The Scholar's Sweetheart 13

 I shall be out tomorrow, and may not have time to post; I'll try to remember to post one late tonight instead

 

Chapter 13

 

“No, Phebe,” said Imogen, as she caught Phebe sneaking out of the door, in Jasper’s clothes, with Moppy.

“But, my brother....”

“It’s been hours, Phebe, and you are only going to get yourself, and Moppy, in trouble. The trail is cold. Your father and Evergreen set off with a gypsy dog to track; one Bess, she’s a boar hound.”

“Oh, Bess is clever,” said Phebe. “Why aren’t they back yet?” she added, fretfully.

“Cariad, we don’t know how far they have had to go, and whether they will have to fight Crowy and half his tribe,” said Imogen, holding her tone which wanted to snap firmly in check.

“You’re afraid, mama,” said Phebe.

Imogen considered lying, and decided that she would not have appreciated being lied to at Phebe’s age.

“Yes, Phebe, I am afraid,” said Imogen. “I am afraid for your brother, and for your father, and also for Evergreen, who is a nice lad. I would be terrified for you, without adults backing you up. I am afraid we might lose Lementina, and Shuri, and Cornelius. Burns on the head and face are never good, and Lementina has such bad burns.  I can do without you adding to my worries, by going off when you don’t know how far you have to go and when you have not even prepared to be camped out following Jasper for maybe days.”

Phebe gasped.

“Oh!” she said. “I see. I... I had not thought.”

“No, cariad, which is why you have adults now to think for you, not like when you had to care for yourself with that horrid old woman. Your father has taken guns, provisions, money, good wool cloaks, and if he has the sense he was born with, which he does, he could rinse out the cookpot I put a rabbit in for Bess, and use it to cook game he and Evergreen can snare in the wild. If you were Jasper’s age, I’d have woken you to go with them,” she added, mendaciously. “But your father does not need to be looking after you when you cannot add a man’s day’s work that Evergreen can.”

It was brutal, but Phebe responded to bluntness.

She hugged Imogen.

“I am sorry!” she said. “But what can I do?”

“You can help me by taking  a turn to watch Lementina, Shuri, and Cornelius, all of whom have had laudanum,” said Imogen. “You’re as old as I was when I first started helping the doctors. And then Mrs. Hudson can have a sleep too.”

Phebe nodded seriously.

“I can do that,” she said.

“Yes, and I can trust you to do so, so that I may sleep,” said Imogen. Lementina had been moved in with the others on a mattress, so all those needing nursing were together, and Larkin not far away. His nurse, an old soldier, had volunteered to help as well, and Imogen had not turned his aid down. Imogen had shooed Woodlock out to take care of his tribe, and so she only had three main patients on whom to concentrate, since Woodlock was walking wounded, and likely to heal quickly enough from relatively superficial burns on his hands and arms.  Phebe was capable of knowing when someone needed to be called and when just to watch.

 

oOoOo

 

Jasper, meanwhile, had discovered that where the roof met the hill, he was in a gulley which was almost invisible, save from above. He scoffed at the builders of the cottage, as the existence of the gulley made leakage more possible, though there did seem to be a wall between  cliff face and cottage. Jasper’s instincts would have been to have dug down three or four feet so that the cliff face formed the highest point of the house and any rain running down the hill would continue running off down a half-roof of thatch. It tended to explain water staining on the plaster on the walls. There were probably laths attached to the chalk, maybe some wattle and daub, and then plaster over. Not a place Jasper would choose to live. The cottage was only slightly longer than the two rooms, and he guessed that the extension was a stable and a hay-loft, instead of digging into the soft chalk for better temperature control. Equally, he would have built from flint in a matrix of burned chalk to make quicklime, mixed with sand and well slaked, rather than making a wattle and daub wall. Well, he did not have to live there, so it was no skin off his nose. Some people had no imagination when handed an absolute gift of a place to build.

