The Winter List, page 14
part #6 of Damian Seeker Series
She had got back to her feet and was dusting down her skirts when there was a sudden thump at the window which almost made her jump from her skin. Quickly lowering her candle to the floor, she went to the window and peeked out through the heavy drapes which had already been drawn when she’d arrived. There, out on the lawn, was Grizel, gesticulating to her then pointing in the direction of the door. Anne understood.
She glanced quickly around the room to check that she had left everything as it should be, then patted the inside pocket of her cloak, where she had secreted the sketch of Maria Ellingworth along with her own rough copy of the house plan she had found in the bloodied satchel. She snuffed out her light and retraced her steps through the darkness to Thomas’s clerk’s anteroom and back out into the corridor. She had just stepped out into the generously lit corridor when she heard the sound of a man whistling, accompanied by footsteps coming up the stair. She slipped around the corner and pressed herself against the wall.
The whistling grew louder and the footsteps closer before coming to a halt outside the door to Sir Thomas’s apartments. The handle turned and Thomas entered the anteroom. She took her chance and sped back round the corner and along the corridor until she reached the stairs. She had almost descended one flight when she heard Sir Thomas exclaim. ‘What the Devil?’ She was down another flight by the time she heard Sir Thomas stride out onto the corridor and knock at another door further along. Whom he was rousing she could not tell, because she had reached the ground floor where she was hailed by a low whistle that she knew to be Grizel’s. Following the sound along a dark and narrow corridor, she felt a rush of cold air hit her from a side door that opened onto the gardens. She went through it and was a moment later greeted by her maid who manifested from behind a pillar. She let out a long breath of relief. ‘My word, Griz, but that was close.’
Safely back in their own small house, Grizel busied herself with bringing the stove back to life and preparing warm drinks while Anne laid out on the table what she had found. She lit extra candles to illuminate the drawing of Maria Ellingworth as well as her rough copy of the plan she had found in the bloodied satchel.
‘The sketchbook was hidden away, but the satchel had been left sitting out on a chair. As I said, too trusting, Thomas Faithly.’
They studied the house plans first, and it took Grizel little time to come to the same conclusion Anne had arrived at when she’d looked over them earlier. ‘A spy house,’ she said. Vents, where none were needed, unless to carry sounds; small, strangely placed windows that let in little light, but gave overview of other rooms; passageways behind rooms already more obviously connected by main corridors.
‘Do you recognise the house?’ asked Anne.
Grizel frowned. ‘I think it is a template, illustrating ideas that might be put into practice rather than a plan of an existing house.’
Anne nodded in agreement. ‘Which raises the question: who were these plans drawn for? Was it at the behest of Sir Thomas or someone else?’
‘Hmm,’ said Grizel. ‘Well, whoever they were for, it was that murdered surveyor that drew them. The bag you found them in, the one that Sir Thomas and the lawyer Ingolby were so keen to get from the churchman, belonged to him.’ Then she turned to the sketch. ‘And what about this woman. Who is she?’
Anne told her.
‘So, she is connected, through her brother, to Lawrence Ingolby and herself to Damian Seeker. And Sir Thomas was in love with her.’
‘That would appear to be the suggestion of the sketch,’ agreed Anne. ‘Certainly, it suggests Sir Thomas was in Damian Seeker’s orbit in London six years ago.’
‘Things are indeed swirling,’ said Grizel. ‘How shall we begin to pin them down?’
‘Given what I have found, I think we must certainly invite them to supper.’
Grizel looked up from her perusal of the sketches. ‘Invite who?’
‘The Ingolbys.’
Twelve
A Supper
‘Do we have to?’
‘Yes, Lawrence. She is my friend.’
Lawrence grunted as he exchanged his favourite brown jerkin for a claret-coloured velvet one onto which Manon had sewn silver buttons engraved with oak leaves and acorns. The jerkin, which she had had made for him last Christmas, pleased Lawrence very well, but he didn’t think a supper at the house of Anne Winter warranted the wearing of it.
