The House Of Lanyon

“I regret to say this, but I don’t think so,” said Meadowes. “He went out to meditate in the open air as he often does, but I expected him to return later and there was a matter to do with his studies that I wished to discuss with him. He hasn’t come back, and personal things are missing from his room. There has been village gossip concerning a girl. I took him to task and he assured me there was nothing in it, that he had merely escorted her home when she was accidentally separated from her family at the May fair and exchanged the time of day with her after church once or twice out of courtesy. Villagers do have a talent for making something out of nothing and I believed him then. I warned him to be careful and left it at that. Now, frankly, I wonder. Earlier this year he asked me some odd questions.”

“What sort of questions?” Elizabeth Luttrell asked. She was seated, working at an intricate piece of embroidery while Wagtail snoozed at her feet. “He always seemed so earnest,” she remarked.

“Yes, he did,” Father Meadowes agreed. “But the questions he asked were about leaving the church if a man changed his mind about his vocation. I asked if he were having doubts about his own and he said no. Now I’m wondering!”

“He’s always seemed very quiet and conscientious,” said James. “Too much so, perhaps, for a young man.”

“Yes, I felt that, too, sometimes,” Elizabeth said. “He was—is—so very…very self-contained, yet I sometimes felt that there was a side to him that was hidden.”

The two men looked at her with interest. Elizabeth, usually a quiet woman, had a knack of occasionally making very acute remarks. Sharp as an embroidery needle, her husband sometimes said.

She smiled at them. “All the same,” she added, “need we be anxious so soon? There could have been a misunderstanding…or even an accident.”

She broke off as the gatekeeper’s boy arrived in the hall at a breathless run and barely sketched a bow before exclaiming, “There’s a Master Nicholas Weaver from the village, zurs and mistress! He’s axin’ to see Father Meadowes and he says it’s that urgent—can Father Meadowes see him now, at once. He looks that worried, zurs!”

“Nicholas Weaver?” said James. “I know him. Hardworking man and a hardworking family, that’s him and his. It’s you he wants to see, is it, Father Meadowes? Maybe he’s got something to say about this mystery.”

“Christopher was talking with a girl after the service on Sunday,” murmured Elizabeth. “It looked quite innocent, but…I wonder…”

“The gossip,” said Meadowes ominously, “concerned a daughter of the Weaver family.”

“Fetch Master Weaver along, boy,” said James.

Nicholas came in with a firm tread, which concealed a secret hesitation. He had never been inside the castle before, never hitherto walked up the steep track from Dunster to the gatehouse with the castle walls and their towers and battlements looming ahead of him, and although he was not a man with a poor opinion of himself, he felt intimidated. At the gatehouse the porter had greeted him politely, but with an air of surprise. Villagers, even well-to-do ones like Nicholas Weaver, didn’t often call at the castle and certainly not to insist that they must immediately see men who held such dignified positions as castle chaplain.

Despite his secret misgivings, Nicholas had been resolute and he had been admitted, but now that he was actually inside, he was awed by the scurrying of the numerous servants and by the great, beamed hall, with its huge hearth and the dais where the family dined. Thick rushes underfoot silenced his footfalls, the rosemary sprigs strewn among them gave off their scent wherever one stepped and the walls were hung with tapestries: a huge, dramatic one of Goliath being downed by a gallant little David, and a pretty one with a background of flowers and a lady in the foreground with a unicorn beside her.

The fact that he had been led into the presence not only of Father Meadowes but of the Luttrells as well added further embarrassment. However, he bowed politely, murmured a conventional greeting and looked at the chaplain.

James took control. “This is Father Meadowes,” he said. “At the moment something is making him anxious and we’re wondering if your visit is to do with the same matter. Is your business by any chance connected with one Christopher Clerk, Father Meadowes’s assistant?”

“It may be,” said Nicholas. “If Christopher Clerk has left the castle. Has he?”

“Yes. He’s vanished,” said Meadowes. “He went out after dinner as he often does. I had set him passages of Scripture on which to meditate, and in fine weather like today he likes to do that out of doors. He went off across the pasture that slopes down to the sea. I saw him go. But he hasn’t come back and we can’t find him anywhere.”

“Does he have red hair?”

“Very much so,” said James. “A tonsure like a sunset, as a matter of fact.”

“My girl Liza’s vanished, as well,” said Nicholas. “And so have two of my ponies! I thought to look before I came here. And there’s been talk, about her and a young fellow with a red tonsure, possibly Christopher Clerk. We didn’t want to make a to-do over a bit of flirtation, even with a clerk, especially as we weren’t sure there was anything in it but silly tattle. We always thought Liza had some sense. We told her we’d found her a marriage and she seemed agreeable. We reckoned if there’d been any nonsense, it was just sweet talk and that she’d put it behind her. Now we think otherwise. We’re afraid she’s run away from home and if so, she’d hardly go on her own. Now you say this red-haired clerk…”

“He’s a deacon,” said Meadowes.

“Is he, indeed? Well, you tell me he’s missing. Have they run off together?”

“It’s possible,” said Meadowes slowly.

“So what can be done? I want my girl back. The marriage we’ve arranged is a good one and by that I mean a happy one. I’m a careful father, I hope. I’ve got her welfare at heart and a runaway priest isn’t what’s best for her.”

“And you want to get her back before anything happens and before the young man she’s betrothed to finds out what she’s done,” said Elizabeth helpfully. “Father Meadowes, where might Christopher have taken her? Where does he come from? That might be a guide.”

“Bristol,” said Meadowes. “But his father’s a highly respectable merchant there. He won’t have gone near his father! He studied in Oxford, but—no, I doubt if he’s gone there either. It’s hardly the place for a runaway couple to go to for sanctuary. I’d guess they’d make for a city, but they’d be more likely to choose Exeter or London.”

