Page 12 of Linenfold (The Alice Chronicles #4)

F rom the kitchen window Alice catches sight of the man-at-arms Pearce in the kitchen court, back from his task to hire a coach.

Honorine, who has donned her cloak for her healthful exercise, stands with lowered eyes as Pearce seems to be saying something to her.

Whether she understands him or not, she speaks a few words and turns away to resume her walk round the kitchen court.

He stands gazing after her as Alice opens the door and beckons.

‘His Lordship is in the winter parlour,’ she tells him. ‘Come this way.’

On returning to the kitchen, Alice battles with Maureen not to over-water the pastry for a raised pie.

A minute later, His Lordship and Pearce come into the kitchen.

Philip follows. His Lordship’s face is drawn in embarrassment.

‘It appears there are no coaches to be had. The inns will not risk their horses in this fog, they say. They offer us a coach tomorrow, if the weather is improved.’

‘I’m sorry you are suffering this set-back, my lord,’ she says, recognising what is coming. ‘You will be in need of bed and board for tonight.’

‘For one night only, if you are able to accommodate us, mistress. I feel sure this fog cannot last that long. The Red Lion has a coach, Pearce tells me, so we shall depart in the morning. Tonight we could bed down in your hall, perhaps?’

The thought draws a wry smile from her. She can do better than blankets in the hall. ‘I feel sure we can make you comfortable around the house, sir, if your men are content to use the hay loft over the stables. And the Frenchwomen can have their privacy in a room by the dairy.’

‘I thank you, Mistress Jerrard,’ he says, relief showing on his face. ‘We shall do very well in that way. I’ll go and tell the men now. There is one more thing I need to ask. It’s about the baggage coach. It must be housed somewhere secure.’

‘It won’t damage it to stay outside for one night,’ Philip says. ‘It can’t go in the barn, we’ve agreed that.’

‘The boxes must be secure!’

His lordship’s ire is threatening to boil up once more and Alice hastily intervenes. ‘My Lord, if you have concerns about the baggage, you could have it brought into the house where it will be safe until you are ready to leave.’

Lord Hardcastle considers, finds it good, ‘I thank you, mistress,’ and turns to Philip.

‘There you are. Simple. Why didn’t you think of that?

’ Abruptly he turns away. As Philip sighs, shaking his head, His Lordship addresses his man.

‘Pearce, get the men to unload the coach and bring the boxes into the house.’

Ned is talking with Allan in the kitchen court and Alice hurries over to him. It is an easy matter to persuade him to supervise the men taking the luggage into the house. Ned will know how best it should be stacked.

The kitchen fills with stamping feet, the door constantly opens and closes, and puddles of mud spread as they heave in the huge leather-banded boxes and return for more.

Even Ned concedes to accept help with the largest ones.

His Lordship’s four men are sturdy fellows, Pearce and Larkin, the men-at-arms, particularly thickset.

They trudge through the kitchen, stacking the boxes one on another along one wall of the screens passage.

As the door to the kitchen court closes at last, ‘Maureen,’ Alice says to the sighing cook pounding and pushing as though it were plaster daub and not pastry dough she is kneading, ‘We shall need another two raised pies, please.’

Upstairs in the main chamber, Alice flaps a fresh sheet over the bed to Rose on the other side. Little buds of dried lavender spring and float from the folds.

‘Who will sleep in here, then, mistress?’ Rose asks. ‘Will it be Philip?’

Alice eyes her. ‘ Master Sewell, Rose, unless we are invited to use his first name. And no, Lord Hardcastle will have this chamber, Master Cranley will have Sam’s.

The fire in there draws better, and Master Cranley feels the cold.

We’ll put Master Sewell at the stairs end.

In that way, His Lordship will have his secretary and his nephew either side at need.

’ She pulls the coverlet up and they tuck round, patting and smoothing and plumping the pillows.

‘Mollie will place a hot brick in each bed when she comes up to tend the fires.’ A warm chamber and a bed with sweet-scented linen is the best she can offer at such short notice.

They move on to the spare chamber nearest the stairs, the one that Philip Sewell will have.

As they make up the bed, the murmur of voices in the hall drifts up.

They are discussing the safe stowing of their boxes, the delay to their journey, the damage to wheel and coach.

The secretary’s hesitant plaints about noisy stacking of the luggage are overborne by Lord Hardcastle’s commanding tones. Then Philip speaks.