‘Your father warned me about her, you know,’ he said, fastening the buttons. ‘He said you couldn’t take your eye off her for a minute. Not one minute.’
Manon smiled as she came to help him arrange his collar. ‘Then surely it is all the more important that we accept this invitation to take supper with her tonight. We can have our eyes on her the entire evening.’
‘Hmm.’ As Lawrence reached for his boots he tried another tack. ‘And I don’t like to leave Lizzie, either.’
‘You know Lizzie likes nothing better than to go with Madge to Aunt Flo’s. She will be fed and spoiled and made a great fuss of until she falls fast asleep. It will do her the world of good. Besides, it’s only on Colliergate, and Jed will go with them.’
‘Serve him right,’ said Lawrence, taking some consolation from knowing that his clerk would have to spend the evening in the company of not only his grandmother, but also her sister who was, as Lawrence and Jed fervently agreed, ‘even worse’.
Lawrence was a long way from forgiving Jed for his carelessness around Lizzie and was pleasantly preoccupied in imagining the impending dreadfulness of Jed’s evening when he caught sight of Manon, seated once more at her dressing table, pushing back her hair a little to tie the clasp of a delicate gold necklace. Sometimes he was taken like this, caught for a moment in doubt that she had truly married him, that he had not dreamed it. Sometimes he was taken with a fear that should he close his eyes then open them again, she would be gone. The necklace glinted in the candlelight. He had gifted it to her on the day of their marriage. He went over to help her to tie the clasp, and kissed her on the neck.
‘My God, but you’re beautiful.’
She lifted a hand and ran her fingers over his hair. There was a small sapphire, entwined amongst tiny pearls at the heart of the pendant, that always seemed to him to be the exact colour of her eyes. He could never himself have afforded such a gift three years ago on their marriage – he could hardly have afforded it now – but his patron Matthew Pullan, who had always treated him as a foster-brother, had gifted him the money and insisted he buy something fitting for his bride. Tonight, Lawrence wished that Damian Seeker could see his daughter right now, see the woman she had grown into, and the life that she had.
Manon saw his face in the glass. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘What? Oh, nothing.’ As he said it, he wasn’t sure there hadn’t been a sudden pulse in the blue velvet of her gown, where it lay in soft folds over her stomach. He watched a moment longer, but there was no further kick from the baby.
Despite Manon’s protests that she could walk perfectly well between here and Oglethorpe, and that she liked the snow, Anne Winter had insisted on sending down the carriage from the Fairfax stables at the Treasurer’s House, and for all his mistrust of her Lawrence had taken Lady Anne’s part. For the short distance between their home on Fossgate and Madge’s sister’s house on Colliergate, Lawrence ceded his seat beside his wife to the elderly housekeeper, who on sighting the carriage had begun to complain loudly of the rheumaticks. Lizzie was bundled up warmly with her mother, and Jed instructed to jog alongside.
‘Do I have to go?’ pleaded Jed. ‘I mean, wouldn’t it be better if I stayed and watched the house?’
‘No, it would not. You’ll take your medicine and like it. Besides, I need you keeping an eye on Lizzie. A close eye. Anyone appears at your aunt Flo’s door before we come back for you, they don’t get in. Understood?’
Jed put his hand to where he’d stashed the dagger Lawrence had provided him with a little earlier. ‘Understood,’ he said.
Up on Colliergate, where Madge’s sister Flo ran a small lacemaking establishment, there was a tremendous fuss and bother as the housekeeper alighted from the carriage, it soon becoming clear that the whole point of the exercise was that her sister should see her do so.
Flo, as Lawrence noted to his satisfaction, was briefly flummoxed as to how to do down her sister’s elevation. ‘You’ve grown too fat, Madge. You were ever prone to it. Mother always said it: one day you would grow too fat, and then you would stick!’
‘Stick!’ countered the outraged Madge, pulling her best shawl about her with great dignity. ‘Well, if anyone should know a stick, I daresay it would be you, Florence Booth! Little wonder you’ve never . . .’ and the bickering followed them under the lintel of Flo’s neat abode.
