Magpie, page 2
Beth sucked in a breath, chasing the misgivings away. ‘You’re right. There’s so much to look forward to. And, whatever happens, it’s bye-bye to the boring old nine to five.’ She leafed through the pile of circulars and junk mail she’d picked up from the shop floor. Sifting them into a recycling pile, the local newspaper caught her eye. It was dated the week before and was barely thicker than a pamphlet. ‘Look at this, Lor.’
‘What is it?’
Beth held the newspaper up and read the headline, ‘Local GP finds mysterious book.’
‘Oh, Beth, give up with the books already.’
‘No, it’s interesting. Listen. “Local doctor finds old book of recipes in an attic”.’ She peered at the grainy black-and-white photograph showing a man holding up a small book. It was impossible to see the man or the book clearly in the terrible picture but something about the story reeled her in. “‘It’s now with an expert in the museum”,’ she continued. “‘Initial analysis suggests it’s at least four hundred years old”. As old as Tenpenny House, Lorna.’ She shivered. It was cold up here, in the way old buildings get when they’re unoccupied for a while. She longed to throw open the window and let in some warmth and fresh air but, glancing at the archaic window latches, didn’t trust them.
‘We haven’t time for old books in attics,’ her sister chided. ‘Stop daydreaming. We need to get started on cleaning this flat. Get it half decent so you can move your bed in at least.’
Beth shook herself. Lorna was right, there was tons to do. Just as she was going to suggest making tea before they embarked on the clean-up, her phone buzzed a text. A little jumbled and in shouty capitals but she could excuse her friend that:
BABY HAMISH HERE AT LAST! HUGH & ME BESOTTED. LONG LABOUR. JUST SURFACED. GORY DEETS 2 FOLLOW.
She collapsed onto the window seat.
‘What is it?’ her sister asked sharply.
‘It’s Jade. She’s had the baby.’
‘Oh, love.’ Ignoring the filth, Lorna slid alongside and put an arm around her. She rested her head against her sister’s in solidarity.
Beth went to text her reply, but her thumb refused to co-operate and hovered uselessly. She was thrilled for Jade but the news was bittersweet.
‘I’ve told you before, you need to ghost those two. Hugh’s a complete dick, splitting with you and then marrying that bitch Jade. And don’t get me started on why he kept those pics of you in the nuddy. Why the hell are you still in touch?’
‘I don’t know.’ Beth’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘Habit. History. They’re my closest friends. Or were. We go back a long way.’
‘Then treat this not only as a new start to your professional life but also your personal. Get rid, Beth. They’re toxic.’
‘I know.’ Even as Beth said the words tears prickled and a solid lump of longing sank into her stomach. She wished she knew why she was still in touch with Jade and Hugh. She couldn’t work it out herself, but she was unable to let them go. Staring at the text, the letters jumped and blurred. This could have been her baby, and she could have been Hugh’s wife. If only things had worked out differently.
The tissue-wrapped knife handle lodged uncomfortably in her jeans pocket, the image of the terrified magpie fleeing the chimney seared into her brain. One for sorrow, indeed. She just hoped it wasn’t an omen.
CHAPTER 2
MAY 1660
‘Mistress Lacey fared well.’ Susanna reached up for the dried lavender bunch hanging from the oak beam and began shredding it. It was last year’s. Soon it would be time to harvest the fragrant flowers and store them again. The year’s rhythm rolled around relentlessly; the season’s demands predictable. This spring, however, politics had thrown something new into their path. She scattered the lavender so it mingled with the rushes covering the earth floor.
‘And delivered of a bonny boy. Mother and son doing well and the child bellowing lustfully. We did a good deed today, Susie.’ Prudie Tenpenny collapsed onto her husband’s chair nearest the fire and held out her hands to warm them. She shivered and pulled her kerchief more snuggly around her neck. ‘Even though summer’s on the door frame, there’s still a mighty wind out there. Fare chilled my old bones on that walk back. The sea’s raging. The men spied a lone mock a pie. A true sign theys won’t have any fishing today, I reckon.’
