And Mosca did not show these guests to their hat or to the door. She led them to the second parlour, where they all waited in silence until the more oblivious guests had gone. Then they all returned to the reception room.
The conspiracy was a curious mix. Clent, looking a little grey around the gills. Sir Feldroll, who seemed inclined to stand behind Beamabeth’s chair, gripping the back of it in a fashion that was half protective, half possessive. A few trusted servants. A number of young men, whom Mosca noticed eyeing the proprietorial Sir Feldroll in a less than friendly manner. That’s all we need, a bunch of lovelorn suitors duelling in the middle of our ambush…
And last of all Mosca, setting her pewter tray down with a louder clang than she intended and wandering to squat on the hearthrug with her fists full of cake.
‘First things first. There must be no prospect – no prospect at all – of Miss Marlebourne being endangered.’ Sir Feldroll’s adamant tones were echoed in the murmurs of the company.
‘Nor shall there be,’ Clent assured him quickly. ‘She is far too precious to be placed in the firing line. We are all agreed on that.
‘I propose the following. I inform Mr Skellow’s happy little coterie of cut-throats that I have successfully persuaded the young lady to appear outside her house at dawn to pay one last farewell to her erstwhile fiancé. The figure that emerges to keep this appointment will not, of course, be Miss Marlebourne, but a decoy of the same build.’
Mosca raised an eyebrow as several gazes crept her way and was suddenly very glad that she was a head shorter than Beamabeth.
‘Now, as you all know, there are two morning bugles. The first warns the nightfolk that they have fifteen minutes to leave the streets, after which the Jinglers sweep through the town, locking away the night and unlocking the day. The second bugle sounds when they have finished this task. But of course the Jinglers cannot manage all this keywork in an instant. Some parts of the town inevitably receive their attentions before others. Perhaps you will tell the company when you usually hear your doors being unlocked, Miss Marlebourne?’
‘About halfway between the two bugles, Mr Clent.’
‘Thank you, Miss Beamabeth. This house is one of the first to be unsealed from without, which given that the, ah, Jinglers make their headquarters in the castle is no surprise. That gives us a window, gentlemen. About fifteen minutes between the Jinglers unsealing our doors and windows, and the second morning bugle. The rendezvous between the counterfeit Miss Marlebourne and Brand Appleton must be set to take place within that time, when the Jinglers have swept on into the rest of the town and the coast is clear. That way Appleton and his accomplices will fancy that they still have time to flee back to the town after the abduction.’
‘But…’ One young lawyer seemed to be having some trouble with the concept. ‘But if the second bugle has not blown, how can we go out?’
‘Turning the front-door handle and pushing might be a good start,’ suggested Sir Feldroll.
‘But… we will not exist yet…’ The goldsmith was not the only person whose face showed signs of internal confusion. Most of the Toll-dwellers seemed to have been hit in the midriff by a mental hurdle.
‘What?’ Sir Feldroll stared at them with exasperation and bewilderment. His eyebrows tended to leap and cavort when he was upset. ‘Are we phantoms at night? Do we lack breath or limbs? Of course we can go out! We shall simply be in large amounts of danger – go on, Mr Clent.’
‘Here is the plan I intend to present to the villains.’ Clent unrolled a map. ‘I shall tell them that Miss Marlebourne has agreed to meet Appleton here, in this little walled courtyard, not twenty yards from her own front door. As you can see, there is a well in the courtyard – I shall suggest that they hide three or four men down within it long before dawn, so as to avoid detection by the Jinglers. The well is close to the entrance arch, so once the young lady has entered the courtyard they can spring from their hiding place and cut off her retreat. As you can see, I have marked in charcoal an escape route for them to use in order to return to the seething bowels of the town before they are locked into daylight.’
‘You’ve thought out their side well enough,’ remarked a young goldsmith, scanning the smudged page.
‘I must,’ declared Clent. ‘If the plan does not seem watertight, they will not put from port in it.’
‘So how do we hole it below the waterline?’
‘Ah.’ Clent held up a finger. ‘I shall neglect to mention to the brotherhood of blackguards that the archway is not the only entrance to the walled courtyard. There is a keep in the opposite corner, once used to house castle guards – a keep in poor repair. You cannot tell from within the courtyard, but there is a hole in the outer wall some fifteen feet above the ground – an easy climb for agile young limbs. I think the scoundrels will be a little surprised to see armed men boiling out of a keep they believe to be empty. At the same time we can have some other likely fellows creep out at the back of the house so that they are ready to make a rush and cut off escape through the arch.’
From her vantage on the rug, Mosca watched a radiance of excitement spread from face to face as Clent distributed imaginary troops like a general. After the house had been unsealed and the Jinglers had continued into the town, nearly all the guests and the servants would leave the house by the back windows of the mayor’s house, out of sight of the walled courtyard, and head towards the prearranged ambush points. Beamabeth herself would stay safely indoors and survey everything from her first-floor window, taking care not to be seen. A couple of servants would be left within to guard the windows and door of the house, while Saracen would protect the landing. Mosca herself would accompany those climbing the wall at the back of the keep, since she was nimble enough to clamber up with a rope for others to climb after her.
‘My friends,’ Clent finished, ‘if you can lay your hands on arms and weapons, pray do so before dusk. But remember – our plan depends upon being out of doors at a time when none but the Jinglers should be abroad. So, I entreat you, discharge no firearms except in the greatest need. Our enemies will be wary of letting loose with pistols, and so should we.’
The company dispersed with alacrity, and half an hour later the conspirators had returned with a peculiar collection of weapons. A few gentlemanly short swords, then a smattering of hangers, daggers, croquet mallets, fire irons and rolling pins. In spite of Clent’s warnings, Sir Feldroll had brought a brace of pistols with engraved ivory handles. One of the servants was sent to conceal Clent’s letter to Skellow inside the courtyard well.
There was a general air of tension as the afternoon dragged its way towards dusk, but Mosca, Clent and Beamabeth had their own secret reason for anxiety. There was still a chance that the mayor had noticed that his watch had been reset and might yet burst into the gathering red-faced, demanding to know why so many people were sitting in his house brandishing weapons. The hall clock, perhaps in revenge for the way it had been interfered with earlier in the day, decreed that the next half an hour would crawl past at a miserably slow pace.
Mosca felt herself tense as she heard the dusk bugle sound. Mouth dry, she watched the clock edge through the minutes.
Finally she heard the Jinglers fly in as though they rode the wind bell-bridled, and then there came the now familiar sound of grinding and slams, clinks and clatters. The frail chinks of light that crept in between shutters and doors were extinguished. Sound deadened, and Mosca suddenly felt a choking sense of claustrophobia.