He was in a forest. That was plain. The hill rose on a slight slope away from the scar of the cliff, and fell away below the cottage. It was not a high hill as hills went, but rolled in the gentle way chalk uplands roll, currently filled with bluebells and their strong scent was heady. Old, dry fronds of bracken stood between the bluebells, new curled leaves pushing out. Jasper knew he could vanish into the vegetation here, and likely not get too damp, as the chalk tended to be porous. What had brought the hill down to make a cliff he did not know, but suspected flint mining. He soon found a good flint, so now at least he had flint and steel to make a fire. Without the fear of avoiding Crowy, he could live in these woods indefinitely with a good knife. He could make twine for snares from the clothes he had stuffed in his makeshift bag, and there would be springs somewhere, at the base of the chalk hill if nowhere else. Jasper wanted to scout further, but he had no idea where there were windows or doors downstairs, out of which Crowy might be looking. If there was only the one door centrally, it would be worth while trying to collapse the chimney to block it and set fire to the thatch. If Crowy was trapped, he could go down to release the pony or mule which had drawn the cart; but there might be a door into the stable. If this had been a mine for flint, there might be passages and galleries accessible from the house out of which Crowy could flee. Jasper could not conceive of having a hideout which had easily-dug out cliffs behind it without mining deep enough to make bolt-holes out of it, there being enough trees to cut to act as props. Of course, that would mean hard work, both cutting and trimming trees, and digging. It was said that work caused Crowy Heron more distress than nettle rash, so Jasper sneered, and wondered if there were bolt holes built by someone else, or if Crowy had failed to realise the marvellous resource he had to hand. A well in any dugout would be good as well. Jasper could see a pump beside what he thought was the stable, and a horse trough, and wondered why anyone would leave such outside, if considering the place to be any kind of hideout. He would have designed it differently to enclose the spring which fed the pump, at least.

Jasper shook himself mentally. Planning to make this impregnable was not his business. They would likely have noticed that he had gone missing by now, and someone was probably following.  Woodlock and Papa most likely, with Bess. Not Moppy, she would not stir without Phebe, and they would not risk bringing Phebe. All he had to do, in many ways, was to remain at large. This seemed a little tame, but Jasper reasoned that if he tried to do anything risky, it could bring danger on his father, supposing that he was out looking.

“Diw!” said Jasper to himself. “But for that Ach-y-fi villain, Crowy Heron, it would be a fine adventure and a pleasant spring camp.”

He reflected that he was hungry, and would soon be thirsty; but there was not a lot he dared do with Crowy around. He hoped Crowy would soon come to check on his captive.

It was not long before his wish was fulfilled.

The thatch muffled a lot, but the exclamation when the door failed to open after it was unlocked carried through.  The shaking of the door shook the whole house, and Crowy’s unbridled bad language was enough to drift out through the thatch. Jasper’s eyebrows went up. The man had the foulest mouth he had ever known, not excluding the boy’s grandsire, Fowk. Crowy’s violent assault upon the door, which culminated in kicking it in against the direction of the hinges, eventually led to the gypsy leader breaking in, howling that Shuri would be sorry for causing him so much trouble.

The sudden silence marked when he saw the hanging figure, and there was a deep, visceral, wordless howl. Jasper shivered. Much now depended on whether Crowy stumbled away, or charged in to cut down the body and enact retribution on the dead where he could not do so on the living.  A reasonable person would check if a hanged figure was extinct of life, but Jasper rightly concluded that Crowy was not reasonable, but was likely to act in pure emotion, either horror or rage.

It was rage. Crowy roared, and might be presumed to be advancing on the hanging figure, shouting Shuri’s name.

Another silence suggested that he had discovered that the hanged figure was no such thing.

And then a scream of pure, feral rage.

On looking around he would see the fallen thatch. Jasper had kicked it under the bed, but eventually Crowy would find the creephole to the next room. Jasper had kicked the window mostly shut, but he would find that, too.  It was, however, reasonable to suppose that anyone attempting to escape would climb down, and run.

So it appeared Crowy reasoned, as there were sounds of him thundering down the stairs, and out of the door.

“I’ll catch you, Shuri!” he yelled. “You have no shoes, and you’re used to them, you won’t get far!” He paused, and made up his mind, following a light track by which, presumably, he had arrived. Jasper moved like lightning.

He climbed down the cliff face, and slipped in the front door. Here he found himself in a kitchen and a door back into the cliff. There was a door into the other front room, and presumably the stairs were there, as they were not in the kitchen. There was no door on the end to the stable, and no well. He investigated the door into the cliff face.

It was a larder, and disappointingly shallow. He found a flour sack and threw into it several bottles of beer, a ham hock, a loaf of bread, and the better part of a wheel of cheese. There were herbs enough to add to this diet in the forest, and Jasper had no intention of waiting around to look too far. He grabbed a kettle as well, and slid round the side of the house in the opposite direction to the track, to climb back to his coign of vantage, and having circumnavigated the cottage could ascertain that there was only one door in, the door to the stable being separate. He saw a window on each side of the door, echoed above, and a small window over the door. A window on the end wall into the parlour was below the one from which he had climbed. This much he assimilated with quick glances as he regained his eyrie. Here he let his heartrate slow, and took a long drink of abysmally bad beer, whose only advantage was in being wet. He cut some cheese and bread and ham and enjoyed a mouthful of each in turn, until his belly stopped growling. The bread was a little stale, but it was food. He scraped some marrow out of the ham bone to soften the bread, which made it much more palatable.

