Page 29 of Linenfold (The Alice Chronicles #4)
‘I cannot believe he is here to accuse, Rose,’ she breathes.
‘And we are far too lowly to be sent to the Tower.’ She does not add that the Fleet prison with its rats and infections is a more likely place of incarceration.
‘Remember, we have done nothing wrong.’ But while she tries to calm Rose, privately Alice frets that she might have committed some unintended offence that will result in her own arrest. This is a man who is possibly more powerful than His Majesty himself, having his ear in all things. His word might as well be law.
‘What if Sir Malcolm has already poisoned him against us?’ Rose points out. The coroner’s attitude towards Alice is well known within the household. ‘If he takes against us there will be no help from any quarter.’
She has had the same thought, wondering whether His Grace has already spoken with Sir Malcolm, whether the coroner has convinced him she is a vexatious troublemaker.
The only way to meet the all-powerful is to hold up your head and look them in the eye .
‘We know we are blameless, Rose, and we shall meet His Grace in the confidence of receiving fair treatment.’
Six mounted men-at-arms, or from the look of them, gentlemen-at-arms, accompany the rocking coach as it progresses towards the house to the silver jingle of harness.
As she watches the two pairs of splendidly accoutred matched chestnuts draw the gilded, decorated vehicle to a halt, her knees feel as weak as Maureen’s pastry. For once, even Rose falls silent.
From behind the coach, two footmen jump down, one to open the door and fold down the step, the other to remove the travelling rug from the occupant’s knees and offer a helping hand out of the coach.
But no help is required. The man steps confidently out, places a closely tucked, wide brimmed hat at a slight angle upon his head.
A single, rich feather curls along the turned edge, floating softly in the air, and he stands a moment looking around.
Alongside the coach, the envoy has dismounted, handing his reins to one of the gentlemen, and joins his master.
The footmen duly fold up the step, close the door and return to their posts at the rear.
But for the finery she would have thought him merely a soft-natured gentleman.
He has a pleasant, homely sort of face, rounded cheeks, no hint of aristocratic nose, kindly brown eyes.
Under the wide moustache, his mouth tips slightly up at the corners.
Before he donned his hat, she noted his wispily curling mouse-brown locks, his hairline receding at the temples, too soon for a man she reckons in his early thirties.
It is the aristocratic raiment that declares his rank.
The intricately worked lace tabs around a fine lawn collar, the short, russet wool cloak with flash of silk lining, the doublet and knee-length breeches in bronze worsted, dotted with tiny gleaming pearls.
His gauntlets and boots are of some soft leather, buffed to a discreet sheen only achievable for one whose activities do not require constant to-and-fro across a muddy kitchen court.
Prepared to be wary, Alice is pleasantly charmed by his ready approach, his hand reaching forward to raise her from her deep curtsey, his greeting, ‘Mistress Jerrard, I am come on a sad mission, and I thank you for receiving me and my party at High Stoke.’ He has even achieved the right name first time, simultaneously making it clear that she is to house his entourage for the period of his sojourn.
‘Your Grace is welcome in my house,’ she says, nudging Rose to rise and accept the cloaks of duke and envoy or equerry , as Philip has advised her.
The duke follows her into the hall, the six gentlemen crowding in behind, swords swinging, spurs clinking.
Mollie has built the fire to a handsome blaze and the hall exudes warmth and welcome.
‘If Your Grace requires a private apartment, the winter parlour through here may suit?’
Thus the duke is installed with his equerry in the winter parlour, also with a blazing fire, and with the added luxury of cushioned seats by the hearth.
‘Tell me, mistress,’ he says as he accepts a mug of warmed October ale from her hand, ‘what is the current situation regarding His Lordship’s death? ’
‘The Coroner has attended and held his court, Your Grace. At present he has not declared his verdict, and so His Lordship’s party and my household are confined to the demesne while we await his word.’
‘Not decided? Vernon,’ he says, turning to the equerry, ‘Have the coroner summoned. He shall attend directly.’
While the equerry departs on this business, the duke turns once more to Alice.
‘There are six men, I hear, of Lord Hardcastle’s train?’
‘Indeed, sir. His nephew Philip Sewell, now Lord Hardcastle, Secretary Cranley, and four of their household.’