‘I have been thinking,’ he says. ‘It seems to me we should offer Mistress Jerrard a token of thanks for helping us.’

‘For one night?’ Secretary Cranley objects. ‘Tis not as if we’re a royal progress!’

‘It’s all the disruption,’ Philip replies. ‘Meals, beds.’

‘She’s being very hospitable, Cranley,’ his uncle says and adds testily, ‘How we landed up in the ditch is beyond me. Jackson and his “jolt”. I’ll give him a jolt!’

‘He could hardly see the horses, let alone the ditch, Uncle, with all those leaves. We’re lucky it happened here rather than on some remote downs. Here we are in comfort, with food and lodging for us all. And thanks due for unasked kindness.’

‘The woman is only feeding three, my boy,’ Cranley says.

‘And all our men. And the French two. Nine! And porterage for all that luggage to bring it safe within. I think we owe some thanks for that.’

In the little spare chamber, Rose tucks her side and straightens. ‘How can they need such a mass of baggage for one little party?’ she whispers. ‘There are dozens of boxes down there.’

‘There are certainly a lot. They’ve travelled at least from Paris,’ Alice murmurs.

Rose giggles. ‘Mayhap it is all their clothes. Do you think they will change for supper? Shall I offer to help them dress?’

‘I expect Master Sewell can attend them.’

‘Master Sewell might need help himself?’ Rose suggests. ‘I could easily caper up the back stairs. It would be no trouble.’

‘Rose, the only one of us coming up here will be Mollie to tend the fires.’

Downstairs, Lord Hardcastle overrides his secretary’s objections and declares that badly stacked as they are, the boxes must stay put for tonight.

Alice thinks, Philip is probably right – they would have fared much worse had the coach left the road in some remote place .

In this fog they could have walked miles seeking help and become hopelessly lost.

Making up beds, Alice’s mind is still busy totting up their stores.

There is preserved meat, smoked or salted.

Also winter cheese, a barrel of salted mackerel, and some fruit which she put up in bottles in the summer.

If Lord Hardcastle expects to order whatever food he fancies, as his secretary suggests, he will be quickly disappointed, but she doesn’t think so.

His initial annoyance quickly dissolved and she is fairly sure he knows he will get what she can provide.

Her thoughts range over the more economical of her recipes.

At the very least, she reflects, there is good bread, and plenty of my ale.

Together she and Rose make a final check in each chamber.

It is as they come out to the chamber passage that the conversation below comes again to their ears.

The voices are not raised, but there is an evident difference of opinion, the one persuasive, the other dismissive.

Despite herself Alice pauses to cock an ear and is aware of Rose’s stillness likewise.

‘… and Mistress Jerrard is nothing more than a yeoman’s woman.’

‘What do you mean, Master Secretary?’ Philip demands. ‘What does it matter who she is?’

‘Oh, we’re not back on that, are we?’ Lord Hardcastle intervenes. ‘Philip, we’re only here for a night. You’re not suggesting we offer money, are you?’

‘Of course not, just a small gift, as I keep saying, to show our appreciation of her kindness.’

‘There’s nothing we have that would suit.’

‘Surely in amongst all the things from the Paris house there must be—’

‘I don’t want the boxes opened and disturbed,’ His Lordship snaps. ‘It took us long enough to pack them.’

‘Come now, young Master Philip,’ Cranley reasons, ‘a woman of her sort would fall over herself if offered anything out of His Lordship’s boxes.’

Mouth open, eyes round in loyal outrage, Rose looks at Alice.

‘It is her duty, as one of the lesser sort,’ Cranley goes on, ‘to serve without reward.’

His Lordship gives a bark of laughter. ‘You sound quite medieval, Cranley.’

‘In truth, My Lord, we do not even need to see her. I have made it clear that she is to remain in the kitchens.’

‘In God’s name, why?’ Philip demands.

By now Rose’s fists are planted on her hips, her whole stance combative. Alice lays a calming hand on her shoulder as Cranley’s voice filters up. ‘My dear boy, we do not suffer women to serve us in London. It is out of the question that she appear at our meal.’

‘After all she’s doing for us, how can you even think that, Master Cranley?’

‘In any event …’ The secretary hesitates, appeals to his master. ‘My Lord, the woman is in a certain condition!’

‘Oh, come now.’ My Lord’s irritation revives. ‘So she’s not respectable enough to serve our meal?’