It was time to move on, and upwards before Crowy got back and started thinking more carefully. Jasper went through the bracken like an eel, his instincts still taking him up. He was gypsy enough to have left no real sign when he had climbed down, nor as he moved through the undergrowth; and he revelled in this, not spoiled by either time at school or being the son of the marquis.

At the top of the ridge, he found a fallen beech tree, perhaps undermined by the disturbances of mining, perhaps merely blown over in a heavy gale. A shelter against the broadly-spreading roots would make one wall, but Jasper wanted to be unobserved. To this end he used the glass he had brought from the bedroom as a makeshift shovel to dig out beneath the broadest part of the trunk of the tree, until he had dug out a comfortable nest beneath it. He dug from the far side of the trunk. His groundsheet went down in it, and his bags of provisions, and then he worked to cut stakes which he drove into the ground on the side towards Crowy’s cottage, using the empty beer bottle as a hammer, muffled by wrapping it in cloth, as sound would travel far; this would make a wall of sorts, against which he piled leaves and bracken, as though debris had piled against the tree trunk. He left a peep hole, and kept a watch for Crowy coming back. He managed to complete this wall before the gypsy returned, and slipped round to the back of the trunk to watch what Crowy did next.

 

What Crowy did next was to go to get himself a beer and a meal, and his howl of outrage carried all the way up the hill. Jasper shuddered.

Crowy erupted from the house again, and plunged into the wood calling Shuri’s name and calling her a thief and less savoury names.

Again, he did not think of going up. And Jasper had a revelation.

Crowy was still convinced that it was Shuri who had escaped him, and because he had no good opinion of the abilities of women, it would not occur to him that Shuri could, or would even try to climb up, because he would see it as beyond her capabilities.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Evergreen,” said Evelyn, “When there’s a serious dispute between gypsies, especially tribe chiefs, what happens?”

“A fight, usually. Bad chiefs drag their tribes into it. Good chiefs fight with fists or knives.”

“And do they fight to the death?”

“Not usually, it’s usually a matter of intimidation. It can end in death, of course, but as I told you, we have few enough of us, it’s to be avoided.”

“And what about disputes with Giorgios?”

“There are those who will kill them if they can get away with it.”

“Do you suppose Crowy would be sufficiently intimidated by me to leave my family alone?”

“No,” said Evergreen. “If you’re trying to break it to me gently that you plan to kill him, I already figured that out.”

Evelyn gave a wry laugh.

“So much for me trying not to upset you.”

“He is a mad dog, and you shoot mad dogs,” said Evergreen.

 

 

The Scholar's Sweetheart 12

 

Chapter 12

 

Mrs. Hudson stopped Evelyn as he went back to the Hall.

“You have to come to Mr. Reckitt and Shuri and Woodlock Lovell, my lord, I could only get them to stay put by promising you would come.”

“I don’t have time for this, Mrs. Hudson!” said Evelyn.

“Make time, my lord, or they’ll be off after Master Jasper, and killing themselves,” said Mrs. Hudson.

“I’m going after Jasper,” said Evelyn.

“Well, my lord, you need to tell them yourself,” said Mrs. Hudson. “It’s only that your wife came to help and took away their drawers which I’d found them that’s keeping them there.”

Evelyn sighed and strode into the servants’ hall, now a temporary hospital where Imogen had taken over with aplomb, being well used to nursing soldiers in the hospital her father had set up.

“Jasper’s missing,” she said, shortly, anguish in her blue eyes.

“I know,” said Evelyn. “Bundled up in Shuri’s tent, by the look of it. Evergreen has a dog called Bess.”

“Evelyn!” said Cornelius. “I let you down, I was not there....”

“You were saving women, which Jasper would agree comes first,” said Evelyn. “You three look a sight.”

“We’ll heal,” said Cornelius. “I can....”

“You can stay there and look after Shuri,” said Evelyn.

“Bess is a good dog,” said Woodlock. “I have only light burns; I’ll come.”

“No! Your people need a leader who is conscious and able,” said Evelyn. “You may move to the ballroom when Imogen clears you to do so. Shuri... looks bad,” he added, seeing Shuri’s still figure looking small against white sheets, her shaven head diminishing her.

“Imogen made her take laudanum,” said Cornelius. “I... I’ll do so too if I can’t help.”

“You can help best by getting well, and by keeping Phebe and that mop of hers from trying to follow,” said Evelyn. “I need something of Jasper’s for Bess to sniff.”

“His shoes are at the back door where he shucked them for being muddy,” said Imogen.

“Thanks,” said Evelyn, giving her a quick, but deep kiss.

“I’ll go and make you and Evergreen a parcel of food, and some meat for the dog,” said Imogen. “You can’t set out on empty stomachs, I’ll sort out breakfast.”

“We can’t afford to waste time – traffic will spoil the trail,” said Evelyn.

