The Butterfly in Amber Page 4

  ‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ Luka said impatiently. ‘Stop sniffling and help me think what to do next. Should we just go up and knock on the door?’

  Emilia looked across at the house doubtfully. ‘It’s very grand.’

  ‘Look, the door’s opening!’ Luka flattened himself in the grass.

  Out came an elderly woman, sharp and upright as a fence post. Her dress and hood and folded hands were black, and under her stiff white face spread a stiff white collar. Her sharp grey eyes were set so close together, she had to peer down her long, bony nose to see her way. She walked as if her shoes hurt her.

  Behind her, in descending size, came three girls, all dressed identically in severe black gowns with white collars and black hoods. The four of them turned one by one to the right and promenaded around the outskirts of the square, in single file, each one exactly three paces behind the other. Their skirts rustled, and their boots made little tapping noises on the pavement.

  Luka and Emilia stared. They did not think much of these girls.

  Then the middle girl trod on the hem of her dress and grimaced as it tore. She gathered up the trailing hem in her hand, revealing tight black button-up boots and black stockings with holes in them. Suddenly, as if feeling their gaze on her, she glanced at the square. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Sweetheart was peering out through the canopy of leaves. Although Luka jerked on the bear’s chain so she lay down again, grumbling, the girl continued to stare the whole time the four of them walked, single file, all the way around the park and back to their front door.

  ‘It is not so hot today, Aunt Grace,’ she said then, in a clear, refined voice. ‘May we promenade about the park a little?’

  ‘Very well, Obedience, but only for a few minutes. You girls are sallow enough as it is, I do not wish for you to get sunburnt.’

  Luka and Emilia glanced at each other, stifling giggles, for the sun was just as soft and pale as lamb’s wool today. And what had she called the girl? Surely her name could not be Obedience?

  Aunt Grace unlatched the gate and settled herself on the bench. The three girls walked demurely about the perimeter of the garden until they were out of sight, behind the weeping tree. Then the middle girl seized both of her sisters by the arm and dragged them forward. Three sets of dark brown eyes peered through the leaves at Luka and Emilia, Zizi, Rollo and Sweetheart.

  ‘Gypsy children!’ Obedience whispered. ‘Look! With a bear and a monkey! And what a lovely big dog!’

  Rollo beat his tail on the ground, and she bent to pat his head. ‘I wish we had a dog,’ she said enviously. ‘And imagine having a pet monkey!’

  ‘I do not think gypsies are permitted in the park,’ the elder one said. ‘We must inform Aunt Grace at once.’

  The third girl said nothing, just stared and stared with her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Humility! When are we ever going to get a chance to see a monkey again?’

  ‘I could see a monkey any day of the week, if I wished to go to St Bartholomew’s Fair and hobnob with riffraff,’ Humility said. ‘But I have no desire to do any such thing, and neither should you, Obedience.’

  ‘We’re not riffraff,’ Luka said indignantly. ‘We’re your cousins.’

  ‘Cousins? How dare you?’ Humility said. ‘We do not have any cousins, and if we did, they would not be grubby little guttersnipes!’

  ‘Who do you think we are?’ Obedience asked in lively curiosity.

  ‘The children of the lawyer Henry Purefoyle, and the gypsy Fancy Graylings,’ Luka replied promptly.

  The girls looked puzzled. ‘Henry Purefoyle is our father –’ Obedience began.

  ‘But you should call him Mister Purefoyle,’ Humility struck in.

  ‘But we’ve never heard of a gypsy called Fancy,’ Obedience finished. ‘Our mother is named Faith.’

  ‘What peculiar names you all have,’ Luka said. ‘Are you really called Obedience?’

  ‘They are not peculiar names, they are excellent, God-fearing Puritan names,’ Humility said, her nose even further in the air.

  ‘They could have been worse,’ Obedience said. ‘We have friends called Meek, and Lamentation, and one called Tribulation.’ She giggled. ‘Imagine being called Tribulation!’

  ‘You are a tribulation,’ her elder sister said sternly.

  Obedience laughed again. ‘What are your names?’

  ‘Emilia and Luka,’ they answered.

  ‘How heathenish,’ Humility said condescendingly. ‘Far more peculiar than ours.’

