The Dandelion Seed Read online

  But Chalky’s small hard body pressed her over the huge barrel and, because she was what she was, Betsy gave in. Her tongue came out and her legs parted.

  Then just before that moment of bliss, he released her. ‘Oh dear!’ he apologized. ‘Forgive me, I was carried away by your beauty. I am truly sorry for what I nearly did.’

  Tears of disappointment and frustration came to Betsy’s blue eyes. Her cheeks glowed scarlet as she pulled down her skirt.

  The customers had begun to knock impatiently on the counter upstairs. Their pewter pots needed filling. But Betsy was perspiring gently and trembling as she whispered to Chalky: ‘Don’t go, stay around. I’ll close the bar early.’

  Chalky watched her white-clad legs as she ran upstairs to the bar and with a very satisfied expression on his face, he sat in the spot where old Sam’s body had rested. Taking up a piece of wood and his knife, he started to carve out a boat for Rolly.

  It was one of the longest days in Betsy’s young life. She had known many men but none had excited her quite as much as this virile young man. She thought of the pot-bellied old ones, the namby-pamby young ones and with every comparison she longed more to be with her latest conquest.

  During the day, Chalky helped her in the bar and each time he passed Betsy he would caress her body, driving her wild and even more anxious to get the bar closed.

  That evening while Rolly floated his new boat on the stream outside, in the bedroom upstairs Betsy had already dropped her dress to the ground and was holding out her hands to Chalky. Her hot young body was his for the taking and Chalky did not disappoint her. As far as Chalky was concerned, he had control of Betsy and the inn was now in the hands of its rightful landlord.

  For her part, Betsy was convinced that at last she now had a man of her own who loved and courted her like a real woman and not just like a paid whore. She bloomed like an overripe fruit with her newly acquired love and Chalky strutted around in a manner he thought conveyed that he was master of the establishment. Nowadays he wore a stiffly starched apron and had his moustache well waxed.

  There was one disagreement in this otherwise agreeable situation; it involved the rent money which Betsy saved diligently and placed in a tin box. Although Betsy was illiterate, she was numerate and knew every penny that came across the counter. Now lately it seemed that the takings were less and less, even though she worked as hard as ever. Then one day when Sir Fulke Greville’s bailiff called to collect the rent money, she found the tin completely empty. At first she suspected Rolly who, after several heavy clouts, admitted that Chalky had given him lots of money for sweetmeats and that when they went out fishing together, which they did often, Chalky never stayed with him for the whole time. Instead he would disappear, leaving Rolly with plenty of goodies to keep him busy.

  During these times, Chalky was in fact off for his own pleasure, a nice game of dice behind the gravestones in the local churchyard. Now dressed like a young dandy man, Chalky was popular with the local layabouts, and he loved to gamble. With a little crowd of unwashed men and boys, Chalky would strut around waving a coin about and calling out: ‘Come on, me lucky lads. What’s it to be? The King’s ’ead or his ass’ole?’ Then he would toss the coin in the air. He was very amusing and a good sport and never seemed to mind losing. As a matter of fact, it seemed he usually lost and that Lady Luck seldom smiled on him. Still, he had a compulsive urge to gamble, and Betsy’s rent tin financed the habit.

  Betsy soon got wise to him. One day while he was engrossed in helping himself to some money, a huge rolling pin descended as if from nowhere on his knuckles.

  ‘Christ!’ he screamed. ‘You bloody bitch!’ He hurled himself at Betsy with a cry of rage.

  But Betsy quickly side-stepped him, lashing out again with the rolling pin and yelling; ‘Rolly, Rolly!’

  On hearing his sister’s cries, Rolly dashed in from outside and caught hold of Chalky, landing him a blow which sent him spinning over the counter and clear into the cobbled yard.

  When he had recovered from the blow, Chalky shook himself and retired to the stables to think out his next move. As usual old Jem was in the straw settled down for the night. ‘Aye,’ he muttered when he saw Chalky. ‘You still ’ere, then? You ain’t been murdered yet?’

  ‘They nearly did,’ replied Chalky, sucking his sore knuckles and rubbing his head.

  ‘They will, you know, get you in the end.’ Jem wheezed and grunted as he settled in the straw.