Lawrence grinned broadly as he handed Lizzie and her wrappings to a disconsolate Jed with an, ‘Enjoy your evening.’ A moment later he’d taken his place beside Manon and told the coachman to get on.
He pulled Manon closer and arranged the fur rugs round her as the carriage bumped its way up cobbled streets. Icicles had begun to form on the overhanging storeys of houses on either side, their jetties reaching out to each other, almost touching to form a sparkling canopy over their heads. Few people were out on the streets. It was as if they had York to themselves. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘we could always send word that you’re over-tired, or that I’ve been taken ill, or that a wheel came off the carriage or . . .’
‘Lawrence!’ she scolded.
‘We could travel round York all evening, just you and me under this fur blanket. We could get him to stop at the Golden Slipper, fetch us some nice warmed possets and some of that rabbit pie they do . . .’
‘We are going to Lady Anne’s house, Lawrence, and you will dazzle her with your wit and charm.’
Lawrence sat back, pulling the furs up to his own chin. ‘Bet I don’t,’ he muttered, as the clopping of the horses’ hooves on the frosting cobbles carried them relentlessly towards the house on Ogleforth.
The boy from the Golden Slipper had brought the last of the food, and it was all keeping warm in chafing dishes on the sideboard. ‘More than a body could eat in a week,’ remarked Grizel.
‘It will be worth our while,’ said Anne. ‘And I will see that whatever is left is passed to the parish at Holy Trinity. The more at ease our guests are, the better our prospects of learning something worthwhile.’
‘Mmm. That fellow doesn’t have the look of one who is often at his ease,’ said the housemaid. As she finished lighting the candelabra in the middle of the dining table there came the sounds of a carriage drawing up outside and she hurried downstairs. Lawrence Ingolby, evidently surprised to have the door opened so quickly, was instantly on his guard.
‘You must have been standing there waiting for us. You’d freeze to death waiting on any of my servants getting to the door,’ he grumbled.
‘You had perhaps better employ more servants then,’ she answered, keeping her smile for when Manon Ingolby appeared behind her husband. ‘Come away in, Mistress Ingolby. No doubt your husband will be ready to move from the doorstep soon.’
Manon bit her lip to hide her amusement and before Ingolby could make any retort Anne Winter had appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Manon, Mister Ingolby, I am so glad you are here.’
With a glower, Ingolby handed Grizel his hat and then his wife’s cloak. Finally, he took off his own and stepped back to allow his wife up the stairs in front of him.
Grizel hung up the guests’ outer garments. The narrowness of the hall had allowed her fingers to dart quickly into the pocket of Ingolby’s coat without his noticing. She wasn’t greatly surprised to find nothing there of interest. She hurried upstairs after them.
Anne had already got the Ingolbys seated on either side of the fire. She herself was standing at the sideboard, a silver jug in her hand, ready to pour out some of the dean’s best wine. As Grizel would have suspected, whilst Manon Ingolby’s eyes surveyed the room ready to be delighted, her husband’s declared he would be less easily impressed. Grizel had to admit, the room looked well. They had lit up every candlestick in the place, Lady Anne being concerned not to miss anything in her guests’ expressions. The plate and glass provided with the house had been augmented by silver and crystal lent from the Treasurer’s House, again on account of Anne’s friendship with Lady Fairfax. The table carpet, a deep blue edged with silverwork, perfectly set off the finely engraved cutlery and serving spoons.
‘Shall I see to the wine, your ladyship?’ Grizel enquired, nodding towards the claret jug.
‘No, Grizel, thank you, I think we will manage quite well.’ Anne smiled now at Manon Ingolby then turned back to the maid. ‘Mistress Ingolby and I are old friends. We have no need to stand on ceremony. You will no doubt have plenty to be getting on with.’
‘I generally do, your ladyship,’ said Grizel, giving the sullen curtsy that always brought a sparkle of amusement to Anne’s eye.
