Page 39 of Linenfold (The Alice Chronicles #4)

F or Jack Egerton it has already been a long day. Before the eventful hours at High Stoke he was out early on the Freemans demesne, helping Robert lay a hedge. He would sooner have gone straight home now, but feels duty bound to make his promised enquiries without delay.

At the Red Lion in Guildford’s High Street Jack looks around for the landlord.

If there is anything untoward or underhand, the Red Lion always seems to be involved.

Enquiries for small boys to creep down chimneys or between mullions and unbar a door to thieves, the open secret that the Red Lion is an ill-concealed stew, even in one case an illicit gathering-place of known popish recusants taking the Eucharist – where else but the warm brewhouse after a malting?

On that occasion, informed with relish by local Vicar Fitzsimmons, Jack reluctantly broke in on the group, threatened to arrest them for illegal drinking and sent them home.

Innkeeper Melbury, habitually wary when a justice heaves into view, spots Jack approaching the barrels and slinks into the kitchen.

Unfortunately for him, Mistress Melbury brandishes the sharp-pronged skewer on which she is about to spit a second chicken, and with loud curses chases him back to the tap room.

Jack eyes him and waits, and Melbury sighs and joins him.

‘Not again, Master Egerton. You were satisfied last week that that wench was here for kitchen duties only,’ he complains. ‘She’s there now, if you want to check.’

‘I’m sure she is, since Mistress Melbury can do with the help,’ Jack comments drily. ‘Come and sit down over there. I have questions for you.’ The landlord rolls his eyes but follows Jack. When they are seated, ‘Three days ago, were you approached to send a messenger with a sealed letter?’

‘Oh, Master Egerton, I’m being asked to send messengers every five minutes. I’d hardly remember one that long ago.’

‘This one was probably going to London, an urgent journey, no response required.’

‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’ A narrow light kindles in his eyes. ‘I might be able to ask around?’

‘This isn’t information I’m going to pay you for, Melbury. But if I find out you did send a messenger you will be in trouble with those much higher than me. Not you might , you will.’

Melbury groans. ‘I don’t know. I make these offers and nobody wants to pay. Like the hired coach a day late.’

‘What was that?’

‘Oh … nothing,’ Melbury falters. ‘Just something else.’

Momentarily, Jack is silenced. What has he heard about a hired coach? Alice and Philip telling of His Lordship’s party stranded for want of a hired coach. ‘Come now, tell me about that.’

‘It was nothing, I say.’

Melbury has a shifty look about him that Jack knows. ‘Let me aid your memory,’ he offers. ‘Four days ago a man was sent into town to procure a coach and was told none was available until the next day.’

‘If you know so much about it, why are you asking me?’

‘Why are you trying to hide it? Tell me why someone wanting to hire a coach, good business for you, was unable to do so? Why did you refuse him?’

‘I didn’t refuse him! That lord’s man came and I couldn’t hire him a coach until the next day.’

‘Description?’

‘Let me think now. Four wheels, two horses, to carry three—’

‘Don’t play with me, Melbury.’

‘Youngish, twenties, maybe thirties. Dark-haired. Not a local.’

‘Is he here now?’

Melbury takes a cursory glance around. ‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Never seen him before or since.’

‘Why didn’t he want to pay you?’

‘You know these types, Master Egerton! They just want to squeeze whatever they can out of you. I lost valuable business sending that coach, I’ll have you know.

My lad got sent back because they didn’t need it after all.

’ The innkeeper sighs. ‘I should have made them pay up front. Inns don’t run on faith, hope and charity, but do they care? ’

Melbury watches Jack leave for the high street and gives a silent whistle of relief.

Very nearly gave himself away about the price he extracted to hold back the coach, send it a day later.

He jingles the coins in his pocket and smiles, then goes round collecting mugs, adjusting rushlights, serving drinks.

A man rises from a table in the dim rear of the taproom and joins him at the barrels. He indicates the tapster wiping mugs nearby. ‘Get rid of him.’ And once the tapster has been sent to collect another barrel, ‘Who’s that I saw you with at the table over there?’

‘Nobody!’ Melbury vows, a little too hard.

‘So you don’t know the local justice?’

‘Like I said. Nobody.’

‘Why’s he snooping around here?’

‘Checking up on the maidservants.’

‘Seemed very friendly.’

‘That’s the last thing he is,’ Melbury says with feeling.

‘Chatting for ten minutes, very close, about maidservants?’

‘He likes to think he’s getting the local gossip.’

‘Such as?’

The innkeeper drops his voice. ‘I heard the verdict was “Seizure”. If that’s so, why’s the justice sniffing around? Something’s put him on the scent.’

The man gazes at Melbury, eyes like flint. ‘Something. Or someone.’

‘Don’t look at me! Do you know how they killed that Lord?’

The man leans close. ‘Shoved the bastard’s face in the mud till he stopped squirming.’ He watches Melbury grimace. ‘Now, I’ll have a refill. Not the hogwash, I’ll have your Old Leo’s.’

Melbury turns to the barrel. ‘Thought for a minute it was you killed him. Ha-ha!’ He beams genially.

‘Who says I didn’t?’

Melbury beams even more genially. ‘Quite the jester!’

‘So if I get the idea you’ve blabbed, watch yourself out back one of these nights. Plenty of muddy ground beyond your cock-fighting pit.’

‘Forget it,’ Melbury says quickly, tipping the barrel to pour. ‘It doesn’t pay to talk round here.’ He hands him the full mug. ‘Have that on the house.’

‘I was going to anyway.’ He downs it in a few gulps and slips out of the door to the high street.