the scholar's sweetheart 17

 sorry sorry I started doing my emails first. bad me! 

 

Chapter 17

 

“Go and wash and dress, Cornelius,” said Imogen’s crisp voice.  “You shall have the services of Spalding, who is pining without Evelyn to valet for, and I’ll see Shuri to my room to dress in something, as she’s not far off my size, and I’ve unearthed a wig which will do. You’re de trop. And remember to have Spalding pack valises for Evelyn and Jasper as well.  Woodlock is staying with his people to keep them calm.”

“My clothes! They were all burned,” said Shuri.

“As well we’re about the same size,” said Imogen, calmly. “I know I don’t have many colours which work well on you, but I can wear some yellows which look fabulous with your skin tones. And some apricots.”

“I can’t take your clothes....”

“Shuri, you and I share a son, which makes you my sister. Of course you can. I can get more.”

“I don’t know that a wig....”

“I was thinking that if I padded a cap and sewed curls to it, it would work admirably. You wouldn’t have liked the wig itself; it’s a full-bottomed wig belonging to Evelyn’s great great grandsire, and if the portraits are anything to go by, he looked like a pirate.”

Shuri sniggered.

“I’ve seen some statues of men with those awful wigs,” she said.

“I know; but the hair is still good, and I can cut locks from it, because your hair will probably grow back curly.”

“If it’s not burned too badly,” said Shuri, anxiously. “Burns can leave skin too scarred.”

“I think it took the hair and protected the scalp somewhat,” said Imogen. “I checked out you and Corny quite thoroughly, and I think the follicles are undamaged, there was only a thin layer of skin which came off with the crisp hair. Otherwise he’d have to go around looking like a very young Friar Tuck rather than like an escaped Putto.”

Shuri managed a giggle.

“Is that the singular of putti? Aren’t they the sort of cherubs some people put on tombstones?”

“Yes, and on baroque swags on curtain tops and furniture in the sort of noble homes I prefer to avoid,” said Imogen. “How much hair do you want to show? I thought this lace trimmed cap would do?”

“As long as it looks natural, do as seems fit,” said Shuri. “I don’t want to look a quiz. Having a burned face is bad enough.”

“I don’t like to put a curl of hair over the burn, in case it hurts,” said Imogen.

“Can you put it so it doesn’t lay against the skin? I’m vain enough to care,” said Shuri.

“I can do that,” said Imogen. “I’ll put hair under the cap, too, to add to the padding and to show through, and then several layers of folded muslin to keep your scalp comfortable and a dressing under all.”

“Bless you,” said Shuri.

“Gloves will cover your dressings on your arms, too.”

“What, are you trying to turn me into a lady?”

Imogen gave Shuri a straight look.

“If you choose to marry Cornelius, though he won’t pressure you to dress a Giorgio, you would make life easier,” she said.

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Shuri. “Something I need to consider. Your gown is comfortable.”

“Yes, I could see that having to wear panniers would be horrible, and a reason to avoid marrying a Giorgio,” said Imogen.

Shuri flushed.

“And even so, I might do so, if I loved him enough,” she said, softly.

“Do you?” asked Imogen, bluntly.

“I... I am not sure,” said Shuri. “He is amiable, educated, but does not talk down to me; he was interested in my thoughts upon ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ by ‘A Lady,’ and though we disagreed somewhat over Charlotte’s choice to marry the repellent Mr. Collins, he does not hold that his view must be superior for being a man, but said that as a woman, I could more readily put myself in Charlotte’s position. It throws many lights on his character; will you mind if I discuss that? Since you are busy making me a wig.”

“Not at all,” said Imogen. “I take it that he is of the view that, so long as Collins is not actually likely to beat his wife for real and imaginary transgressions, the acceptance of financial security must count heavily in her decision?”

“Yes; and I would rather die an old maid than marry someone who would erode my spirit, drop by relentless drop, until I became no more than an echo of the sound of him dripping.”

“This being the sort of beau my grandmother wanted to palm me off onto, I agree wholeheartedly,” said Imogen. “How beautifully you put that!  What you have to realise is that Cornelius is not a wealthy man. Therefore, for him, financial security looms large, as he has been brought up having to count both sides of a groat twice. I grew up wealthy and you grew up without any wealth at all, and in a way it engenders a similar outlook; a carelessness about wealth which either comes easily, or doesn’t come at all, and therefore might as well be ignored. He is thinking along the lines of what he would do if Charlotte was a dependent of his, his sister, for example, or rather, what he ought to do.  Being loosened up will do him no harm. You should show him, if you get the opportunity, that you can snare rabbits and gather wild food and survive when money is short, it will show him that you don’t have to depend on him earning. On the other hand, you should appreciate his hard work to give you the sort of life he thinks you should have. Men are very fragile, you know.”

“So, he would palm off a sister onto someone who is not actually bad but who has nothing to recommend him so he could be independent?” Shuri scowled, and winced as this hurt.