  Luka scowled. He liked their names. At least they were apt. As far as he could see, Humility was not at all humble, Obedience was not at all obedient, and Aunt Grace was far from graceful.

  ‘What’s the little one called?’ Emilia said, smiling at the thumb-sucker.

  Obedience grinned. ‘Justice.’

  Poor little thing, Emilia thought. But she smiled and said, ‘I have a brother just your size, called Noah. And Luka has a little sister called Mimi. Are you always called Justice? Or do they have a love name for you?’

  Justice did not reply, just sucked her thumb harder.

  ‘We call her Cherub,’ Obedience said. ‘And I’m usually called Beedee. We don’t shorten Humility’s name, though, she doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Humility! Obedience! Justice!’ Their aunt’s voice rang through the square. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Coming, Aunt Grace,’ Obedience sang. As her sisters hurried away, she bent and hissed at Luka and Emilia, ‘Come to the back gate in half an hour and I’ll let you in. I want to hear more about this so-called kinship of ours. I always knew there was a mystery about my mother!’

  Half an hour later, Luka and Emilia waited nervously outside the back gate. Obedience let them in with her finger at her lips. Like her sisters, she was a plain child, skinny and sallow, but her eyes were sparkling with such mischief Luka and Emilia felt a stir of kindred spirit.

  ‘I thought you could hide the bear in the shed,’ she whispered. ‘Will she make a fuss?’

  ‘Got any honey?’ Luka whispered back.

  Obedience made a face and shook her head.

  ‘Anything sweet? Fruitcake?’

  ‘Not allowed anything sweet,’ Obedience whispered back. ‘Devil’s food.’

  ‘So I’m guessing no ale?’

  Obedience snorted. ‘Of course not. We drink asses’ milk, or water.’

  ‘Even your father?’ Emilia was amazed.

  ‘Especially my father.’

  ‘Got any food at all? Fish?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find. Wait here.’ Obedience pushed them inside a small, dark shed that smelt unpleasantly of the compost heap outside. She was back some time later with a string of fish, their scales gleaming softly in the dimness.

  ‘They’ll keep her happy for a while,’ Luka said. ‘And maybe she’ll sleep. We had a disturbed night.’

  ‘What’s it like having a pet bear?’ Obedience asked as they settled Sweetheart down on some sacks, attaching her chain to a hook on the wall.

  ‘Lovely,’ Emilia said.

  Luka said gravely, ‘She saved our lives yesterday. If it wasn’t for Sweetheart, we would have drowned.’

  ‘Really?’ Obedience was fascinated. ‘And you have a monkey too. Isn’t she sweet? She looks just like a little baby . . .’

  ‘Only much hairier,’ Emilia said.

  Obedience giggled. ‘What fun,’ she said. ‘Will she stay out here too, with the bear?’

  ‘No, she’d shriek and gibber until I came back,’ Luka said. ‘She always stays with me.’

  Obedience looked dubious. ‘She won’t get into any mischief, will she? I mean, not that I mind, it’d be great fun to see her. It’s just that I’d be whipped if it’s discovered I’ve brought a monkey into the house. Though, mind you, I’ll be whipped if they discover you too.’

  Luka assured Obedience that Zizi would stay close to him. ‘She does everything I tell her to,’ he bo
asted, which made Emilia roll her eyes.

  The lawyer’s house was tall, dark and narrow, and smelt of soap. Obedience did not need to lay her finger on her lips to keep them quiet. Luka and Emilia were quite overawed by the heavy silence of the house. They tiptoed down the hall, Rollo’s claws clicking so loudly on the wooden floorboards that Obedience turned an agonised face towards them. She eased open a door and they ducked into a large, book-lined room, dominated by a huge desk covered in neat piles of paper. Framed documents were hung all over the walls, and there was a large glass case hanging near the fire in which dead butterflies of all colours and sizes were pinned.

  A small fire flickered on the hearth. It brought warmth and comfort to the room, and Luka at once went to stand in front of it. Rollo flopped down at his feet, and sighed in contentment.

  ‘Father’s library,’ Obedience said in a low voice. ‘They’ll never look for me here, because they’d never believe I’d dare to come in. Father’s library is strictly out of bounds.’

  ‘So do you come in here often?’ Luka said with a grin.

