At Acton Court, the silence between the two women, wary at first, was now companionable. But as Meg watched Lady Margaret finish her embroidery, she began to wonder whether she had overstepped the mark by placing some degree of trust in her hostess. She prayed she had not, for her brother would not thank her if Robert Poyntz turned out, after all, to be the traitor. But such thoughts were thrust aside when the peace of the house was shattered by a sudden hammering at the south door below them.
Meg and Margaret exchanged a nervous glance, all too aware of the absence of their menfolk. They waited for one of the servants – most likely the steward, Legge – to discover who was calling at Acton Court long after midnight. Soon, Meg thought, there would be raised voices: a challenge from the steward, answered by their visitor – whoever it was. But as they waited, no voices were heard, raised or not. Instead, a hesitant knock came at the parlour door.
“Yes, who is it?” gasped Lady Margaret.
The door opened to reveal Master Gibb upon the threshold, looking as out of place as a hat upon a horse.
“Lady Meg,” he began. “I mean, Lady Marg-” His words dried up as it dawned upon him that he was addressing a pair of Lady Margarets.
“What is it, Gibb?” enquired Meg, seeking to ease his discomfort. “Has Legge gone to the door?”
“No, lady, for Master Legge is nowhere to be found,” he replied, “and no-one else dare go.”
The hammering at the door commenced again which prompted Lady Margaret to cast aside her embroidery and get to her feet.
“Come, Meg,” she said. “It seems that we are on our own.”
Together they descended the stairs to the screened passage leading to the south porch, with Gibb scurrying in their wake.
While they waited inside the porch for the banging on the door to cease, Lady Margaret’s eyes widened at the sight of Meg drawing out a knife blade.
“Best to be prepared,” said Meg, grim-faced. “At least, that’s what my aunt would say.”
With a frown, Lady Margaret turned back to the door. “Who disturbs Acton Court at such an hour?” she demanded.
“John Bandy, my lady!” came the response. “Deputy to your husband, as Sheriff of this shire. You know me well enough.”
“Should we let him in?” breathed Meg.
“We can hardly deny him,” said Lady Margaret. “He must be on important business to come here at this hour.”
Meg gave Gibb a nod and he lifted up the heavy bar across the door. Outside on the bridge, shivering with cold, stood a small group of heavily-armed men. With a show of reluctance, Lady Margaret ushered Bandy into the house.
“My husband is not here, Master Bandy,” Lady Margaret told him. “But he is expected back very shortly.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Bandy, “but if we could have some food and ale while we wait?”
“Your men can wait in the hall,” said Lady Margaret, leading Bandy up to the parlour. “The house is cold, I fear. Master Gibb, wake the servants for me, if you please. It seems we’ll need a fire in the hall – and some food and ale.”
Meg, before following Lady Margaret up the stairs, whispered to Gibb: “Keep a close watch on those soldiers.”
“But what has brought you here at so late an hour?” enquired Lady Margaret, when the three were settled in the parlour.
“I received word late this afternoon of a skirmish on the road south of here and when I went to investigate, I found half a dozen dead men – scarcely more than a mile or two from your door. Of course, I knew that Robert would want to be alerted at once.”
“He already knows,” replied Lady Margaret.
Something in her brisk answer must have attracted Bandy’s interest, for he remarked: “Surely he did not just leave the bodies there on the road to rot, my lady?”
Lady Margaret explained that Robert Poyntz had not yet had time to visit the site of the skirmish in person.
“He must be very busy indeed then,” observed Bandy. “Does he know who killed them?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.”
“It was a risk, wasn’t it, my lady,” said Bandy, “for Robert to leave you ladies all alone?”
“He had urgent manorial business to attend to,” said Lady Margaret.
“Urgent, you say,” murmured Bandy. “I’m sure it was. But you need not fear, for we will keep you safe – no-one will get into this house tonight. No-one.”
Turning to Meg for the first time, Bandy said: “And you have a new companion.”
“This is a cousin of Robert’s,” said Lady Margaret, hastily attempting an introduction.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Bandy, with a smile. “I don’t believe that Robert is related to Lady Margaret Elder, is he?”
So there it was: Bandy already knew exactly who Meg was and suddenly all was clear to her. Bandy was their traitor and the escape of Eleanor and Mary must have forced him to seek another hostage. He would know, of course, that the menfolk were out searching the woods and he had taken a gamble. Whether her aunt, like Mary, had reached safety, Meg did not know; but it mattered little, for Bandy now had another two hostages.
“So, I fear we’ll be imposing further upon your hospitality,” he said.
Feeling Lady Margaret tense beside her, Meg gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Her hostess was not easily cowed and, though still white-faced with fear, she made a brave effort to recover her composure.
“I’ll have a chamber prepared for you, Master Bandy,” she said.
“No, my lady,” replied Bandy, “I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable enough here.”
“Will you allow us to retire to our beds then?” asked Lady Margaret, standing up.
“I really don’t think so, my lady,” said Bandy. “I’d prefer that you two stay here with me. We can await the return of your husband together.”
The arrival of a trembling serving girl with the refreshments ended any further conversation and an awkward silence ensued while Bandy carved into a lump of cheese. When Meg heard the sound of boots echoing along the passages below them, she knew that Bandy’s soldiers were no longer in the hall. They were securing the house against any attempt at entry.
On the other hand, it appeared that she had discovered their traitor…
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