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.

 

the scholar's sweetheart 10

 

Chapter 10

 

Jasper believed in being thorough. Shuri moved out of her tent that night, and went to share with Mother Lementina. In point of fact, Lementina was Shuri’s grandmother, but had had most of the raising of her, and had taught her herb lore. Shuri was happy to share with her.  Jasper dressed in a skirt and wig, and managed to mimic his mother’s mannerisms very well, just in case there were any unfriendly eyes watching. There were woods where a skilled woodsman might lurk, after all.

“I’m not sure it isn’t a waste of time,” said Woodlock. “Heron had his answer, and he knows we have the support of the landowner. He’d be a fool to try anything.”

“Woodlock,” said Cornelius, “If you were in his shoes, had been believing that he was to inherit the tribe as well as Shuri’s beauty, being the arrogant bastard he is, having been shamed in front of his people by being knocked down by a Giorgio who also claims her, would you slink away?”

“No. And I’m not as full of shit and the need for a... a... I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s a gypsy man’s sense of being a man and presenting a figure that proves his manhood. I think it’s what Italians call ‘bella figura,’” said Woodlock.

“Virility?” asked Cornelius.

“Yes... no, it’s more than that,” said Woodlock. “You, you don’t feel a need to show your own sense of self worth, you wear it quietly and with a confidence so complete, as the marquis does, that you have no need to strut and show it off. And so it comes as more of a shock to people like Crowy Heron, when you just knock him down almost casually, without any display. We gypsies, we display, we strut, we try to intimidate to avoid getting into fights, as we tend to fight with knives, and there aren’t really enough of us to afford losing someone in a fight, so we use words, and gestures, and attitude instead.”

Cornelius nodded.

“I understand that,” he said. “So, he is thrice humiliated; once in being beaten; once in it being a Giorgio; and once by someone he sees as weak in not posturing at him.”

“Exactly,” said Woodlock. “I withdraw my reservations; he has to try to seize Shuri or he is shamed in front of his people, and will never have their respect as a leader again. No matter if he gets people killed to do it, he has to keep trying or lose his stature in the eyes of those he brought.”

The next night was quiet, and many of the villagers went home, not expecting anything more to happen. Cornelius conducted lessons in the camp, and did not turn away any other gypsy children who came to listen. He tailored his lessons more to stories about history. It seemed popular enough. Some of the adults stopped to hear tales of the past as well. Cornelius mentally shrugged. It was no skin off his nose. He loved imparting knowledge, and he knew he was good at it, and that adults enjoyed the way Cornelius.

 

Two nights passed without alarums.

“I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight,” said Cornelius. “I am hoping the tribe elders have talked sense into him.”

“Stay one more night, brother,” said Woodlock. “I think he may be lulling us into a false sense of security. My nose smells treachery.”

“I will believe your nose,” said Cornelius. “I can smell boys making excuses for shoddy work so I won’t disbelieve your ability to smell trouble.”

Woodlock shrugged.

“Some say we have the Sight. Personally, I think that much of what is called The Sight is being aware of one’s surroundings, and letting that lead to decision making. I’ve had an itchy feeling between my shoulder blades all day which tells me we are being watched, and just because I haven’t seen a watcher doesn’t make me disbelieve my shoulder blades. Are you laughing?”

“Not in the least. My brother in the army has said something similar, and swears that ducking because of such a feeling has saved his life,” said Cornelius.

“I’m glad you understand, my brother,” said Woodlock.

 

It was Cornelius’s nose which aroused him with the smell of smoke.

“Fire!” he cried, leaping up.

It was easy to see what had happened; a makeshift javelin bound with straw and set alight had been thrown into Mother Lementina’s tent, and had transfixed the doorflap to the ground. There were female screams from within, and the green-painted canvas was well alight. A knife was cutting through from the inside, and Cornelius thrust the swordstick he had borrowed from Evelyn into the canvas to cut back the other way.  Shuri’s face appeared in the gap, her hair afire, and her face burned. Both eyes were open, however, with a staring look of horror which Cornelius was sure he would never forget. But the word she murmured was, “Lementina!” and Cornelius understood what she was asking of him.

