Dame Joan and Cicely stood either side of me, having arranged themselves thus as we had entered through the north door, as though I were the man of the household. To begin with it had made me a little uncomfortable; but when I noticed the way in which some of their fellow townsmen and women shrank from them as they passed, the whispering behind raised hands, I was glad if my presence afforded them some measure of comfort. The two apprentices and Lydia had followed behind, and Mark’s absence could not fail to be noticed. I had seen people nudge one another, staring hard, first at us and then at the open doorway, waiting for him to appear. And when it became apparent that he was not coming, expectation gave place to dismay and then to fear, as suspicion festered into speculation that he had met the same strange fate as his elder brother.
It was not surprising, therefore, that none of us paid as much attention to the Mass as we should have done; we were too busy brooding on other things. Cicely and her aunt stood with downcast eyes, but I could see by their faces that their thoughts were elsewhere. At last however, after the paeans of praise had been raised to God, the Three in One, and to all the hierarchy of Heaven, and after Abbot Selwood’s sermon and the Mass itself, the service was nearly over.
It felt strange to be standing once more in the abbey, not among the novices, but as a member of the laity. I wondered if discipline among the monks had improved at all since my departure. John Selwood, Abbot here for almost twenty years, had not, in my day, been noted for the strictness of his rule; and in spite of several official inquiries into this lack of authority over his flock I doubted if improvements had been made or steps taken to remove him from office. He was too well liked by both his peers and subordinates for any serious complaint to be lodged against him.
And, of course, it was he who had taken in the body of the Earl of Devon six years earlier, when, on the orders of the Earls of Warwick and Clarence, Humphrey Stafford had been executed after the battle of Banbury. (If I glanced over my shoulder, I could see the tomb on the south side of the nave.) King Edward would always vigorously defend anyone who had been loyal to his cause during those difficult days when his own brother and cousin had tried to reinstate King Henry on the throne and take Edward prisoner. I had been still a member of the abbey fraternity then, and I can recall even now the arrival of the bloody and mutilated corpse, the way we novices crowded around the cart, repelled but at the same time fascinated. Abbot Selwood had not hesitated to accept it for burial.
As we streamed out of the abbey into the mid-morning heat, I was again aware of that edging away of our fellow worshippers, the twitching aside of the women’s skirts, until Dame Joan, Cicely and I were walking in isolation, a path opening up for us as we made our way towards the north gatehouse. Rob Undershaft and John Longbones had prudently slipped away into the crowd, and only the faithful Lydia still followed in our wake. I wondered how long it would be before the two apprentices quit the Gildersleeve household for good, and I prayed that when we reached the shop we should discover Mark waiting for us with an explanation of his overnight absence.
My hostess made several attempts to speak to friends and neighbours, but there was a general reluctance to return her greetings, and the reason was not hard to find. The burly figure of John Jarrold, accompanied by his wife and daughter, was moving purposefully among the dispersing congregation, whispering in the ear of this one, exchanging a few muttered words with that. Heads turned briefly in our direction, eyes met ours only to turn hurriedly away, and worried frowns replaced the first natural inclination to smile. The story of the paper with its mysterious signs was spreading rapidly, and causing consternation wherever it was heard. If the townspeople of Glastonbury had at first dismissed the rumour of Peter Gildersleeve’s disappearance as being attributable to the Devil’s work, subsequent events, and now this tale of Maud’s, were making them change their minds.
Fortunately, the Gildersleeves’ house was close to the gatehouse, on the opposite side of the street, and on leaving the abbey precincts, a very few steps brought the four of us safely to the door. Dame Joan, having unlocked it and carefully replaced the key on its customary nail in the passageway, hastened from room to room, upstairs and down, hopefully calling ‘Mark! Mark!’ But there was no answering cry. Mark Gildersleeve, like his brother, had still not come home.
* * *
The two apprentices reappeared at four o’clock, just in time for supper, and crept into the kitchen, where the rest of us were seated round the table looking both shamefaced and defiant.
‘Where have you been?’ Cicely demanded angrily before her aunt could question them.
John Longbones, after some hesitation, admitted having paid a visit to his mother, an absence which he well knew would not have been tolerated in normal circumstances. Rob Undershaft, on the other hand, countered truculently with, ‘Where’s Master Mark, then? Not back yet?’ And when Dame Joan shook her head, he added, ‘My father says if he’s not returned by tomorrow, I’m to go home. He’ll not have me stay here any longer.’
‘You can’t break your articles of indenture!’ Dame Joan exclaimed, finally roused from the apathy which had cloaked her like a shroud for the past few hours.
‘We’re indentured to Master Peter, and he ain’t here,’ Rob pointed out triumphantly — and not, I felt, without some justification. ‘We can’t go on working, Mistress, without someone telling us what to do. It wouldn’t be right. Besides…’
‘Besides what?’ Cicely asked, raising her chin belligerently.
Rob and John exchanged a quick sidelong glance before their eyes fell once again to their still empty plates.
‘Besides…?’ I prompted, adding my mite, and they both wriggled uncomfortably.
Rob Undershaft took a deep breath. ‘My father says he’ll not have me stay in a house where there’s devil’s work afoot. He … He’s been talking to Goodman Jarrold,’ he added by way of excuse.
‘And you, John?’ Dame Joan’s gentle voice held a note of pleading. ‘What does Widow Longbones have to say?’
The carroty head hung even lower. ‘The same,’ he mumbled.
Dame Joan bit her lip in desperation. Unless the riddle of Peter’s and Mark’s disappearance could be resolved soon, she faced the prospect of being ostracised by her God-fearing neighbours, if nothing worse. To calm her overwrought nerves she sipped an infusion of basil and rosemary which Cicely had thoughtfully prepared for her.
Lydia got up and went to the pot over the fire, ladling generous portions of frumenty on to the apprentices’ plates, which she banged down on the table. ‘It’s more than you deserve,’ she hissed at Rob and John. ‘I’d let you starve.’
Her mistress reproached her with quiet dignity. ‘That will do, Lyddie. While they remain under my roof, I shall honour Peter’s side of the bargain to provide them with three good meals a day.’ She turned to me. ‘Chapman, what are we to do?’
‘Yes, what are we to do?’ Cicely added waspishly. ‘If you can’t help my aunt, I suggest the sooner you’re on your way, the better. She can’t afford to keep feeding you and your great appetite with no money being made in the shop.’
Dame Joan turned a scandalized face towards her niece and bade her hold her tongue. ‘You really must learn to show more civility, my dear,’ she scolded, almost angrily for her, ‘to anyone to whom you have offered hospitality.’
I smiled understandingly at Cicely. I had met many young girls like her, just blossoming into womanhood, blowing first hot then cold, fancying themselves in and out of love with any and every reasonably good-looking man who crossed their path, confused by previously unknown emotions and trying hard to cope. In reply she stuck her tongue out at me when her aunt wasn’t looking, and stirred the half-eaten mixture of vegetables and oats around her plate.