“No, you misunderstand me,” said Imogen. “He would want a sister or daughter of his to be happy, but he would also want her to be settled in case anything happened to him, so she could not rely on his earning power. But he would listen to any plaint that this was not what she wanted.  His concept is that a clergyman has a dependable, if low, income. I think since his brother caused so much trouble, he would be more open to the idea that this is not always enough. He has not seen, as I have, how a woman can be browbeaten by a man who controls the purse strings – I really worry about my cousins Marjorie and Dinah.”

“I can tell him about that. Indeed, I did, I said that I was free for the first time since my father was killed, and I would not willingly enter a relationship where a man would expect me to be a shadow of himself. He asked if I thought he would do so; I said, I do not know. Because I did not know him well enough. I said that as he asked my opinion, I thought he would not, and he seemed much relieved.”

“I think he would try to give you as much freedom as possible,” said Imogen. “He knows how much Jasper values his freedom. I had to tell Evelyn how it was going to be, because he kept trying to protect me from himself. People like him and Cornelius are brought up to believe a man is the protector, only Evelyn learned one thing from his mother and tutors and was shown a contradiction by his father, which has made Evelyn even more protective. I agree with him and do what I want.”

Shuri sniggered.

“Well, I’m glad you went out the day you took down Fowk, despite, as I understand it, the marquis’s strictures while he was at large.”

Imogen went red.

“I plain forgot,” she said, in a whisper. “But I had to go, Phebe had no decent clothes. And it’s important for little girls to have nice dresses.”

“Yes, indeed. That is important. I heard you took a groom, too, with a blunderbuss?”

“Yes, and the fool meekly threw it down!” said Imogen. “I confess, I was as furious with him as I was with Fowk at that moment, and I just went ahead and drove at Fowk. I thought he’d leap off the road and then my groom could arrest him, but I think the outcome was more favourable.”

“He was arrogant; I doubt he could believe you would actually drive him down.”

“I don’t know why. Many an aristocrat would do so; people like Evelyn’s father wouldn’t hesitate.”

“But you’re a woman and to be intimidated; because he and Crowy Heron are the same. Oh! And Jasper is in his clutches...” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Jasper is resourceful. Evelyn, Evergreen, and a nice dog called Bess are looking for him. I can only suppose some fool has decided they are all gypsies on trouble bent and has arrested them, or something; but Evelyn has letters on him that will prove who he is, and even if Crowy Heron has been tiresome, nobody is likely to do anything like hang them out of hand.”

“I hope you are right,” said Shuri. “But I want to go and see...”

“I wish I could go, too,” said Imogen. “But I don’t want to leave Lementina.  I’d take Phebe if it were just a question of her, but it will be a day or two before we can be sure Lementina is out of danger.”

“And bless you for that,” said Shuri. “I will deputise for you as well as I might.”

 

oOoOo

 

 Cornelius felt better for a shave, which he permitted Spalding to undertake, and a careful wash, and clean clothes made him feel even better.

“If I might suggest, Mr. Reckitt,” said Spalding, “It might not be stylish, but a night cap under your hat might minimise discomfort.”

“You’re probably right,” said Cornelius. “And I’d look more ridiculous bleeding into my hat.”

“If I may say so, sir, I do not think the burn bad enough to prevent your hair from growing back,” said Spalding. “Where it is not covered by the dressing, it is apparent that the hair has broken off short of the scalp, and that is encouraging.”

“Well, if it does not, other men have pattern balding, and at least I have it in a good cause,” said Cornelius.

“Indeed, sir, and the gypsies very complimentary of your courage, and promptness in saving one they all love, as well as their chieftess,” said Spalding.

“And letting down Jasper,” said Cornelius.

“Oh, no, sir!” said Spalding. “Mr. Jasper would far rather that you save his mother and the old lady. And you should know it.”

Cornelius bowed his head.

He knew it was true.

“A shame a man cannot split himself in two, eh, Spalding?” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but the bitterness escaped.

“Oh, no, sir, that would be most ineligible,” said Spalding. “All those entrails would spoil the set of even the best tailored coat.”

“Spalding, thank you,” said Cornelius. “Just what I needed to think things through in perspective.”

He came onto the landing to see Shuri, demure in dimity, with a set of ridiculous ringlets erupting from a confection of linen and lace that covered most of her head.

“Miss Lovell! I... you... I would not believe, if I did not know, that you had ever been in an accident,” said Cornelius. “You are as lovely as always.”

“You look well enough yourself, Mr. Reckitt,” said Shuri. “I trust you feel able to set out?”

“Yes; I have too many images of Evelyn getting himself into trouble,” said Cornelius. “Though it could be as simple as Crowy Heron giving him the slip and going on the run. Evelyn will not pause until he is dead, you know; he takes threats to all his family very seriously.”

“I know,” said Shuri. “And I am bothered that all of them may have been taken up by constables as brawling gypsies, and Evelyn accused of theft of his identity and any papers he has.”

“There are plenty of people who can verify who he is, but I can see some magistrates not bothering to move fast,” said Cornelius. “And I can’t help wondering what desperate straits he might go to if Jasper was.... hurt.”

