Page 28 of Linenfold (The Alice Chronicles #4)

T he sheriff’s men have lifted down several of the piled boxes to use as beds where they will take up their guard in the screens passage.

While supper is under way in the hall, they settle themselves in the kitchen.

Raucous laughter issues. They have been fed large chunks of raised pie cut by a smiling Maureen, and, Alice later suspects, quantities of October ale as opposed to the small ale the household are getting.

By the time Olivia and her cousin are ready to depart, the two men are snoring on their improvised beds.

Come the morning, Alice seeks Allan in the woodshed. The early light filters through the door into the dim, sawdust-smelling interior. Allan sits near the door fashioning a rail for the side of a cart. Little curls of wood spiral from under his drawknife as he smooths the finish.

‘Master Sanderson mentioned one of his carts is missing a rail,’ he explains. ‘As I have this length of ash, I thought I’d just do it in spare moments.’

‘Of course,’ she says, and lowers her voice. ‘I’m glad to find you alone, Allan. There’s something I want to ask you. Can you find me His Lordship’s broken coach wheel?’

Philip has been busy in Guildford. He rides into the kitchen court at midday, closely followed by a cart loaded with hay and bales of straw.

At the kitchen window, Alice stands watching and wondering as he gathers Joe, Allan and Angus to help unload hay into the barn’s loft, straw to the stables.

It does not take them long to shift. Beneath, on the floor of the cart, are two barrels and several tubby little firkins.

‘Some everyday ale and a few of Old Leo’s best, as I’m reliably informed,’ Philip says. ‘The landlord at the Red Lion particularly recommends it. If you will kindly unlock the buttery, Mistress Jerrard, we will place them within for you. He’d like the barrels back when you’re done with them.’

In some bewilderment, Alice draws out the key and opens the door. ‘Sir this is kind of you. I never expected such generosity.’

‘If paying our way is generous then I’m sure you have the right of it, mistress.

But I see no reason why our enforced stay should be at your expense, so I am contributing where I can.

There is a pieman a short way behind us and you shall choose the pies you deem necessary.

Ah, Maureen,’ he adds as he notices the cook looking on, ‘I hope it will reward you for all the extra effort you have been making.’

Maureen arches her neck and bridles, ‘Oh, My Lord, it is a pleasure.’

Philip goes on, ‘And my men will find it a … novel change. In fact, there he is now.’ Philip opens the door and calls, ‘In here Master Pieman, if you please.’

In walks the pieman, one hand steadying two loaded trays balanced on his head.

He makes it look effortless, but Alice is not unaware of the weight of even one loaded tray.

She has occasionally bought a pie from him in town, usually when Maureen’s efforts have once again resulted in an oven floor covered in burnt sludge.

‘Well met, sir. We shall be glad to have a minced-meat pie, one with fruit and spices if you have such.’

The pieman sets his burden down on the kitchen table, separating the trays the better to display his wares. ‘That one is a pig-pie, or that a tongue-pie, both have spices and raisins.’

‘That sounds delicious,’ Philip says. ‘We’ll have those two to start with.’ The pieman brightens at the prospect of selling his wares so easily.

‘Master Sewell,’ Alice objects. ‘That is more than enough to feed everyone.’

‘Never know when we’re going to leave, though, do you?’ Philip asks. ‘What else can you show us, fellow?’

‘There is this one also, sir, a beef pie as like venison as you would hardly know. The very thing for a gentleman’s table. Also,’ pointing them out, ‘pies of turkey and rabbit.’

‘Master Sewell, I cannot allow you to—’

‘And what about those pastries on the other tray? They look enticing.’

The pieman brightens even more. ‘I have all manner of sweet pastries, sir. See here, these are spiced with nutmeg, and these are light as a feather, with sugar worked in. They will melt in the mouth.’

‘Master Sewell, may I have a private word?’ As she draws him aside, ‘This is too much, sir. I cannot impose on you like this.’

‘I suggest you take everything he carries,’ Philip says.

As she shies uncomfortably, he adds, ‘It will … relieve the burden on your cook. Those sheriff’s men alone will eat you out of house and home very soon, if what Jackson reports is true.

And anyway, just think, the poor fellow’s come all this way out of town.

You would not ask him to carry it all back?

’ At that moment there is a peremptory knock at the front door.

‘I can settle with Master Pieman while you see to your visitor.’