“You can wait ten minutes whilst I sort you food to eat on the way,” said Imogen, who had no fear of her own cook, and made a point of interfering in the kitchen from time to time as a matter of principle.

 

Evelyn took Jasper’s muddy shoes to the stables where Evergreen was petting a large black dog. The sky was greying; it was after five in the morning and dawn was imminent. Sleepy stablehands were up, and Evelyn ordered the saddling of his horse, and that of Cornelius Reckitt.

“So that’s a boarhound,” said Evelyn, giving his hand to Bess to sniff, palm extended in the proper way with an unknown dog. “Jowls like a Bassett but built like a cross between a small pony and a wolf.”

Evergreen grinned at him.

“Shouldn’t be surprised if they was the start o’ some o’ the black dog myths,” he said.

“Imogen speaks of ‘Black Shuck’ but I’ve heard other tales of black dogs,” said Evelyn. “In Wales, we have ‘the Gwyllgi,’ a big black spectral mastiff with glowing red eyes. You’re a bit friendlier, aren’t you, ci cariad?”

Bess wagged her tail, happy for caresses and soft words in any language. Evelyn presented the shoes, and Bess buried her muzzle inside one of them, then the other, her tail wagging all the time.

Imogen arrived at that point with saddle bags.

“I hardboiled some eggs and there’s a twist of salt and pepper in paper, one each,” she said. “I put up some sandwiches of ham and cheese, and a bag of dried apple rings, and several bottles of beer, for you’ll be thirsty. There’s a mess of meat for the dog in a cook-pan to keep the smell leaking out, and I tied it up until you feed her. I put a lantern in case of need and tinder box, dry stockings, some comfrey ointment, some bandages and dressings, a few tools, and a game pie. There’s a purse with thirty pounds in a roll of soft and some coins.”

“Cariad, you think of everything,” said Evelyn.

“Bring our boy and yourself back safely,” said Imogen, fiercely. “I’d come, but I need to stay with the burned.”

Evelyn gave her a hard, passionate kiss.

“We’ll come back with our shields or on them,” he said.

“On them helps nobody,” said Imogen, tartly. “Take care.”

She was glad to note that Evelyn had a pair of pistols at his belt and a shotgun on the saddle.

 

“Come, Bess,” said Evergreen, taking the rope on her collar to lead her to the encampment, and to where Jasper had been last seen.  Evelyn mounted his own riding beast, saddled by the groom, and the one Cornelius used, and caught up with them as Evergreen showed Bess the empty place.

“Mount up in case she goes off fast,” said Evelyn.

“Seek!” the boy ordered, and mounted in a bit of a scramble. “Coo, I never knew they come this big. Not from the upside, as you might say,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble,” said Evelyn.

“I got more respect for Mr. Corny, riding a dirty great beast like this,” said Evergreen. “I’ll need to concentrate.”

It had not occurred to Evelyn, but Cornelius had chosen a fairly mettlesome beast to ride. Or rather, Jasper had picked one for him. Not having the vices of either his own self-willed ride, nor Jasper’s own choice, the idea of Cornelius as a fine horseman had passed Evelyn by. He added thoughts of his own increased respect. But it was all of a piece with  how he ruled Jasper in the schoolroom; light at hand, but firm, and with enough light control not to need the whip.

Bess cast about a few times, then set off at a run. She went straight over the stile into a field next to the camp, across that and into a spinney.  Evelyn set his big horse at the stile, and soared over it, Evergreen in hot pursuit. Bess was casting about at a stream.

“There’s a bridge over it and the road goes over, downstream,” said Evelyn. Greenleaf whistled to Bess, and led her towards the humpbacked stone bridge. Here Bess picked up the trail again and barked once with a tail wag to show her success.

“She’s heading south,” said Evelyn. “Can you stomach hard boiled egg as we ride?”

Evergreen’s stomach rumbled.

“Yes,” he said.

Bess was heading off down the road, but they managed to peel and eat eggs, and a sandwich each whilst following her, and downed one of the bottles of beer between them, passing it back and forth, to save fluid. Evelyn dropped the empty bottle back in the bag; it might prove useful.

They caught up with Bess, lapping from a stream which crossed the road

“The horses could do with a drink, too, I should think,” said Evelyn. “The water seems potable so I’ll fill the beer bottle with it, and we can drink our fill and eat the rest of the  sandwiches, and feed Bess while the horses graze.”

Evergreen nodded.

“I’m glad you’re not impatient, my lord,” he said.

“It wouldn’t do Jasper any good if we’re half dead of thirst and the horses run to death,” said Evelyn. “And call me Evelyn; we’re two men together searching for our relative.”

“Thank you,” said Evergreen. “I have to deputise for my brother.”   