‘I’m sure the Lacey’s are grateful for the safe deliverance, praise be to God.’ Susanna looked at her fondly. ‘Now rest a while, we’ve had a long night. I’ll warm us some ale.’
‘You’re a good child.’ Prudie squinted up gratefully. ‘The day I took you in was my blessing.’
Susanna came to her and kneaded the knots out of the old woman’s shoulders. ‘As was mine.’ Going to the fireplace, she poured ale into a pan hanging over the fire and stirred in some honey. She cocked an ear to the sounds coming from the distant town church. ‘The bells are ringing.’
‘Aye. To acknowledge a king is back on the throne. The streets were already wild with revellers, weren’t they? Twas a rowdy walk from the Lacey’s manor and through crowds of men already up to their cups in ale and rough cider outside The Cock.’ Prudie shuddered. ‘I’m glad we’re home.’
‘Flete is welcoming the news then.’
‘It would seem so, child.’
It was said conversationally but both women heard their underlying tension. To have a king back in power was not cause for celebration for those who had fought on the opposing side.
Susanna filled two tankards to the brim, handed one to Prudie and perched on the bench opposite. The women lapsed into silence. Star, their aged lurcher, crept nearer Prudie and lay at her feet. ‘And what will Mistress Agnes name the babe?’
‘Charles, I suspect. In honour of the new king.’
‘That would fit,’ Susanna replied drily. ‘The family always did bend with the prevailing wind. Had he been born in old Mr Lacey’s time he would have been an Oliver.’
Prudie gave a scoffing laugh. ‘Ain’t that the truth? There are some folks hereabouts who turned tailcoat, which way and that and got away with it.’ She settled back against the high-backed chair. ‘But I cannot bear a grudge against an innocent. Let him grow and thrive.’
‘And let us hope he sees a world not rift apart by war.’
Prudie raised her mug. ‘Amen to that. Let us hope we all have peace, for God knows we have need of it. Praise God, there’ll be an end to family against family, brother against brother.’
Susanna raised her own pot in salute.
‘We need to be careful though, young Susie. There are still some folks who likes to make mischief.’
As Susanna was about to agree, the door blew open, and in came her adopted father. ‘Get out of my chair, woman!’ John Tenpenny roared.
Prudie stood up, easing into her bones slowly. ‘Husband, get ye to the fire and heat yerself.’
John wheezed as he slid into the warmed space she’d vacated. Holding a raw knuckled hand to his chest, he coughed painfully, his body convulsing, unable to speak.
The women looked on in concern. The chill had settled on John’s chest and once there had refused to budge these past four months. The bitter winter and cold spring showed no sign of easing it.
‘The mustard plaister had no effect then?’ Prudie hovered anxiously but he batted her away.
‘Get thee away, woman. Your fussing makes me feel worse. Yes, I still cough and my chest feels sore tight. The plaister’s only saving grace was it stank so high I could not smell the privy. ’Tis cleared now, wife. The night soil men will take their goods and it will be clean again for the summer.’
John had been at work repairing the shelter and emptying the privy’s foul contents, the privy shelter wall having collapsed in the night making it unusable.
‘You shouldn’t have been working in that bitter wind.’ Susanna handed him his pint pot of warmed ale.
He peered at her from under bushy grey brows. ‘Are you becoming a scold too, Susie? As if there is a choice, child. As it is, we’ll still be using the piss pots tonight. I must needs shore up the far side.’ He collapsed back against the chair, staring glassily into the fire. Star nudged comfortingly at his hand but was ignored.
‘But surely not just yet, Father. Stay awhile and warm yourself.’ Fear stabbed at her. John Tenpenny had been ill for so long and was getting no better. Should he die, they would be distraught, Prudie especially. And then what would become of them? Unprotected women were at the mercy of whatever fate had in store. Suppressing a shiver of apprehension, she stroked his unruly wiry hair.
‘Aye. I’ll warm myself and then I’ll to my work and take a sup at The Cock tonight.’
‘You’ll not go to the tavern?’ Prudie exclaimed in horror.
John turned to glare at her. ‘Why shouldn’t I? At least a pint of ale will give me some hope of rest tonight and besides, have we not cause for celebration this day?’
