Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘Yes, this is a most useful book. It’s a compilation of all the early books on herbs. Brother Michael procured a copy for me. He’s very kind.’

‘Do you see him very often?’

‘Not often, but occasionally. We consult one another about difficult cases, and he’s always raiding my supplies when his store runs low, especially in the winter time. Now look who’s here! Ambrose, you’re not allowed in here, you know that. No, don’t jump up on the table. Jane can talk to you outside.’

Ambrose, a large and very black cat, took no notice. With one graceful leap he landed on the table, and from this vantage point he could curl himself around Jane’s outstretched arm, purring loudly. She stroked his glossy fur and he flexed his claws appreciatively on the table, ignoring Agnes’s cries of disapproval. Jane laughed.

‘Ambrose is in fine form.’

‘Yes, he likes this time of the year. The garden’s full of fledgings and the fields full of voles and mice. Come on, Ambrose, that’s enough of that. Come and have some milk. You’ll stay for a bite, Jane?’

‘Thanks, but I must be off. My father will soon want his dinner.’

‘Tell that father of yours to get his own dinner. You ought to have some time off.’

‘That’ll be the day. He’d sooner starve than get his own meal.’

Agnes walked with her to the gate, Ambrose, with twitching tail, leading the way.

‘I’m sorry about Bess, Jane; and I’m sorry I haven’t the knowledge to tell you what caused her death. Sometimes the Lord just takes back his own and it’s not our business to question His ways. Now give my regards to Lord Nicholas and tell him from me that it’s time he thought about taking another wife; and let it be soon.’

Jane untied Melissa and jumped up on to her back. With a flick of her tail, she trotted off. It was a lovely day and Jane decided not to go home just yet, but to give Melissa a gallop across the common. So she turned Melissa off the road and dug her heels into her sides. With a snort of indignation, Melissa raced off.

* * *

Merlin was heavy and cumbersome after Harry, and seemed reluctant to enter the wood. Merlin was, by nature, a lugubrious horse, safe, dependable but dull, and today he seemed to match Nicholas’s mood. All around them the carpet of bluebells glowed in the dappled sunlight that streamed down through the canopy of beech leaves, but all Nicholas could think of was Bess Knowles’s marble-white face and that still body lying before the altar in St John’s chapel, with a monk praying for her soul. It didn’t take much imagination to replace Bess’s face with Jane’s. He saw so clearly her heart-shaped face wrapped in its grave cloth and her beautiful hair shrouded from sight and her vivid blue eyes closed in death. Two innocent people had already died; pray God Jane wouldn’t be the next.

Cromwell had seemed pretty certain that the conspiracy wasn’t over yet; but where was it to reappear? And when? And who were the conspirators? Perhaps Mortimer would reveal more under interrogation, and then his way would become clear. But without more information, he felt he was groping in the dark.

With a heavy heart he arrived at Mortimer Lodge. The place looked deserted and an air of sadness hung like a black cloud over the courtyard where only days before he’d seen Sir Roger grooming Galliard. Now, no one came to take Merlin. He dismounted and tied him to a post. Then he walked over to the heavy, wooden front door and rang the bell. It was a long time before it was opened and a man whom he’d not seen before, peered out.

‘No visitors. Sir Roger’s not here,’ the man said.

‘I’m his neighbour, Lord Nicholas Peverell. Open this door at once. I’ve come to see that everything’s in order here.’ The door opened and a short, stocky man, dressed in a brown leather doublet and strong woollen hose, confronted him. His large, plain face was fringed with coarse black hair, and he looked coldly at Nicholas.

‘You’d better come in, then. I’m Roland Seaward, steward to Lord Gilbert Fitzroy, and sent here to administer this property until His Majesty the King decides what to do with it. There’s nothing to see, but come in if you must.’

It was unbelievable how much the house had altered since Sir Roger was arrested. There were no signs of life; no children playing and chattering; no Lady Margot going about her household tasks. Something had died when the Mortimers left. It felt as if the house had lost its soul. Only the cook, Mary, was still there in the kitchen. She was stirring a pot over the fire, and she looked up when Nicholas went in and promptly burst into tears.

‘My Lord, you see what we’ve come to. Everyone’s gone, and I’m left with this devil of a steward who expects me to cook for him three times a day. I’m ashamed to be here, but I’ve nowhere to go, and even if I had, Roland wouldn’t let me leave.’

‘Hush, Mary,’ said Nicholas soothingly, ‘you must stay here and look after the house until times become more settled. We don’t know whether Lady Margot might return with the children. You must hope for that.’

‘You really think they might come back here, my Lord? When I remember the faces of those poor children, shocked and bewildered they were, I thought I would never see them again. And God help me, at that moment I hated Sir Roger for letting his family suffer so.’

‘He thought he was doing the right thing. Just think of his wife and children and think of better times. Did you see Bess Knowles in her last moments, Mary?’

‘I did that. And that’s another thing. Why should the poor lass die? She was never ill, not a day’s illness as long as I’ve known her. I don’t understand it. She wanted that poor child. She was all ready to marry Matthew; then he was taken and she just gave up and followed him.’

‘Can you remember whether she took any food?’

‘Not a morsel. It was almost as if she’d made up her mind to die, and die she did. A terrible thing to happen. Sometimes I think there’s a curse on this house.’

Nicholas comforted her as best he could, and Roland took him round the house, showing him the deserted rooms. It was as if the house was in mourning; Sir Roger’s desk was covered with a linen sheet; the beds were stripped, the shutters closed. Nicholas shuddered and decided there was nothing he could do there.

Shouting goodbye to Mary, he returned to Merlin, and mounted him. Using his whip, because Merlin seemed reluctant to move, he crossed the common and went into the wood. The sun had gone behind dark clouds, and Merlin was uneasy. Once in the wood, he refused to go along the woodland path and stopped, snorting uneasily.

‘What’s got into you, you old fool?’ said Nicholas, urging him on with his heels and the whip. But it was no use. Merlin began to play up, side-stepping over every fallen twig, and peering into every coppice. Then he stopped suddenly and refused to budge. The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone through the trees, creating a dappled effect on the ground. Then Nicholas saw something flit behind a tree; a dark, sinister figure, like a being from another world. He jumped and tried to look more closely, but the thing had disappeared. Then a twig cracked and that was enough for Merlin. With an almighty sideways leap, he shied away from the path and tore off through the thicket. Nicholas tried desperately to check him, but it was useless. Merlin was immensely strong. Too late, Nicholas saw the low branch ahead of him. Merlin made straight for it. The branch caught Nicholas across the chest and he fell heavily. Then he lost consciousness and Merlin, riderless, raced back to Peverell Manor.

Nicholas didn’t surface until Tuesday morning. He opened his eyes and heard the twittering of the birds greeting the dawn, but he had no recollection of where he was or why he was there. He moved his head but the pain hit him like a blow of the blacksmith’s hammer, and he cursed and shut his eyes. Then he tried again. He moved his legs and found they still functioned; his arms and hands seemed normal. But when he tried to raise his head the hammers started again and his neck and shoulders were stiff and painful.