“Or killed,” said Shuri. “I can face the possibility; I have been facing it. If we can face it together, it will be less overwhelming.”

Cornelius nodded.

“Yes, we shall face it together,” he said. “Shall we?” he gestured to the stairs to descend and offered his arm.

“I’m not taking your arm, and it isn’t out of perversity, it’s out of a desire not to drag healing skin off your arm or lose mine,” said Shuri.

“A time when automatic gestures of etiquette are actually out of place,” said Cornelius, pulling a comical face.

“You’re over-trained,” said Shuri.

“Yes,” said Cornelius.

 

They met Woodlock in the vestibule.

“I’ve had a carriage set up for you,” he said. “A satchel of salves and draughts and dressings, enough food for half an army, blankets and comforters, extra hay for the horses and bran to make a bran mash, a cookpot, a kettle, and some contraption with charcoal in for burning to make a fire if you aren’t capable of making a real one. Though, I suppose, making tea in the carriage is valid, as it’s perishing all of a sudden.”

“The weather has taken a nasty turn for the worse,” agreed Cornelius.

Woodlock embraced him. Both were careful of each other’s burns. Woodlock’s eyes were suspiciously damp.

“She looks good in your people’s clothes,” he said, softly. “I fancy she has chosen already, in being willing to dress Giorgio. But if you don’t take good care of her, I’m going to knock your block off.”

“I wouldn’t expect my brother to do anything else,” said Cornelius. “I want nothing more than to take good care of her; but I am also aware that this does not mean trammelling her.”

“If you understand that, then I am sure you’ll both be very happy,” said Woodlock.

 

Cornelius helped Shuri up the steps into the coach, and settled down, rapping on the side of the coach for the coachman to set the horses in motion, and head for the unknown. Woodlock had picked Collins, the head groom, who had let Imogen down in acceding to Fowk’s demands but who had learned his lesson, and it amused Cornelius that he was positively bristling with weaponry. He could see a blunderbuss, a shotgun, and a pistol on the dash as well. Collins was taking no chances.

 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 16 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 16

 

Jasper melted into shadows, as the door crashed open.

“I’ll give you something to bark about, you cur!” cried Swallow, crashing into the stables. There were several pained yelps, then silence. Swallow banged out again and back into the cottage.

“What a fool,” muttered Jasper. He eased open the stable door, and found the dog lying, panting in pain.

Jasper risked shutting the door and setting a light in a lantern.

“Easy, boy,” he said, running a gentle hand down the dog’s flank “Nasty bruises and I think he’s broken your leg.”

Jasper had the touch with animals, and the dog whined and tried to wag his tail.  Jasper had nothing but water to cool wounds, but he tore a strip off his shirt to splint the broken leg. He noticed a jar labelled ‘horse liniment,’ and opened it to sniff; it was still pungent, so he added it to the dog’s wounds, and slid it into his own pack. Then he put out the lantern, and led the mule out of the stable and down the path, where he tethered it, carrying the dog, which he made comfortable on a horse blanket from the stable, and left a bucket of water from the stable for both of them. There was a pump by the side of the stable, but he did not dare work it, only scoop such water as there was from the trough.  He tied three saplings together and threw another horse blanket over them as a makeshift shelter, and brought hay.

The cart was outside, and had been well-oiled. Jasper filled it with hay and straw, and pushed it slowly towards the front door. There was a curtain of sorts over the window, to keep out the cold of the night, and he moved the cart only when he could hear loud conversation and the odd burst of laughter.

He put hay under the windows both sides of the door and under the sill of the window on the side of the house with a trail round to the front. He fetched out the whittled wedges which he pressed into the casements as hard as he could without hammering. That sealed the parlour windows on both sides.  Jasper suspected that the men would fall to dicing before they went to bed, and that would keep them occupied. He managed to press in wedges to that window when they fell to quarrelling loudly, and blessed his luck. They could, perhaps, go upstairs and try to go out of the upstairs windows; but not if the roof was well alight before they realised the trouble they were in. He had found a can of lamp oil, and splashed it liberally on the threshold and the hay leading to the cart, and set a lighted shuttered lantern right by the door which would be knocked over into the lamp oil the moment the door opened.

Then he slipped away up the cliff, with some more hay, and stuffed it in the chimney. Chimneys smoked from time to time, and they would put the fire out, but it would help rob the room of good air and make them sluggish. Then he kindled a flame, pouring the rest of the lamp oil into strategic points of the thatch, at both ends, and on the roof of the stable block, and set light to the thatch.

It had been dry for days, and despite the mizzling rain, it went up like a torch. Jasper had to leap back as it leaped up, to avoid being burned, and beat a hasty retreat from the roof. There was a good downdraught from off the hill, teasing the flames and licking them into a more fervent ardour of pyrotechnic endeavour, such that by the time he had reached the ridge, the whole roof was ablaze, and the light of it a ghastly orange in the sky. Sparks flew up and smuts floated lazily down, and Jasper reflected this was what snow in hell would be like.   Jasper retired to his log, and waited. It also protected him from hot smuts, and if the fire spread to the trees, which he thought it should not, he could always retreat to his passageway below. He did not want to burn the forest, but he thought the nearest trees too far to do more than char a little at worst.