Prudie’s lips thinned in disapproval. ‘You know as well as I that this house has no need to celebrate. Are we still not in mourning?’
‘And how will that look, wife? Better to go out and be proud and celebrate with the rest of the town rather than remind them all our Thomas died in vain for the cause we have just lost. Besides, it’s been fourteen years long past. Time to make amends with our enemies.’
‘I will not be so quick to forget my son. Are you so keen to turn coat, husband?’
John groaned. It developed into a hacking cough so there was some time before he could answer. ‘I am not turning my coat tails,’ he spluttered indignantly. ‘I’m preparing us all to live in a country that now has a king ruling over it. What choice do we have? We still have to live in this town, cheek by jowl with neighbours who will fare remember we were on parliament’s side. Even Flete is now raising its glass to the king and with cheerful face. Some folk have too long a memory. What good would it do to bawl out my support for Cromwell? Easy to live by principles but even easier to die by them.’ John coughed again and spat phlegm into the fire. Drinking down his ale in one, he heaved his bulk to his feet and returned to the bitter chill of his labours.
Prudie threw herself into his chair and wept into her apron.
Susanna rushed to the woman. Kneeling at her side she crooned, ‘Hush now, hush. John is ill-tempered because he’s not well. He has not forgot Thomas and his sacrifice. He’s being practical, is all. For sure, there are still spies about who would seek their revenge. Better we keep our heads low and our thoughts hidden.’
‘And be hypocrites,’ Prudie wailed. She raised her tear-stained, exhausted face. ‘How could I forget my Thomas? My only son. Did he die in vain?’
‘Not in vain, Prudie. He died in defence of the cause we believed in. And we will always remember Thomas. Of course we will.’
The lurcher shoved his nose onto Prudie’s lap, distressed by all the noise.
‘Look, here comes Star to comfort you. The last pup of Thomas’s beloved bitch. He would not forget his master so easily either. But be counselled, Prudie. John is right. He is thinking ahead of how best we can still live in Flete. We will have to bide our tongues and think before we speak.’
The three sat huddled together, listening to the applewood logs hiss on the fire until jolted apart by the door being flung open again. Star growled in his grizzled throat and Susanna put a hand to him. She glanced up, half expecting John’s return, only to see a finer dressed figure standing silhouetted against the light.
‘Master Lacey!’ Prudie cried in alarm. ‘Is there a problem with Agnes? Has the babe sickened?’
‘No problem I assure you, Goody Tenpenny. I come to pay your fee, that is all. My wife and son thrive, although Agnes is somewhat more tired than her baby. He cries lustfully for her milk.’
‘A good sign.’ She began to get up.
‘Nay. Don’t rise, good woman. I understand it was a long night’s labour.’
‘Aye it was but longer for your wife than I.’
‘But a good end, God be praised.’
Prudie nodded. ‘A good end. The best. God be praised indeed.’
Robert Lacey didn’t move. Instead, he stood gazing about. Susanna took time to study him. She had been good friends with him and Agnes when they’d been too small for their differing social class to matter overmuch, and before hard times had befallen John Tenpenny. Robert had been a good-looking little boy and had grown into a handsome man. And he knew it. The blond curls had darkened but his hair still lay thick under his luxuriously feathered hat. He had swapped childish muddy breeches for a pair in fine worsted, and a Honiton lace collar frothed at the neck of his leather jerkin. He looked just as he should: a wealthy farmer and landowner.
Remembering his manners, he swept off his hat and bent in a bow. ‘Mistress Susanna, it’s good to see you again.’
‘And you, Master Lacey. Congratulations on the birth of your son.’ Susanna saw him swell with pride.
‘Aye, a new birth for a new time. And what better day to be born than when our king rightfully takes back his throne.’
‘Indeed,’ Susanna murmured. ‘And fitting you have honoured him with naming your son after him.’
Robert’s face split into a grin making him resemble the boy she had once played alongside. ‘What finer name than our lord monarch’s?’ Striding over he held out a small leather bag. ‘Your fee, Prudie, with our grateful thanks.’
