Chapter 11
Tatscombe Hall, Wealdshire. 1517
Not wishing to keep Sir James waiting, Sarah walked briskly from the kitchen with Simon close behind her. As she made her way through the hall, the main room of the house, she could feel Simon's eyes burning into her back like hot coals and imagine the fury in his face. She started to climb the stone steps at the far end and prayed that Simon would not take advantage of the situation to grasp her ankle, tug at her skirt, or do something worse.
It was with some relief that she arrived at the top of the stairs unharmed. In front of her was the solar door. Sarah hesitated but Simon reached past her, pushed it open, and bade her enter — not with words but a poke in her back. Following her into the room he walked to the other side and stood behind his father where, Sarah knew, he would be able to continue glaring at her without attracting his father's attention. Sir James did not look his usual jolly self. 'Come here, Sarah,' he commanded. 'I fancy you will have heard that a silver goblet is missing. What know you of this?'
Sarah felt as if she was on trial. She thought she knew Sir James well enough to know that he could not possibly suspect her of theft — but Simon had hinted that she might have taken the goblet to her aunt. Did Sir James also think this a possibility? Should she reply as someone accused of theft or someone who was being asked to assist with an enquiry? 'I know only that it cannot be found, sir. I know naught else.'
'You are an honest girl. I am inclined to believe you.' Hearing his son trying to trifle a snort, he continued, 'Perhaps you could ask your aunt for a cure for my son's cough, or cold, or whatever other ailment is afflicting him at this moment.'
'Oh yes, sir. She makes a fine curative from camomile, ginger, liquorice —'
'Yes, yes, Sarah. I'm sure she does, but at this moment I am more concerned about my silver goblet than my son's health.'
For a fleeting moment, Simon showed some considerable discomfort at hearing his father say that he was more interested in a drinking vessel than his own flesh and blood. Sarah savoured the moment but her pleasure was short lived.
'The house must be searched. Simon — you and I will examine the servants' chambers. Sarah — tell all the servants to wait in the kitchen.'
Sarah curtsied, relieved that she was not being accused, but concerned that someone was thought to be a criminal. 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
As she left the room, Sarah thought to herself, I know which of those two will take great delight in turning my chamber upside down.
It did not take long for Sarah to find all the house servants. Although Tatscombe Hall was larger than the homes of prosperous tradesmen or farmers, it was very modest in comparison with the mansions of the nobility. No more than ten servants were required to satisfy the domestic demands of the Houghton family. The atmosphere in the kitchen was subdued as everyone was fearful that the finger of blame might be pointed in their direction. Even the most talkative of the servants were strangely silent. If the goblet was not found, the shadow of suspicion would fall on everyone. And if it was found . . . they tried not to think about the consequences.
It was with a mixture of relief and anxiety that, an hour later, footsteps were heard approaching the kitchen. Simon, smirk firmly in place, accompanied his father into the kitchen. Sir James surveyed the assembled crowd and then looked at Sarah. 'Where is your brother?' he asked brusquely.
The question was unexpected. Caleb was not one of the house servants and it had not occurred to her that he might be a suspect. She swallowed hard and tried to think what to say. 'I have not seen him since my return, sir. I fancy he must be in the stable attending to his duties.'
Sarah had never seen Sir James looking so furious. 'He is not in the stable,' he bellowed. 'No-one knows his whereabouts.'
Sarah tried desperately to think where her brother could be. 'Per . . . perhaps he is undertaking an errand,' she stuttered, knowing that she was clutching at straws.
'No-one has charged him with an errand. He should be here. He is not. My son saw him leave the house early this morning holding something against his breast beneath his jerkin. I fancy it was something of value.'
'Oh no, Sir James! Caleb is not a thief. How can you think such —'
'Hush girl,' said Annie, putting a friendly arm around Sarah's shoulders. 'Do nothing to incur the master's wrath,' she whispered.
Sarah felt the tears welling up in her eyes and was unable to prevent them from trickling down her face. Neither could she stop herself looking at the loathsome Simon — his smirk now a triumphal sneer.