Chapter 11

11

T he two men pushed the horses as quickly as they dared on the way back to Alnwick, which was fortunately not too far a distance. As they clattered down Canongate in the direction of the castle, Roland spared a brief thought about Grace, feeling anger rise up again before he ruthlessly pushed all considerations of this to the side.

Not now. Not soon. He would see his wife again at some point, and he could press her for details on what secrets she was keeping from him then at his leisure. Roland ignored the front entrance of the castle, instead heading to find the bailiff while Thorne took care of their horses.

“Mr Harding,” Roland said, stepping into the man’s office. “I am sorry to be in a rush, however, I need you to send a runner on to Denwick and Colonel Ellesmere.”

Harding’s eyebrows lifted in relief. “Have you found the trail then, Lord Percy?”

“We did. We found the wagon by a riverbank upstream of Alnwick.”

Harding paused to consider that and then scribbled a hasty note as he moved to the door to call for a footman. “It hardly makes sense to ride downstream to row back upstream, and there’s precious little in that direction. Alnmouth, Hipsburn, Lesbury and Hawkhill lie to the east, not far from the river, which considerably narrows the field of search.”

“I agree with you,” Roland said with a slight smile. “Thorne and I plan to continue scouting east. Hawkhill is too small a settlement to support any industry. But Lesbury and Alnmouth are a different matter. If the farmer spotted them during his morning chores, they could have traversed the river even as far as Alnmouth and left the water by daybreak. So I think we should cover both sides of the Aln and ask questions.”

“Do you want to take the north side of the river, or the south, my lord? I will have Colonel Ellesmere recalled and we can traverse the side opposite of you.”

He deliberated, looking at one of the maps of the area Harding pushed towards him. “Sir Nathaniel and I will take the north and Lesbury. You take south and Hipsburn. With the daylight hours growing so short, I am not certain there will be enough to conduct a proper search the entire distance to Alnmouth.”

“If I might suggest a course of action, my lord, we can check up to these villages and then come together again this evening. If needs must, we’ll go on towards Alnmouth tomorrow. Do you intend to head out again straight away?” When Roland nodded an affirmative, Mr Hawkhill asked, “Are there any other messages you wish me to pass on?”

Roland thought about sending a message to Grace. Thought about it, and let the urge fall away. “If my lady asks before you depart, you may tell her the search proceeds apace. But do not trouble yourself to seek her out to relay this information. She will be unable to help us anyhow, and I believe my lady has other business to attend to.”

They had not bothered with much in the way of breakfast when they left at dawn, so Roland was glad Thorne had the forethought to refill their flasks and snatch some bread and cheese during their brief stop back at Alnwick.

“It need only tide us until we reach Lesbury,” Thorne said in apology for the quick rations. “We can stop at the inn there to kill two birds with one stone, giving the horses a rest while we eat and ask questions.”

It was a solid plan. As the crow flew, Alnmouth and the sea coast were only a handful of miles away. But they would be following a less direct path along the river’s edge, seeking signs of the boat’s passage. The normal journey to Lesbury was not a long one, perhaps three quarters of an hour, but by Roland’s best guess, it could take as long as two hours if they had to ask many questions of tenants along the way.

“I am only relieved that you thought of it at all, because I certainly neglected to.”

Thorne looked over at his brother as they crossed the river again, this time by way of the Lion Bridge, and could see the way Roland sat stiffly, almost angry. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been distracted into being particularly single minded.”

Roland grunted an agreement and chewed his piece of bread, giving his tense jaw something more productive to do.

The tenants closest to Alnwick had fallow cereal fields, and they passed these by quickly. While there was always much for a farmer to do, even in December, most of that work would be indoors in threshing barns or outbuildings as they separated grain and maintained their equipment and livestock. The likelihood of one of these farmers spotting someone at the river would be minimal.

The treeline at the river’s edge didn’t provide much cover, and it wouldn’t conceal an abandoned boat well. Not even a small one. So they made it to Lesbury in good time, shortly after one o’clock.

Lesbury was what one might generously describe as a single road that ran from the bridge past St. Mary’s Church. Small stone buildings lined the packed earth that made up the street, advertising the local smithy and a few other services. There was one lone structure that seemed to serve as both a coaching inn and tavern, whimsically named “Inn” to judge by the sign.

The proprietor was a man whose stocky body resembled the kegs he had stacked in one corner, and he stretched his eyes to see Thorne and Roland enter in riding outfits several cuts more fancy than his usual. Together, they approached the counter, watching the man’s cautious appraisal of them.

“Good man, a word, if you please,” Roland said, and the innkeeper nodded, wiping his hands on a wet cloth. “My brother and I would appreciate a meal—whatever you have on hand is fine—and a chance to ask you a few questions if you could spare us a moment.”

“I’ve got mutton and barley stew on the fire, and bread and cheese. We’re not too fancy here, m’lord,” the stout innkeeper said, a bit uncertain. “If ye’d rather wait for a proper meal, I could have me wife fetch a chicken.”

“No, a hot bowl of stew sounds perfect.” Roland assured him, and the innkeeper nodded, waving them to a table near the fireplace.

Within a few minutes, the man returned with a heavily laden tray. He set out two wooden bowls of stew, spooned heavily from the bottom of the kettle if Roland had to judge by the chunks of meat and root vegetables, two mugs of pale ale, and several thick slices of oat bread and butter.

“’Tis my own recipe, m’lords,” the innkeeper murmured as he set the mugs before them. “I hope it suits.” He waited, fidgeting slightly, for their questions. “What else can I get ye?”

Thorne gave the man an appreciative nod to put him at ease. “Thank you, good innkeeper. Lord Percy and I have been travelling slowly from Alnwick, and this will warm us through to carry on.”