‘I saw a multitude of boxes in your screens passage, mistress. Do I assume they are His Lordship’s?’
Alice explains Lord Hardcastle’s concern to have the boxes securely lodged. ‘He felt that within the house they were at least risk, sir. Two of the sheriff’s men are guarding them at the coroner’s behest.’
‘So there is something amongst those boxes valuable enough to attract felons?’
‘I cannot say, sir.’
‘Has the justice made a search?’
‘Justice Townsend has not, sir. I assume that without a verdict, he is unable to start any investigation.’
The equerry steps back into the parlour. ‘Two are sent, Your Grace. They will fetch him here directly.’
The duke nods and turns back to Alice. ‘There are also two Frenchwomen of the party?’
‘Indeed, Your Grace. His Lordship brought them out of France when they arrived at his house begging refuge. I understand they travelled from La Rochelle, seeking sanctuary with relatives in Paris. In vain, as it turned out.’
‘They are Huguenot?’
‘Indeed, sir. Louise and Honorine de Kergyle. Their parents felt they would be safer in Paris than in a besieged town. Paris proved dangerous and they were redirected to His Lordship’s house.
He intended to bring them to London where I believe there is a small community in Spitalfields they can join. ’
‘A mere handful, but yes, you have the right of it. They are here now?’
They are, sir. They mostly keep their chamber and are understandably frightened at the loss of their protector.’
The duke nods. ‘Do you bring them to me here that I may give them reassurance.’
Alice has some difficulty persuading the two women of the sincerity of this English Duc. ‘He wishes only to assure you that you are safe here.’
‘Really?’ Honorine asks, looking doubtful.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Alice assures her and at last, heads down, hand in hand, they follow her to the winter parlour.
The duke, to Alice’s surprise, speaks excellent French.
He displays a rare skill in putting the two at their ease.
As His Grace proceeds to reminisce of France and its western coastal regions, the equerry nods to Alice to leave and accompanies her out of the winter parlour and across the hall.
In the screens passage, he murmurs, ‘A moment of your time, mistress. His Grace wishes me to search the French ladies’ chamber and wishes you to be present as I do so.
As much for their good name as anything, since we shall also be searching elsewhere. ’
She leads him down the dairy passage and stands by the door as he makes a discreet search of beds and bags.
Nothing found, he makes his way back to the hall and Alice returns to the kitchen.
Minutes later the sisters are back, stopping at the kitchen door, and looking more cheerful than when they were summoned.
Honorine passes on Milord’s request for Alice’s return.
‘I shall be obliged, mistress,’ the duke says to her, ‘if you will continue to lodge them a little longer. Let it be known that England stands ready to aid her Huguenot neighbours in their present difficulties.’ Alice is not sure to whom this declaration should be made known, and concludes that the aid Honorine and Louise may expect is to be financed by herself.
The duke continues, ‘And now, to other matters. Vernon,’ he says to the equerry, ‘have the men bring all the boxes into the hall and make a search of their contents. There could be something of value that should be housed more securely on His Lordship’s behalf. It is the least we can do.’
‘Indeed, Your Grace.’
‘A thorough search, Vernon.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Mistress,’ the duke says, ‘Do you kindly fetch the young Lord Hardcastle.’
Philip, still in the kitchen, queries, ‘What’s he searching for?’
She shrugs. ‘I can hardly ask. He just wants to see anything that needs to be looked after securely.’
Philip looks blank. ‘I didn’t see all the boxes packed but the ones I supervised had just household items in them.
’ He slides off the table and as they reach the screens passage, speaks low.
‘For the time being Alice, please say nothing of the riddle. I can’t answer questions on it and I don’t want it noised abroad through Court gossip. ’ He leads the way into the hall.
‘Ah, Hardcastle,’ the duke greets him. ‘Your uncle’s death is a great loss. Be sure our thoughts are with you in your loss.’
‘I thank you for your kind words, Your Grace.’
The sympathy, the response are polite, formal, Alice thinks, no real feeling on either side. There was no love lost between the duke and the peer.
‘I shall be glad to have you witness the search I have set in train. Let me know of any unusual item you did not expect to see in His late Lordship’s boxes.’