Chapter 38
“Cedric! Cedric Hollings!” Sir Timothy knocked on the door of the goodly cottage in the midst of a burgeoning garden. The group behind him milled impatiently. Sir Timothy pounded his fist on the panel. “Cedric! I need to speak to you! Come out immediately!”
Margaret huddled in her wrapper, holding onto Ivy’s hand. Her heart beat so hard she was certain everyone could hear it. The girl looked as frightened as she was.
Somewhere along the way, Master Matthew had joined the throng. His shirt was tucked only partway into his breeches, and his coat was buttoned oddwise, one too many buttonholes up under his chin.
“I’m sure he’s not to blame for this, Squire,” he insisted, trying to straighten himself out. His apprentices ran alongside the open-topped carriage. “Cedric’s a good man. He would never be involved in anything underhanded.”
“He’s been against this enterprise from the beginning,” Sir Timothy said. “If he hasn’t had a hand in the boy’s disappearance, by Heaven, he knows who does!”
The door was flung open at last. Dorcas Hollings leaned out, a candlestick in her hand. “What’s all this about? Why are you rousing us at this hour? Oh, Squire! Beg your pardon, sir. What may I do for you?”
“Madam, where is your husband?” Sir Timothy asked.
“What, that drunken fool? Only the Lord knows, sir.” Dorcas’ eyes grew wide. “What’s he done now?”
“Isn’t he at home?” Martin asked.
Margaret bit her lip, but the goodwife didn’t realize that he “only spoke German,” and merely answered.
“He wasn’t in the bed just now, sir.”
“Are you sure he’s nowhere in the house, madam?” Sir Timothy asked, more patiently than Margaret would have. “It is vital that we speak with him immediately.”
“I…no…well, then, you’d best come in and see.”
No sign could be found of the master weaver at first. The Hollings children piled out of their beds and stood wide-eyed beside the banked fireplace. Margaret wanted to comfort them. They were only children, despite the oldest boy being nearly fifteen, the same age as the missing Aaron. The men searched through the rooms, looking under the beds and tapping on walls, as though a secret passage might be found there.
“He’s hot-footed it,” Percy said, grimly.
“He wouldn’t dare!” Matthew exclaimed. “He’s no reason to fear us.”
A girl with her hair bound in a cap and long shift, barefoot, came sleepily out of a passage from the rear of the house. She must be the maid of all work for the household.
“What is afoot, mistress?” she asked.
“Where’s yer master?” Dorcas asked.
“Oh, aye, Master Cedric?” The girl pointed toward the corridor. “He’s asleep in the kitchen, up agin the taters, mistress.”
The search party didn’t wait for Dorcas to guide them. Martin led the way, his shotgun broken over his arm. They edged their way past hanging herbs, and crocks and bowls perched on a well-scrubbed wooden table. The girl pointed down near the kitchen door.
The missing weaver was indeed asleep. Margaret almost laughed at the way the man was slumped, almost as though he was a sack of potatoes himself, his cheek and nose on the flagstone floor, breathing heavily. When she got closer, she could smell the stink of stale beer on him.
“Cedric! What have ye gotten us into?” Dorcas demanded. She gave him a nudge with her foot. Cedric waved it away without waking. “Cedric!”
Between them, Martin and Matthew hauled him to his feet. Matthew took hold of the man’s left ear and gave it a solid tweak. That brought Cedric to consciousness instantly, sputtering and furious.
“What in perdition d’ye want, wakin’ a man of his honest sleep?” he shouted, fighting against the solid hold on his arms. He immediately moderated his tone. “Curses, it’s the squire. Good even t’ye, sir.”
“Indeed,” Sir Timothy said. “Where have you been this evening?”
“Doin’ nothin’ wrong,” Cedric said, with a guilty look toward his wife. She narrowed her eyes at him. “A few beers with friends.”
“Bah!” his wife said. “More than a few, I’d warrant.”
Both Cedric and Sir Timothy ignored her.
“Have you seen Aaron Craig?”
