The stonemasons were still at work on the wall and barely accorded me a glance as I passed through the gate. Even the gatekeeper nodded me through as if I were an old acquaintance, continuing his argument with the owner of a cartful of cabbages over the correct tariff necessary to bring it into the city.
‘I dunno,’ the countryman was grumbling, ‘the bloody taxes keep going up every soddin’ week as if they ’ad a soddin’ life of their own. When’s it goin’ to end, that’s what I want t’ know.’
‘Don’t we all?’ snapped the gatekeeper. ‘But for now, just pay up and stop whinging. There’s a queue forming behind you.’
I left them to it. There must be arguments like this going on at every gate in every city in the land. Having deliberately emptied my head of all thoughts regarding my own and Duke Richard’s concerns, I began to feel extremely sleepy — Old Diggory’s plodding gait rocked me gently from side to side — and there is little doubt that, for the second time that day, I would have fallen from the saddle had I not been jerked awake by a voice asking, ‘Chapman, is something wrong?’
I pulled myself upright, blinking stupidly against the gentle afternoon sunlight, and looked down into the concerned, bright-eyed gaze of Father Berowne.
‘Yes, yes! I’m quite well, I thank you. A little tired, perhaps.’
‘You’ve been doing too much too soon,’ he said accusingly. ‘You’ve not long risen from your sickbed, and I saw you ride off with Master Godslove at a very early hour this morning. Come inside and have a cup of my elderflower wine. That. . That is. .’ He broke off, looking flustered, suddenly recollecting that I had fallen ill shortly after drinking it the last time.
I grinned. ‘I won’t, I thank you, Father, but not for the reason you’re thinking. I exonerate your elderflower wine entirely. But I’ve been drinking already this afternoon’ — I didn’t say where or whose wine — ‘and I’m sleepy enough as it is. Besides, I can see you’re busy.’
I indicated his earth-stained cassock and his mud-encrusted hands, one of which he was using to push back his unruly fringe of curls.
He laughed guiltily. ‘Gardening is one of my great pleasures in life, I’m afraid. I do it when I should be on my knees, praying. But somehow, I find it easier to talk to God in the open air, rather than in a stuffy church. Oh dear, oh dear! Is that very wrong of me? Not,’ he added, ‘that I’ve much of a garden here. Just this little plot. But I do what I can.’
‘And you do it very well, Father,’ I assured him, ‘very well indeed. And now I must get on. You’re right. I have done more than I should today. I shall be glad of a rest.’
I jerked Old Diggory’s reins and we plodded on up the track, pursued by the priest’s good wishes, until, round the second bend, we came in sight of the Arbour. I expected to find it dozing in the warmth of mid-afternoon. Instead, there seemed to be a flurry of activity, with people milling around the gate and looking anxiously up and down the road. Adela was one of them, but as soon as she sighted me, she came flying towards me, just as she had done the day of my arrival. But this time, it was not good news.
‘Oh, Roger!’ she gasped. ‘Thank God, thank God you’re back at last! Celia’s disappeared! We can find no trace of her anywhere!’
ELEVEN
I dismounted and, grasping her by the shoulders, gave her a little shake.
‘Slowly, my love, slowly! Just tell me quietly what has happened.’
Before Adela could speak again, however, she was joined by Clemency and Sybilla, both out of breath from running and both talking at once.
‘. . hasn’t been seen since breakfast. .’
‘. . garden with the children. .’
‘. . hide-and-seek. .’
‘. . completely vanished. .’
‘Oh, Roger, do something,’ begged my wife.
The three children and Hercules had now arrived, the former looking sulky and more than a little defiant as children often do when they think they are being blamed for something that is not their fault, while the dog, catching the general mood of panic, began to bark, short, distressing yelps that pierced the ears and made them sing. Old Diggory snorted and tossed his head.
I dealt with first things first.
‘Quiet!’ I yelled at Hercules, my stentorian tones for once cowing him into immediate submission. I then soothed the horse before waving a hand at Clemency and Sybilla, commanding their silence, and turned once more to my wife.
‘You say Celia is missing?’ She nodded, ready to burst forth again, but I said firmly, ‘Wait! Wait until we are indoors and I can listen to you all properly. The horse must be stabled, too. He needs feeding and watering. Is there anyone who can see to this?’
‘I can,’ said a firm voice, and I realized that, in the last few seconds, the housekeeper had also joined us. In her usual competent fashion, she took the reins from me, adding, ‘Go in, all of you. I’ve put ale and wine and some of those little cinnamon doucettes Sybilla likes so much on the table in the hall. Calm yourselves, then you can acquaint Master Chapman with such as there is to tell.’ Arbella shrugged. ‘For my own part, I think the three of you are making a to-do about nothing. Celia has probably just gone for a walk.’
But when all the facts had been presented to me, I wasn’t so sure that I agreed with her. It seemed that after the five women — the three sisters, Adela and the housekeeper — had breakfasted, together with the children, Celia had announced her intention of playing hide-and-seek in the garden with Nicholas, Elizabeth and Adam.
‘I have the headache and shall be all the better for a little air,’ she had argued, brushing aside her sisters’ concern and their advice to lie down upon her bed. ‘For sweet heaven’s sake, I’m not ill,’ she had reproved them. ‘A slight pain behind the eyes, that’s all. Besides, I feel sure that Nick and Bess can’t have discovered every nook and cranny of that garden and it’s such a long time since I walked all round it. I used to love it when I was young. I was ten,’ she had told Adela, ‘when we first came here, and I thought it paradise.’
And so she had gone out of doors with the children, all three of whom liked her much better than her half-siblings, and, as far as Adela could tell, seemed perfectly content to accept her company. But not long after the four of them, with Hercules yapping at their heels, had disappeared into the wilderness which was the Arbour garden, the reason for Celia’s sudden desire for fresh air appeared in the shape of Roderick Jeavons. He had, ostensibly, come to see Sybilla and how she was progressing, but it was immediately apparent to the other women that the real purpose of his visit was to speak to Celia. He had plainly been angry at what he saw as her contrived absence and had declared his intention of following her and forcing his presence on her. In this, he had apparently been dissuaded by Adela who, with her quiet common sense, had persuaded him that such confrontations invariably ended in quarrels.
‘But it seems,’ my wife said with a sigh, ‘that he changed his mind. The children say he did eventually seek them out somewhere in the garden and began urging his attentions on Celia.’
‘He put his arms round her and kissed her,’ Elizabeth disclosed with a little shudder of excitement, obviously unsure whether she found such rough treatment masterful or repellent. (On the whole, I fancy she rather inclined to the former.)
‘And Celia slapped his face and called him a lot of names,’ Nicholas added, round-eyed. ‘And Physician Jeavons called her a lot of names back and said she was an. . an in. . in. . in-something whore.’ I guessed the missing word to be incestuous, but refrained from saying so. ‘I didn’t understand what he meant.’
‘Yes, well never mind that,’ I said hastily. ‘What did the doctor do then?’
‘He went away,’ Elizabeth said. She looked disappointed. ‘And we didn’t see him any more.’