In the room where we had our own food there was a smell of onions and cider. Caro was laying out the dishes; Daskin bent over the mutton, trying to save what he could. I was suddenly very hungry. The syllabub could not be spoken of before Godfrey, who was there examining a fork which Mervyn had bent out of shape, but it hung in the air between us all, a secret pleasure to set against the gloom of that morning’s discovery.
‘There’s nothing wrong with this meat,’ said the cook. ‘If I myself carve what’s left you’ll find it as tender a roast as you’ve had.’
‘We never thought otherwise,’ Izzy assured him.
‘I have made onions in white sauce,’ added Caro, looking sweetly on me because she knew how I relished this dish. I sat on the end of the bench next to the place she would take when she left off serving.
The meal was set before us and Godfrey led us in asking God’s blessing. As soon as folk began spooning up onions and handing about the bread, the talk turned to Chris Walshe, and to Patience.
‘Is Zeb back from Champains yet?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Peter. ‘I guess they’ll keep him there awhile.’
‘What for? All he did was drag the pond.’
‘This is fine mutton, Mounseer,’ said one of the dairymaids, who seemed to have got the sheep’s eyes into her own head to judge by her glances at him.
‘Did Chris – was Chris hurt, Jacob?’ asked Caro.
‘He was,’ I answered. ‘Has nobody been to look?’
‘I locked the laundry after you laid him out,’ said Godfrey. ‘It is neither seemly nor respectful for everyone to go goggling at the lad.’
‘There’s something in that,’ said Izzy. ‘But tell us, Godfrey, how was he wounded?’
The steward hesitated.
‘Jacob knows already,’ urged Peter.
Godfrey said, ‘Well. It was no accident.’ He looked at me.
‘Stabbed,’ I supplied.
A general gasp and then a buzz, not unlike pleasure, rose from the company.
‘There are bad men about,’ said Godfrey. ‘Be watchful. The Mistress has instructed me to look over all the locks and bolts, and I should be obliged if you would bring me to any weak ones.’
‘And still no sign of Patience,’ said Caro.
‘Did she quarrel with one of you? Had she any trouble?’ the steward
‘None,’ Caro said. ‘No trouble.’
I turned to her and saw her face quite innocent. I pictured Zeb, how he would have answered, perhaps mopping up sauce on a bit of bread, and his eyelashes lying modest on his cheek like a girl’s.
After the mutton and cider I felt the need of fresh air. It was Peter’s turn for scouring the dishes, so I went out into the rosemary maze. I loved this maze, its pungent scent, the blue blossoms which besprinkled the dark hedges in the summer and the fragrant knot garden at its heart, where one could sit on the bench and doze. Caro went along with me, stealing a few minutes before going back to the house and Mervyn’s wine-stained shirt, for he no sooner fouled a shirt than he changed it, no sooner changed than he fouled. His laundry had often robbed me of courting time.
We sat on the warm stone seat, carved with suns and hourglasses, and twined ourselves in an embrace. My hat fell off onto the chamomile behind the bench and so that we should be equal I pulled off her cap and kissed her stiff yellow coil of hair. She laughed and put her face up to mine. There was cider on her breath. I touched my mouth to hers and she looked straight at me, then closed her eyes. Very slowly, softly, she nibbled my tongue as I slid it between her lips. I closed my eyes also, the better to feel the inside of her mouth. We stayed like that some time, tasting and toying, while bees droned up and down the rosemary hedges, until Caro broke away and kissed me on the nose. ‘I should go, Jacob.’
‘A little longer—’ I pulled her onto my lap. The skin of her breasts, as much as I could see and stroke, was like petals of the purest white roses. I wondered, not for the first time, how it must feel to embrace a woman without her stays, without even her shift. My breath came faster and I strained her to me.
Caro whispered, ‘The Mistress may come out.’
‘She may indeed.’
A tussle followed, with much laughter and tickling, but at last I let her go and she went back to sitting at my side. Holding hands, we contemplated the knot garden while I suffered the familiar pain which would only be eased upon our betrothal.
Once, in that garden, I had put my hand right down her bodice while we kissed, and felt the tender bud of her breast swell and push greedily between my fingers. My own flesh had straightway begun to ache, and I caught such a look in her eyes as told me plainly what would happen next if I did not stop. I did stop; I withdrew my hand, and heard her moan with disappointment. I had passed up a chance, but gained a knowledge inexpressibly sweet. Many men are wed for their purses, the man being taken, oft grudgingly, along with the money. I knew with proud certitude that this was not my case. There was no need to hurry, to take her in that furtive way in which Zeb conducted his loves. We would wait until the appointed night. It might even be that something in me took pleasure in teasing her. Sometimes, as we worked together or sat decorously side by side, I recalled that pleading moan of hers, and smiled.
‘Poor Chris.’ Caro interlaced her fingers with mine. ‘A hideous death.’
I had forgotten Walshe. The eager shoot that was my body shrivelled as if she had thrown cold water on me.
She frowned. ‘And yet—’
‘Yet?’
‘Now that I think on it – he was always strange. What was his business here? Wandering at night, on another’s land?’
‘Perhaps he was stopped by someone from the house,’ I said. My stomach fluttered; I wondered would she notice the sweat which had begun squeezing from my hand.
‘Folk naturally defend their own,’ Caro went on. ‘Or a servant who kills a trespasser by chance, shall he be blamed?’
My guts coiled within me for I thought I saw a way out of my gaol. ‘So,’ I put it to her, ‘if it were one of us dispatched Chris, would you deem him guilty?’
‘’Twould depend why he did it.’ She straightened suddenly. ‘Why Jacob, do you suppose it is one of us?’
I hesitated.
‘Yes! You have a man in mind,’ she insisted.
‘For myself, none. But we are servants, we must look to be suspected.’
Caro seemed satisfied with this. However, in speaking it, I had slammed the door of the gaol on myself, and now felt my courage begin to slip away.
‘I saw you from the window,’ Caro went on, ‘dragging the pond. I had made up my mind for Patience.’
‘Well, you knew what cause she had to despair,’ I said. ‘Her condition.’
Caro’s hand stiffened in mine but she said nothing.
‘I am not Godfrey, that things should be kept from me,’ I said.
‘Zeb asked me not to.’
There was a thunderbolt! I had thought to receive some such answer as, I did but yesterday find out, or I do not like such talk. My love, the woman I had near entrusted with my secret, with my very life, was all the while in private