She nodded. ‘Let me know should I be able to aid in any other way and my blessings for your wife and child. May they continue to thrive.’
‘Amen to that.’ Robert reached a hand down to Star but again the dog growled so he withdrew it. ‘Thomas’s old dog still lives I see.’
‘Yes. His dog still thrives even though his master does not.’ Prudie’s tone was bitter.
Susanna put a tight hand over Prudie’s as a warning. What had they just been discussing? The old woman would get them all into trouble if she wasn’t more careful. ‘Star is the last puppy of Thomas’s bitch. You may remember Vixen, Robert.’
‘Indeed. I have happy memories of all of us playing as small children. You, Agnes and I. Thomas always with a dog at his heels tolerating us as we chased after it. Vixen was a fine animal.’ A shadow fell over his face. ‘Simpler times perhaps.’ He stared at Susanna, lost in reverie.
Susanna bit her lip to prevent her shouting out, If only it had been you who had been killed at Stow and not our precious Thomas! Little chance of Robert Lacey being killed. He had been resourceful in avoiding any warfare. Sucking in a breath she managed her composure and answered, ‘Yes. Happy at times and, I agree, simpler too. But isn’t that always the way as we shed our childish ways and assume the mantle of adulthood?’
Robert fixed her with a curious look. ‘How wise you’ve grown, Susanna. How wise.’ Then he puffed himself up. ‘And now I really do have to assume the mantle of adulthood, as father and provider.’ He shook his head in amazement, as if the reality was only just sinking in. ‘How droll. Me, a husband and a father to a new generation.’ He chuckled complacently. ‘But what a world little Charles has been born into. What a life he may look forward to. A newly secure and prosperous nation. God save the king!’
The women remained silent but nodded. Susanna, with a sideways glance at Prudie, muttered a cursory, ‘God save the king!’
Robert raised his eyebrows, began to say something but changed his mind. ‘I must say adieu and return to my new family.’ He bowed. ‘My thanks again, Prudie.’ Replacing his hat with a flourish, he added, ‘Good day, ladies.’ He turned abruptly on his heel, making his elaborate garter ribbons flutter, and left.
‘Watch that man, Susie,’ Prudie barked. ‘He was fond of you as a child and I see lusty lights in his eyes as he looks upon thee as a woman.’
Susanna watched as a now relaxed Star sloped to the fire and lay down with a groan. ‘Aye, I take heed. Fear not though, Prudie, Robert is only just married to Agnes. And now they have been blessed with a child, a son moreover, his eyes will not roam. Fond though he was when we were all children together, we run in very different spheres now. He and Agnes made a good match, a suitable one and some even say ’tis a love match.’ She gazed at the blank face of the front door, wondering how many of her own words she believed. There, once, had been the possibility that she would wed Robert Lacey. The baby that had slithered into her hands from Agnes’s loins might have been hers. A curl of jealousy gripped her innards, which she stifled. She would not be envious of Agnes being married to Robert. She wasn’t sure he had grown into a kind man. And unkind men made unkind husbands. ‘Maybe it should be me warning you,’ she added briskly. ‘Be careful what you say in front of him. He has high connections, Prudie, how else did he manage avoiding having to take up arms? He could make trouble for you, should he choose. Maybe for us all.’
The women stared at the space once filled by the swaggering man. Echoes of foreboding swirled in the gap he left.
CHAPTER 3
JUNE 2018
Beth collapsed onto the tiny two-seater sofa in her new flat, lifting her feet up onto one of the arms. She gulped her wine with relish, feeling the cool liquid glide down her dry throat. It had been the most exhausting month of her life. She gazed around at the boxes piled high in the sitting room; there was still work to be done. But it would have to wait.
Downstairs, the shop was ready for opening day the following Saturday. Over the last few weeks, the town had become increasingly busy with tourists and Beth was hoping to cash in on the season and make enough to tide her over the first winter. Opening earlier in the year had been the original plan but all the legalities had taken far longer than expected. She took another sip of wine and stretched her toes, luxuriating in her solitude. It was bliss having a workman-free home.
Hearing her phone buzz, she picked it up to see a text from her sister.