It would take a while for the men in the cottage to become aware of what was going on.  Had he but known it, their senses were even more dulled for Crowy having managed to steal some brandy. The roof was well alight, and the beams below the thatch, before Crowy asked, rather drunkenly, what the roaring was.

“Mus’ be a storm,” said Swallow. “It was raining when I went out after the dog. Like as not that’s why he was barking. Look, there’s flickers of lightning.”

“It’s awful red,” said Perun. “Hey, it’s a fire! We must of been struck by lightning!”

It was around about then that the three rogues thought of grabbing what they could, and saving their lives by running out of the door.

And inevitably, one of them kicked over the lamp as they all tried to exit at once, and the lamp oil went up with a dull ‘WHUMP!’ setting light to the cart right on the door, and for having its path blocked by the cart body, sucking right into the door of the cottage, and setting light to the somewhat brandy-flavoured gypsies. They had managed to spill some whilst drinking, and fire loves warm brandy.

Then the screaming started. 

Jasper heard it, and was briefly satisfied; but as it went on, he found he had to exit his hideout to be violently sick.

“Let ’ee burn, you murderous bastard an’ carry on burning as ’ee burn in Hell for eternity for burning my mother,” said Jasper, reverting to childhood vernacular. Then he crept back into his nest and sobbed for his mother and Lementina, who was a grandmother to him. He cried himself to sleep.

 

oOoOo

 

Evergreen and Evelyn entirely missed the excitement of the fire. For one thing, the cottage was on the other side of the ridge; and for another, they were both inside the tent, and did not see the flickering in the sky, since the greater part of the fire had burned down by the time Evergreen got up to feed their fire.  A timber framed building can be reduced to ash and charred beams in a couple of hours. It can then smoke and smoulder for a considerable time, depending on the thickness of the beams, regardless of how hard it may be raining, once the fire has taken the main thickness of a beam and is smouldering happily underneath it, making charcoal.

Having failed to realise there had been a fire, Evergreen came awake first, and Evelyn roused from endless restless half-dreams with a groan as he realised one leg was asleep from having had Bess partly on it. He wanted to relieve himself, and swore as he could not feel his leg when he tried to put weight on it. Somehow he limped to a distance to lean on a tree as he relieved the pressing need, by which time his leg had moved from numb to tingling and burning, as feeling returned.

“Numb?” asked Evergreen.

“Not any more; feels as if a dozen rats are trying to gnaw it off,” grunted Evelyn. “Your dog is heavy.”

“She knows better than to sleep on me as I kick her,” said Evergreen. “You’ve made her very happy.” The dog’s tail was wagging.

“The feeling is not mutual,” said Evelyn.

“Well, if you are mobile, I’ll leave you in charge of the fire and see about scouting,” said Evergreen.

 

 

Evergreen came upon the rough shelter with a mule and a dog in it first.  And Bess gave tongue and ran up the path.

“I’ll be back,” said Evergreen, and ran to follow Bess. The air was smoky and thick, the damp air holding down the smell of charring, and the acrid sweetish scent of burned bodies. Evergreen’s nose twitched. Crowy Heron had been known to use fire before against those who crossed him, and he proceeded with caution. He swallowed hard, wondering if he was about to find his childhood friend’s body burned beyond recognition, and if so, how he was going to break it to Evelyn.

He pushed on round the corner, and stood, mouth open, to see the blackened skeleton of what had once been a cottage, its massive beams charred and smoking, all fallen in. The chimney stood still in the centre, a monument to its sturdy construction.

“Well, damn!” said Evergreen.

Bess pawed at the cliff face.

“Evergreen?” said a voice.

“Jasper?” said Evergreen.

Jasper clambered over the cliff and scrambled down, and embraced his older friend wordlessly.

“Did you burn him out?” asked Evergreen.

“I burned them all in,” said Jasper, in grim satisfaction. “Crowy, Perun, and Swallow. Barricaded the door and set a trap for that to go afire if they opened the door, and it leaped back and caught them, from what I can gather. I... I just left the fire to do its job. They screamed an awful lot,” he said.

“Well, old man, let’s go find your da,” said Evergreen. “I left him in charge of the camp; is that your mule and dog?”

“It is now,” said Jasper. “I’m not sure the dog is going to live, Swallow was vicious, but if he didn’t damage anything inside with his great boots, the dog will live.”

“We can put him on the mule and look him over properly at the camp,” said Evergreen. “Your da has medicines with him.”

“I stole some horse liniment when I took the mule and the dog out of the stable,” said Jasper.  “Innocent beasts didn’t ought to die.”

“No, quite so,” agreed Evergreen. He thought Jasper a wounded creature himself, shying from touching a wound that could be better healed by dealing with it.