  Chalky looked at Jem and wondered if he would be reliable as a witness. They could go to the law – that would tame them – but it was a bit risky getting involved with the law, because he had a few things to hide himself. No, that was no use and it was no use telling Betsy and Rolly to get out, of that he was sure, for that Rolly packed quite a wallop. No, he would have to find another way. He nudged old Jem. ‘Give us yer bottle, old Jem, I’ll get yer some wine in it. There’s some good strong stuff down there in the cellar.’

  Jem drained off the little that was in the bottle, and handed it to Chalky. ‘Wish me old legs was good enough,’ he muttered. ‘I’d get down that there cellar meself. I knows where old Sam hid all his money, I do,’ he whispered hoarsely.

  Chalky’s little eyes gleamed. This sounded too good to be true. But come to think of it, his father had always hidden his money and if it was still there it would mean that he was certainly dead, for he would never go away and leave his pile behind. ‘Tell you what, old Jem, you tell me where it’s hid and I’ll give you half of it, and you can have your half in booze, if you like.’

  The old boy’s face assumed a nonchalant look. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘I could do with a bit of extra comfort, and a little drop of wine won’t hurt.’

  ‘Well then, come on, speak up,’ said Chalky anxiously. ‘Where is the money hid?’

  ‘Dahn in the cellar, behind yon pile of old harness and under a tub of elderberry what went sour.’

  Chalky thought for a moment. Yes, everything was the same down there and he had definitely seen the harness old Jem described. ‘Give us yer bottle, me old love,’ Chalky said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Silently Chalky crept towards the cellar, his trusty knife between his teeth. When he reached the window, he soon had the latch released and his wiry little body dropped neatly inside. Then slowly he crept down the steps to the cool earth floor which struck cold to his bare feet. Even in the dark he knew exactly where to look. Under that old tub was a hole. It was all coming back to him now as he remembered seeing old Sam down here counting his gains. Chalky put his hand in the hole, fumbled about a bit, and finally felt an earthenware jar. Pulling it out, he took off the lid and even there in the darkness he could see a glint of gold. He licked his dry lips in anticipation. There had to be hundreds of gold coins! Where in heaven had the old man got all that? There were some papers which looked like letters, and a piece of jewellery, a round pendant, edged with stones which shone out in the moonlight. He squatted beside the hole dazzled by his good fortune. If old Sam left this treasure behind, then there was no doubt that he was dead and that now all this belonged to himself, as Sam’s next-of-kin. However, Chalky was not quite sure of what to do about it at this moment so he hurriedly put it all back into the jar, pushed it back into the hole and rolled the tub back into position. It would continue to be safe there until he had made up his mind about what to do. He filled Jem’s leather bottle with strong wine and quietly climbed out of the cellar again.

  Old Jem had dozed off. Chalky nudged him hard. ‘Here’s yer bottle, mate,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing down there, mate, I suppose them rogues had it.’

  ‘’Tis a pity, a great pity,’ said old Jem, sucking the potent liquid from his leather bottle. Then he slumped back into the straw and was soon snoring.

  Chalky decided to try a ruse. Brushing himself down, he put his hands in his pockets and strolled out into the yard. Under Betsy’s window he whistled a love tune and called in a deep whisper. ‘Goodbye, my love, my beautif
ul Betsy. I’ll never forget you.’ Then he stamped hard on the hard path as if he were walking away.

  Suddenly the window opened and out came Betsy’s tousled head. ‘Oh, so you did come home, did you?’ she said patiently.

  ‘Only to say goodbye, darling,’ replied Chalky in a sad tone.

  ‘Don’t be daft, just because I caught yer nicking, yer don’t have to go.’

  ‘You mean I’m forgiven?’ Chalky stared up at her in such a forlorn manner that Betsy started to giggle. ‘Don’t be soft,’ she said. ‘I’ll come down and let you in.’

  ‘No need,’ said Chalky, as he clambered up on to the sloping roof with great agility. He was quickly through the window and just as quickly he was tumbling Betsy on to the bed. Betsy was more than willing and clung to him. ‘Oh! I know I am a bloody fool with you,’ she whispered, ‘but I suppose it’s because I love yer.’ Foolish blousy Betsy had given her heart and soul to this wily young man and little did she know that there were to be many storms ahead of her.