“The foreign boy? Nay, I have not. Why? What’s he done?”
“He’s disappeared,” Margaret said. “Someone broke into the weaving shed and took the incomplete aqualators away. And Aaron is missing.”
Cedric barked out a laugh. “Best you ask Fred Wilkinson’s girl as to his whereabouts. I’m sure she knows exactly where he’s been.”
Ivy shook loose from Margaret’s hand, marched up to Cedric, and delivered a stinging slap across his face. The surprise of it sent him reeling backward.
“Ye’ll not question my character when yours is so low,” she said, her chin held high. He covered his cheek with a surprised hand. “He left our house at sundown happy and well. What have you done with him?”
“I’ve done nothing!”
“You had best tell us all,” Master Matthew said. “You realize that your membership in the guild, your mastery, are all in danger here.”
“Wherefore?” Cedric said. The tweak and slap hadn’t frightened the alcohol out of him, but the threat had. “Haven’t I plied my trade as I should? Have I not put up with the insult of being made a piece of clockwork? You have no call to be demanding aught of me.”
“Do you know nothing about the missing aqualators?” Margaret asked.
That seemed to have struck home to the weaver. He cast a wary eye on her. “I know nothing of that.”
“You were talking freely enough of them in the Four Alls,” Matthew said.
“That was just talk!” Cedric was awake enough then to regain some of his senses. “I talk to people, and that is all! If you wish to bring charges against me, I demand to have Master Blackford here so all is done right and proper.”
“If you insist to have this made a formal inquiry,” Sir Timothy said, all warmth gone from his voice, “then it shall be. I am disappointed in you, Cedric. For all the many years you have spent in my service, to refuse to answer questions.”
“I don’t know aught!”
“You talk to people. With whom do you talk?”
“People in the public house!” Cedric fumbled for names. “Like Ben.”
“Ben? Ben who?”
“I don’t know his name. That’s all.”
“I saw him in the tavern, too. He came to visit our looms with the guild master from Stafford, did he not?” Matthew asked. “Showed an uncommon interest in them, for a man who does nothing in the trade.”
“What if he did?” Cedric countered. “You call those akalabors the wonder of the age!”
“And you revealed all about them to a chance-met stranger. You talked out of turn, and betrayed the trust of your guild and your employer. Your loose lips are a danger to us all. This is a boy who has been a help to us, and you might have put his life in peril.”
Martin hung back, not saying a word, but his eyes flashed with anger. He looked like a firework that was about to go off.
“Where do we find this Ben?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know!” Cedric’s voice rose in a wail. “I see him around the tavern. He always seems to turn up of an evening.”
“Perhaps he stays there,” Margaret said.
“I will go,” Master Matthew said. “It’s not far. I’ll take horse at once.”
“I’ll go to Master Blackford,” Sir Timothy said. “If this Ben wants to know more about the aqualators, it is probably in service to one of the other guild masters.”
“Master Denby,” said Matthew.
“Yes. Why couldn’t the man just wait for spring?” Sir Timothy asked. He seemed in despair.
“Greed,” Martin said. His face was stoic. “I only want my boy back safe.” Margaret, her mind awhirl, translated for him.
“Let’s us spread out to look for him,” Sir Timothy said. “Take all the horses from my stables. If it’s an innocent disappearance, he might be lost, though I take leave to doubt it. I am so sorry, Master Craig. I believed that you and your son were safe under my roof.”
“And me, squire?” Cedric asked, his eyes desperate. Sir Timothy didn’t spare him a glance.
“Master Blackford will deal with you later. I’ve no time for you now.”
With that, Sir Timothy turned and stalked out of the Hollings house. Margaret shot a sympathetic glance toward Dorcas, who was just as stricken as her husband. Perhaps Cedric was not directly involved in Aaron’s disappearance, but he almost certainly had a role in it. Then, she followed her father and Martin Craig.
