took
another step upward toward her.
“Do not be concerned,” she said, recovering,
gripping the door jamb. “I am quite clear-headed, for the first time in years,
I might add.”
“For God, Issa, sit down on the steps,”
pleaded Amice.
“Let us all sit,” said Stephen and he did
so, settling on the narrow treads, another step closer to Isabella. “I do know
a great many smiths, including several of Kent,” he went on, to hearten her. “I
can get word out to ask after your boy.”
His cantering heartbeat slowed when
Isabella copied him and sat down on the top step. Amice came alongside him. “That
might work,” she said softly. “The fellowship of craftsmen and all. Will they
be discreet?”
“They will if I ask them to be.” Stephen
said. He turned again to Isabella. “I will begin today,” he promised. “It
should not take long.”
“Are you certain you wish to begin this, my
lord?”
Isabella’s formal question startled him and
he frowned, considering the matter settled. “What do you mean?”
Her steady gaze on him faltered and she
glanced down at her knees. “I mean that Richard’s family… they like to have a
hostage to use.” She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth on the step. “You
and your daughter lodge with your sister, do you not? And you mentioned that her
husband is away at sea?”
It fitted, Stephen thought, while he heard
Amice softly cursing in some exotic tongue . Isabella is right. I need them
away from the house now, or Bedelia and Joanna will be used as hostages.
His heart clenched at the thought and he
suddenly understood far more clearly the oppression Isabella had been enduring. This cannot go on.
He twisted about to Amice. “Your
apprentice, is he reliable?”
“He is slow and a touch idle, plays on his
limp at times, but I would say yes.”
“Then he can take a message and a token of
mine to my sister’s.” Bedelia might be bossy but she had sense. He would write
the note in the secret script they had made up between them as youngsters, so
she understood the urgency and danger. “Bedelia knows to go to Thomas Smith’s
house in case of trouble. He is a fellow armorer.”
“Send the message now,” said Isabella,
chewing on her lower lip. “I would have no one else threatened because of me
and mine.” Her voice cracked. “I could not, cannot bear that.”
“As soon as we are done here,” Stephen
replied, with a steadiness he did not quite feel. “Get my sister and daughter
safe, yes, but we need some idea of where to search for Matthew before we go
rushing off. Anything, Isabella, any clue.”
“I must hurry.” Isabella inclined her head.
Her eyes still gleamed but she looked less haunted. “I have thought of
something else,” she said. “Richard’s family never told me anything but as I
served and cleared up after them I overheard a great deal.” Her voice caught. “
Soon after… soon, when Matthew and I were parted, Sir William spoke of a place
of devilry, an orchard where Satan had left his footprint.”
Amice crossed herself. Stephen leaned
closer.
“I think Sir William knew I was listening,”
Isabella went on, “for he jested that my son would not find the fruit there to
his liking.”
“Pig!” Amice muttered.
Stephen agreed but for him anger was
overwhelmed by exultation. “Well-remembered, Isabella, and more than enough for
a Kentish man like me,” he said, with a grim smile.
He watched her stop breathing and lean
forward, willing him to say more, her face bright, her eyes like living flames.
He was most happy to do so. “There is no need for me to send word to the
blacksmiths. I already know where your son is being held. Satan’s footprint is
an old story in Kent.”
“So where?” demanded Amice.
“The village of Newington, close to the old
Roman road.” Stephen rose to his feet. “I can have us there in less than a day.”
He grinned, some of the tension falling off his shoulders. “The farriers
another step upward toward her.
“Do not be concerned,” she said, recovering,
gripping the door jamb. “I am quite clear-headed, for the first time in years,
I might add.”
“For God, Issa, sit down on the steps,”
pleaded Amice.
“Let us all sit,” said Stephen and he did
so, settling on the narrow treads, another step closer to Isabella. “I do know
a great many smiths, including several of Kent,” he went on, to hearten her. “I
can get word out to ask after your boy.”
His cantering heartbeat slowed when
Isabella copied him and sat down on the top step. Amice came alongside him. “That
might work,” she said softly. “The fellowship of craftsmen and all. Will they
be discreet?”
“They will if I ask them to be.” Stephen
said. He turned again to Isabella. “I will begin today,” he promised. “It
should not take long.”
“Are you certain you wish to begin this, my
lord?”
Isabella’s formal question startled him and
he frowned, considering the matter settled. “What do you mean?”
Her steady gaze on him faltered and she
glanced down at her knees. “I mean that Richard’s family… they like to have a
hostage to use.” She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth on the step. “You
and your daughter lodge with your sister, do you not? And you mentioned that her
husband is away at sea?”
It fitted, Stephen thought, while he heard
Amice softly cursing in some exotic tongue . Isabella is right. I need them
away from the house now, or Bedelia and Joanna will be used as hostages.
His heart clenched at the thought and he
suddenly understood far more clearly the oppression Isabella had been enduring. This cannot go on.
He twisted about to Amice. “Your
apprentice, is he reliable?”
“He is slow and a touch idle, plays on his
limp at times, but I would say yes.”
“Then he can take a message and a token of
mine to my sister’s.” Bedelia might be bossy but she had sense. He would write
the note in the secret script they had made up between them as youngsters, so
she understood the urgency and danger. “Bedelia knows to go to Thomas Smith’s
house in case of trouble. He is a fellow armorer.”
“Send the message now,” said Isabella,
chewing on her lower lip. “I would have no one else threatened because of me
and mine.” Her voice cracked. “I could not, cannot bear that.”
“As soon as we are done here,” Stephen
replied, with a steadiness he did not quite feel. “Get my sister and daughter
safe, yes, but we need some idea of where to search for Matthew before we go
rushing off. Anything, Isabella, any clue.”
“I must hurry.” Isabella inclined her head.
Her eyes still gleamed but she looked less haunted. “I have thought of
something else,” she said. “Richard’s family never told me anything but as I
served and cleared up after them I overheard a great deal.” Her voice caught. “
Soon after… soon, when Matthew and I were parted, Sir William spoke of a place
of devilry, an orchard where Satan had left his footprint.”
Amice crossed herself. Stephen leaned
closer.
“I think Sir William knew I was listening,”
Isabella went on, “for he jested that my son would not find the fruit there to
his liking.”
“Pig!” Amice muttered.
Stephen agreed but for him anger was
overwhelmed by exultation. “Well-remembered, Isabella, and more than enough for
a Kentish man like me,” he said, with a grim smile.
He watched her stop breathing and lean
forward, willing him to say more, her face bright, her eyes like living flames.
He was most happy to do so. “There is no need for me to send word to the
blacksmiths. I already know where your son is being held. Satan’s footprint is
an old story in Kent.”
“So where?” demanded Amice.
“The village of Newington, close to the old
Roman road.” Stephen rose to his feet. “I can have us there in less than a day.”
He grinned, some of the tension falling off his shoulders. “The farriers
Similar Books
