Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (60 page)

"Never did like that old witch," Farley mumbled, quickening his work even as his fingers fumbled. "Ye think she just put a curse on us?"

The oxen hitched to the cart, Farley guided them along the road, tapping them every now and then to keep them moving. They followed the road north, and soon the gypsy wagons had been left far behind. They were delayed only briefly when waiting in line to be ferried across the Thames by barge, but soon they were trundling along the narrow,
rutted
lane.

None of them glanced behind to mark the miles left behind, and so no one saw the shadowy figure on horseback that rode under cover of the trees, or remained just beyond the last bend in the road, always keeping pace, never allowing his quarry out of sight.

There was a star danced, and under

that was I born

Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
hree
riders
rode into Warwickshire. It was a countryside of rolling green meadows grazed by thickly
fleeced
sheep, densely wooded hills of cedar, oak, and elm, orchards heavy with ripening fruit, and golden fields under harvest, the piles of grain sheaves stacked to cure and dry during the last days of summer. The riders passed through peaceful villages of straw-thatched cottages, sending their horses splashing through the murmuring streams that fed i
nto the gentle waters of the Av
on.

The long street of Stratford, a small market town beside the river, was busy with pedestrians and wagons trafficking in goods gathered from other counties before being sent downriver to be traded in the larger towns. Herds of cattle, wagons groaning under the weight of barrels of ale brewed locally, bales of cloth and wool piled high in two-wheeled carts crowded the thoroughfare flanked by half-timbered houses and shops.

Valentine Whitelaw, followed by a curious Simon, who was stretching his neck back and forth in hopes of catching sight of a familiar figure, and the Turk, just behind, rode their horses slowly along Church Street. The droning sound of children's voices reciting memorized sums drifted to the street below from the opened windows of the grammar school directly above the guildhall, where Valentine Whitelaw had intended to stop and inquire of Maire Lester's whereabouts. He hailed a lad hurrying past,
apparently
late for his lessons, for the boy's expression was harried. Simon glanced at him pityingly, for he would feel the sting of a flogging for his tardiness.

Alas, the lad had never
heard
of Maire Lester and continued on to class with an apologetic shrug and a wide-eyed stare at the Turk's turban, something he'd have a hard time getting his friends to believe he'd seen.

However, a woman crossing the lane
with
a basket packed full of long loaves of freshly baked bread was familiar with the name, having met Maire Lester just a week ago last when she'd come into town to do the marketing. Her sister, though, wasn't there, she confided, eyeing the strangers curiously. Moll Crenshaw, Maire Lester's sister, had gone north, to Coventry, where her daughter who was about to have another child lived. Five children already, she'd had, and her husband just an apprentice cobbler. She wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that they were coming back with Moll to live on the farm; after all, Moll was widowed, with no sons, and needed help with the chores. But the woman's conversation came abruptly to an end when she was asked about any strangers staying at the farm with Maire Lester.

Valentine Whitelaw managed to extricate himself from the woman's confidences without satisfying her curiosity and rode on through the town, crossing Clopton Bridge to ride south toward the small farmstead where Maire Lester was living.

"She didn't know anything about them, did she?" Simon asked, frowning.

"Just because she did not have any knowledge of them does not mean that they might not be there, Simon," Valentine told him, but he too thought it doubtful that a woman as well informed of other people's affairs as that one appeared to be would not have heard about the children.

"I suppose Maire could be hiding them? They might fear the authorities will come here looking for them," Simon speculated, lightly touching his heels to his mount to keep pace with the other two riders.

They rode on as directed, passing the gnarled old oak that stood alone on a hillside, then past three farms, before crossing a stream, where an old waterwheel was turning slowly. They traveled another couple of miles, past undulating fields of wild flowers, across an arched stone bridge spanning a swiftly running brook, until at last they saw the farmstead.

"I think it's going to rain, Uncle Valentine," Simon muttered, unnecessarily drawing his uncle's attention to the worsening weather. He'd been watching the clouds darkening to the east for the last half an hour, and he could have sworn he'd heard a distant rumbling of thunder.

"You're probably right, Simon," Valentine agreed, thinking it would somehow be appropriate that they should get soaked in a cloudburst.