* * *
Aaron sent a desperate glance toward the peddler. The man didn’t seem as upset as anyone would have, just having heard his death sentence. Osti smiled at him and nodded toward the rear of the barn. His hand, away from the cloaked men, gestured in that direction. The movement was so small that it could have been a shadow from the dancing flame of the lantern. Aaron was puzzled. What was he trying to say? Then Osti set his hand upright, and turned it, as if opening a door. A door! What was the matter with him? He’d been in 4-H since he was pretty small. Barns didn’t have just one way in or out. But how to get away from the men? Osti was a little guy, a good head shorter than he was, and no match for three big, armed men.
“The boy is hungry,” Osti said, as though he had not just heard the threat from Ben. “And thirsty, I will be bound. I would like something to drink as well. Have you anything to eat?”
The three men looked up from their conference. Aaron wished he could hear them. They had fallen into hissed whispers, with angry, jerking gestures toward the two of them. Osti just sat there with the calm smile he had worn throughout.
“Eh?”
“Food? The boy has been woken from a sound sleep. I know when I was that age, I needed constant sustenance.”
Ben felt in a belt pouch and threw something at them. It landed in the straw. It gave off the scent of freshly baked bread, both appetizing and horrifying. Neither of them touched it.
“And drink?”
“If ye thirst, ye can drink out of the trough,” the big man said, and laughed. “It was no doubt filled a month ago.”
“Ah. Thank you well.”
He pulled Aaron to his feet and lifted the small lantern.
“No so fast!” the hooded man snapped. “What are ye about?”
“Taking care of this boy.”
Osti brought his hand up as he spoke. Suddenly, with a crack like lightning and the smell of burning coal, a blinding light burst out from the lantern. The peddler threw the lamp at the men, grabbed Aaron by the hand, and plunged further into the dark barn.
Behind them, Aaron heard shouting. The lantern seemed to have exploded, and Aaron heard the crackle of flames. The straw must have caught fire from the oil in the lantern.
He didn’t have time to think about it. The peddler kept them moving forward. Aaron stumbled. His bare feet found every pebble, every sharp fragment of straw. He didn’t dare to look down.
A thin line of light loomed ahead. Osti let go of him and fumbled with his hands along the wall. The creak of a latch, and they were hit in the face with a rush of cold air.
“Come along!” Osti said, his arm through Aaron’s elbow.
Aaron hurried out. Ahead was a faint pinkish light, false dawn coming up from the east. Under his bare feet, the pebbled path was overgrown with weeds and grass.
The field around the barn stood knee high with what his dad called “volunteer” crops, straggly wheat or something. Even though it was August, the greenery wasn’t high enough to hide in. They’d have to get somewhere before the men caught up with them.
Osti urged him around the blind side of the barn. “Trees there,” he said, pointing. A silhouetted line of trees wound around the edge of the field. “Get there. Go home. Safe going, Aaron.”
“What about you?” Aaron asked.
Osti smiled. “I run fast. Go.”
The peddler took off across the field. Aaron didn’t take any more time to think about it. He had to get back to his dad. But he had no idea where he was.
He made for the trees. The soles of his feet weren’t as tough as they used to be when he and his friends had spent all day outside barefoot. If he hadn’t been terrified for his life, he’d have laughed.
He smelled smoke, but didn’t dare look back. The barn must have caught fire from Osti’s trick. What had he thrown into the lantern to make it blow up like that? The peddler said he sold iron goods, and “useful things.” Was one of them gunpowder?
It didn’t matter. Only moving as fast as he could made any sense.
He heard shouting. The sun was coming up fast. He’d lose what advantage the shadows gave him in a moment. Heedless of his bare feet, he dashed into the trees.
Beyond the gray bark lay twisted shadows, like Halloween skeletons reaching for him. The ground sloped suddenly downward. Aaron almost fell down the incline, and found himself ankle deep in cold water. Natural streams often were used as boundaries between farm fields as well as serving as the source of irrigation. Which way was the stream flowing? Could this be the same water that lay behind Miz Margaret’s land and the weavers’ shed?