“Lord Percy!” The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Beg pardon, m’lord, for not recognisin’ ye.”

Roland cast a baleful eye at his brother. He would have been happy remaining an anonymous lord. “No harm done by it. I know I have not spent much time in Northumberland for a long while. Would you be gracious enough to answer a few questions for Sir Nathaniel and I?”

“Of course, Lord Percy. Of course.” The man bobbed nervously, including Thorne now in the bobbing.

“We are on the trail of a pair of children who went missing from Alnwick two days ago, and we were wondering if you have seen or heard anything suspicious.”

“Children missing from Alnwick! Oh.” The innkeeper paused as if his mind was an ox lumbering on the wrong track that had to be hauled into a new direction.

“You haven’t heard about that, then?” Thorne prodded.

“Nay,” the innkeeper said brusquely. “Not this last disappearance, anyhow. But there’s been talk before. Five or six gone missin’, I reckon?”

“You seem surprised by our inquiry. What did you think we were here to ask about?”

The stout man fidgeted again. “I wondered if you two might be here on behalf of His Grace to follow up on Mr Harding’s reports—though that didn’t make much sense to me either, m’lord, Sir Nathaniel,” he added quickly.

Thorne’s brows drew together as he looked across the table at Roland, and Roland closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement, wishing he could pinch the bridge of his nose to relieve the building pressure behind his eyes. Another problem?

“I confess I am not aware of any reports from Mr Harding in the area… But I will be seeing him this afternoon and you can be sure I will ask him about it.”

“Very gracious of ye, Lord Percy. I’m sure Mr. Harding’s a busy man with plenty to look after. He fixed me chimney this spring when a brick came loose in the flue. But the mill’s roof is in a bad way, and Murphy’s beside himself. A lot of farmers have flour to process in these winter months.”

“But about the children,” Thorne added, lifting a hand in oblique apology. “You did say you’ve heard stories?”

"Aye, m'lord. Sad business, that is. Been the talk of the village, how many kids have supposedly gone up and run off. I can tell you what I know, but… there ain’t much to go on."

“Have you seen a man travelling down the river with two children sometime these last days? Or through town?”

“T’wards Alnmouth?” The innkeeper scratched his side idly, thinking. “Can’t say I have, Sir Nathaniel. Haven’t seen any new faces I didn’t ken in the last sevenday.” He paused, a small gleam of anger in his eye. “D’ye think they were kidnapped, then? I can spread the word, keep a lookout if ye like.”

Thorne shifted uncomfortably at the man’s obsequiousness towards him. “That would be kind of you. I assume everyone’s river craft is spoken for. Does anyone here hire boats?”

“Here? Nah. There’s a couple skiffs and a punt now and then to move things to the port, but it’s slowin’ down for the winter.”

“You’re saying that the river is quiet this time of year?”

The innkeeper looked from one man to the other, unsure what they were asking. “There’s a man down in Alnmouth with a couple shallops and wherries ye might be able to hire, assumin’ they’re not already spoken for… if that’s what ye’d be needin’?”

“We will check with him,” Roland added gravely. “But we’re more curious to know how heavy the movement on the river is.”

The innkeeper sensed what he was getting at. “Aye, quite a bit of travel, Lord Percy. When the ground turns to muck, but before the river ices over, it’s a better way to travel. But they’re mostly one-man crafts, ferryin’ goods to and fro. None I’ve seen with two bairns.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your time,” Roland murmured, sighing inwardly. A dead end. They would have to carry on towards Alnmouth, hoping that either the others would find a clue, or that there would be one to be found within the port village itself.

“Yer welcome, m’lord. If there’s aught else I can do, just ask. Enjoy yer meals.”

The stew was plain, but hearty enough, and Roland and Thorne ate in good spirit, not talking much. Soon, they were collecting their mounts, ready to push on towards Alnmouth. But after he mounted, Roland circled Arion, thinking.

A number of the thatched roofs that Roland could see along the main street were sagging—including the mills’, which sported a dark, rotting hole in one place. Thorne, taking his cue from his brother, also looked closer at the buildings and general state of the hamlet.

“Thorne,” Roland murmured. “Hold Arion for me, a moment.”

Handing his brother the reins, Roland marched back inside the inn to find the innkeeper over at a farther table, whispering furtively. When the man at the table pointed in Roland’s direction, the innkeeper straightened up, looking guilty.

“You said that Mr Murphy reached out to Mr Harding about the state of the mill?” Roland queried.

“Aye, m’lord. Just after Easter, when the rains made the roof start leakin’ terribly.”

“What was Mr Harding’s response?”

“Mr. Harding sent an apologetic note, sayin’ there were many repairs that needed doin’ that summer, and he’d do what he could. Murphy’s sent several messages since to both Mr. Harding and His Grace, but they’ve gone unanswered.”

“But your chimney was repaired promptly?”

“Well,” the innkeeper hedged, “might’ve taken a couple letters, now that I think on it. But Mr Harding came through in the end. His Grace had to approve the work, he said, and I reckon that took time.”

Roland paused, wording this last question carefully. “Do you know roughly when was the last time that the duke toured the holdings?”

“Just after Michaelmas, I think, beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord,” said the man sitting at the table when the innkeeper grasped for dates. He looked at the innkeeper, who nodded, satisfied that was the truth.

“Aye! The gossip was that His Grace was at the harvest festival in Alnmouth. That would’ve been October.”

Tilting his head in acknowledgement, Roland pulled on his gloves. “Thank you both. I will look into things. Good day.” Striding firmly to the front of the inn, Roland let himself out and took his horse from Thorne.

“What else have you learned?” Thorne asked him.

“One of two possibilities. That my grandfather may be growing remiss in his duties,” Roland said shortly, feeling tension building in his shoulders, “or the dukedom is running terribly short of funds.”