A Web of Silk Page 11

  The day was overcast and I asked for candles. Then we settled down. Sybil and I had worked out a rough programme. First of all, we needed to find out whether the twins knew all the basic stitches, and if not, fill in the gaps. Once that was done, I had brought some cushion covers from Hawkswood made of a beige cloth. On the front of each, Sybil had drawn a quite simple geometrical pattern in the centre and round the edges a slightly more complex pattern of bluebells and daisies with thin curved stalks and leaves. These would require a variety of stitches, varying shades of green and blue, a choice of yellows for the centres of the daisies, and white or pale cream for their petals.

  ‘This way they can get some practice both in stitchwork and in choosing colours,’ Sybil had said.

  I said moodily that when I taught embroidery once before I had a pupil who bled all over things, and hoped history wouldn’t repeat itself!

  It soon emerged that this was not the case. Within the first quarter of an hour, we established that both of the twins knew the basic stitches. Of the two, Jane was the more deft, handling her needle with real skill. Joyce was slower and sometimes made mistakes, but she wasn’t clumsy. And neither of them were at all likely to smear their work with blood.

  We worked for nearly two hours. Once they’d started on the cushion covers, I let Sybil sit by while I fetched my lute and played to them. Later, I told the twins to put away their needles and Sybil took charge. She began by finding out how well the girls could draw, using slates to begin with, and gave them some basic instruction about taking measurements and how to make sure patterns were positioned aright.

  ‘If you are making cushion covers, you usually want the main design in the centre of the front panel, not nearer one edge than the other. And if you are going to embroider a pair of sleeves, the pattern needs to be carefully placed and the same on both sleeves.’

  After another hour, I noticed that the girls were looking tired and called a halt. ‘That’s enough for one day. More than enough, perhaps. We’ll do some more tomorrow. Let’s amuse ourselves till dinner time.’

  It was a dull day for going out. Brockley had gone out to exercise our horses, but he returned just as we finished our lessons and came to tell us that he would be in the tack-room, cleaning our saddlery. We ladies repaired to the ballroom, where we took turns in playing the clavichord while the others danced. I took the opportunity of looking sharply about in case there were any doors leading anywhere I hadn’t yet seen. But apart from the door into the entrance hall, the only door I could see was the one at the back that led straight into the grounds.

  The grounds! The words suddenly burst into my mind. We hadn’t even thought of exploring the grounds, and they might offer some excellent hiding places. But a wind had risen and was now blowing rain against the windows. We could hardly search the grounds in this.

  For the purpose of practising stitchery and amusing ourselves by dancing we had all dressed in simple clothes, but the twins told us that their father liked people to wear formal clothes at dinner and said that they were going to put on their peach ensembles. Sybil and I decided to change our gowns. I didn’t think it was an occasion for brocades, but I chose my favourite tawny velvet, the sleeves slashed with cream silk and the skirt open-fronted to show off a kirtle of the same material embroidered with small yellow flowers. Cream and tawny were a favourite colour combination of mine; I often wore them, in various forms, knowing that I looked well in them. Sybil selected apple green, slashed with yellow. It suited her and made her look younger than her years. Dale, observing us, also changed, into a dress which, although it was a restrained dark blue without slashings, was well set off by a pristine ruff and green-agate beads.

  Our careful toilette seemed to please Master Frost, who looked at us and his daughters with obvious approval and this time took the lead in the conversation. Dr Lambert said grace, in his annoying voice, but after that held his tongue and listened with the rest of us while Master Frost discoursed on the difficulties he had had in arranging a regular supply of firewood now that the winter was approaching, and how tiresome it was that there were so many chills and fevers about. Apparently, he had a valet who was now lying sick in the men’s attic dormitory and Hamble was helping Master Frost out for the time being.

  I had wondered why Frost didn’t seem to have a personal attendant, and now debated whether I should volunteer Brockley’s services but decided against it. I was likely to need Brockley’s help myself.

  From time to time we all made suitable comments, and I listened attentively in case some kind of opening should arise. How was I to get Master Frost to talk about warships and navies? His affable manner to me didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like the idea of women being involved in what he regarded as men’s affairs and probably wouldn’t think that matters maritime would – or should – interest a lady.

  The meal began with white-bean soup and proceeded in leisurely fashion through smoked mackerel to a very good dish of veal in a white wine and mushroom sauce, with a side dish of cabbage. After that came a bread pudding with raisins and ginger in it. We were halfway through that and I was wondering whether I could ask for the recipe and give it to my John Hawthorn, when I heard Master Frost remark that he would shortly be away for a few days because he needed to visit his brother in London again.

  ‘I don’t venture our little merchant ship on long voyages between October and March,’ he said. ‘But I still have much to discuss with my brother. I shall probably leave for London next Monday, though I should be home again by the end of the week. I believe that when we met in Guildford, Mistress Stannard, on the sad occasion of the inquest, I spoke to you of the beautiful silks I had found in Venice. I also saw some striking samples of Persian embroideries – fabrics suitable for wall-hangings. The vendor said he could obtain more if I was interested, so I placed an order with him and brought a few back. Well, I have passed both the silks and the embroideries to my brother and he has now had time to find out how popular they are with his customers, and I am anxious to know that, too. I don’t really doubt that the silks will do well, but I took a chance in placing the order for more embroideries, as some of the patterns are unusual and they’re certainly costly. But sometimes you have to back your own judgement, otherwise you could easily miss a fine opportunity.’