Threshing noises came closer and closer, and he heard the nickering of horses. Aaron ducked low and hid underneath a leafy branch that arched over the brook. Something in the water touched his foot. The shock almost made him cry out, but he stifled it. A couple of figures pushed through the bushes and onto the bank. He stayed crouched and as still as a statue, even though his feet were freezing.
He smelled smoke, oil, and sweat. If there was any justice, they had been scorched by Osti’s fire. It was too much to hope they’d burned to death. He was surprised how much he wanted to get back at them. His dad would have reminded him about the commandment, “Thou shalt not kill.” All right, but he could wish they’d fall into a hole.
“Any sign of the boy? That Dutchman led us a wild chase.”
The footsteps swished up and down the bank. Aaron ducked his head down, hoping he looked like a rock in his gray pajamas.
Further down the stream, something went PLOP!
“What’s that?” Ben asked. Aaron distinctly heard a sword come out of a scabbard. Then, to his relief, they strode away from him down the bank. Then, a cry came from one of them, followed by a splash.
“God’s teeth!” the man exclaimed.
Ben laughed. His henchman had fallen into the stream, not five feet from Aaron’s hiding place. He hauled the man out. Aaron prayed they wouldn’t stumble against him. “A fish jumps, and you go in after it. He’s run off. I must send a report. Back to the horses, before someone comes asking about the fire.”
Aaron kept his eyes closed and counted to a thousand, listening to their footsteps recede farther and farther in the distance. As soon as he was sure they were gone, he stood up and wrung as much water as he could from his clothes, and waded downstream along the shallow brook, counting on the tree cover to keep him from sight. The pebbles under his bare feet were cold and a little slippery, but better than walking on a rough road.
Through the gaps in the foliage, he saw the blaze rising high, sending a thread of black smoke upward. With the sun coming up, he could see the old barn engulfed in flame. No one seemed to notice the fire. Aaron guessed that the farm had been abandoned for some time. It was a perfect place for a villain’s murder hole, and might have been, if not for Osti. He sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for the peddler, and hoped he’d gotten away. He just wanted to get back to Miz Margaret’s place.
He walked on and on, freezing and sweating with fear, starting at every sound. Was that rustle to his right the men coming back again? Any shadow that passed over the trees had to be them again. The fish that nibbled at his legs, or the birds that flitted into the arched passageway, or the frogs that jumped into the water at his passage made him imagine the intruders all over again. He concentrated on the light at the far end of the green tunnel, and kept walking toward it, hoping he would wake up from the nightmare.
* * *
Ivy, her shawl over her hair and shoulders, clung to her brother’s waist on the back of one of the squire’s horses. They’d ridden miles out to the east of the estate and back again. Now, Alder turned the steed to the south, on the Stafford road. They’d been out looking since the hours before dawn, and her legs and hips were sore.
“He’d surely not have come this far,” Alder said over his shoulder.
“Not by himself,” Ivy said, firmly. “He could have been taken down this way.” She refused to believe in the theory that Aaron had run away. She begged Heaven that he be returned safely. The sun was full in the sky now, having lifted its countenance above the horizon a couple of hours earlier. She felt horrible for Master Craig. The man was distraught. So would she be, if her only son had disappeared. Her heart wrenched. Aaron had become dear to her and to her family. Curse Master Cedric for being a fool! If his gossip friend was to blame for this, she’d see him damned.
“I’ll stop in a public house soon and get us some victuals,” Alder said.
“No,” Ivy said, though she was tired and hungry. Aaron must be worse off. They had to find him. “Keep on, please.”
“As you wish, sis.”
They enquired of every single person they met if they’d seen a boy matching Aaron’s description. All passersby promised they’d bring him back to the squire’s manor if they found him. The squire had offered a reward for Aaron’s safe return of ten pounds. That had motivated Alder to keep on, even though he ought to be back at the looms. She couldn’t give a fig for the money, no!
The horse, a big bay with a white blaze on its nose, covered another ten miles south, then Alder brought him about, heading back toward Barlaston. Then, a boy in a long shirt and gray-green breeches came running toward them.
“Mistress! Master! Me mum’s found him!”