“And we both have to trust Imogen to care for him, for my friend, and for Shuri,” said Evelyn, soberly. Burns were not to be treated lightly; and even if anyone survived the initial burning, often enough sepsis set in, and death came within a few days. Evelyn had been shocked by the burns he could see on those most badly hurt, and half wondered if Imogen had packed him and Evergreen off so readily to stop them brooding as their family – yes, thought Evelyn, Shuri’s people are family – died of their horrific burns. He shook his head. It was as well not to let his thoughts go there.

Bess was eager to be off again after a rest and sustenance, and the horses were less weary. They had been following small back roads, avoiding villages, but it was not long before they came into a village, and Bess hesitated. Then she snuffled about outside an ale-house and took off again.

“Crowy stopped for a heavy wet, perhaps,” said Evelyn. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the inn was open at first light for those on their way early, at a busy time of year like this.”

Evergreen whistled to Bess who paused.

“You could ask, my... Evelyn.”

Evelyn nodded, and went into the inn, which existed under the name of ‘The White Swan’ but to Evelyn’s mind had an illustration which might more accurately be called ‘The Dirty Duck’ and only thus identifiable because the bird, or wyvern, involved appeared to be on some kind of water with the wyvern, or bird, spreading greyish wings with scales or feathers rendered roughly on them. The beak sported teeth.

“I’m looking for an individual who delights in the name of Crowy Heron, a gypsy, about an hour ago,” he asked without preamble.

The barkeeper spat.

“Aye, he paid money for once, for a heavy wet and a pasty,” he said. “I knows Crowy Heron. What’s he done now, that a fine gent is in hot pursuit?”

“He’s kidnapped my son,” said Evelyn, grimly.

“Oh, that’s a whole nother matter,” said the bar keeper. “I might not split in him if he was just taking pheasants, but kidnapping ain’t something I blink at. I know him an’ his friends have a place they hole up, somewhere in Grovely Forest, I heard him mention a snug hole to keep a chicken in a coop. Why, thank you, sir, milord!” he added, pulling his forelock as Evelyn thanked him with gold.

Evelyn went out to Evergreen.

“Landlord says Heron has a place in Grovely Forest,” he said.

“That runs along a chalk ridge a little north of Salisbury,” said Evergreen. “There’s a Roman road through it, they say. And there’s the four sisters trees, four beech trees which mysteriously just grew on the graves of four sisters murdered for practising witchcraft and of course, they walk. And the woodsman, a ghostly poacher, who sneaks up on you, and the first you know is hearing the snap of a twig behind you.”

“Is Bess leading us there?” asked Evelyn, not thinking the ghost stories germane. Evergreen frowned.

“I don’t think so, but then, Crowy might expect us to have some idea where he goes,” he said. “I’m inclined to follow the dog.”

“Yes, and if he’s taking a circuitous route to go via a stream somewhere, we might catch up sooner,” said Evelyn.

Evergreen nodded. It was worth while pushing onward, and he had watered the horses at the inn’s trough whilst Evelyn was inside, and drunk deeply himself. Evelyn also snatched a drink as they set off after the patient dog.

The journey seemed to be turning back to the north after half an hour or so.

“I can’t help wondering if Bess has made a mistake,” said Evelyn.

“If she’s questing, she has the scent,” said Evergreen.

They rounded a corner, and came into a village where Bess bayed and ran up to a cart carrying barrels. She pawed at a gaudy piece of fabric tied to the cart.

“Damnation!” cried Evelyn. “She was right, but wrong. Crowy has outwitted us; that’s Shuri’s scarf which Jasper was wearing.”

“She’s a good dog, but he must have rubbed it in the dirt for her to find and then tied it to the cart,” said Evergreen, who looked ready to burst into tears.

“It can’t be helped,” said Evelyn. “He’s a clever rogue. But we do have a direction from the other ale draper.  And now we’re going to stop for a cup of coffee, and oatmeal for the nags, and I’ll buy a round for the carter and see what he knows. And we’ll see what vittles there are to be found.”

“But I led you wrong, believing in Bess, and we’re a whole nother hour behind,” said Evergreen.

“Lad, you were right to believe in Bess; she was fooled. We’ll know another time if the trail seems odd to assume that Crowy fooled us. But when we’ve eaten, we can take the main road straight to these woods, and hope that Bess can pick up a scent there. And she must be footsore, poor girl; a rest will do her no harm.”

“But what about when he gets there and finds it’s not Shuri? He’ll kill Jasper,” said Evergreen.

“Jasper’s too fly to let himself be killed,” said Evelyn, hoping it was true. “He’ll talk fast about the ransom I’d pay. Which I would,” he added. “And Crowy might come up with the idea of exchanging Shuri for Jasper. You’re all in, and we’ve been up half the night, and I’m tired myself. I need a cup of coffee, and a piss, and something more to eat, to make up for the lack of sleep. We’ll go back to that other inn, and head for the road to Salisbury from there.”