  ‘It sounds almost like a form of gambling,’ Sybil remarked, smiling.

  ‘Perhaps it is,’ Frost agreed. ‘But as I said, you have to trust to your judgement and experience or you would never do any business at all. My brother and I will be travelling to various autumn fairs in big towns, so we need to make detailed plans for that, too, since we are going to cross to the Continent and attend fairs in France and other countries.’

  I made a harmless remark that would point the conversation in the right direction. ‘Travel by sea in the winter must have its unpleasant side,’ I observed.

  ‘Ah, well, trade can’t stop on account of the seasons. The seas aren’t quite empty of ships even in winter,’ Frost said, and twinkled at me in a jovial fashion. I silently cursed. He knew of my reputation – which might have helped make him believe in any information I let fall – but I now suspected he wanted to ignore that side of me and regard me instead as a dear little feather-headed female. And he might well resist or resent any evidence to the contrary. I had encountered such attitudes before. If he didn’t take me seriously, then he might not take seriously the information on shipyards that Walsingham wished me to pass to him.

  It was going to be difficult to present myself as the Mistress Stannard who justified her reputation and at the same time avoid provoking disapproval. I had better not display an unwomanly knowledge of shipyards. How on earth, I wondered, was I to get Walsingham’s misinformation across under such a handicap?

  ‘One can usually get across to Calais without much trouble,’ Frost was saying. I looked attentive and, in an innocent voice and with slightly widened eyes, asked if he and his brother used their own ship for these winter journ
eys.

  ‘No, no. I lay our Dainty Lady up for the winter, get any repairs done and have the barnacles scraped off her. John and I just get passages across to Calais with our wares on whatever vessel is going that can carry our wagon and horses.’

  Risking a little boldness, I said: ‘If ever you want to replace your Dainty Lady, I have a cousin who works in a shipyard on the Kent coast. His company is, I believe, of good repute. He once told me that they mostly build warships, but I know they take on private work as well for folk who want to sail for pleasure or transport goods. He made me laugh with a tale of a man who wanted a pleasure craft and kept changing his mind about details.’

  Sybil and the Brockleys blinked a little as I embarked on this fanciful story, but had the good sense not to comment.

  Master Frost seemed interested. ‘Indeed? You must let me know his name. I will make a note of it.’

  ‘Edwin Blanchard,’ I said, snatching a Christian name out of the air and tacking my first married surname on to it. And realized that I would have to let Walsingham know about my imaginary cousin in case Frost checked up on his existence.

  ‘I shall remember,’ said Frost.

  I didn’t pursue the matter. One step at a time. Meanwhile, I suddenly noticed that the light in the dining hall was brightening. At the same moment, Joyce exclaimed: ‘It must be clearing up. Look, the sun is out!’

  Sybil said brightly: ‘Perhaps when it has dried up a little, you might show us the grounds? A walk in the fresh air would be so pleasant.’

  ‘That would indeed be delightful,’ I said. ‘Your daughters have worked very well this morning, Master Frost. They have more than earned a walk in the sunshine. I hope it will last.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to slave-drive them,’ said Frost, twinkling again. ‘By all means go into the grounds. I take it that you all brought outdoor footwear with you? Put that on and you need not wait for the grass to dry.’

  The door I had noticed at the rear of the great hall did indeed lead outside, on to a gravelled terrace. This provided a walk along the rear of the house, looking down on a square of carefully scythed grass with a path across it. We could see that to either side the garden had wooden boundary fences stretching away into the distance. To the right of the grass lawn was a parterre garden, with neat square beds surrounded by low box hedges and all enclosed within a greater square again hedged with box. The flowers were not in their best season, but the garden was nevertheless still brave with colour: with Michaelmas daisies, red and blue, and the purple and yellow of the little heartsease and the pale-bluish tint of the autumn crocus.

  ‘That’s charming!’ said Sybil, stepping away from the rest of us to look more closely. And Joyce, following her, said: ‘Couldn’t we use that as a pattern for an embroidery design?’

  ‘Indeed we could,’ said Sybil, and as they came back towards us I heard them discussing the possible uses for such a design. It sounded as though Sybil’s first lesson had kindled real enthusiasm.

  On the other side of the lawn was another such garden, except that the shapes of the beds were more varied and the hedging was lavender instead of box. This was a herb garden. I saw mint and rosemary, basil and parsley; there was a bay tree in one corner and marjoram occupying a crescent-shaped bed in the corner opposite. A round centre bed was planted with roses. ‘You regard roses as a herb?’ I asked and was reminded of Hugh. I found myself wistfully recalling his beloved rose garden, which was purely ornamental.

  ‘The people who lived here before did, I suppose,’ said Jane. ‘We never used to – we didn’t have a rose garden in the Midlands – but perhaps we will now. Mrs Hamble knows how to make rosewater perfume and rosehip syrup for coughs, and she says she’ll teach us.’