“Lementina was alive when we left,” said Evergreen, abruptly. “Her ladyship thought Cornelius got her there in time to save her life.”

“And... and Shuri?” asked Jasper.

This was it, thought Evergreen.

“Burned on the face and arms, and lost all her hair,” he said, “They say she might scar.”

“She... they think she’ll live to be scarred?” said Jasper.

“Last I heard,” said Evergreen. “Her and Cornelius both. Bad burns but being treated.”

Jasper gasped. “If she is badly scarred...”

“It was down one side. No problem with her eyes,” said Evergreen. “And see, there’s your da.”

“Papa! Oh, papa!” Jasper was a small missile who nearly bowled Evelyn over, as the tall man strode forward seeing the little figure with Evergreen.

“My son, oh, my son!” cried Evelyn, and then Jasper was sobbing in his arms. Jasper stumbled through how he had thought his mother and Lementina burned to death as Crowy boasted of killing Lementina, and so he burned him and his cousins.

“I am sorry that you had to do it as I was planning on killing them myself,” said Evelyn. “But well done for managing it.”

“You aren’t sore at me?” asked Jasper, his early vernacular creeping in.

“No, I’m proud of you for escaping and doing what you had to do,” said Evelyn. “I would have killed them with no more compunction than shooting a mad dog. Less; I’d have sympathy for the dog. If you feel remorse, you are a bigger man than I am.”

“Remorse? No. Only satisfaction that they cannot hurt anyone else,” said Jasper. “I wondered if there was something wrong with me for not being horrified. I mean, other than how horrible the screams were.”

“Just remember, that is what Crowy planned for Lementina,” said Evelyn.

“I thought he had killed her, and ma,” said Jasper, again. “It was revenge.”

“It was his intent, so it counts,” said Evelyn. “Well! We have some sandwiches and beer; let us eat breakfast, and go and collect the horses. We should be home for dinner as we can head straight there, not all around the houses.”

“Oh, papa! Have you healing salves? Swallow Heron kicked this poor dog,” said Jasper.

“Certainly, and proper dressings,” said Evelyn. Jasper saw to the nameless dog whilst Evelyn and Evergreen put out the fire and struck their makeshift camp. Jasper was glad he had kept the gay skirts in his pack, using one to make a sling for the injured cur.

 

Evelyn had not expected to be met by aggressive villagers with pitchforks.

“Thieves! You stole from me!” howled the innkeeper, leading them.

“I borrowed a spade, which I return to you now,” said Evergreen, handing it over. “And how dare you accuse his lordship of stealing, when what you charged for sandwiches and moth eaten blankets was daylight robbery!”

“Enough!” barked Evelyn. “If anyone stole from you, it was Crowy Heron and his cousins, who can’t answer for their crimes, being dead; but be assured, my young son here has been through enough of an ordeal having been kidnapped by gypsies and even having to wear the mismatched rags of the kind Crowy Heron thinks suitable, and I will not hesitate to shoot. I have a shotgun and two pistols, and I suggest you disperse and go home before I read the riot act upon you.”

His plainly educated tones and fine quality if rumpled clothes were enough to make some back down right away; the look of blazing fury in his eyes and the shotgun he produced accounted for the others. Jasper too was a convincing sight, despite his gypsy clothing, as his looks tended to pity him whilst he was going through a growing spurt, and the tear tracks on his face were unmistakable.

“Well, who’s going to put right what was stolen?” demanded the truculent innkeeper.

“You don’t deserve it, but I’ll pay for what was stolen,” said Evelyn in clipped tones. “And you had better have fed my horses and seen to their grooming.”

“I might not have had time...”

“Jasper, Evergreen, curry the horses, and this mule, and see to feeding them a good bran mash and if the stablehands give you a hard time, knock them down for their contumely,” said Evelyn. “I shall want to purchase a basket well lined with an old comforter for this poor dog, ill-treated by his former owner,” he said

If the rest were not enough, a word like ‘contumely’ completely collapsed the innkeeper. He arranged a basket which could be strapped to the mule for the transport of the dog, and muttered to his employee that only an aristocrat would be daft enough to take on care of a misbegotten cur which was likely useless and any normal man would hang it quickly to save the cost of a bullet in shooting it. It was as well for him that Evelyn did not overhear this comment.

The dog growled once at Evelyn, who fixed it with a steely gaze, and addressed it in the tones of One Who Orders. “Now then, sirrah! Why such bad language to your new master?” demanded Evelyn. “At rest, now.”

The dog subsided and tentatively wagged its stump of a tail.

“Poor old boy,” said Evelyn, presenting a hand to sniff and then doing the precise place on the cur’s ears which reduced it to drooling pleasure. “I fear you are no aristocrat to be named for any of the Hounds of Actaeon; I fancy you will be known as ‘Stumpy.’

Stumpy wagged what little tail he possessed. He might be in pain, but he discovered a ham bone in the basket, and he had already eaten that morning. He was grateful for a new owner who was not handing out more whipping or kicks.

