Page 50 of Linenfold (The Alice Chronicles #4)

A lice has just finished feeding Henrietta in her chamber.

Her daughter has a healthy appetite and sucked greedily while Alice rocked to and fro and gazed out of the window.

With a rare morning of bright sunshine, the opportunity to pull a chair to the window and sit in the warmth of the sun’s rays was irresistible.

Thus it is that she sees the group of five horsemen emerge from the trees across the clearing and head for the house.

The sight of Sir Malcolm Wipley at their head gives her a jolt.

What now? Amongst the rest she recognises the two sheriff’s men who were here guarding the Hardcastle boxes.

And then an even greater jolt as she hears the front door being opened and sees Maureen emerge. What on earth is she doing beckoning to them?

This is not Maureen being helpful, to persuade Alice to change her mind. They haven’t even knocked and she’s out there. Alice lays Henrietta gently in the cradle and pulls the cover over. Henrietta gurgles and burps and reaches up her arms, unwilling to let her mother go so abruptly.

‘Sshhh, baby girl,’ Alice murmurs, smoothing Henrietta’s downy head with gentle fingers. ‘I shall be back before you know it.’ She flits to the door and quietly unlatches it. Already there is the sound of men dismounting, then the heavy clump of boots into the hall below.

‘Where is he?’ Sir Malcolm demands.

And Maureen’s answer, ‘He went out to the kitchen court just a few minutes ago, Sir Malcolm.’

‘You two stay here. Stop anyone leaving or moving around, especially carrying anything.’ Sir Malcolm orders. ‘You and you, come with me.’

From the head of the stairs, she hears their heavy tread diminish down the screens passage, the bang of the kitchen door.

Why on earth is the coroner after Philip?

For Philip it must be. Who else would warrant four sheriff’s men brought to apprehend him?

How did Maureen know the coroner was coming?

What has Maureen been saying to Sir Malcolm?

The two men left in the hall are pacing up and down, discussing in low tones their views on the boxes they were lately guarding, the search by the duke’s people. They have little doubt why they are here.

She stands irresolute. Should she go downstairs and demand an explanation like an innocent householder?

Should she wait to hear what Sir Malcolm wants?

No, if anyone moving around is going to be stopped and held, as it seems, Alice Jerrard, mistress of High Stoke, is not going to be one of them.

And then her own thoughts give her the clue, and along with it a third, heart-stopping jolt.

Like an innocent householder . That’s just it, she is no longer an innocent householder.

She has knowledge that a French king and an English duke would dearly love to have.

Somehow Maureen has gleaned information enough to engage Sir Malcolm’s suspicions, though his first quarry is Philip.

Arrest him, find the jewels and off they all go to York House to reinstate the coroner in His Grace’s favour, for Jack has told her of Wipley’s anger and chagrin at being the scapegoat over his wrongful verdict.

How long can Philip hold off, delay, distract Sir Malcolm?

Not long, from the knight’s determined manner.

Quietly, Alice retreats from the staircase, draws out the bunch of keys from under her skirt and unlocks the door to Philip’s chamber.

Where would he have put it? She opens the coffer and rifles through his few clothes lying there, looks underneath.

The bed next, pulling back the pillows, feeling all over the bed.

Not there. The log basket? Pulling away logs and brands.

Nothing. The box of kindling? Not big enough to hide it in there.

Surely he hasn’t concealed it somewhere else in the house?

No, he must be able to lock it somewhere.

She hears Sir Malcolm’s tones from the hall and steals to the door. ‘He’s not been through here?’

‘No, Sir Malcolm. Nobody has. We’ve been right here all the time.’

‘The dining parlour? Didn’t you even check the dining parlour, you clumping fools?’

The sound of heavy boots recedes. Alice pulls her mind back to her search.

There is no bed canopy to hide it on top of.

Under the bed? From a kneeling position she looks up through the bed-ropes.

Surely not between straw mattress and feather bed?

No, calm down, the feather bed is not that thick, she would have felt the box through the bedclothes.

It is as she starts to get up that she has a desperate idea.

Don’t look up into the bed ropes, look up into the chimney.

Scrambling across the chamber, onto all fours at the hearthstone.

The brightness of the day has destroyed her ability to probe the shadows of the chimney space.

She pulls back the sleeve of her jerkin to her elbow, then the linen sleeve beneath.

Reaches out, feeling the crumbly soot, dislodging black ash, feeling on round.

Nothing directly ahead but not likely there, the fire would burn it.

Moving on round, fingers feeling. A sharp-cornered shape sitting on a shallow brick shelf.

She draws out the linenfold box, has to bring two hands to it, it is that heavy with its precious contents.

Her hands are black with soot and she delves under her skirt, wiping hands and the box on the skirt of her undershift, blowing the light dusting of soot off the top.

She grabs her ring of keys, sorts through and fits the key Philip gave her in the lock.

No time for niceties. She spreads her skirt and empties the contents into it, jewels, bags and packing fabric, closes and locks the box.

With one hand holding her skirts to bag the hoard, Alice picks up the box in the other and shuffles over to the coffer under the window, places it squarely on top.

They are back in the hall as she comes out of the chamber and Philip has clearly been found.

She relocks his chamber door and slides towards her own as Philip’s voice comes up from below, raised in protest. ‘I don’t know what you mean, and I object to this treatment.