  Beyond the herb garden was the side fence, with a narrow path just inside it vanishing into a belt of shrubs. There was also a side gate. ‘It opens on to a meadow,’ said Joyce when I asked. However, we stayed on the central path across the lawn. This also passed through the shrubbery, and after that we came to a substantial kitchen garden. Beyond this again was an orchard, but it only occupied half the width of the garden. The rest consisted of trees and shrubs, with winding paths among them, and in the midst of this, coyly screened by a timber fence, was a garden shed.

  Straight ahead was a little building in the shape of a miniature house, with a peaked roof, a door in an archway, with narrow windows to either side, and a miniature terrace in front.

  ‘We hope to sit here in summer,’ Jane said. ‘We’d have asked to have our embroidery lessons here if only the winter wasn’t coming on.’

  I could see the boundary fence beyond it, closing off the end of the garden. There was, however, a gate in it. ‘Where does that lead to?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, that’s one way to the home farm. Father took over the crops and bought most of the stock – it was easier than walking our cows and sheep all the way from the Midlands. We auctioned them instead, except for our stud bull. He’s being walked down by easy stages. He was too valuable to waste.’

  A farm, I thought. Yes, the farm had been mentioned before. Of course. A farm. Barns, cowsheds, haylofts, labourers’ cottages … How could I possibly search a place this size?

  However, when we were back indoors and had retired to our rooms to change our footwear and shed our cloaks, I called the Brockleys in to join me and Sybil for a council meeting, as it were, and Brockley dealt with my worry about the farm.

  ‘Frost isn’t likely to hide a valuable chest full of silver out there! He would scarcely put it in a labourer’s hovel, nor in a barn or a feed store where there are people coming and going all the time. It would be found, for sure, and questioned.’ Brockley shook his head at the idea. ‘I would bet heavily on the hiding place being here in this house. But searching it is difficult. We can’t do much by night, with all the bedrooms occupied and a dormitory in the attic. And searching by day will be just as bad – with people everywhere, and a sick man in the attic all day as well as at night.’

  ‘If he recovers soon, we might be able to look in the attics,’ said Sybil.

  ‘Maybe. I’ve done some reconnoitring upstairs,’ Brockley said. ‘When I first came in from the stables this morning, I took a chance and slipped up to look in on the sick man and ask if I could help in any way. I could, as it happened. He wanted some more drinking water, so I fetched some for him – and took a look round while I was at it. The room where the menservants sleep is on one side, but there are three more rooms on the other side separated from the dormitory by a passage. It’s a dark sort of passage, even in full day, like so much of this house. The staircase up from this floor is very narrow and twisting, and the stairs are wooden and rickety and they creak! But I glanced into those attic rooms. They’re full of junk. They’re as likely a hiding place as any. As soon as that fellow is back at his duties, we’ll look there. But not until he is better and out of the way.’

  ‘But there are other places,’ said Sybil. ‘Should we not be systematic? I’ve been thinking. At night, couldn’t we search the two halls and the ballroom? What about that dais? There’s probably a cavity underneath it.’

  ‘And Master Frost is going to be absent for a few days, quite shortly,’ I said. ‘We can examine his room and his study then. Also by night.’ I gave a sigh because I had been in this sort of situation before and did not like creeping round other people’s premises in the dark. I had had to do it in the past and hated it, and now here we were again. ‘I doubt if he is likely to have hidden anything in any of the servants’ rooms,’ I said. ‘Or in his daughter’s room, or Susie’s. Has anyone seen Susie yet, by the way?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Brockley. ‘I have. When I was in the kitchen yesterday evening, getting mulled wine for Fran and being as unobtrusively nosy as I could, a very pretty young lass came in, fetching hot possets for her young ladies. Mrs Hamble addressed her as Susie. And that’s a point. We had better be very careful as long as Master Frost is still here. If there was anything in the
hint that young Jane dropped yesterday when we were being shown round the house, either he or Susie may be wandering about after dark.’

  ‘They won’t wander far,’ I said cynically. ‘Only across the passageway between them. I think we can evade them if we take care. We had better make our forays well into the night. Once they’ve got together they’ll probably be, well, preoccupied for quite some time.’

  Brockley chuckled softly, Sybil smiled, and Dale shook a disapproving head. I looked at them with affection. I felt safer for having them near.

  ELEVEN

  Eighty Ships by Christmas

  We were cautious. I said we must wait awhile, tread softly and accustom ourselves to the household before attempting any serious searching. However, Brockley said that although he had had a brief look at the kitchens, maybe he should ask Mrs Hamble if he could be of use there. I let him do so.

  ‘I pretended I hadn’t enough work,’ he explained, telling me about it afterwards. ‘I groom and exercise our horses but when that’s done, I told her, I am sometimes at a loose end. Master Frost’s grooms don’t need extra help; they’re happy to feed and water my horses along with their own, and they hardly seem to welcome me when I join in the mucking out. Mrs Hamble said that I might be useful – there are things to be scoured and sometimes kegs of ale or wine or joints of meat have to be fetched up from the stores in the cellars. So I can look round the cellars while I’m about it.’