Once Grizel left them, Anne was pleased to see Lawrence Ingolby a little less on edge. The aromas coming from a dish of hashed mutton seemed to be distracting him from his examination of the room. Looking at her husband, Manon stretched a hand out beneath the table to Anne’s hand and squeezed it. All would be well.
Anne had heard that the lawyer was a person of some intelligence, and knew that Damian Seeker’s trust in him bespoke a wariness in his character, but his evident suspicion of herself suggested that Seeker had told his son-in-law more about their past battles than she had first suspected. Manon, of course, was all brightness and openness and light, as if there could be no badness in the world. She lit the room as surely as did the candles Grizel had set everywhere.
Grizel had scarcely left when Manon had got to her feet, ready to take the maidservant’s place. Anne put out a hand to stay her. ‘No, my dear, you are no servant here, but a guest.’
Lawrence Ingolby leaned forwards. ‘That’s what I keep telling her. She’s no servant any more, at home or anywhere else.’
Anne nodded. ‘You are mistress of your own home now, Manon, with your own servants to command.’
‘Exactly,’ said Lawrence, and Anne saw that she had unwittingly found a way to ease herself into his trust. He turned to his wife. ‘See? Even Lady Anne says it.’
‘Oh, I know it,’ said Manon, ‘but there is a great deal to be done in a household such as ours, with you gaining clients by the day, and our family growing. Jed helps where he can, but Madge cannot be left to do the rest herself.’
‘No,’ said Lawrence, leaning towards his wife, ‘but she will not be told, and you’re too close to your time to be doing it for her.’
The young woman, clearly having heard this line of argument before, was not swayed. ‘But if you were not grown so grand, Lawrence, and we back at Faithly, no one would raise an eyebrow at me doing it. I have worked all my life.’
‘But we’re not at Faithly, are we? With half the village ready to step in without a by your leave. We’re in York, and like it or not, the world looks on you as a lady.’
‘But Madge will not have anyone—’
‘Grizel,’ said Anne.
Lawrence Ingolby’s head whipped towards the door, but it was still shut and no one had entered.
‘Grizel,’ Anne repeated. ‘Mistress Penmore would accept her, for a time, would she not?’
Lawrence frowned at her over the top of his goblet. ‘Your maid? That Scotswoman?’
‘Yes,’ said Anne. ‘She is really very efficient, and not quite as . . . prickly as she might at first appear. She works hard, although she’s no cook, I’m afraid,’ she said, indicating the dishes that had come from the Golden Slipper, ‘but I think she made a favourable impression upon your housekeeper, did she not?’
‘Aye,’ said Lawrence, putting down his goblet, clearly coming over to what Lady Anne was suggesting, ‘she did. And it’s not often that happens. Would you part with her for a while?’
‘Lawrence!’ exclaimed Manon. ‘We cannot take Lady Anne’s maidservant from her.’
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘She’s offering.’
Anne managed to hide her amusement at the lawyer’s blunt-speaking.
Manon looked at her, almost distressed. ‘But how would you manage?’
Now Anne did laugh. ‘Oh, my dear, if you but knew of some of my adventures these last few years. In the days when your— in the days of the Protectorate, after I fell foul of Cromwell’s authorities, I had to learn a great deal in how to tend to myself. And there were times, particularly during my exile, that I was forced to manage this on very little.’ Manon’s eyes were brimming with sympathy, and Anne felt a desire to be as honest with her as her situation allowed. ‘But in truth, Grizel suits me very well because she understands I am often better on my own.’
Manon seemed to understand.
‘But would she come?’ It was Ingolby himself who was leaning forwards now, anxious for the answer.
‘Oh yes,’ Anne assured him, ‘she will go where I tell her to go.’
Manon, however, had another worry. ‘But how will we talk Madge round?’
‘We won’t,’ said Lawrence. ‘We’ll just present her with the information, and if she doesn’t like it, she can—’
‘She won’t argue if Grizel’s already there,’ interjected Anne. ‘I saw how she was yesterday – a little dumbfounded. Grizel often has that effect on people.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Lawrence. ‘I suppose we could send Madge out for an hour or so on some errand in the morning, then your maid could—’ he began.
