Short Stories & Tall Tales

SAPPHIRE AND FROST

Imagine the scene if you can...the body sprawled across the bed, a dagger in the chest and the door locked from the inside. Impossible? Maybe, maybe not. For answers we must go back in time to the beginning of I689, the dying embers of Jacobean England, and to the bucolic village of Long Hanboro.

The heron like figure made his way to the majestic stone pillars that marked the gateway to the Manor and looked east, expectant. He would not rest until this wretched business was settled. He was not a man naturally disposed to courtesies and lordly guests, but the request left him little room to object. The iron grey accusing skies accentuated his growing tension as he caught the clip clop of the horses moving through Bladon, on the hard, frozen road toward Hanborough Ridge. Hunched over the necks of their black chargers, they crested the rise like crows against the sun. The Earl himself, he of the mocking half smile and feigned humility was first into the courtyard.

"Welcome my lords."

"And thank you for agreeing to break our journey to the capital."

The Earl's mellifluous tones and easy smile contrasted with the stiff, formal cordiality extended by Thomas Bouchier who bent his head turning his hook nose, beady distrustful eyes and thin merciless lips to the ground. Unhandsome with thin greying hair and bent body despite his mere forty years or so he was every inch the reluctant supplicant. By contrast the Earl's countenance exuded a genial authority and rectitude with large twinkling eyes, firm jawline and open face. From beneath a wide brimmed hat fell long black hair frosted by the ride. The stable boy appeared and took the bridles. The Earl climbed down and hands were shaken. One of their number retrieved a small casket from this saddlebag before the horses were led off.

The Earl urged Thomas to lead the way while his men followed alert, silent with hands resting easy on the ornate hilts of their swords. The crash of metal on wood from above forced the men to start. Thomas apologised for the building work that was on going even during the dead of winter. The Manor was being extensively enlarged with a new wing on its western edge. They glanced up through the planks and scaffolds to their right where a set of hard, wary eyes watched their passing.

At the outer porch coats were taken by the tall, slim, perpetually attentive Jarvis the family retainer for two generations of Bouchiers. In the large formal sitting room, a log fire burned as they were introduced to Frances, the demure, younger wife of Thomas. She of stoic temperament and resigned countenance in the wake of her husband's contentious reputation in and out of the civil courts. She curtsied and offered the thinnest of smiles.

"Welcome to our humble home sir," said Frances, her timbre firm but her gaze downward.

"The Earl turned to Thomas and indicated the casket held by one of his men at arms.

"We corresponded did we not...."

"...of course my Lord....please if you would..."

Thomas took the Earl and the man addressed as Sir Walter along the stone passageways of the 14th century manor house lit by a series of torches, up the main staircase, the stone worn and bowed under centuries of feet. At the end of a short landing was a large oaken door, hewn from the estates of Woodstock Castle. Thick iron working hinges reached across the jointed planks like fierce fingers and a large key protruded from the huge iron black lock. Thomas turned the key noisily and heaved the door open on loud complaining hinges.

The Earl appraised the chamber comprising a bed, a table and chairs, thin Persian rugs each side of the bed and under the door to keep down the draft and a low teak table caught in a shaft of low winter sun from a single window high above their heads. The Earl inspected the cupboards and even under the bed. He pressed stones, aware of the prevalence of secret passageways and escape rooms, vestiges of the Civil War. He drew his sword to prod the ceiling boards and appraised the high narrow window. He nodded approvingly and placed the small casket on the table.