Evelyn kept the motheaten blankets. He anticipated being home before nightfall, in taking a direct route; but it would not harm to have the means to camp; he had, after all, paid for them! Well-washed, the children could play with them in the garden.

 

oOoOo

 

Meanwhile, Cornelius had arisen, sore, but otherwise whole in spirit and demanded of Mrs. Hudson if he was to be released from durance invalid.

“You’ll do very well, I think, Mr. Reckitt,” said that worthy. “You can remove to your own room.”

“How is Shuri?” asked Cornelius.

“Doing well enough for a guest room,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Or to set out after Master Jasper.”

“Evelyn not home then?” asked Cornelius.

“No, sir,” said Mrs. Hudson.

“Lementina?”

“That one’s too stubborn to die,” said Mrs. Hudson, in satisfaction. “So long as I can keep her from infection. But she won’t travel again.”

“I’m adopting her as my mother and I’ll have a cottage built,” said Cornelius.

“Aye, that will do nicely,” said Mrs. Hudson.  “You’ll have to talk her round, though.”

 

the scholar's sweetheart 15

 

Chapter 15

 

Jasper woke to the sound of voices, having decided to doze until dusk. It was still light when the voices woke him. They drifted up the hillside, and if he strained he could hear what was said; Crowy’s voice, and two others, he thought, were Perun and Swallow Heron, Crowy’s cousins, who were brothers. As unpleasant as Crowy, Jasper did not want to fall into their clutches.

“She can’t have gone far,” he heard Crowy’s voice, frustrated. “She’s only a woman and she was half suffocated by the tent wrapped round her.”

“Hungry and thirsty too, I wager,” said Swallow, with a rough laugh.

There was a silence.

“She stole my beer, bread, ham, and cheese,” admitted Crowy.

There was jeering laughter from the other two.

“You’re slipping, Crowy,” said Perun. “Lookee!  If we find her for you, do we get a turn to poke her?”

“When I’ve schooled her,” promised Crowy.

“Reckon she might of gone over the hill?” asked Swallow.

“Talk sense! She’d have to climb the cliff here,” said Crowy. “If she’d gone out through the roof, well, yes, she could of walked onto the top o’ the cliff, but she never did. She went out o’ the window an’ I reckon she hung an’ dropped, it’s not far. She couldn’t go into a village, they’d of druv her out. She might of gone up if she went to where the slope’s gentle, but women when they run, they take easy paths, not difficult ones.”

Jasper had to concede that this was probably accurate for many women. It was, however, Shuri, who had taught him to go up when evading Fowk, as people do not look up. Jasper had once spent three horribly uncomfortable days in an oak tree with his mother until Fowk cooled off over whatever had enraged him, and they could go home.

“Shuri’s a cut above most women. I’m going up the cliff, and if nothing else, I can use it as a vantage point,” said Swallow.

“You’re an ornery cur. Speaking of which, where’s the dog?”

“In the wood,” said Perun. “I’ll get it; you get me down something o’ hers, an’ I’ll soon have her tracked, if Swallow will wait up a moment,” he added. Jasper could only hope that Crowy’s scent from carrying him in the tarpaulin was all the dog could find, since some of which was all he had left that had been in contact with him – the wig having enough of its own natural oils to mask his scent. With luck the dog would be confused.

Jasper slipped out to lay more sticks on his entrance side and pull debris over them, and scattered more wild garlic.  He dug a hole towards the other side of the hill, and took the opportunity to empty his bladder and bowels as a dog would be drawn to the stronger scent. He slithered back into his hide, and pulled debris into the small gap he needed to enter. Jasper had never been so frightened in his life. Crowy was a fearsome enemy but could be appealed to through greed. Perun was too stupid to recognise the opportunity to hope the son of a marquis could be held for ransom; Jasper was fairly sure that Perun would not see how Jasper could be ‘useful enough’ to a marquis to be worth anything. And Swallow! Swallow liked hurting, and giggled when people were in pain. If he only had a pistol, thought Jasper, he could shoot one and maybe outrun the others. He pushed aside the bracken he had pulled to cushion his nest, and dug frantically to add to the debris to make it harder to get at him.

And then, suddenly, as he was cursing that he had hit a root, the chalky ground beside the root started to trickle away, and formed a hole, beneath his hiding place!

“Dear G-d, thank you if this is what I think and the tree fell because of a sink hole,” said Jasper. In a hole, he could slash at hands with his knife, so long as it was big enough that they could not collapse it on him.

He had brought candles from the bedrooms in the cottage, and was glad they were good wax, not tallow dips. He kindled a spark to light one  and held it down into the hole. It looked to be about six feet deep and ran off one way further than the candle could penetrate.

Jasper widened the hole, dropped through his belongings, and slithered down himself, pulling bracken back over the top, and then cautiously relit the candle.

