Avice suddenly rolled from the bed and marched to the bathtub as Sysabel sank lower, soapy swirls and the day’s debris floating around her chin. Avice said, “Adrian was good today. Really good. But then he was hardly going to ride by and see his sister drown in mud, was he? Maybe he’s a hero after all, but that doesn’t make Nicholas a murderer.”
As Sysabel spoke, she blew bubbles on the water’s surface. “I never said Nicholas,” she mumbled. “I only said Jerrid. But if you suspect Adrian again, especially after today, then I shall never – ever – absolutely not speak to you again.”
“Mister Urswick and his friend were heroes too,” Emeline interrupted. “Are they Adrian’s friends?” Sysabel shook her head, water droplets spinning. “But do you think that thief’s corpse has been left on the road for anyone to fall over?”
“I don’t care,” said Sysabel. She waved a soapy arm towards the garderobe, calling, “Hilda, I’ve finished. Come here and dry me. Then,” smiling, “I want a long, long rest. A good supper. Then sleep all night. Adrian has given me money so we are rich and can do what we like. Then Adrian will take us home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Avice declared. “I’m hunting for murderers.”
“Then stay here,” glared Sysabel. “But not me. Your silly Alan Venter proved quite stupid, didn’t he, leading us to swamps and robbers! Well, I’ve had enough of all of it.”
“You go home if you want to,” Emeline said firmly. “But it was that dreadful storm made the marsh and Alan risked his own life trying to rescue you. And why you ever went flying into the mud in the first place, I have no idea. What did you think you were going to do, screaming and riding headlong? You get very overwrought sometimes, Sissy – and that doesn’t help anyone. So you can have your rest, but I need fresh air and I want to think. Avice, will you come with me?”
Avice sniffed. “I wanted a bath. I need a bath.”
“That bathwater is far too dirty now,” Emeline scowled. “Perhaps we can both have a fresh one later this evening after supper.”
It was a small private parlour where they met for supper. Emeline, having discussed her own personal preferences with the landlord’s wife, ate her apple codlings and kept her head down. Avice and Sysabel, enjoying a far better meal than they had lately been accustomed to eating, filled their platters with roast pork, tripe stuffed with sardines and raisins, and drank the best wine. Adrian refrained from scolding his sister and her companions for riding across the countryside unchaperoned by any respectable retinue yet again, and instead seemed content to act the gallant hero, with constant glances at his own companions. The Fox and Pheasant was a large hostelry, with a half dozen ostlers, three well equipped stable blocks and even better equipped kitchens. But when there was a commotion outside and the sounds of other guests arriving, Urswick pushed away his platter of braised tripe and looked up, distracted.
“It’s late,” Urswick said. “Remember, Frye, I’ve a boat to catch – other duties and another master waiting, though it’s the wrong news and not what he’s hoping for.”
“The boat’s due tonight at Southampton?”
Urswick lowered his voice, “I’ll not discuss my business here. Finish your wine, sir, and we must be off.”
Sysabel looked up in distress. Waving a lavender scented arm, fingers wafting good Spanish soap. “Going? Again? Already?”
“Only for a day or two, Sissy.” Adrian sighed. “You’ll all stay here in comfort until I get back. It’s urgent, or I’d not leave. But you need a rest I imagine, and will barely notice the time passing until I’m here again to escort you home.”
Emeline was using the same soap with clean hot water when Petronella peeped in to the bedchamber and whispered, “My lady, it’s Bill, poor mite, and as sick as can be.”
“Not surprising,” said Avice, looking up from her stool beside the bathtub.
“Oh, Lord have mercy. Another disaster?” Emeline emerged from the soap scum. “I’ll finish here and be out directly.”
Alan Venter and Bill were sleeping in the loft above the stables. Petronella climbed the ladder, clutching her skirts above the scattered straw, and peered, though keeping her distance, at the large spread figure. She turned and frowned at Emeline whose head popped up at the top of the ladder. “He’s all hot and red and shivering, my lady. He has a horribly snotty nose and he’s dripping like a conduit. He says Alan has gone for the doctor.”
Bill, aware of the bright eyes staring from the shadows, attempted to speak. Instead, he sneezed. “Is it only a cold?” hoped Emeline.
“Alan Venter thinks it may be the influenza, my lady, being as we were caught in the rain and the mud almost all day.
“Alan Venter,” glared old Bill from his sweaty straw pallet, “ain’t no proper guide, nor a proper groom. You wait a bit and I’ll be right as pottage. I only brung Alan ’cos he kept on and wouldn’t take no gainsaying. But he’s a city lad and don’t know ort but London streets.”
“It’s just as well he came,” frowned Emeline, “and he has led us well.”
“Said he had to look after the lady or his lordship’d come back and behead the lot of us,” Bill muttered, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. “But I reckon there’s sommit sticky about him.”
There was considerable bustle and noise from below, more horses brought in by the ostlers, the shaking of rain from tails and manes, the grooms shouting for oats and hot bran, blankets and brushes. Emeline shook her head and hurried back down the ladder. Halfway across to the shadowed peace of the trees beyond the courtyard, she bumped into Alan Venter himself.
“I’ve called, and hope the local medick’s on his way,” Alan said. “But forgive me, lady, you shouldn’t be out here alone. There’s much afoot as I know too well.”
Emeline regarded him with confused suspicion. “It’s a respectable hostelry, Mister Venter. And since I’m the senior within this group I consider it my responsibility = but I’m also desperate need of peace and fresh air. And now,” she moved a little deeper beneath the trees, “you can tell me why you are actually here, Mister Venter. I’ve been told you actually insisted on accompanying me on this journey, through loyalty, perhaps to his lordship. But my husband had no idea I ever meant to travel anywhere or leave home at all.”
“M’lady,” he told her. “I’m under orders. It’s many years I’ve been with his lordship and often journeyed with him, but this time I was told to stay put and look after his lady, being as how he’s well used to danger, and always ready for the worst.”
She was pleased. “So you’ve travelled with him in the past. Do you know where he is now?”
“I can’t say, my lady, though he’s gone south, as you know. May not be far from here right now. Though last time I travelled with his lordship, t’were north to York and Berwick and beyond.”
“Berwick? The siege? My husband told me a little – but I didn’t know he had his own men with him.”
“Not many of us, my lady. Just David Witton, and me. But this time he left me behind to watch for his lady. Which is what I’ve been doing, and will do. And now, with your permission, I’ll be off to see to your groom and whatever he’s sickening from, lest it’s a contagion. And don’t you go near him, m’lady, for influenza can kill.”
“I shall go for a walk,” Emeline said firmly, “whether you approve or not, Mister Venter. My head is spinning. My sister is still in the bath, Hilda and Mistress Frye are discussing conspiracies and intrigues in private, and I feel quite nauseas myself.”
“But it’s late, and if you’re not feeling well, my lady –”
“I shall be perfectly well if left alone for an hour to think,” she declared and walked off into the crisp moonlit path beneath the trees and away from the hostelry.