I insist you show me your warrant, Wipley. ’

How long can he ward them off? Alice closes the door and stands in the middle of her chamber with a skirtful of jewels, wondering what on earth she is going to do.

At that moment Henrietta begins to bawl her dissatisfaction at being ignored, emphasising the point with a clear auditory warning that a change of napkin is imminently required.

In the hall, Sir Malcolm is enjoying his moment. ‘We are in receipt of information that you are concealing valuables which His Grace sought the other day and which you hid from him.’

‘Your warrant, Wipley.’

‘We know those valuables are still in this house and I intend to find them. I am prepared to turn this place inside out if necessary. And when I find them, you and the Jerrard woman will be answering a charge of felony.’

Philip seats himself on one of the hall chairs. ‘Without a warrant, you will be facing a charge yourself. Where is your warrant?’

‘These men are my warrant. Where are the valuables?’

‘Since you know so much, I shall leave you to produce these valuables you speak of. You do have Mistress Jerrard’s leave to search, I assume?’

‘I don’t need her approval, or yours, so I’ll have your chamber key.’

‘What if I choose not to give it to you?’

‘What if I choose to break the door down?’

Philip stands up and reaches into his pocket, hands over the key. ‘I shall be a witness to this illegal action, Wipley.’

The search of Philip’s chamber is noisy and brutish. They pull the bedclothes apart and upend the log basket to make as much disruption as they can, pointing their disdain of Philip. Then an exclamation. ‘Sir Malcolm! Here! In full view!’

‘No!’ Philip cries, starting up.

‘Open it, then.’

‘It’s locked, sir.’

‘So?’

‘No, Wipley! You have no right!’ But one of them has the box in his arm and is already levering his knife under the hasp. Philip groans as the wood splinters, followed by a crash as the lid flies back. There is a moment of silence, then Sir Malcolm’s outraged tones. ‘It can’t be!’

‘You were expecting something in here?’ asks one of the men.

By way of answer, Sir Malcolm shouts, ‘For God’s sake, will someone stop that brat howling!’

They all look up as Alice throws open the door to Philip’s chamber. ‘Sir Malcolm, it is bad enough that you ignore the common courtesy of informing me that you are here. Now my baby is disturbed by the racket of your invasion!’

Sir Malcolm is not to be distracted from his mission. ‘I have a search to make on information received. Neither you nor this lordling here will stop me.’

‘Information? From Maureen who was my cook, I suppose?’

‘It doesn’t matter where the information came from.’

‘The value of information should be judged in relation to the malice that spawns it. Or didn’t you know that?’

‘I’ll search your chamber now. Stand aside.’

Alice turns on her heel, stalks back into her chamber. She points to the cradle where Henrietta’s distresses have now reached a piercing level. ‘And you expect me to calm her with all this going on?’ She turns her back on them and proceeds to loosen Henrietta’s soiled napkin.

Sir Malcolm ignores her and turns to two of his men.

‘Strip this bed. Search that coffer. Look underneath everything and into everything. And now, Mistress Jerrard, we’ll search you.

’ He approaches her, an unpleasant smile on his slab-like face.

Something like horror engulfs her, and with it, a real fury.

She backs off. ‘How dare you! It is no part of a coroner’s duties to search people.

If you touch me, I shall lay a charge of assault! ’

He hesitates for a moment, long enough for one of the Sheriff’s men to place a calming hand on his shoulder. ‘All’s well, Sir Malcolm. I’ll do this, then the lady can’t complain.’

There is nothing for it but to submit. She grits her teeth and her heart hammers as he runs his hands down each of her arms, feels through the lacing gaps under her bodice, pats her hips, her rear, and down the full length, inside and out, of each leg.

She breathes out her relief as he rises and turns to the coroner. ‘Nothing, Sir Malcolm.’

‘Sure?’

‘Absolutely, sir.’

‘You two,’ Sir Malcolm says to the other two men now standing idle amongst the tumbled mattress and pillows of her bed, kicking away the caps, shifts and skirts they have tossed out of her coffer. ‘Have you searched thoroughly?’

‘We have, Sir Malcolm. There’s nothing here.’

Alice retreats to the cradle as Sir Malcolm moves towards her, whereupon the sight of his bulk looming into view nudges Henrietta into fresh paroxysms of rage.

‘So this is the Jerrard brat, is it?’ he shouts above high-pitched screams, then steps back. ‘Oh, God, look at that on the napkin!’

Alice scowls. ‘It’s called in need of a change ,’ she snaps, ‘which I could have done by now had you not shouldered your way in here without so much as a by-your-leave! ’

One of the Sheriff’s men peers into the cradle.

‘Hell’s brimstone! Come away, Sir Malcolm!

’ He backs off, holds his sleeve to his nose.

‘You haven’t had babies, but I can tell you, that smell, it’s evil!

’ He beckons to the others. ‘Away, lads, away!’ None needs a second bidding.

As one, the five men crowd hastily for the door.

Alice cannot help smiling to herself, but before she can savour their retreat, Sir Malcolm suddenly turns and comes back. This is it , he’s worked it out.

His gaze fast upon her, while she glares back and steels herself not to blink, he gives his men the order. ‘Up the chimney,’ he says. ‘Search up the chimney.’