“Woodlock! Help Shuri!” cried Cornelius, diving into the tent for Lementina, trapped under burning canvas. He lifted the old woman away from the flames, and rolled her on the ground to put them out, using the blanket he had pulled from his own bedroll for this purpose. Woodlock smothered Shuri’s burning hair in his coat. Cornelius grabbed a bucket of water from a nearby gypsy and soused Lementina’s burned shift with water, then wrapped the old woman in the blanket. “Shuri! Can you walk to the hall?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Shuri, who was sobbing in pain and shivering from shock and the cold water Woodlock had thrown on her. Cornelius fairly ran to the hall carrying Lementina’s frail light body, pulling frantically on the doorbell. George answered it.

“Gawdelpus!” said George.

“His ineffable presence will do no harm, George, my lad, but I need Mrs. Hudson and her stillroom skills,” said Cornelius.  “And there will be more.”

“Bring her to Mrs. Hudson’s room,” said George. “She’ll likely give up her bed for wounded.”

Mrs. Hudson was abroad to such a peremptory summons as the door bell mistreated into such a cacophony, and gasped to see how badly burned Lementina was.

“Lay her down on my bed, here, take this towel and put her on it,  and wet all my upper sheet at the pump, and cool your hands at the same time,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll have to strip the bed down when we’ve cooled it so she doesn’t take a chill.... put the wet sheet on her arm and side, and thank God above that’s all it is.”

“The bastard set fire to the tent and trapped her and Shuri in it,” said Cornelius. “He meant them to burn to death... I suppose he thought if he could not have Shuri, nobody else should.”

“You go and help your lady, Mr. Corny, I’ll see to poor Mother Lementina,” said Mrs. Hudson. “A fine herb wife she is, and I don’t deny I learned much from her.  George, you useless lump, go and fetch one of the big pots off the patio what has house leeks in it; the spiky green things that grow in spirals,” she added, seeing his look of incomprehension.

“Hen-and-chickens,” supplied Cornelius. “Also known as Thor’s beard for its supposed protection against lightning.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so, Mrs. Hudson! I knows Hen-and-chickens,” said George, running off, as Woodlock escorted Shuri in, following Cornelius’s voice.

Several other gypsies with burns straggled in.

“Ma, she’s my ma, is she going to live?” asked one middle aged man, Cornelius thought his name was Tasso.

“I’m using all my prepared burn salve on her,” said Mrs. Hudson. “She got her arm up and protected her head, but there are burns on her ribs that side too. I can’t say yet if she’ll live, but the Lementina I know isn’t going to lie down and die. And here’s that dratted trainee butler looking untidy; put the pot of house leeks down over there, boy, and go and organise makeshift beds in the servants’ common room, and be sure the fire is lit. I need someone to pluck the larger segments of the house leeks and pound them up with my pestle and mortar, and slather onto lesser burns. Not you, Shuri Lovell, you’ll sit there and I’ll see to you next. Mr. Cornelius, you’re hiding burned hands, and so is Woodlock, Tasso, what about you?”

“I know what to do, Ma’s showed me,” said Tasso.

“You grind it proper,” said Lementina, in a faint voice. “Willow bark, mint, and comfrey.”

“Aye, and they are all in this salve,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Oh, Mary! You can help atone for your silliness, go get the mint sauce that was to be for his lordship’s mutton chops for dinner tomorrow, you can make some more. Put it in with that mess o’ houseleeks, the vinegar will help cleanse, and there’s some lavender oil and comfrey oil on my shelf, put three drops of the first and five of the second in it. There’s a jar of willowbark tea, you can put half of that in. Then you people with small burns you can help yourself and stir it all together as you do so.”

The gypsies with burns worked swiftly and with a will to ease their own burns as Mrs. Hudson put dressings on Lementina’s terrible burns, and Shuri’s face. Her hair was all burned off one side, and Mrs. Hudson ruthlessly cut away the rest.

“I’m a hag!” cried Shuri.

“You’re beautiful and brave,” said Cornelius. “And if you are scarred, it means nothing to either Woodlock nor me, save for the pain it gives you, for it is you we love.”