It was larger than he had thought, and where the candle flame had been unable to reach, he could see tool marks on the chalky wall; someone had dug flints from here sometime, long ago. How long, Jasper could not guess, but he suspected it was long enough to have been old when the witching sisters were burned. A spring bubbled up from the fallen-in dirt where the tree had once stood, and likely the one thing that had allowed it to grow so large, and yet, the thing that killed it by undermining it. It made it a bit of a squeeze into the cut passageway, but had also, paradoxically, probably been what opened it.

Jasper, considering that he had little choice at this point, set off down the passage, after first tasting the spring water, and then filling empty beer bottles when he found it was good. He hung on to a tree-root to do so, rinsing the bottles first, as the spring ran a short distance and vanished into a fissure, and Jasper had no desire to fall into a deeper sink hole cut by the spring as it disappeared into the chalk after being forced to the surface by a layer of clay.

 

oOoOo

 

Evelyn awoke to the rather timid shaking by a maid.

“If you please, sir, you asked for an early dinner, and it’ll be served in the parlour in ten minutes,” she said. “I’ve brung up your clothes, me ma an’ me washed an’ ironed them. An’ I’m sorry about your collar but we didn’t have much starch.”

“That will be fine,” said Evelyn, reaching for a coin from the commode to vail her. “I’m not a dandy.”

“You do look all a gentleman should be,” blurted out the girl, and blushed.

“Why, thank you,” said Evelyn. “My wife agrees. How is my dog?”

“Oh, she’s fine, sir, she got to eat first,” said the girl.

“Well, then, I have time for a quick wash, I think,” said Evelyn, starting to get out of bed.

“Eeep!” said the maid, fleeing, as Evelyn had stripped entirely to sleep. Evelyn grinned. She was a chatty child, despite her shyness, and Evelyn really did want to wash before dressing. Evergreen had roused too, and stripped the clothes he had not handed over for washing to take advantage of the hot water the girl had brought.

Half an hour later they were tucking into what was described as lamb with tarragon and thyme, served with celery and green onion chopped into rice.

“Acceptable,” said Evelyn. “I think the tup they served may have been in its second lambhood rather than being grass lamb, but it was well cooked.”

Evergreen giggled.

“I’ve never had lamb, so I wouldn’t know,” he said.

Half an hour later still, they were on the road towards Grovely Wood.

“I think that this must be one of the more sparsely occupied corners of England which isn’t actually moorland,” said Evelyn. “Well, we should get to... what did you say it was called?”

“Great Wishford,” said Evergreen. “I heard it used to be ‘Great Witchford,’ but it were for the wytch elms, not for witchcraft.”

“Do you believe in witchcraft at all?” asked Evelyn.

“Not at all in daylight and mostly not when I’m with someone like you,” opined Evergreen. “At night, somewhere creepy, I lay garlic about me as well as saying my prayers.”

“Nothing wrong with being thorough,” said Evelyn.

 

Night was closing in fast by the time they reached Great Wishford. They hitched their horses and went into the ale house. The main street seemed to have been recently built, and somehow felt wrong in its overwhelming modernity.

“We don’t serve your kind here,” said the landlord, with hostility.

“No? Dear me, how very unfriendly of you,” drawled Evelyn, with his best aristocratic tones.

“Oh, forgive me, milord, I thought you was gypsies,” said the landlord, grovelling.

“My son has been abducted by a gypsy and this excellent lad from a different tribe is helping me search,” said Evelyn. “There are gypsies, and gypsies, you know.”

“I still can’t serve him, matter o’ policy,” said the landlord.

“Fine, serve my horses and dog, and sell me bottles of beer and sandwiches,” said Evelyn. “Bring them out to me in the yard so we don’t have to sully your unchristian premises any longer than necessary and so I can go find my boy.”

The landlord lost himself in a plethora of oleaginous half sentences and apologies, and Evelyn ignored him, stalking out with Evergreen, awed, in his wake.

“We’ll search for an hour, unless Bess picks up a good trail, and then camp overnight,” said Evelyn. “I trust you to find us a good place to camp. I did not set out with expectations to camp, but we have good wool blankets, and if you can find somewhere suitable, it’s coming on to rain.”  He broke off to take beer and sandwiches and pay the landlord as Bess and the horses were fed. “Landlord, do you have any old horse blankets to sell us? And perhaps I can stable my horses here?”

The landlord looked cunning.

“My name is Finchbury. Evelyn, Marquis Finchbury,” said Evelyn softly. “If you even try to sell my horse whilst I am gone, you will wish I only handed you over to the law, because I will ruin you; and my horses will come home to me anyway because they are trained to do so. So remove any larcenous thoughts from what you laughingly call your brain.”

The landlord paled.

Any stories he had heard had probably been of Evelyn’s father, but Evelyn was not about to quibble if it got compliance.

They were provided with some rather motheaten blanket, for which Evelyn paid too much, and passed through the village following the road towards the wooded rise which lay to the south. They moved off the road and up into the trees on the chalk outcrop. 

Evergreen took his knife, a vicious-looking tool, and cut a sapling seven feet long and lashed it three feet up from the ground between two other saplings as Evelyn held things for him.

