Page 162 of The Armor of Light

‘But the union has been shut down.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Who has accused me?’

‘Alderman Hornbeam.’

She felt a shiver of dread. So this was what Hornbeam had meant when he said:You shall have my answer tomorrow. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, but it was not ridiculous, it was scary.

She put on her coat and went out.

Doye and Davidson took her through cold, dark streets to the town centre. She thought with horror of the possible punishments she faced: flogging, the stocks, prison or hard labour. Women sentenced to hard labour were made to do work called hemp beating: for twelve hours a day they used sledgehammers to pound soaked hemp, separating the fibres from the woody core so that they could be turned into rope. It was backbreaking work. But she did not see how she could possibly be found guilty.

She assumed they were going to Hornbeam’s house, but to her surprise she was led to Will Riddick’s mansion. ‘What are we doing here?’ she said.

‘Squire Riddick is a justice,’ said Doye.

Hornbeam was dangerous and Riddick was his puppet. What were they up to? This was bad.

The hall of Riddick’s house smelled of tobacco ash and spilled wine. A mastiff was chained up in a corner, and barked at them. Salwas surprised to see Colin Hennessy there, sitting on a bench, and she remembered her dream with embarrassment. Colin was being guarded by a constable, Ben Crocket.

Sal said to Colin: ‘This follows from our visit to Hornbeam last night.’

‘I thought we were doing what the clothiers agreed to,’ said Colin.

‘We were.’ Sal was puzzled as well as afraid. She turned to Doye. ‘Obviously Hornbeam told you to arrest us.’

‘He’s the chairman of justices.’

That was true. This was not Doye’s fault. He was just a tool.

Sal sat beside Colin on the bench. ‘What now, then?’ she asked Doye.

‘We wait.’

It was a long wait.

The house came awake gradually. A grumpy footman cleaned the fireplace and built a new fire but did not light it. Alf Nash delivered milk and cream to the front door. Daylight filtered through a dirty window into the hall, along with the sounds of the city: horses’ hooves, cartwheels on cobblestones, and the morning greetings of men and women emerging from their houses and heading for work.

Sal smelled bacon frying, and realized she had had nothing to eat or drink today. But no one offered refreshment, even to the sheriff.

Just as a clock somewhere in the house was striking ten, Hornbeam appeared. The grumpy footman let him in. He said nothing to those in the hall, but followed the footman upstairs.

However, a few minutes later the footman came to the top of the stairs and said: ‘All right, come on.’

Riddick’s footman was an oaf. Sal wondered whether footmen mirrored their masters, as dogs did.

They climbed the stairs and were shown into a large drawing room. It had not yet been cleared of the debris of last night’s revels, and there were unwashed wine glasses and coffee cups all around.Sal reflected that Riddick’s wife, Hornbeam’s daughter Deborah, seemed not to have changed Riddick’s way of life much.

Riddick himself sat in an upright chair, wearing civilian clothes and a wig, though looking as if he had not yet recovered from the previous evening’s carousing. Hornbeam was on a sofa, straight-backed and stern. Between the two of them a man Sal did not know, presumably a clerk, sat at a small table with paper and ink.

Riddick said: ‘Sheriff Doye, give the names of the accused and the charge.’

Doye said: ‘Colin Hennessy and Sarah Box, both mill hands of Kingsbridge, are accused by Alderman Hornbeam of combination.’

The clerk wrote quickly with a quill pen.

Sal realized this was being carefully staged to look like a fair trial.