have been my imagination.’
‘Let me look!’ He elbowed me aside, leaning as far as he safely could out of the open casement until, at last, he drew his head and shoulders back into the room. ‘Everything seems quiet to me.’
‘I’m probably still half asleep,’ I apologized. ‘The room’s so hot and stuffy. I’ve been dreaming.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘You were moaning loud enough to wake the dead.’
‘I’m not used to sleeping so confined.’ But my explanation fell on deaf ears. Mark was busy with thoughts of his own.
‘Stay here,’ he ordered abruptly, pulling on a woollen bed-gown and pushing his feet into a pair of flat leather slippers. ‘I’m just going to make sure that no one’s out there.’
‘Let me come as well,’ I urged, ‘in case there’s any danger.’
‘No.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘Two of us creeping about the house in the small hours of the morning are more likely to rouse the women, and they’re sufficiently disturbed by this business already.’
I was a guest in his home, and was therefore forced to accede to his wishes, so I had to content myself with resuming my watch at the open window and trying to oversee his safety as best I could from there. After a few moments, during which he must have let himself out through the street door, I saw him turn the right-hand corner of the house and walk towards Dorabella’s stable, which stood alongside the pump and the privy. The mare gave a soft whinny of recognition as he approached, then was silent again. Mark merged with the shadow thrown by the rear wall of the kitchen and vanished behind her stall, his passage marked only by a faint ripple of blackness.
The time seemed endless before he reappeared, but in reality I suppose it was no more than two or three minutes. He glanced up and shook his head, a gesture he repeated, along with a shrug of his shoulders, when he joined me once more in the bedchamber.
‘You were mistaken,’ he said. ‘There’s no one there. You must have dreamt it.’
He insisted on closing the shutters again in spite of my protests, and we both climbed back into bed, the thick feather bolster between us. However, I could tell by his restless tossing as he tried to find a comfortable position that he was now as wide awake as I was.
I rolled on to my back and asked, ‘What do you think your brother was doing on the Pennards’ land?’
‘We buy our sheepskins from them.’ Mark heaved himself over on to his left side so that he was facing me. ‘What’s so strange about that?’
‘But he didn’t go to the house to find Anthony Pennard or either of the sons. Not if we can trust the testimony of Mistress Pennard and the maids, that is.’
There was silence for a moment before Mark said curtly, ‘I see no reason why they should lie.’
‘Maybe not, but people aren’t always as honest as they seem.’ I raised my arms above my head and kicked aside some of the coverings in an effort to keep myself cool. ‘Peter was last seen by Abel Fairchild some distance from the house, so it would appear to be impossible that any of the Pennard household could have had a hand in the way he vanished.’
My companion shivered. ‘What do you think has happened to him?’ he asked, his voice catching in his throat.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘What do you?’
There was no answer for several seconds. Finally Mark admitted, ‘Like you, I’ve no idea.’ He spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. ‘Perhaps … perhaps, after all, my mother’s right, and the Devil has laid him by the heels.’
‘For what reason?’
‘How can I tell?’ His tone sharpened. ‘I have no truck with Old Nick. But my brother is able to read. The monks taught him. Oh, they taught me too, but I was never the scholar that he is. Like my father before me, I know my letters well enough to run the business, to write out a bill or understand an invoice, but Peter reads for pleasure. He
‘Let me look!’ He elbowed me aside, leaning as far as he safely could out of the open casement until, at last, he drew his head and shoulders back into the room. ‘Everything seems quiet to me.’
‘I’m probably still half asleep,’ I apologized. ‘The room’s so hot and stuffy. I’ve been dreaming.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘You were moaning loud enough to wake the dead.’
‘I’m not used to sleeping so confined.’ But my explanation fell on deaf ears. Mark was busy with thoughts of his own.
‘Stay here,’ he ordered abruptly, pulling on a woollen bed-gown and pushing his feet into a pair of flat leather slippers. ‘I’m just going to make sure that no one’s out there.’
‘Let me come as well,’ I urged, ‘in case there’s any danger.’
‘No.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘Two of us creeping about the house in the small hours of the morning are more likely to rouse the women, and they’re sufficiently disturbed by this business already.’
I was a guest in his home, and was therefore forced to accede to his wishes, so I had to content myself with resuming my watch at the open window and trying to oversee his safety as best I could from there. After a few moments, during which he must have let himself out through the street door, I saw him turn the right-hand corner of the house and walk towards Dorabella’s stable, which stood alongside the pump and the privy. The mare gave a soft whinny of recognition as he approached, then was silent again. Mark merged with the shadow thrown by the rear wall of the kitchen and vanished behind her stall, his passage marked only by a faint ripple of blackness.
The time seemed endless before he reappeared, but in reality I suppose it was no more than two or three minutes. He glanced up and shook his head, a gesture he repeated, along with a shrug of his shoulders, when he joined me once more in the bedchamber.
‘You were mistaken,’ he said. ‘There’s no one there. You must have dreamt it.’
He insisted on closing the shutters again in spite of my protests, and we both climbed back into bed, the thick feather bolster between us. However, I could tell by his restless tossing as he tried to find a comfortable position that he was now as wide awake as I was.
I rolled on to my back and asked, ‘What do you think your brother was doing on the Pennards’ land?’
‘We buy our sheepskins from them.’ Mark heaved himself over on to his left side so that he was facing me. ‘What’s so strange about that?’
‘But he didn’t go to the house to find Anthony Pennard or either of the sons. Not if we can trust the testimony of Mistress Pennard and the maids, that is.’
There was silence for a moment before Mark said curtly, ‘I see no reason why they should lie.’
‘Maybe not, but people aren’t always as honest as they seem.’ I raised my arms above my head and kicked aside some of the coverings in an effort to keep myself cool. ‘Peter was last seen by Abel Fairchild some distance from the house, so it would appear to be impossible that any of the Pennard household could have had a hand in the way he vanished.’
My companion shivered. ‘What do you think has happened to him?’ he asked, his voice catching in his throat.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘What do you?’
There was no answer for several seconds. Finally Mark admitted, ‘Like you, I’ve no idea.’ He spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. ‘Perhaps … perhaps, after all, my mother’s right, and the Devil has laid him by the heels.’
‘For what reason?’
‘How can I tell?’ His tone sharpened. ‘I have no truck with Old Nick. But my brother is able to read. The monks taught him. Oh, they taught me too, but I was never the scholar that he is. Like my father before me, I know my letters well enough to run the business, to write out a bill or understand an invoice, but Peter reads for pleasure. He
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