“I... yes, Evelyn, I am tired, and so are the nags,” said Evergreen.

Evelyn took the horses to the stables and demanded bran mash and oats for them, and a ham bone for Bess, and ushered Evergreen into the inn, staring down his nose at anyone who might frown upon and throw out a gypsy boy. The name was ‘The Hare and Hounds’ and the sign had been executed by the same school of art as that of what Evelyn persisted in thinking of as ‘The Dirty Duck,’ showing what Evelyn would have sworn were a pack of tailless rats in hot pursuit of a rabbit which was using, presumably, its ears to fly over a fence.

“Carter,” he said to the other man in there. “Did you see Crowy Heron at your last stop?”

“What, he stole from you, too? Make the gyppo lad tell.”

“You’re an idiot; the boy is from another tribe and is helping me,” said Evelyn, disdainfully. “The fellow kidnapped my son, so I’m a bit more irritable than if he had merely stolen from me.”

“Well, that’ll be why the bundle in his cart groaned,” said the carter. “He went off towards the Salisbury road, I don’t know no more,” he added hastily. “Why you follow me for?”

“He tied a scarf to your cart which our dog followed,” said Evelyn, bitterly. “And if you laugh, so help me, breathing in for it might be the last breath you take for I’m not amused by his joke.”

“No, squire, s’pose not,” said the carter, downing the rest of his drink and making himself scarce.

Evelyn ordered a good luncheon, with coffee to keep them awake, and made himself give the horses a good half an hour to rest. Evergreen was nodding, and Evelyn pondered leaving the boy here, paying for a room for him; but the boy would be mortified. He lingered an extra quarter hour and shook the boy awake; sometimes a cat nap that long was enough to give one extra wind. Evergreen started awake.

“’M sorry,” he said.

“I’m not, you’ll do better for a rest,” said Evelyn. “Onward, I’m afraid. Unless you’d like me to leave you here in a good bed?”

“I’m ready,” said Evergreen, staunchly, sighing for the thought of a good bed. “I don’t fold easy.”

 

the scholar's sweetheart 11 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 11

 

What had happened to Jasper had passed by all of the others who were there, because of the diversion of the fire. Jasper heard Cornelius yell, and started to get up, at which point he became aware of a weight on his legs which did not move when he kicked, and he realised that the tent had partly descended on him.  He knew he had slacked the guys, such as they were, and had hardly time to wonder why the tent should come down at one end when the other end came down in a hurry, half suffocating him. Jasper gave a strangled yelp and found an extra weight on top of him.

“Jus’ accept it as your lot, Shuri,” hissed the voice of Crowy Heron.

Jasper recognised that there was not a lot he could do when wrapped up in canvas, and had the sense to realise that if he gave away now who he was, all that would happen would be that Crowy’s wicked knife would cut through the canvas and into his body in sheer revenge. He released a whimper of pain and terror which was not entirely simulated, and went still. Let Crowy think that Shuri capitulated, or had passed out in fear.

“Good girl,” said Crowy, removing his weight from the bundle of canvas and boy. “You obey me, and act douce and you’ll find me a generous husband.” It was unspoken, but implied, that anyone who was not douce would find a mean and vicious husband. Jasper achieved a sneer. He knew that those who were perfectly good tempered whilst everything was going their way had a nasty name; and the name was ‘bully.’ He was, frankly, terrified. He had expected Crowy to slide into his tent to try to carry off ‘Shuri’ by force, and to then be backed up by Cornelius and Woodlock, but he could hear their voices sharp with concern at a distance.

“Fire!” he muttered.

Crowy laughed.

“Nothin’ like a good fire to get people interested and involved,” he said. “They’ll never get old Ma Lementina out of there afore she burns to death, acoss I pinned down the tent flap, but they’ll put all their attention into tryin’, an’ all the while, I’m taking you away wivout that them notices.” Jasper felt himself lifted. Jasper did not have to simulate a gasp and a cry of horror. Mother Lementina was beloved by all, and the tribe would do anything to save her.

“You devil!” hissed Jasper. “What has Lementina done to you?”

Crowy actually laughed.

“Not a lot, beyond backing you up to defy Fowk. But she’s old so it don’t much matter if she dies; and someone had to, for me to get you, my lovely.”

Jasper was appalled.

The idea of killing someone as a mere diversion was horrifying. Hot tears rose to his eyes over the thought of poor Lementina suffering all because of one man’s lusts. No, he thought, it was more than that. Crowy certainly lusted for Shuri, but he also wanted to own the tribe and more than that, Shuri had been promised to him by Fowk, so he saw Shuri already as his own possession, and any attempt to keep her from him he saw as theft. The idea of Shuri having her own opinion never occurred to him. Indeed, Jasper knew that he would find the idea risible. He was not alone in that view, and not just amongst other gypsies; many men did not consider consulting their wives about anything. He had heard from Imogen that one branch of her family was presided over by such a man, who treated his wife and daughters as chattel goods.