  The next day Chalky swept the yard rather wearily. Every now and then he rested on the handle of the broom, his mind pre-occupied with thoughts of last night’s find. That morning they had found old Jem dead, so his only witness to what had happened to his father was now gone. Poor old Jem, the good wine and the excitement at the thought of a fortune must have been too much for him. Chalky was worried. Betsy was a sexy bit of goods but the initial excitement was wearing off for him. She wanted it too much and too often, and Chalky was getting worn out and bored with this life of being at her beck and call. She now knew that he had been pinching a few shillings, so it was not going to be so easy to get any more in the future.

  The night before she had said to him: ‘You ain’t married, are you, Chalky?’

  Chalky had been unprepared and did not have his usual lie at the ready: ‘Well, I’m sort of betrothed,’ he said rather feebly.

  ‘Well, let’s get married, then,’ Betsy had cried. ‘I’m crazy about yer.’

  ‘All right but keep that big brother orf me.’

  ‘Rolly! why, he won’t hurt you. He likes you and he won’t start anything unless I says so.’

  Now Chalky was undecided. He could handle Betsy all right but not that brother of hers, so he had to make a plan to get rid of Rolly somehow. It was a pity but it had to be done.

  Rolly was stripped to the waist and humping huge barrels about inside. The muscles of his huge body rippled and shone with sweat.

  ‘Fine strapping fella, that,’ remarked the carter who helped to unload the barrels. ‘Shame he is so dull-witted.’

  Through Chalky’s mind came the sight of the tough men on the dockside. That’s it! The sea! He would get Rolly press-ganged to the sea.

  A few days later after a love session, he said to Betsy: ‘Can I take Rolly to see the players at Shoreditch?’

  Betsy gave him a shrewd look, ‘All right, but don’t let him out of your sight,’ she warned. ‘Otherwise he will be off to the cock-pit. Then he just gets into fights and gets himself all chewed up.’

  As always Rolly was very excited to be going somewhere all dressed up with his best tunic on, and his face scrubbed until it was clean and shiny. Eagerly he set off over the fields, with Chalky almost running at his side in an attempt to keep up with Rolly’s big strides. Over the hedges, stiles and the little dykes they travelled across the flat green meadowland towards the city until they came to the little hamlet of Shoreditch. It was here that Will Shakespeare built the first playhouse called the Curtain, but he had now gone to live in Stratford-upon-Avon and there a bigger and better playhouse had been built on the opposite side of the river to his home. But the old Curtain still survived, though with second-rate players. Chalky and Rolly did not go through the gate of the playhouse – that was for the rich – but they stood away on top of the hill and looked down into the arena. Rolly sucked sweetmeats and pointed to the dressed-up figures, his huge mouth open with great guffaws of laughter. By now Chalky had lost interest in the play and was engrossed in the cock-fight that was going on down the other side of the hill.

  After a while they left Shoreditch and walked by the Thames towards the Tower. The river flowed sluggishly with its variety of boats and the streets got narrower and darker. At last they came to an inn set back from the road and surrounded by small houses. The front of the inn had a paved yard and a wooden seat ran along one wall.

  ‘I got a bit of business to do, me lad,’ said Chalky. ‘I won’t be long. You sit there till I come back,’ he pointed at the long seat.

  Obediently Rolly sat down on the seat. Pulling an apple from his pocket, he started to munch it while Chalky’s small shape disappeared into the gloomy interior of the inn.

  What happened next was a great shock to Rolly as he sat peacefully eating his apple. Two men jumped over the wall and grabbed hold of him. ‘Got yer!’ one cried. ‘Come on, me lucky lad, ’tis the rolling briny for yer.’

  Rolly lashed out with all his might and the two men went spinning back over the wall. Then came two more and for the next half hour he fought them with all his strength until the yard was spattered with blood and the seat broken in two. With his huge body, Rolly threw them off one after another.

  ‘Chalky,’ yelled Rolly. ‘Betsy! Betsy!’ But no one came to his aid.

