I was drawing a bow at a venture: I was not absolutely sure that Mark Gildersleeve was dead, but it seemed highly probable.
My hunch was proved correct by Gilbert Pennard. ‘Because Mark got cold feet and told his brother what he was up to,’ he said, thrusting forward to stand beside his father, lips drawn back from his teeth in an ugly snarl. ‘How else could Peter have known about the cave? Why else would he have come snooping around, except to confirm Mark’s story? Oh, of course Mark denied it! Told us a ridiculous tale of his brother finding some ancient document. Said its discovery was probably the reason why Peter was here. You never heard such a rigmarole of nonsense.’
So my guess was right. Mark had ridden here after leaving Beckery, and no one had seen him because he had travelled by unfrequented paths across the lower moor. Why had he come? To clear his name, of course, with his fellow thieves. The accusation must have been made the previous night by one of the Pennards, who had been prowling around the Gildersleeves’ home, perhaps in the hope of rousing Mark and luring him away to do the deed then. But his plans had been thwarted by my unexpected presence; if Mark had not returned to bed I should have raised the alarm. The next day, however, Mark, who had probably believed that the Pennards could never seriously doubt him, had walked straight into their waiting, murderous arms.
The picture was becoming clearer to me now. Mark had arrived here while I was still with Abel, which explained why Anthony had not gone on to speak to Gilbert Pennard, as he had intended, but remained close to the house. Mark had concealed himself and Dorabella until I had gone, but he had had time to tell Anthony enough about me for the latter to address me as Chapman when he saw me off, in spite of the fact that I had informed both him and his wife that my name was Stonecarver. To my everlasting shame, I had not noticed his slip at the time.
‘How did you discover Peter’s presence here?’ I asked. ‘I thought you had all three gone to Priddy that afternoon.’
Anthony laughed shortly. ‘We were on our way back, unluckily for him. We were descending towards the Sticks when we saw him dismount and walk down the slope to the hut. Didn’t think anything of it to begin with, except it was a bit strange he should be so far from the house. But then we witnessed his little charade with Abel — which I’ll give a clever fellow like you the credit of having worked out for yourself — so we grew suspicious and lay low to wait and watch. After Abel ran away, Peter went back to where he’d tethered his horse, and when we saw him again he had a lantern in his hand, which he must have brought with him in his saddle-bag. He came straight here.’
‘So you followed, and killed him.’
Thomas Pennard drew a wicked-looking knife from his belt. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘Just as we’re going to kill you.’
‘No!’ yelled Cicely, breathless with running as she erupted into the cave. ‘If you do, you’ll have to kill me and Master Honeyman here as well.’
Chapter Twenty
Our heads turned simultaneously towards her and her companion, but although this momentary distraction on the part of the Pennards should have given me a chance to fell Thomas, who was nearest, astonishment rooted me to the spot.
‘So,’ the Bee Master grunted, advancing further into the cave, ‘you haven’t dealt with him yet. What in the Devil’s name are you waiting for?’
Cicely and I both stared at him in horror. I wondered briefly if some magic power had robbed me of my senses.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Cicely quavered in a voice which she could barely master. ‘You’ve come to help Roger.’
Gilbert Honeyman glanced at her with a certain amount of compassion in his eyes, and when he spoke a faint note of regret informed his tone. ‘I’m afraid not, my dear. But I’m very grateful all the same that you came to me for assistance, otherwise I might have had a very unpleasant shock.’ He turned to me. ‘I must apologize to you too, Roger. It must be distressing for you to discover that I’m not quite what I seemed.’
I could not answer him, I was filled with such self-disgust at having been so easily been taken in. The Bee Master had seemed to me a pleasant, honest man, only too anxious to assist his fellows. Nothing he had said or done had made me suspicious of him. And yet suddenly I could see where he fitted into the Pennards’ schemes. The one thing that had been perplexing me since I stumbled across the stolen goods was now made plain.
Gilbert nodded understandingly. ‘It must be galling for a clever young lad like you to be deceived by an old codger such as me. All the same, I was right in warning these three not to underestimate you.’
‘We didn’t,’ Anthony grunted. ‘One of us has been keeping watch in the inner cave since you came to see us yesterday. And by great good fortune it so happened that we were all present when he arrived.’
Cicely found her voice again. ‘But … but I don’t understand,’ she said hoarsely, appealing to me. ‘Why should Master Honeyman be in league with Master Pennard and his sons? And what is it that they’ve been doing?’
I directed her attention towards the three chests ranged side-by-side in the middle of the cave. ‘They are the thieves who have been plaguing this district for so long.’ I added more gently, ‘And I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mark was one of them. He supplied the information as to which houses were standing empty while their owners were from home, or which were the easiest ones to rob. Master Honeyman, I think, was recruited to shift some of the booty in those great baskets of his, and to sell it in Bristol and elsewhere.’
The Bee Master grinned. ‘You’ve got it almost right, my lad, except that I’m not in the pay of Master Pennard and his sons. They are employed by me, and they’re not the only ones. I have several dozen people working for me in various parts of the countryside — wherever, in fact, I take my honey and wax for sale. It’s a sweet set-up, as you might say.’ And he laughed immoderately at his own joke, although no one else saw fit to join in.
In spite of the gravity of our situation, or maybe on account of it, and because my nerves were on edge, I couldn’t forbear from upbraiding Cicely. ‘I told you to speak to nobody! Why did you ignore my instructions?’
‘But Master Honeyman is — was — our friend,’ she wailed. ‘I thought he’d advise me what to do. You said that you might be in danger.’
‘But you didn’t know where to find this cave! I didn’t give you instructions because I wasn’t sure if my hunch was right or no. So didn’t it make you suspicious when Master Honeyman knew exactly where I’d be?’
‘I … I never thought about it.’
Of course she hadn’t; she had been concerned only for my safety. And it was natural that in her confusion she should have turned to the one grown man who was sufficiently privy to the story to be of any use, and who had no need of time-consuming, tortuous explanations. She had run to find Gilbert Honeyman at his hostelry and poured out her tale. He would have needed no second bidding to spring into action, nor any persuasion to take Cicely up before him on the bay. Indeed, he could not well have left her behind even had she desired to stay, for she knew too much. His security was threatened; she had to be silenced along with me.
I wondered if Edgar Shapwick trusted me sufficiently to have carried out the instructions I had given him when collecting Barnabas, but the thought was fleeting. The four men were closing in on me, their faces set and purposeful. The last few shreds of cloth on the end of my home-made torch had almost burned themselves out, but a flame or two continued to lick at the rags.