In the meantime, Jasper was jolted as Crowy broke into a furtive run, was bruised as he was literally thrown over a low wall or the stile as his captor followed, and was then dumped onto a hard surface, where the muffled sound of clopping hoofs showed it to be a cart. Jasper had no way of judging distance or direction, so he did the only practical thing he might, and went to sleep.  He was too tightly tied by the guy ropes around the canvas to try to reach a knife, so the only thing to do was to rest whilst he could, in preparation for exertions in the future. In truth, he was slipping in and out of consciousness through being starved of air, though at times as he rolled on the cart, enough air came through the loose bundle to keep him from suffocating to death.

 

oOoOo

 

A low, feral noise of despair escaped Evelyn as he realised that his son had been taken. Evergreen put a hand tentatively on his arm. He had heard the term ‘keening,’ but had never before had any way of knowing what it was. He reckoned he knew now.

“Chances are, Crowy reckons he has Shuri,” said Evergreen, softly, “And so he ain’t in any immediate danger.”

“He’ll find out soon enough, and without people to back Jasper up,” said Evelyn, dully.

“Jasper’s nobody’s fool,” opined Evergreen. “He’ll talk Crowy into trying to make an exchange.”

“I... yes, and that opens possibilities,” said Evelyn.  “I’m not taking Phebe; are any of your tribe’s dogs any good at tracking?”

“Yessir, Bess is,” said Evergreen. “She’s a boarhound, pedigree, well, mostly, but Woodlock got her cheap account of she’d been devalued by the owner’s wife’s pug.”

“How did... no, I’m not even begin to go there,” said Evelyn.

Evergreen sniggered.

“I asked that, and Woodlock said, ‘harnessed her to a cart and stood on the dash,’ which is silly but as good a guess as any.”

“The mind boggles,” said Evelyn, who preferred a boggled mind to one which kept wondering when his son was going to die. “Will she obey you? Woodlock is hurt. But if we catch up with them, I will expect you to stay out of the way.”

“She’ll go with me,” said Evergreen, confidently. “I’ll have to go get her, they took the dogs with the horses.”

“I need to find something of Jasper’s for her to scent, anyway,” said Evelyn.  “But hurry; I want to be after them before the roads are alive with everyone and his creditors spoiling the scent.”

 

oOoOo

 

Jasper awoke when the cart lurched in a way that suggested that the horse had been unharnessed. He tried to shake his head to clear it; he still felt half suffocated in the canvas, though a fold had shaken clear and he could feel a faint current of air. He was lifted and carried somewhere. By the sounds of the feet, they went inside... somewhere, and the feeling and sound of feet on steep stairs. He was dumped on a surface, which gave, and was presumably a bed. That was a frightening thought if Crowy meant to take his acquisition to show his mastery. The ropes loosened, and the canvas was twitched away. Jasper took a long, shuddering breath, and peered through his lashes. It was dark in this room, under low eaves, with a small, low window, which gave the impression of green, suggesting heavy vegetation. He made a show of gulping and gasping for air, and acting as if he was half swooning.

“The hell!” said Crowy. “I hadn’t realised you were that muffled up. Well, Shuri, I ain’t about to teach you what a real man is like when you ain’t up to reckernisin’ it. You wouldn’ appreciate it proper. You rest, an’ I’ll be back. There’s water to drink, an’ a piss pot like Giorgios use.”

Jasper moaned softly.

He heard Crowy withdraw, and the door lock.

Jasper gave it a few minutes before investigating his surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed such as might be found in a servant’s room, with an iron frame, compact and too heavy for a slight boy to readily move. There was a commode with a flyblown mirror on it, and a chest at the end of the bed. He looked in the mirror, and in the gloom, with the long wig dishevelled, he could see why Crowy had thought him to be Shuri. He put his hand over his mouth to muffle a chuckle, that he looked as much like his mother as he resembled his father. Well! He had some time, then. The water in the jug on the commode was not likely to be drugged, as Crowy would want Shuri to recognise his mastery over her. This being so, he poured a glassful into the glass provided, and drank, thankfully. Now to make himself safe.

 Jasper removed a long, narrow stiletto of a knife from the sheath on his left calf, and probed the keyhole.  Nothing impeded its progress, so Crowy had taken the key, and was not looking. Jasper was a little disappointed not to have encountered an eye at the end of his knife. He had a larger knife on his right calf, and tried to see if this might spring the lock, but to no avail.

He examined the chest.