“Aye; what he said,” said Woodlock, whose palms were burned. Cornelius had lost some of his hair and was burned on his back and up his arms for going under the burning canvas, where the tar to make it waterproof had clung to him as he lifted Lementina clear.

“And the both of you will bed down in the servants’ hall where I can keep an eye on you, and anyone else I say is too badly burned to go back to the camp,” said Mrs. Hudson, arms akimbo, staring down the room full of gypsies.

“They took the worst of it, Woodlock and Corny,” said Tasso. “They got there first, and got the women out.”

“We’ll bring the whole tribe into the hall; we’ll put beds in the ballroom,” said Evelyn, striding in. “I’ve been down to the camp to issue those orders, I ran down when I saw fire. It’s under control, and only two other tents lost, from sparks, but, thank God! After those in them had roused and come out.  Shuri, was Crowy Heron trying to kill you?”

“I... I was supposed to be hiding in with Lementina,” said Shuri. “I kept my head covered at all times. He may have recognised the way I walked, I suppose, if he wanted to kill me. I... the tent flap would not open, and with it on fire, it was hard to escape under the skirts of it.”

“He’d thrown a javelin into the flap to pierce through and into the ground, to trap you in,” said Woodlock, grimly. “It was a deliberate act to cause death, or at least, serious injury.”

“Damn near succeeded if I hadn’t noticed smoke,” said Cornelius.

“Aye, and bless your Giorgio nose; we have a fire going and I did not put it down to anything but that until you leaped up,” said Woodlock. “Eh, your nightgown burned away; Shuri had at least a bit of an advance display to know what was on offer. Good job that didn’t get singed.”

“Oh my!” said Cornelius, glancing down, and going red as he realised he might as well be naked.

“Ain’t that nice, he can blush like a maiden, and you can see where it goes all the way down,” said Woodlock. “I am truly glad you aren’t burned there, brother,” he added, more seriously.

“Me too,” said Shuri. “I’m not unimpressed.”

“I need something to wear,” said Cornelius.

“You need to go into my hospital and I’ll have a new nightgown brought for you, Mr. Cornelius,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Anyone would think none of us have ever seen wedding tackle before; it’s nothing to get excited about.”

“There goes my ego,” said Cornelius.

“Your ego isn’t burned, now let me see to your hands,” said Mrs. Hudson.  “Good, your palms aren’t too bad.”

“I beat at the flames with a blanket,” said Cornelius. “But the burning tent came down on my forearms and back, and I held it up off Lementina until I could pick her up, and wrap her to get out. I’m glad I was wearing my nightcap though.”

“It’s saved your guinea-gold curls, you vain creature,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Oh! Or maybe not,” she took his cap off and half of Cornelius’s hair came with it, and he screamed as some of his scalp came away with it too.

“Just as well you were wearing a nightcap,” said Mrs. Hudson, shocked. “You were being the tentpole for that burning tent and I wager your back is almost as bad.”

“No, I had a banyan on,” said Cornelius. “Well, damn! It seems to have burned away.”

“You’re lucky,” said Mrs. Hudson, slathering cooling cream onto his scalp and onto the reddened skin of his back. “You’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Next banyan you buy, get a good woollen one, not some cotton print off of the East India company. ”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cornelius, meekly.

Evelyn, meanwhile, was seeing the line of frightened gypsies into his ballroom, whilst their horses were led to the meadow next to the stable block by hastily roused stablehands.

“You can have the long windowed doors onto the terrace open, if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he said. “You can cook on the terrace, and I’ll have screens brought in so you can have private family places.”

“Thank you, milord,” said one of the women. “You’ve done good by us accout o’ Shuri and Jasper.”

“Well, most of you were kindly to me when I was a boy,” said Evelyn. He added, more sharply, “Where is Jasper? He wasn’t with those who were burned, which surprised me.”

“He wasn’t with those of us who stayed to defend the women, milord,” said one of the men.

Evergreen went pale, and bolted back out of the door, and down to the gypsy camp ground. It was a shambles, with three burned tents, some belongings scattered as the rest of the gypsies grabbed bundles to come up to the hall. Evergreen went to where Shuri’s tent had stood, and where there were now a few of her possessions, and a couple of scars where the tent pegs had been pulled up roughly; but of the tent and of Jasper there was no sign.