  The men persisted over and over again and gradually poor Rolly started to get weaker. One enterprising man stood astride the wall with a rope which he sent spinning through the air. It looped down on Rolly and was pulled tight, pinning his arms firmly by his side and in no time at all he was trussed up like a prize carcase. Then they dragged him over the river wall down to a waiting boat and soon they were out to sea.

  Chalky had heard all the rumpus as he crouched beside the river bank but did nothing to help. When he saw the boat with Rolly tied up in it, he watched for a time and then stood up to shout: ‘Goodbye, mate, I hope you enjoy the trip.’ And then hands in his pockets, he set off whistling to Dog Row where he was sure there would be a spot of gaming going on.

  8

  The Proposal

  Marcelle’s face was pale and her eyes dark ringed from lack of sleep. But every afternoon she sat in Annabelle’s stuffy parlour sewing endlessly and listening to the foolish gossip of the ladies who called on Annabelle. They chattered and tore to pieces the characters of their absent friends. Today Marcelle was not feeling too well. The heat and the noise oppressed her, and she had seen no more of her lover since he had disappeared over the hill. Still, she managed to keep her secret locked safely in her heart, and one thought remained uppermost in her mind that he would one day return and tell her that he loved her. She hoped and prayed that the mysterious young man would remember their encounter as she did and come back to her. Five weeks had passed and each day was more boring than the one before. It was a hot dry summer and visitors brought stories of the return of the plague. Annabelle made no journeys to town and was quite content to busy herself with her garden and her social afternoons. This past week Marcelle had been worried, for she was convinced that something was happening inside her. She was sure of it, but whom could she ask? No one, without betraying the secret of her love. She sat quiet as a mouse, her head bent to her sewing while the idle gossipers chatted and whispered.

  The fair young countess had paid them a visit that day and there was much debate between her and Annabelle. They whispered quickly to each other and Marcelle thought at one point that she could hear them talking of the three visitors who had ridden through and stayed the night. She wished she had the courage to ask who the men were, but whenever this fair beauty was visiting, Marcelle felt as if her tongue clung to her mouth. She could scarcely utter a word when this haughty countess was around. Today the countess had arrived in a flurry of excitement, wearing an emerald green gown with a new kind of collar made of Flemish lace.

  ‘I have heard a strange story in London,’ the countess told Annabelle, ‘of a certain young man who stayed at a yeoman’s house overnight.�
�� As she spoke her eyes glowed like dark coals and flickered quickly at Marcelle. Marcelle promptly lowered her gaze, and then, at Annabelle’s request, she dropped her sewing and hurriedly left the room.

  The countess seemed to have shown an unusual interest in her and Marcelle had a strong feeling of apprehension. She felt as if the painted and perfumed woman knew of her cherished secret.

  After Marcelle had left the room, Frances turned towards Annabelle, her face white with rage.

  Annabelle was distressed even before the countess had spoken. ‘What have I done, my lady?’ she begged.

  ‘Either you are becoming a fool or there is treachery afoot. It seems you know very little of what goes on in your own home, Annabelle.’

  Annabelle stared into that beautiful cold face. ‘My lady,’ she protested, ‘I do not know what you mean. Did I not tell you of our overnight guests? Was I wrong to accept them as my guests?’ she enquired tearfully.

  ‘No, of course not. But listen to me and I’ll tell you of a story that I heard from my cousin Elizabeth, who is a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She told me that Lord Hay told her of how he had been left to guard his Royal Highness but instead of doing so, he got drunk and slept with the dairy maid in the barn. When he awoke he visited His Highness’ bedchamber to find him lying on the floor. Thinking that His Highness had perhaps had one of his usual nightmares, Lord Hay picked him up to return him to his bed. And under His Highness’ head, he found a little lace nightcap.’ She hissed the words out through clenched teeth.

  ‘Annabelle’s brown eyes were wide with amazement. She looked at her Ladyship in bewilderment. ‘But, what is that to me?’ she pleaded.

  ‘It all happened under your roof, Annabelle, that’s what.’ A grim smile crossed Frances’ sculpted face and the threat was clear.

  ‘But, my Lady, it is not possible,’ burst out Annabelle. ‘It’s a pack of lies!’

  ‘For your sake, dear Annabelle, I do hope so,’ Frances remarked.