As Piers strode forward to descend the slope, I flung out an arm to stop him. ‘You fool!’ I hissed. ‘We can’t just go marching up to the door. We have to think of some story to get us inside. And I’ve told you, there’s a dog very like Beelzebub and just as vicious.’
Piers then proceeded to take my breath away by flinging off my restraining arm and saying loudly, ‘I’m not afraid of a poxy dog even if you are, Roger!’ and half-running, half-slithering down the bank into the courtyard.
I had, perforce, to follow, but I drew my knife as I went and was hardly surprised when the door of the homestead opened and the great beast I had encountered weeks earlier bounded out, fangs bared and its malicious little eyes gleaming evilly.
‘Piers, beware!’ I yelled at the top of my voice, and was preparing to launch myself forward in a valiant attempt to protect the mad fool when I was brought up short by the most amazing sight. Piers simply raised his right hand, the first finger extended upwards, then slowly lowered it, at the same time emitting a piercing whistle whose volume sank with the finger. As it did so, the dog crouched on the ground, slobbering out of the corners of its great jaws, and grovelled on its belly.
‘How on earth. .?’ I was beginning when the woman, still in the decent Sunday clothes I had seen her wearing that morning, when she had been talking to Amphillis, appeared in the doorway. Then she started forward, her first look of angry suspicion turning rapidly to smiles.
‘Pernelle, my dear, what on earth are you doing here? Nothing’s amiss, is it? All’s well for tomorrow night?’
Pernelle? Pernelle? And suddenly I remembered Rosina once addressing Piers as ‘Perry’. I had thought the name a little strange, but had dismissed it as an affectionate diminutive. Which, of course, it had been, but of a female name! And in the flicker of an eye, certain facts began to resolve themselves. First of all, Piers’s insistence on never sharing a bed or a room with other people started to make sense (twice during our journey we had stopped to relieve ourselves, and each time he had disappeared into the bushes with what I considered to be modesty taken to extremes). Secondly, those recurring dreams about Eloise Gray had been trying to tell me what, deep inside me, I had already known but failed to recognize: that Piers was a woman masquerading as a boy. And the third fact which stood out like a sore, pulsating thumb, was that she was one of them, one of the infamous Sisterhood, and that I had walked blindly into a trap from which I would be fortunate to escape with my life.
I turned to run. Immediately, at a word from Piers — Pernelle! — the dog was up and barring my way, saliva dripping from its bared teeth, its whole body quivering with hatred. I guessed that a command from either woman would be enough to set it at my throat.
‘My dear,’ I heard Piers — Pernelle — say, ‘let’s go inside. There’s a great deal I have to tell you. But first, has the boy been safely got away?’
The other woman nodded. ‘John took him to London in the cart late this afternoon.’
‘Still drugged?’
‘Still drugged and concealed under some sacking and a load of cabbages. I sent the girls as well. I thought an officious gatekeeper less likely to search the cart — and considering this morning’s events, everyone in London is probably as jumpy as a cat — if they were with their father.’ She glanced towards me. ‘But who’s this? I seem to recall his face from somewhere. Yes! Now I have it. He was here, snooping around, several weeks ago. John was suspicious of him to begin with, but then we decided he was harmless.’ The hazel eyes narrowed. ‘Can it be that we were wrong?’
‘Very wrong,’ was the grim reply. ‘But let’s go inside and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Half an hour had gone by and I was sitting in the only chair the cottage afforded. This fact, however, had nothing to do with the women’s concern for my comfort. It simply meant that my arms could be pulled around its back and my wrists lashed together with rope. A foot or two away, its wicked little eyes fixed almost unblinkingly on my face, lay the dog, ready to spring if I so much as moved a muscle.
Pernelle — for as such I was now forced to think of Piers — had finished her story and was easing her throat with some of our hostess’s ale, regarding me mockingly as she did so, understanding how parched I must be. But I refused to beg a drink and tried to ignore my raging thirst.
Pernelle knew this, of course, and grinned at her companion, whom she addressed as Margaret.
‘Roger’s very stubborn. And he’s nigh impossible to kill. I’ve tried twice already so I should know.’ She shifted on her stool so that she could see me better. ‘Oh yes, I’m the executioner, not Amphillis. Amphillis hasn’t the stomach for it. Whatever my aunt told this Owlgrave woman you mentioned, she was simply protecting me. After all, why would she trust someone who has left the Sisterhood and might decide, in the future, to betray us? I killed Gregory Machin.’ She turned momentarily back to her friend. ‘It frightened me half to death, I can tell you, when he walked away into his room and bolted the door, even though he did seem more than a little dazed and disorientated. Imagine my relief when I discovered that he was in fact dead!’
‘Yes, indeed,’ the other agreed with a shudder.
Pernelle turned again to me. ‘I was the one who attacked you outside your chamber.’ She touched the disfiguring bruise down the left-hand side of her face. Her voice hardened and she sneered. ‘Fortunately, you were easy to fool. You believed me when I said I’d walked into a door. Just as when you thought I’d hurt my foot when you saw Margaret here going into the sewing room to speak to Amphillis.’ The sneer became more pronounced. ‘The bigger the body, the smaller the brain. You large men are so easy to dupe.’
‘And the blow over the head in the room beneath St Etheldreda’s crypt?’ I asked.
Pernelle grinned malevolently. Still in her boy’s clothes, it was difficult to remember that she wasn’t really Piers.
‘No, unhappily I didn’t have that pleasure. If you remember, you’d left me behind in the Boar’s Head eating my dinner. That was Aunt Etheldreda, which is why you survived. Her arm doesn’t have the force of mine. Had I hit you then, you wouldn’t have survived the water. You’d have been dead before your body left the drain. But I did go to the Rattlebones.’ Her expression sharpened. ‘Incidentally, where exactly were you last night?’
It was my turn to curl my lip, but I said nothing.
This intransigence annoyed her and she half-rose from her stool, an ugly look on her face, but the other woman interrupted by asking, ‘What are we going to do with him? Kill him? But I don’t want the body disposed of here. From what you’ve told me, if he really is an agent of the Lord Protector, his disappearance will cause a stir and there’s bound to be a hue and cry. The trail might well lead to us. John can look out for himself, but I’ve the girls to think of.’
Pernelle got to her feet. ‘Oh, I’m in no hurry to get rid of him. He can wait. I’ll think of something later. Meanwhile, we’ve tomorrow to concern us and there’s still a lot to do to prepare for the ceremony. John knows to take the boy straight to St Etheldreda’s Church?’
‘Of course. Your aunt will be waiting for him?’
‘Yes. He and the girls will stop the night with her. It’s all arranged. Three of the Sisterhood will stay with the boy in the underground chamber, administering more of the drug if he seems like waking. You’ve had no trouble with him?’
‘None. We did as we were told. If he stirred, we forced more of the potion down his throat before he had time to recover consciousness. That apothecary’s assistant you recruited certainly knows how to concoct a potent brew.’
I caught my breath. Could it be Naomi they were talking of? I remembered the sprig of birch twigs pinned to her bodice, but that was commonplace at this time of year. I prayed for Julian Makepeace’s sake that it wasn’t true, but without much hope of having my prayer answered. Naomi was just the sort of giddy young woman to be easily influenced and convinced of her own importance. Moreover, she had access to all of Julian’s drugs, and I wouldn’t put it past her to have picked his brains without his realizing why she needed the information. And indeed, why would he suspect her of any nefarious dealing?