“No time for that. Other matters are far too urgent,” said Avice with a grin of pure delight.
Within the echoes of the high ceilinged hall, the earl reverberated. He glared at the servants, at his miserable hostess and at his niece as she hurried into the room. “Let my damn fool of a son out of my sight for a few hours and every standard of decent behaviour crashes,” the earl bellowed. “Has nobody any idea where that wretched boy of mine has gone?”
The baroness, recollecting her courage, murmured, “Nicholas and my daughter have taken only their own mounts and one baggage horse, my lord. Emeline’s nurse informs me that my daughter took almost nothing with her, and practically all her clothes have been left behind. She took no maid and crept out without a word. But she is with her husband, my lord, and I can hardly complain. I am sure Nicholas will look after her.”
“And just who will look after him, I’d like to know,” roared the earl, unappeased. “He’s as much sense as a raw cabbage, and is no doubt off doing something entirely absurd and irresponsible.”
“Emma left me a note,” ventured Avice with an ill-concealed smirk.
The earl rounded on her and snatched the scrap of scribbled paper she was holding. His ruddy colouring increased considerably as he read. “No intention of obeying me, indeed! And off to solve the riddles of murder and intrigue, is he! As if the boy is capable of even tying his own hose around his waist, let alone solving genuine mysteries.”
The baroness managed a few more proffered words. “Nicholas has taken one servant and his squire with him. David Witton is a respectable young man, I believe, sir. I have considerable respect for his intelligence, and he is obviously loyal.”
“Anyone loyal to Nicholas needs their wits unravelled,” declared the earl, throwing Emeline’s careful apologies and explanations to the ground. “I shall leave here at midday, Madam, immediately after dinner. I shall then travel to London and hope to intercept the young fool before he brings more scandal and ruin to the family.”
“Wine, my lord?” suggested Avice, stepping forward with her smile in cement.
“Don’t interrupt, Avice,” her mother frowned. “This is not your place.”
“Place be damned,” retaliated the earl. “Bring the wine. I need strength.”
As soon as the earl and his entourage had clattered down the path from the stables to the Gloucestershire lanes towards London, Avice grabbed Sysabel’s hand and dragged her back upstairs to her bedchamber which they had shared the night before. They sat together on the bed, hugging their knees, and Avice said, “We have to run away.”
Notably unconvinced, Sysabel mumbled, “That’s a horrid idea. You have a lovely house and a lovely mother, and just because your sister has been silly, it doesn’t mean you have to as well.”
Avice was disappointed. “But of course we have to. She’s gone searching for murderers, so we need to follow her and be ready to help. And think of the excitement.”
“Think of the danger.” Sysabel shook her head. “Honestly, Avice. Only children chase excitement.”
“I’m not a child,” Avice pouted, “I’ve turned fifteen. And you’re almost fifteen now, aren’t you? So we’re quite old enough to make decisions, and be brave, and help your cousin and my sister. Besides, we have to warn Nicholas that his father is out to catch him and beat him.”
“He’ll guess that already,” Sysabel pointed out. “And I’m still only fourteen, but Peter said I was very mature for my age. And Adrian is out there somewhere already looking for Nicholas.”
“That’s it then,” Avice insisted. “We need to help him too, since he can’t have any idea of where everyone is and what they’re doing.” She was animated, grabbing at Sysabel’s arm. “We know things that Nick doesn’t, so it’s our duty to tell him. Look, someone murdered Papa. I may not have liked my father very much but people just shouldn’t go around killing people’s fathers and getting away with it. And Nicholas said it was the same person who killed Peter. Now that ought to give you courage. You really liked Peter, didn’t you? Well. We have to find his killer.”
“We do?” exclaimed Sysabel. “Of course we don’t if that’s just what Nicholas and half the sheriffs of England are already doing. Which perhaps proves that it wasn’t Nicholas who did it after all – though I had always thought – but now perhaps not. And,” she sighed, extricating her hand, “I’ll have you know I did a lot more than just ‘like Peter’. I was in love with him. And he was in love with me.”
Avice screwed up her nose. “How was he in love with you? He was supposed to marry my sister.”
“He didn’t want to,” said Sysabel with a sniff. “He wanted to marry me but his father wouldn’t let him because he wanted an heiress in the family and I haven’t any property at all. But Peter didn’t care about money, he only wanted me. And he proved it.”
“Proved what?”
“His adoration,” whispered Sysabel, looking at her lap and blushing slightly.
Avice said, “He told Emma he loved her too.”
“He couldn’t have.” Sysabel looked, up, eyes moist. “She must have – I mean, she was mistaken. And I suppose,” she sniffed loudly, “it would be brave – and loyal to Peter – and maybe the right thing to do. Finding who killed him, I mean. Perhaps we should run away after all.” She paused, summoning courage. “Peter would want me to do that, I expect. And he always told me I was brave – especially later when – but I don’t want to talk about that. He must be in heaven, because he couldn’t still be in purgatory because I’ve prayed for him every night for months and months, and anyway, he never sinned in his life so he’s surely sitting on a golden throne at Holy God’s right hand already. Do you think he can see me from up there?”
Avice brightened. “No doubt he’s watching right now. That’s it then, we make our plans this afternoon and we creep away tonight.”
“Your mother will be horribly worried.”
Avice continued grinning. “Not at all. She’s secretly so relieved to be rid of Papa. She’s already ordered three new dresses, and shoes with silver buckles. There’s a cartload of the best beeswax candles due tomorrow, and the kitchens have doubled their rations. All the village traders are thrilled. Now she’s talking of buying real books from the new printers, and a hat with a gold lace veil. I think she’ll be just delighted to get rid of me too.”
“But ladies don’t run anywhere alone,” sniffed Sysabel. “It isn’t decent and it isn’t safe.”
“Ladies travel all across the country just with armed outriders and a few attendants. And even ordinary traders do. There’s a big buxom woman who drives a cart full of ale kegs around Gloucestershire, and farmers’ wives going to market, and the women who travel with the Mystery Players, and –”
“But they have entourages and armed guards and proper guides.” Sysabel stared wide eyed. “And they’re all a lot older than we are.”
Avice smiled. “We’ll take your maid and my maid, and I’ll ask old Bill. He’s a sort of guide, and he can carry a sword. And we, as you pointed out yourself, are extremely mature for our ages.”
It was not such a secretive or quietly organised escape, but it was achieved without either interruption or disaster. Avice had stuffed three bread roles, well wrapped in her spare shift, into a large bag, and Sysabel had secreted some of the cold meat from supper up her sleeve. Once the household was quiet, Mistress Avice and Mistress Sysabel, warmly dressed and holding a small candle holder each, crept downstairs followed by two maids, one elderly dresser, and a reluctant page. Nurse Martha had not been enlisted, since she would undoubtedly have disapproved and spoiled everything by informing the baroness at once. Outside, the maids and the page dutifully squashed the packages, bags and boxes into the sumpter’s capacious panniers as two stable boys saddled the ladies’ palfreys, and the one dour outrider, well bribed, temporarily ignored his arthritis and stuck his knife into his belt as he mounted his own elderly but impatient hunter.