  Obedience grinned back. ‘All the time. I like to read Father’s books, and look at his maps. He’s hardly ever here, he’s always at Gray’s Inn, or at the palace.’

  ‘At the palace? How come?’

  ‘He’s a lawyer, you know,’ Obedience said. ‘He was one of those that prosecuted the tyrant Charles Stuart. His Highness is most grateful to him for his knowledge of legal matters, and relies on him greatly.’

  ‘So he’s one of Old Ironsides’s . . . I mean, the Lord Protector’s men?’ Luka had not realised this before, and it filled him with dismay. There goes any chance of him helping us, he thought.

  ‘Indeed, one of his right-hand men,’ Obedience said proudly. ‘Father is at the palace now, praying with the other councillors, for the Lord Protector has taken a turn for the worse. We are all very worried at this news, for if His Highness should die, will not the dreaded tyrant Charles Stuart seek to impose his oppressive rule on us again?’

  Emilia and Luka did not know what to say. Obedience said, with an impish look on her face, ‘Do you not discuss politics? My mother says it is most impolite for a lady to talk about politics. Yet it is what all the men discuss, and so I cannot help think it must be interesting, since men get to do all the most interesting things in the world. Like going to university, and standing up in a court of law to argue. I’d like to be paid for arguing, instead of being scolded all the time. But enough of me. Tell me why you have conceived this strange notion that my mother is a gypsy? Indeed she is the most boring, godly woman you could ever imagine. She does nothing but sew, and reads nothing but the Bible, and even then only at random, to see what advice it gives her.’

  Emilia opened her eyes, sudden excitement giving her new energy. ‘She foretells the future through the Bible? How?’

  ‘She lets the Bible fall open and whatever verse her finger falls upon is the one she acts upon,’ Obedience said. ‘She does not know I know about it. I’ve seen her do it late at night, when Father is out and I should be sleeping. He would not approve at all.’

  ‘Do you know much about your mother’s childhood?’ Emilia asked.

  Luka fidgeted, the loud ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece reminding him of time scurrying away.

  Obedience shrugged. ‘Nothing. That’s why I said she was a bit of a mystery. She never mentions her family, and neither does my father. I had always supposed she had a deadly dull, deadly respectable upbringing, just like ours, except that she never talks about it. Aunt Grace is always telling us about how good she was as a child.’

  ‘Do you know her maiden name?’

  ‘Grey,’ Obedience said. ‘Her name was Faith Grey. Could it get any more tedious?’

  Fancy Graylings. Faith Grey. There was just enough of an echo for Emilia’s interest to quicken. ‘Have you ever seen her with a small yellow jewel, a piece of amber?’

  ‘Jewellery? My mother? Of course not! She will not even have buttons on her clothes in case anyone thinks she’s vain.’

  ‘It can’t be her,’ Luka said. ‘Come on, Emilia, let’s go. It’s a wild-goose chase. She isn’t Fancy, she doesn’t have the amber charm, and her husband isn’t going to help a couple of grubby gypsy brats. He’s more likely to turn us in. Let’s get out of here while we still can.’

  ‘But can’t I help?’ Obedience said. ‘If it’s legal advice you need, I know nearly as much as Father, really I do.’

  ‘We do need help. Our families are in gaol and, come Monday morning, are facing the court. We need to get them out!’ Luka replied.

  ‘Why are they in gaol?’ Obedience asked. ‘What have they done?’

  In fits and starts they told her, trying not to reveal too much about their adventures. Obedience was enthralled with their tale, however, and asked so many eager questions they ended up telling her nearly the whole story.

  ‘There’s lots of things a lawyer could do to try to reduce the sentence,’ Obedience said, ‘but to get the whole family out of gaol, scot-free, and no record against them, that’s impossible. It’d take a miracle.’

  Luka’s shoulders sagged.

  Emilia put her fingers up to her wrist and was reminded once again, sharply, of her missing charm bracelet. ‘You must be able to think of something,’ she said unhappily. ‘You’re so clever, you know so much more than we do. Isn’t there something we can do to help our families?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Obedience said. ‘Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’ Luka sat up eagerly.

