The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,57

a word of thanks, Kathryn threw it over her shoulders and turned to the Vicar.

“We’ll go out the kitchen door, Father Percy. If you can stall them off long enough for us to get away—”

“Go with Richard Bennet at once, my dear child.” The Vicar was leading the way to the kitchen as he spoke. “Did you come by horseback, Richard?”

“He’s in your stables, and he’ll bear the extra weight gladly. There must be no horse missing to give them a clue.”

“Go with God,” said the Vicar fervently, and ran back into the house.

As Richard guided the great stallion down the narrow lane he and Kathryn could see the flicker of torchlight through the trees, and hear the threatening gabble of voices approaching the front of the vicarage.

Eighteen

As Richard and Kathryn moved off through the woods toward Elsingham Manor, the Vicar was hastily briefing Newton.

“Hold them on the porch as long as you are able, Newton. Then let just a few—the leaders—in to see me—”

“Nay, Vicar,” protested the old servant shrewdly. “The ones left outside may go prowling about, seeking what they may devour, and we wouldn’t want to give them a chance to get on Mistress’s trail, would we?”

The Vicar was much struck by the wisdom of this. “Newton, old friend, you are a Machiavelli! What do you advise?”

Newton was already moving toward the front door. “Go back to your study, sir. I’ll let them in the hall and come to get you,” he said over his shoulder.

Already there was the sound of harsh voices and the trampling of feet on the broad porch of the vicarage. Someone pounded heavily on the brass knocker. A woman’s voice called out the Vicar’s name.

Newton approached the door with his usual unhurried gait. He opened it to reveal a mob of about fifteen persons, mostly women. At their head, obviously the leader, stood Elspeth Cameron. Newton, enjoying himself as never before, moved to the attack.

“Is the village burning down, then, Mistress Cameron? Or are you and these silly folk playing at All Fools’ Eve? Your racket is enough to wake the dead.”

“We’ll see the Vicar, you doddering old skelpin,” retorted Elspeth, but it was plain that she was a little taken aback by the reception.

“Oh, you’ll see the Vicar, will you, Elspeth Cameron?” Newton parodied her. “And all these brave gentlemen clinging to your skirts, will they see the Vicar, too? Is it arson and insurrection you’re intending, Jonas Tilley? Going to burn down the vicarage with those torches? Is murder and revolution in the wind, Thomas Berry? Shall I call out the militia to defend the Vicar from his own parishioners?”

The men from the village were beginning to regret that they had let themselves be talked into this march. Faced with old Newton’s mockery, they were discovering little stomach for a confrontation so unlike their usual, sober behavior. Jonas Tilley, the innkeeper, spoke in a moderated tone.

“¼Twas Mistress Cameron telled us that young Mistress Radcliffe was a looney and a dissolute woman, run off from her lawful husband—”

“And where did Mistress Cameron discover these great truths?” wondered Newton. “I would have thought that our innkeeper would be too busy to run tattling to the Vicar with women’s gossip.”

Elspeth Cameron had had enough.

“Stand aside, you old fool, and let us talk to the Vicar,” she snapped, shouldering her way past Newton. The old man was a match for her. Ignoring her completely, he stepped in front of her again and directed his remarks to Jonas.

“So Bennet’s housekeeper is doing your thinking for you now, Jonas?” he grinned. “Better you than me!”

Jonas glared at his tormentor resentfully. “Well, we thought it our duty to come and warn Vicar he was nourishing a viper in his house. My wife said—”

“So now it’s your wife doing your thinking,” commented Newton. “If it’s not one woman it’s another, telling you what to say.”

There was a chuckle from the men in the crowd. Mrs. Tilley was well-known in the village.

Elspeth Cameron advanced on Newton, her face mottled with anger. “Step aside, you skelpin, or I’ll—”

Reluctantly the Vicar decided it was time to interfere. He had been listening with pleasure to the utterances of his champion, but he knew enough about human nature to recognize the note of hysteria in Elspeth’s voice. So he came placidly out into the hall, saying calmly, “Newton, who are these people making such a racket? Is there trouble in the village?”

“Trouble enough, Mr. Percy,” shouted Elspeth. “We’ve come to warn you to