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Playing with the chickens.’ She narrowed her eyes in my direction. ‘What are you doing here?’

I didn’t want to explain in front of Jacob and I could feel my face getting redder. The atmosphere thickened.

‘I’ll be going.’ Jacob downed his beer in one long gulp. ‘Till Sunday,’ he said, already at the door. He turned to wave a hand at me.

‘See if you can rally a few more for our cause, won’t you?’ Ralph said, ‘We’re going to give this world a good old shaking.’

‘Aye, I will. If you think we’ve not had shaking enough,’ Jacob said, then ducked away out of the door.

As soon as he’d gone Elizabeth stood in front of me, arms folded. ‘The grand manor not suit you, then?’ The smile that was trying to creep to her lips was only just under control.

I turned my head away. I wasn’t going to listen to her taunts. I went to the window, and stared out into the orchard, but she followed me, pushing her face in front of mine.

‘I knew you wouldn’t last two minutes. What did you do?’

‘I haven’t done anything.’ But I knew my face told a different story. ‘Go away!’ I shouted, and turned my back to her.

But I knew Elizabeth would be talking to Ralph and sure enough when I turned back they were arguing with each other but looking at me.

‘I suppose you’ll let her get away with it again,’ Elizabeth said, whispering, thinking I couldn’t make out her words. ‘Abi this, Abi that. It’s always about her. She’s deaf on purpose half the time.’

I cast her a cold look on my way out, and slammed the door so hard I was sure it would rattle the house. Curse Elizabeth. She’d no idea what it was like to be me.
She should try it. See how she liked it. Then she’d know what it was like to work so hard, and strain every minute just to be part of the conversation.

I picked my way through the bare trees of the orchard down to the chicken shed. The hens were all out, scratching in the dirt, fluffing their feathers, ignoring me. They’d always been my task. Who’d fed them this morning, I wondered. Not Elizabeth, the lazy fox.

Five minutes later Ralph came after me. I turned my back on him, but he took hold of my shoulder to bring me round.

‘Pay no heed,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t mean anything. She’s jealous that’s all. She wanted to go up to the big house herself. She’s got this foolish idea that it’s beneath her to be a serving maid to the apothecary. Even thou
gh they pay much more than the Manor.’

‘Let her go to the Manor then.’

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ His pale blue eyes searched mine.

‘I can’t do it. It’s hopeless. I can’t understand them. The Cook doesn’t open her mouth when she talks. Lady Katherine, well she’s…she’s just not what I expected.’ I couldn’t tell him, not even Ralph; that I’d nearly killed my mistress, or that I’d been such a clod as to try to polish spoons with duck paste.

‘Did you give them notice?’

I shook my head miserably.

‘Come on then, no harm done. I’ll walk you back. Mother need never know.’

‘I’m not going back.’ I felt the words snap from my tongue.

A shadow crossed his face. ‘Sure you are. You’re a hard worker, they’ll be glad to have you back. You were only gone from here one day and we missed your hands about the place – feeding the chickens and laying the fires.’