  ‘You could apply to the Lord Protector for a pardon,’ Obedience said. ‘He’s been known to issue them occasionally. Why, my father drew up a whole swathe of pardons for His Highness only a couple of months ago. Look, there are copies here in his drawer.’

  She slipped off the corner of the desk and rummaged through one of the drawers. ‘It was after the beheading of Charles Stuart’s old chaplain. He was arrested in June, you know, for sheltering the Duke of Ormonde when he was here in London.’

  Luka and Emilia both jumped as if stung by a nettle, and exchanged a quick, horrified glance. Luckily Obedience did not notice, still looking through her father’s desk. ‘He was a silly old fool, really, Doctor Hewett. He used to ask his parishioners to remember an “absent friend” when he passed round the collection plate. Of course he was sending the money to the king! Anyway, he was arrested, along with about forty other Royalists, but Lord Cromwell ended up pardoning half of them. I think everyone in London was sick of watching people being hanged, drawn and quartered! Look, here they are!’

  She came up flourishing a pile of thick parchment, affixed with large blobs of red wax in which they could see the imprint of a soldier on a horse.

  ‘That’s his signature! Look how shaky it’s got. He used to have a bold hand, Father says.’

  Emilia and Luka looked at the parchment she held out with great interest. It was covered in close lines of ornate black script, which looked like the tracks of a worm with a bellyache. Down the bottom, in a different, frailer hand, was a large sprawling signature. The first part looked like a scandalised mouth, the second like a runaway stagecoach.

  ‘Well, I can’t see Old Ironsides pardoning a whole bunch of gypsies, so I guess we just have to break them out of gaol,’ Luka said. ‘Maybe we can burn the whole stupid place down, so that they think everyone’s dead, and won’t come chasing after us.’

  Obedience did not know whether to be shocked, or admiring of Luka’s boldness. ‘I wish I could come with you,’ she said wistfully. ‘How I’d love an adventure!’

  ‘You’ll have adventures of your own, in time,’ Emilia said, then bit her lip, realising she’d again spoken of something she instinctively and mysteriously knew to be true.

  But Obedience only sighed. ‘Most unlikely, I’m afraid.’

  ‘We really need to go,’ Luka said, bending to pick up his pack and swing it to his shoulder. ‘It’s been a complete waste of time com
ing here.’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen a little amber jewel?’ Emilia asked anxiously. ‘It has a butterfly inside it.’

  Obedience shrugged. ‘No, never heard of it or seen it. Why?’

  Emilia rubbed her wrist unhappily. ‘It’s the lucky charm of the Graylings family. We thought your mother had it. I’ve been collecting the charms, you see, hoping they’d . . . well, it makes no difference now, I suppose. My bracelet’s gone.’ She tried to shrug as if she did not care, but it was impossible. ‘Someone took it.’

  ‘Oh no, really? The pickpockets in London are dreadful, I know. Was it very valuable?’

  ‘It was to me,’ Emilia said.

  ‘You need to go along to a fence,’ Obedience said.

  ‘A fence? What kind of fence? What on earth for?’ Luka and Emilia were utterly baffled.

  ‘A fence is someone who sells stolen goods,’ Obedience explained patiently. ‘The pickpocket doesn’t sell the goods himself. He takes them along to a fence, who pays him for them and sells them on for a higher price.

  ‘Where would we find this fence?’ Luka asked. Emilia was speechless, her spirits bounding with new hope.

  Obedience made a face. ‘How on earth would I know? I daresay there are hundreds of fences in London, if not thousands. I wouldn’t know where to begin looking.’

  Emilia felt a telltale prickling in her eyes and leant over Rollo, fondling his ears, trying to hide her expression. Rollo did not thump his plumy tail, as he would do usually. His eyes were fixed on the door, a soft growl rising from his throat. Emilia looked up and saw the door handle turning. She turned to the others, making frantic gestures. Luka at once swept up Zizi, Emilia grabbed Rollo by his ruff, and the three children scrambled behind the curtains, just as the door swung open.

  Death in the Pot

  Emilia put her eye to the crack where the curtains did not quite close. She just hoped no one could see her.

  ‘I cannot understand it, His Highness seemed so much better on Thursday!’ A tall man in a long dark robe swept impatiently into the room. He had the same large, bony nose of Obedience’s Aunt Grace, with grey eyes under thick frowning brows.