There were a couple of shirts and skirts in there, suitable for a gypsy woman, but nothing else. He had good woollen stockings on, but on searching the canvas, neither his boots nor his breeches had come with him. He was clad in a night shirt, which was enough like a woman’s shift to pass at first sight, and he had bedding. The good woollen blanket would act as a cloak against weather, if need be. He put on both skirts from the chest; he would, if need be, play the gypsy girl to get home. He cut two pieces of canvas to tie onto his feet as shoes. The guy ropes gave him ready-made rope. The door opened outwards, which meant he could tie a rope to the hook on it, for a dressing-gown or something, and attach the other end to the heavy iron bedstead. That was swiftly done. That ought to keep Crowy out for a while. He also jammed a tarry bit of canvas in the lock.

Next, Jasper investigated the window. It was a casement, only a foot or so off the floor, to be set under the eaves, which met the wall lower even than Jasper’s height. He knelt on the floor to investigate the window. The catch was missing, and it appeared to have been nailed shut. Jasper scoffed. In an emergency, he could likely kick out the flimsy frame. However, that would make a noise.

He took a note of his surroundings, however. The cottage appeared to be in a woodland area, with mixed deciduous trees. New spring foliage made it fairly impenetrable to light, and assuming they had not travelled many hours, which Jasper doubted, this window faced north to account for how dark it was. By such shadows as he could see, it was  likely mid morning. He had been awakened... when? He had been disoriented, unable to see the sky. But if he was going to make an attack, he would time it for between two and four in the morning. Nearer two, to give time to get well away before dawn. By the time Crowy had dumped him in a cart, it had probably been the better part of an hour. He’d likely rested his nag at some point; and Jasper really could not guess how much of his sleep had been close to unconsciousness from partial suffocation, and if he had passed out.  However, the horse had only been walking from what he remembered, and allowing for rests, and for feeding it, and Crowy, they might have gone twenty miles but likely no more. Jasper was only concerned that his time wrapped in canvas had destroyed his bump of direction. He needed more information.

He also needed a way out. The window was possible, but would alert his captor. Jasper looked up.

It was an old cottage, and the thatch was directly visible; nobody had bothered to cover it with light boards, never mind a skim of plaster. The chimney stack was built of stone and ran through at the middle of the cottage, though there was no fireplace in this mean bedroom. Jasper guessed there was another room like this the other side of the chimney, and two rooms downstairs, a kitchen and living room, each with a hearth opening into the same chimney.

Jasper knew that the best way to store water was inside the body, and proceeded to drink the rest of the water. He cut the canvas to make a ground sheet, and a rough bag. In it he put the jug and glass, and the blanket from the bed, not as good as his, but better than nothing. The other guy rope tied it up and secured it round his shoulders. Then he climbed the stones of the chimney, and started an assault on the thatch. It was thick, especially here at the apex of the roof, but as he cut it away, it occurred to Jasper that he could cut a crawl-way into the other room. This idea conceived, he worked towards achieving this goal, and was soon swarming down the wall of the chimney in the other room. This appeared to be a room used by Crowy, and held his fair-day breeches and some cleanish underlinen. Jasper turned the drawers inside out, on general principles, and with some relief dressed in more familiar garb. This room had two windows, one again at the front and one on the gable end. Both seemed to open.

Jasper had another idea to delay pursuit; and went back to the prison room. Crowy would get through the door eventually. He pushed the sheet into the sleeves of his nightgown, pushed the bolster up through the neck hole, and adorned it with his wig, then tore the bottom blanket  into strips to make a rope, and tied it round the bolster like a neck, and attached the other end to the ridge pole, pulling the hair of the wig over the front too, so the first thing Crowy saw when he came in would be a hanging figure. Of course if he investigated, he would soon find it to be a fake but it should give him a nasty moment or two; and he might even flee.

Jasper sniggered, and went back to the other room.  He investigated the window on the end wall, which the room he had come from had not had. Who knew, perhaps there was yet a further room.

From this window, he could see that the reason there were no windows at the back was explained by the cottage being built into chalky outcrop which essentially formed the back wall. Doubtless someone had also dug a store house into the rock, and likely stabling as well. Well, that suited his purpose better, if he could reach it. The end wall was a typical crook-beam construction but there was a heavy beam on which the joists inside rested, below the window. And a lintel over the window. Jasper sat precariously on the sill, and jammed both his knives into the oaken lintel. He went out of the window like an eel, and pulled himself up, kicking the window part shut to stand on top of the casements as he reached for a handhold in the upper beam, twisting his stiletto to remove it and jam it in higher to help himself effect the climb. The rush thatching was slippery, but it was also well-roped to hold it, and he was able to gain the top of the roof, and retrieve his other knife. Here he sat for a moment, contemplating his next move.