She has little option but to answer the summons and hastens along the screens passage past the sheriff’s men sprawling on the stacked boxes, to draw back the bolts from the great heavy door.

The sight of the personage standing without takes her aback.

The fine worsted cloak, fur lined and edged, the dipping curl of the hat brim, the leather gauntlets, gleaming with metallic embroidery, the glimmer of silk stripe on doublet and breeches, fine stockings, silver accoutrements, buttons, points.

Even his fair hair resting on his shoulders gleams. His mount steps into view behind.

Alice grasps no more than a flashing impression of the animal’s complementary finery as the stranger sweeps her a polite if rapid bow, drifting the scent of cloves and lavender.

‘Do I address Mistress Jerrard of High Stock House?’

‘High Stoke. Indeed you do, sir. May I know your name?’

‘Madam, I am come to announce my master, His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, who will arrive directly.’

She nearly laughs, but a germ of caution in case he is in earnest stills her, a fact that he appears not to notice.

Either that, or he is so used to people being struck dumb by such an announcement that it fails to claim his attention.

He continues, ‘His Grace is most perturbed to hear of the recent tragic death here.’

She utters a bewildered, ‘My Lord of Buckingham?’

‘His Grace holds the name of Hardcastle in high esteem and would know more.’

‘That’s not possible!’ she blurts. Why would His Majesty’s favourite claim esteem for Lord Hardcastle who called the duke “that man”, and who, according to Philip, disliked and even clashed with him?

‘His Grace wishes it,’ the envoy tells her flatly. ‘He is not to be denied.’

Alice pulls herself together. The most powerful courtier in the land is about to arrive. ‘His Grace honours my house,’ she manages to respond. ‘Will you step inside sir, and tell me how we may serve him?’

‘Where may we talk in private?’

She leads the envoy, who has not deemed it necessary she know his name, to the winter parlour, where he waits for her to close the door.

‘News has travelled fast, sir,’ she says, probing, ‘if His Grace in London has been apprised. My Lord Hardcastle’s family can hardly yet be aware.’

‘His Grace has myriad resources,’ the envoy says, and leaves it at that. ‘I understand His Lordship’s nephew is here?’

‘He is. Also his secretary, Master Cranley.’

‘How many in the entourage? Menservants?’

‘Four. Two coachmen, two men-at-arms.’

‘They are all here?’

‘Yes, sir. Also two Frenchwomen, Huguenots from La Rochelle, whom His Lordship brought over for sanctuary in London.’ She knows she is on safe ground there. His Grace’s sympathy for the Huguenot cause is well known. ‘Eight in all, sir.’

‘His Grace will be here within the hour and they will hold themselves in readiness at his command. As will you and your household.’ He stands. His business here is done, and with a flick of his cloak and another scented flourish he makes his way out, mounts up and wheels away.

In the kitchen, the pieman has left and his wares are spread on the table. Philip is eating one of the sweet pastries and points at two empty spaces on the tray. ‘I can recommend these, Mistress Jerrard.’

There is no simple way to say this. ‘Save at least one for His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, sir, who arrives directly.’

Philip laughs. When she does not join in, his expression falls. ‘I see we need to talk.’

She leads him to the hall and gives him the news she has just received. Philip wastes no time in needless questions. ‘He has tentacles everywhere,’ he says.

‘But who would—?’

‘Any of the coroner’s jury could have sent a messenger. Perhaps even your coroner, if he is as malignant as you suggest.’

‘But why go to His Grace? What connection do they suppose exists, that the duke would wish to know of your uncle’s death?’

‘I can’t answer that,’ Philip admits.

‘I think you said your uncle was not a friend of His Grace?’

‘No, but that wouldn’t stop someone who thinks to gain by passing on the information. And clearly His Grace is interested. Very interested.’

She has tried to elicit advice from Philip as to how His Grace might treat such a lowly household as High Stoke. Will he take over the investigation? Will he arrest people? But Philip cannot help her for he has only met the duke in passing.

So Alice stands in the screens passage by her open door, Rose one step behind her in freshly donned white apron and cap awaiting the illustrious visitor. Joe and Allan stand ready to take charge of horses as a huge, swaying edifice of a coach trundles into view through the opening in the trees.

‘Mistress,’ Rose whispers, big-eyed, ‘What if we have committed some misdemeanour? Will he send us to the Tower?’