‘My Lord, it is not seemly—’

‘She’s a widow, you’ve told me, not a harlot! God’s blood, man, her condition didn’t stop you accepting her help from the coach, did it? Why should it stop her bringing us food? Whatever next?’

‘She’s not a gentlewoman,’ Cranley persists.

‘Who says?’ Philip says hotly.

‘My dear boy, you’ve only to look at the state of this place—’

Alice signals to Rose and they cross to the little spiral back stairs that lead down to the dairy passage at the back of the house.

‘How dare he!’ Rose explodes as she reaches the bottom step. ‘Mistress, how dare he say such things!’

‘It matters not, Rose, they will soon be gone. We weren’t meant to hear.’

‘I’d like to tell that Secretary just what I think of him!’

‘It need not concern us, Rose,’ she says. ‘While they are our guests, we shall show ourselves to be a courteous household who know how to behave. So you will not speak of what we were not meant to hear.’

Rose looks rebellious.

‘To anyone, Rose.’

With a sigh Rose acquiesces. ‘No, mistress.’

But Alice, despite reminding herself that eavesdroppers rarely hear good of themselves, is piqued that she is considered untutored enough to “fall over herself”’ when offered a token of thanks.

I did not look for thanks, did not expect a gift.

They were in trouble and I could not leave them there.

Even if they offer something, I shall certainly not accept .

In the hall Alice pours ale for the three guests as they take their places at the long table for midday meal.

The remark about “the state of this place” rankles and she is cool towards the secretary.

Lord Hardcastle sits at the head of the table in the chair that was Henry’s.

His companions flank him on the benches either side.

Alice brings bread, a tart of leeks, a rabbit cooked in onions, obligingly snared this forenoon by Joe.

A pie of vegetables and spices would have been on the table had Maureen not over-wetted the pastry which then collapsed in the oven.

Alice will be sharing that with the household in the servants’ parlour.

Her guests’ conversation ranges over the relative merits of London and Paris.

Philip defends the French, a twinkle in his eye which Alice interprets as dissent for the pure mischief of it.

They seem not to notice her as she moves round the table.

She is tempted to hover. The talk moves to the entourage surrounding Her Majesty.

‘At least those Frenchie knaves and hangers-on have been sent packing,’ the secretary says with satisfaction, ‘and not before time, either. His Majesty has done well to exert control.’

‘Those “Frenchie knaves and hangers-on” included some wise and experienced advisers,’ His Lordship declares. ‘She’s very young.’

Hurriedly, Cranley changes tack. ‘You have the right of it, of course, My Lord. Her Majesty is too young to know how to conduct herself. Her husband was ill advised to give her that great place at Somerset House. She should be constantly under his eye.’

‘She is a queen, she needs to choose her own household, I’d say,’ Philip comments.

‘She is but a woman, young Master Philip, and Catholic at that. It is her husband, not a pack of foreigners, who should direct her actions. My Lord of Buckingham has wisely placed his own womenfolk—’

‘Don’t mention that man in front of me, Cranley!’ His Lordship commands. ‘Much effort went into surrounding Her Majesty with the comfort of counsellors and companions. All that work undone.’

There is a short silence. Then, ‘Is it true that she has been applying to His Majesty to settle her debts?’ Philip asks his uncle. ‘Don’t tell me we were in France to bring back pots of gold!’

His uncle shifts in his chair. ‘Of course not.’

‘Where are they, Uncle? Secreted under false bases? Wrapped up in the tapestries?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Those boxes carry the household things you saw the servants packing up now that we’ve closed the Paris house. Nothing else.’

‘Of course they do, Uncle.’

‘You helped pack some of them yourself,’ Lord Hardcastle reminds him.

‘Yes, Uncle.’

But His Lordship is clearly anxious to quash his nephew’s imaginings.

‘Philip, I know every painting, every piece of silver, every last pisspot from that house,’ he says with heavy emphasis, ‘and I’m telling you there are no coins of any description amongst them!

If there had been, they would have tumbled out of hiding in that devil’s own weather during the crossing. So don’t start spreading silly rumour!’

‘I wouldn’t, Uncle.’ Philip bites his lip.

He looks annoyed, Alice thinks, no, hurt, his honour challenged.

A short silence follows his uncle’s outburst. The hall is warm, the fire kept banked up by Mollie’s periodic visits.

His Lordship has relaxed enough to vent his ire on his nephew as though they are at home with their own servants.

But perhaps it is time to withdraw to the kitchen, Alice thinks, before I become the focus of his wrath for eavesdropping.