“We can use the old blankets to stretch out and peg down, and add bracken to them and bracken under other blankets to sit on, and if you would gather firewood before it gets too wet, my lord, I’ll dig a pit and get a fire going,” said Evergreen.

Evelyn knew how to gather firewood, at least, and meekly did so, piling it under the stretched out makeshift roof. Evergreen was lopping more branches, sharpening the ends to drive into the ground with a heavy flint, and lashing another branch between them to help hold the blankets out. Overlapped, he laid bracken over them, having made a slope shallow enough that they did not slide down, whittling pegs to drive through the old wool and into the ground. He nodded approval at Evelyn storing the wood inside, where the ends of the blanket flapped over. Bess was left, casting about, so far to no avail. Then Evelyn assisted Evergreen to dig a pit, piling the earth from it on the other side of the pit from the makeshift tent. The boy appeared to have acquired a shovel. Evelyn decided not to ask; the landlord had been disobliging and had overcharged for everything.

“Why a pit?” asked Evelyn.

“Hide the fire,” said Evergreen, digging into the side of the pit. “And keep it from the weather like this,” he made a hole in the side of the chalk, with an air hold down, by thrusting his knife in. He rapidly lit a fire and soon it was crackling away, the pile of earth and chalk behind it throwing heat back towards the tent. “In winter, you light a fire in a pit, and then dig another, and take most of the fire to the second, filling in the pit with hot embers to be under your bed,” he said. “It’s damnably cold for this time of year, but we can always shift fire and tent if it gets worse.”

“Indeed,” said Evelyn. “I note you lit it between two other saplings.”

“Which could be used to have a pole between to hang a pot,” said Evergreen.  “Bess isn’t getting anywhere, and I doubt she will after rain, but we can look for Crowy’s hideout. He’ll go out to hunt and fetch water if nothing else.”

Evelyn had to be content with this, and retired to the tent as Evergreen whistled to Bess and indicated that they should turn in for the night.

Evelyn had to admit that the warmth of the dog between them, under shared cloaks as blankets, made all the difference; and though he was neither comfortable nor especially warm, he was not especially uncomfortable nor cold. Evergreen got up from time to time to feed the fire, and Evelyn dozed rather than sleeping until the cold grey of a wet dawn oozed over the horizon.

“Set in to rain for several days now,” said Evergreen. “I’ll take Bess questing; you keep the fire in, and gather more wood. I’ll come and get you if she finds a scent. But I can smell smoke on the air, and more than just our fire. I’ll see if I can find out what it is.”

 

oOoOo

 

Whilst Evelyn and Evergreen were dining on mutton, Jasper made his way down an old mine shaft. It came out abruptly, though a fall of rock blocked the exit, but Jasper could feel and smell fresh air through it.  Carefully, he cleared the debris enough for his slender frame to slither out onto the hillside into crepuscular gloom. To his left, and below him, a rill burst out of a crevice, and Jasper suspected it might be the same watercourse which bubbled up in the cave. He drank his fill, and lifted an item from the water where it gleamed in the waning moon, and found it to be a mostly green copper pin or brooch, in some kind of arcane knot. He took it as a good omen, and wondered if it had washed from having been lost near the big fallen tree, carried by the water. He pinned it to his shirt as the best way to carry it, corroded though the pin was. It was not as if he cared much about Crowy’s shirt, after all.

“Ma’ll like you, if she’s alive,” muttered Jasper.

This reminded him of his intentions.

He made a stealthy way back up the hillside, and could hear Swallow calling out.

“She’s been here, Crowy; I found a shelter, but she ain’t there now. The dog wanted to scrabble but there’s nowhere for her to have gone. I had to cuff the beast to get it to stop, and try to find where she’s gone, and it’s my belief she went down to the village.”

“They don’t like gypsies there,” said Crowy.

“No, but if they didn’t drive her out, she’s likely in the lock-up, waiting for a whipping,” said Swallow, with a giggle. Jasper shuddered, imagining the man fondling himself at the thought.

“She might even be grateful at being rescued, at that,” said Crowy. “You go back to the cottage; tie the dog in the stable and feed the mule. I’ll see if she’s in the lockup and steal some more food.”

 

Jasper grinned, savagely to himself. He gave them time to get down the cliff and returned to his hideout. It had been pulled apart at one side, but it would keep off the rain which was just starting. He spent his time repairing his shelter, to wait for Crowy to return, disappointed in not finding Shuri in the rude hut which constituted the village lockup, but doubtless successful in the stealing of food. This took Crowy a little over an hour, and it was fully dark when he returned, complaining that they had plainly driven Shuri out, and he was sick of the hunt, and that they should go back to find her with her tribe.

This firmed Jasper’s resolve. He could smell smoke from the cottage chimney; and, had he but known it, from the fire his father and Evergreen lit, having narrowly missed walking into Crowy on larceny bent. He gave them time to boil water for whatever meal they were making, and slipped out of his hideout, and slithered down the cliff on the stable, or blind side of the house.

The dog barked, and kept barking.