They left the narrow lane and followed what was little more than a path cut between
hedgerows
to the rambling outbuildings. A cow byre and hayloft were to the left, across from a humble-looking stable with a lean-to for pigs and poultry, while a
dovecote
and large barn rose behind. They entered a courtyard
surrounded
by a low, stone wall and dismounted before a long farmhouse that looked deserted.

Simon, however, soon discovered that it wasn't. Impatient to learn if Lily and the others were there, with youthful exuberance he stepped ahead of Valentine and hurried to the door of the farmhouse, prepared to bang unceasingly until someone answered. To his surprise, a squealing pig came racing through the door, scooting between his legs as it shot into the yard beyond. Simon fell backward and rolled over and was crouched in an undignified position
trying
to rise when a woman swinging a broom barreled through the door after the pig, the broom coming into
contact
with his seat when she mistook him for the culprit who'd made a shambles of the kitchen.

"Oh! Good Lord! Who and what ye be then?" the woman, tall and raw-boned, but with a ready smile, demanded indignantly. Then, peering closer at the lad she'd just struck so insultingly, she exclaimed, "Why, Master Simon, whatever are ye doin' down on all fours?"

Simon snorted, sounding a bit like that pig, and drew himself up to his full height with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. "I-we-have come in search of Lily Christian, Tristram, and Dulcie. Are they here?"

The woman stared at him dumbfounded. "Here? Now whatever would they be doin' here?" she asked, eyeing the other two gentlemen more closely. "Why, it be the captain?"

"Yes. Maire Lester, is it not?"

"Oh, aye, ye be rememberin' me, then?" she said, pleased for a brief instant, then she frowned. "Mistress Lily and young Master Tristram and the little one, here?" she repeated incredulously.

"They've run away from Highcross!" Simon blurted out, unable to contain himself or his disappointment as he slammed his fist against the doorjamb.

"Run away, have they?" she murmured thoughtfully, a glint coming into her eyes. "I'll bet that Hartwell Barclay has something to do with this," she said, meeting Valentine Whitelaw's curious gaze. "Always was after the young mistress, couldn't fool me, he couldn't with his blustering ways. Why ye think he got rid of me? Owed it to the good captain and that lovely wife of his, the
Doña
Magdalena, to protect their children, especially the young mistress. Always pawin' her, his nabs was. Reckon there be a lot of other things he was thinkin' about and plannin'. Never did understand how Master Tristram fell from the roof, or even why he was up there in the first place. And later, when the young mistress wrote to me to tell me what was goin' on, never did I understand how that window go left open in Dulcie's chamber. Nearly caught her death of cold, she did. Poor little dear. How I do miss them. Reckon ol' Hartwell Barlclay thought if there wasn't any heirs left, he could inherit Highcross. Oh, aye, don't be lookin' so surprised, wouldn't put murder past him at all. And when that failed, well, be he was tryin' to get into the young mistress's bed, he was. 'Fraid, what with her being' so fair and an heiress, that he'd be losin' his position at Highcross soon enough. Aye, I seen how jittery he got when young Master Simon here came a-callin'. Sweet on Mistress Lily, he is," Maire Lester said, her eagle eye having missed nothing all these years.

"I told you so, Uncle Valentine!" Simon exclaimed, although his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment by the nurse's bluntness
concerning
his intentions toward Lily Christian.

"Ye thought they might be comin' here, to their old nurse, eh?" Maire Lester speculated aloud. "Could be ye be right about that. Maybe they'll be showin' up soon."

"I doubt it," Simon said with a dejected glance around.
"They've been missing since before summer."

"Lord! That long, is it? And how is it that ye just be lookin' fer them now?" she demanded angrily, her hands on her hips as she stared at them, and both Simon and Valentine were momentarily reminded of their old nurses and having to face them after some misconduct.

"I have been neglectful of them," Valentine said shortly. He had been concerned before to learn that the children were traveling about the countryside unescorted except for the Odells, but now, to realize that they'd been in danger even at Highcross, he was heartsick and guilt-ridden at his own duplicity in having allowed such a situation to develop. He had been away on his voyages too often, and when in England he'd spent too much time at Ravindzara. He had seldom given the
children
more than a passing thought or visit through the years. He had left them to the mercy of Hartwell Barclay.