“Three directions,” said James, thinking aloud. “London by way, to start with, of Taunton or Bridgwater, or south over the moor to Exeter by way of Tiverton. One of those.”

“Bridgwater’s likely,” said Meadowes. “Christopher knows that road well. I’ve several times called on friends there and taken him with me. I doubt he’s ever been to Taunton.”

“I could be quite wrong,” said Nicholas unhappily. “But Liza’s gone, and taken linen and toilet things. There’s been talk of her and a red-haired clerk, and we’d just told Liza about the marriage we’d planned for her. That could have been the spark in the straw. I hope I’m wrong. I want to be, but…”

He looked at James with a question in his face, and James answered it. “I’m sorry for you, Master Weaver, and I doubt very much that you’re wrong. We’ll go after them. Meadowes, are you joining us?”

“Of course. I can still sit a horse for a few hours, despite my grey tonsure,” said the chaplain. “And the boy is my student as well as my assistant. I feel responsible for him. I should have pressed him harder over the rumours about Master Weaver’s girl. I fear I’ve been remiss.”

“The more helpers we have, the better,” James Luttrell said. “Weaver, you and Meadowes can take one of my men and try the Bridgwater road. I’ll send two men by way of Taunton, and myself, I’ll take another two and ride for Exeter. Light’s going, but the sky’s clear and the moon’s nearly full. We’ll fetch them back, never fear. Young folk in love can be the very devil and their own worst enemies, but we’ll see if we can’t save these two from themselves. You can borrow one of my horses.”

He turned to the gatekeeper’s boy, who was still in the hall, listening openmouthed with excitement. “Get to the stable, my lad, and tell them to saddle eight horses. My Bay Arrow, Grey Dunster—he’s hardly been out today—and whatever else is fit and not tired. Then send the garrison sergeant to me and after that, get back to your post. Hurry!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

HUNTERS AND QUARRY

The daylight was going. Grooms held up lanterns while the horses were brought out and saddled. Picking up the smell of urgency from the humans, the horses fidgeted and tossed impatient heads while their girths were tightened. James Luttrell, who seemed to have the entire map of the west country in his head, was giving final instructions, complete with landmarks, to the men who were going by way of Taunton. Nicholas, Father Meadowes and Gareth, the Welsh man-at-arms who was to accompany them on the Bridgwater road were all familiar with their own route.

The mood was that of a hunting party, albeit an unusually unsmiling one. Father Meadowes actually said as much to James Luttrell as they clattered down the slope to the village below. “If we had hounds with us, this would feel like a chase. Except that I’ve never gone hunting after dark before and never had a man as my quarry before, either. It’s a strange feeling.”

At the foot of the slope they turned left, to circle the castle hill on its inland side. The first group to peel off was Luttrell’s. “Good luck!” he called, taking off his hat to wave farewell to the others as he led his party away, bound for Exeter through the town of Tiverton on the south side of the moor. “I just pray somebody catches them before it’s too late!”

Christopher and Liza rode eastward through the fading day. The Channel was dulling into a misty grey and shadows were gathering in the hollows of the inland hills. “You’re safe with me. I hope you know that,” Christopher said suddenly. “Believe me, I haven’t quite abandoned my upbringing! There’s a lot to be said for being steady and reliable, and I mean to be that for you. I shall take the greatest care of you. It was clever of you to think of taking the ponies. We’ll send them back eventually.”

“Yes, of course. I hated taking them, but we needed them so much.” She did feel safe with him. They were doing a crazy thing, a wrong thing in the eyes of the world, but it was a right thing, as well. It was right because Christopher was Christopher and they belonged with one another.

“Will anyone guess where we’ve gone?” she asked. “They’ll be after us as soon as they know.”

“They might guess at London. If they do, they’ll probably think we began by making for Taunton. It’s the more usual road. But I know the Bridgwater one and just because it’s not so usual, I think it’s the safest one for us.”

“I wish it could be different,” said Liza. “I wish we could be married with everyone congratulating us and pleased with us, approving of us and wishing us luck. I feel like a hunted deer. I keep straining my ears to hear the hounds! But all the same, I’m so very glad to be here with you.”

“And I am glad to be with you, sweetheart. I hate the thought of being hunted down, as well. We just mustn’t be caught, that’s all!”

At Allerbrook Peter was not exactly refusing to speak to his father, nor was Richard making it too obvious that he was furious with his son. Neither had any wish to expose their disagreement to the world. Conversation of a sort had taken place around the Rixons’ table, mostly concerned with farming matters. It had been generally agreed that the field known as Quillet might well support a crop of wheat, but ought to be fenced.

“You’ve only got ditches there and wheat’ll invite the deer in as if the Dulverton town crier had gone round calling them,” cheerful Harry Rixon said. “You’ll get they old stags lying down, the idle brutes, squashing great patches of it and snatching every ear of wheat within reach afore they get theirselves up and stroll off to find some nice fresh wheat to squash and gobble.”

“The Sweetwaters won’t like it,” Gil Lowe prophesied glumly. “You’ve mostly used Quillet for pasture, haven’t you? I’ve noticed they put their milking cows there now and then. Are they supposed to?”

“No, but when did that ever stop them?” enquired Richard sourly. “I pay rent on that land. I’ll plant it if I like. Reckon you’re right about the fences, though.”

All that was normal enough, and if few words were actually exchanged between the two Lanyons, it was hardly noticeable, for the crowd was considerable. It included everyone who had helped in the pony drive, farmers and farmhands alike. Roger and Higg were there along with their employers. Higg alone seemed to sense something strange in the air. Higg looked and sounded slow, but he was nowhere near as slow as he seemed and Richard caught a thoughtful glance or two from him. He looked away. He was thinking.