Simon Hawke - The Merchant of Vengeance

“‘Allo” she called out, as she stood just inside the doorway. “’Allo, is anybody home?”

There was no reply forthcoming. It was dark inside. The storm had made the night come early, but there were no candles burning in the hall. That seemed rather peculiar. Even if Mayhew was not at home, surely the servants were. What could they be thinking, leaving the house so dark? It certainly looked as if they were being derelict in their duties.

“‘Allo, ’allo?” she called out once again.

There was no answer. A moment later, she heard what sounded like a soft moan.

“ ‘Allo, is someone there?” she called out again, frowning. It was difficult to see well in the dark. She wished she had a candle. She took several steps forward and suddenly tripped over something large lying at her feet and fell to the floor, crying out in alarm.

Someone groaned quite dose to her, and a man’s voice said,

“Oh, my God‘!”

Elizabeth gasped and sat up on the floor. “Merciful Heavens!

Who is there?“

She suddenly felt a hand close around her ankle, and instinctively she cried out and jerked her foot away, scuttling backward.

“Ow… help me, please…” someone said.

Whoever it was, she realized, was on the floor alongside her. She had tripped over someone, someone who was obviously hurt and in pain.

She took a deep breath. “Steady now,” she said, steeling her nerves. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, and she could now make out someone stretched out on the floor nearby. “I shall try to help you. Here, hold out your hand.”

She crawled over to the prostrate figure and saw a hand reaching out, unsteadily. She took hold of it. “Right, I have you. Now you shall have to help me. Can you stand? I cannot lift you up all by myself.”

“I… shall try…

They struggled to their feet, Elizabeth trying to hold him steady. Fortunately, he was not a large or heavy man. It took a moment or two, but they managed to stand up together.

“Come on, now, lean on me,” she said. “My name is Elizabeth

Darcie. I am Portia’s friend. Who are you, fellow?“

“I am Hastings, mistress… the… the steward of this house…”

“What happened, Hastings? Are you ill or injured?”

“Ohh… my head. They dubbed me down, the base villains…” He gasped suddenly, though not so much with pain apparently, as with alarm. “Oh, good God! Master Henry and Mistress Winifred! Oh dear, oh dear, I fear what has befallen them! They were at home when those scoundrels broke in!”

“How many of them were there?” asked Elizabeth, alarmed that they might still be in the house.

“I… I am not certain. At least three or four, methinks. Perhaps more… oh, alas, I fear for Master Henry and poor Mistress Winifred!”

“We shall find them, Hastings,” Elizabeth replied. “Calm yourself. Think now, was it already raining when these men attacked you and broke in?”

“Nay, mistress,” he answered without hesitation. “‘Twas not raining.”

“Good. ‘Twas a while ago, then, and with luck they may already have fled. You must fetch a candle or a lantern. And a weapon, if you have one. Quickly, if you can.”

“At once, mistress… perhaps you had best wait here…

But Elizabeth did not wait. “While Hastings went to get a light, she reached inside her cloak and pulled out the small bodkin that she carried with her whenever she went out. It was not a large dagger, but it was very well made, double edged and exceedingly sharp. It had been a present from Tuck, and she prized it because he had made it especially for her. He had given her some lessons in the proper use of it, and although it hardly made her feel invincible, she thought that if she had to use it, she could do so without any hesitation and with a fair degree of competency.

As she moved cautiously through the dark house, she held the bodkin ready in her hand and listened carefully for the slightest sound. She thought that it was likely those men were no longer in the house, but just the same, she moved slowly and tried to keep her footsteps as soft as possible. She felt a tightness in her stomach, and her breaths were quick and shallow. She felt afraid, but she refused to let that stop her. Somewhere in the house, there could be injured people who would need her help.

As she came toward the end of the hall, she heard a thumping sound and froze, the hairs prickling at the back of her neck. She held her breath. Where was it coming from? Could it be the robbers coming back down the stairs?

“Mistress Elizabeth!” she heard Hastings call out from behind her. It nearly made her jump. “Mistress Elizabeth, where are you?”

“Here, Hastings! Hurry!”

A moment later, she saw a light approaching. Hastings came toward her with a lantern and what appeared to be a battle-ax.

“Good Heavens!” she exclaimed. “Where did you get that?”

“Master Henry had it hanging upon the wall,” said Hastings, who had recovered somewhat, although he still looked a bit unsteady. She could see now that he was not a young man. He was about her height, thin as a rake, bald at the crown, with wispy white hair that stuck out from the sides of his head. “Would that I had this in my hands when those misbegotten wastrels broke in here!” he said, giving the battle-ax a shake. “I would have shown them what for!”

“Be quiet, Hastings! Listen!”

He stopped. The thumping noises continued.

“Do you hear?” she asked. “What is that?”

“The other servants!” he said after a moment. “In the kitchen!” He led the way and she followed.

They found them tied up in the kitchen. They quickly released the two women, who were frightened, but otherwise unharmed. They lit some candles and together all went in search of Henry Mayhew and Mistress Winifred, whom Elizabeth assumed to be the woman that Portia had told her about not long ago, the one who was going to be her stepmother. They soon found her in an upstairs bedroom, tied up and gagged and stretched out on the bed.

“Oh, my Lord!” cried Hastings when he saw her, and he nearly dropped the lantern. Elizabeth, however, ran immediately to her bedside with the two other women, and they soon had her untied.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked her, helping her sit up. She hesitated. “Did they hurt you?”

Winifred shook her head as she massaged her wrists. “Nay, they did not molest me,” she replied with surprising frankness.

“‘Twas not me that they wanted.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“They took Henry,” Winifred replied. She glanced at the servants. “Why are you standing there and dithering? Get some light in here! Look around the house and see if they have taken anything. Go on, now! Be quick about it!”

As the servants quickly moved to follow her directives, she turned to Elizabeth. “I would be much obliged if you would tell me who you are, young woman, so that I may thank you properly.”

“My name is Elizabeth Darcie.”

“Henry Darcie’s daughter,” Winifred replied, nodding. “Well, I am most grateful to you, Elizabeth. How did you happen to come here? Is anything amiss with Portia?”

“Nay, Portia is well,” Elizabeth replied. “That is, she is still mired in her grief for Thomas, but when I left her, she was otherwise unharmed. You do not suppose those men…” She trailed off, unable to finish articulating the appalling thought that had just occurred to her.

“I do not think. so,” Winifred replied, getting to her feet. “They demanded to know where she was. They were most insistent, but neither Henry nor I would tell them. Henry stubbornly refused to speak., so, fearing that they might ham him, I told them that she had run away from home and that we did not know where she was. They then took Henry and departed, after tying me up and carrying me upstairs. And save for the soreness in my ”“‘fists and ankles where they bound me up, they did not harm me in any way.”