The Turk, watching his captain, saw the recognizable gleam that entered Valentine Whitelaw's eyes and he smiled in anticipation of the reckoning he knew would soon follow. Unconsciously, his hand began to caress the ornate hilt of the scimitar while he contemplated Hartwell Barclays demise.

"The poor little dears. All by themselves. Alone and hungry, maybe even hurt, why, the kinds of folk that travel the roads nowadays, well, a decent, God-fearin' person has to beware," Maire Lester said, clucking her tongue. "Don't care to be here by myself, I don't. Had a troupe of actors stumble by the other day. The way they carry on, why, faith, but I didn't know when they was jestin' or not. Goin' to London, they were. End up beggin' think, my poor
little
ones out there by themselves."

"Oh, they're not alone. Farley and Fairfax are with them," Simon volunteered. "And that maid."

Maire Lester's eyes looked like black currants about to pop from her head. Opening her lips to speak, she found her breath had escaped her and she just stood there staring, her mouth hanging open.

"Well!" she finally managed to breathe. "Well, I never heard such a thing! The Odells! Lord, but I'm glad ye didn't tell me that right away or I would have fainted dead on ye. Farley and Fairfax and this maid-Tillie, I'll wager 'twas-there's never been a more misbegotten pair than the two of them beef-heads. And that Tillie, if she's got a brain in her head
she
don't know it. I should have known them Odells were involved in this. If the children didn't have enough trouble before, then they sure as do now."

Simon Whitelaw looked at his uncle. He wondered if it had been a good idea after all to come to Stratford in search of Maire Lester, conveniently forgetting that it had been his suggestion in the first place, for the woman was depressing him with all of this talk about the unsuitability of the Odells.

"Well, if the children are not here, and you have not seen them since you left Highcross, then all we can do is return to Highcross and speak a little more bluntly with Hartwell Barclay. He may know
more
than he is telling us," Valentine said. "That is one
conversation
I am looking forward to."

"I'll be comin' with ye, then," Maire Lester decided. "Never did like it here. Can handle children better than I can animals, especially that porker. Meanest, sneakiest pig I've ever met," she said, glancing past them to where the old sow was rooting in the garden.

"I think it would be best if you stayed here, at least until we discover where the children are," Valentine advised. "Simon may be right and they might be trying to travel here. We will search the roads and villages between here and Highcross. They may have met with an accident."

"Very well, sir, but it don't set my mind any easier wonderin' about what has happened to them and where they be right now. I only hope they do show up here, and I'll have a thing or two to say to them Odells."

"If they should, tell them that we are searching for them and that they have nothing to worry about. Hartwell Barclay is not dead. And he will no longer have any say in their welfare," Valentine told her as he walked to his horse and prepared to mount. "I will deal with Hartwell Barclay. They need never fear him again."

"More's the pity he's still alive," Maire Lester said, not in the least bit concerned about the health of Hartwell Barclay.

"You will tell them what I've said if they arrive?" Valentine reminded her.

"Oh, aye, that I will. And ye will let me know if ye be findin' them?" she reminded him, her gaze narrowed speculatively on his lean figure as he sat his horse so easily, as if he was a man who was always in control and seldom knew defeat, and she hoped Hartwell Barclay got everything he deserved and then some.

"When we find the children and return them to their rightful place at Highcross, then you will be sent for, Maire Lester. And thank you for the information about Hartwell Barclay," Valentine said, nodding to her.

"My pleasure. Looks like 'tis goin' to open up and rain on ye. Don't know that ye'll make the village before it does. I'd offer ye lodging here, but there's only the one bed, and, well," she added a bid defensively, "I'm not a very good cook. Never had to worry about fixin' more than a bit of
gruel
fer the babies. Never had to cook my own meals at Highcross, always ate with the rest of the
servants
in the kitchen. Plenty of food already set on the table. I've just got some bread and cheese and a little broth I'm goin' to heat up when I start the fire after dark. Moll counts every stick of wood," she added apologetically.