Masques of Gold (11 page)

Lissa smiled at him. “That has an easy answer. The only practical matters I can think of are so unpleasant that I would favor listening to a sermon on my sins over needing to talk about them. And pertinent or not, I found the tale of the yielding of Vaudreuil most interesting.”

“Do you realize,” Justin remarked, “that the look I bent on you has made strong men confess, and all you do is smile.”

“Perhaps those strong men had something to confess,” Lissa suggested pertly, and then more seriously, “I think I have told you everything I have to tell. If there is something you think I might know that I have not mentioned, you must ask.”

While Lissa was speaking, her eyes were fixed on Justin's face and her manner was earnest and easy. For the moment she really believed that she had concealed nothing. It was not until she had taken the needle from where she had left it in the cloth and begun to finish the spray of leaves she had started that she remembered it was very likely that her father knew a good deal about Peter's death that Justin would like to know also. She thanked God that her head was already bent, and prayed that Justin would not notice that her hand was trembling slightly.

“What I really wish to know,” he said, “is where to find Flael's sons. We have not discovered a hint of them either passing any gate or for several miles out along the roads. They could not have got farther with that horse and cart than my riders searched. And they did not take ship, as I thought they might have, either. Now I believe it is possible that they are hiding in the city.”

Lissa was so relieved by this subject that she looked up wide-eyed and asked, “But why is it so important to find them? You admitted you did not think them guilty of anything.”

“Do not talk like a fool,” Justin snapped, the good humor gone from his face. “If Flael's sons fled from fear, that implies they knew something about why their father died or who caused his death.”

Could they have known about Hubert, Lissa wondered? She shook her head and let her eyes drop to her work. “I would help you if I could,” she said, not at all sure she was speaking the truth. “But as I have told you, young Peter and Edmond did not like me. In the short time that Peter and I were here, they often went out when their work was done. They may have told their father about their companions or where they were going; they never told me, nor did Peter tell me.”

“That is not much help in our search for them.”

Lissa hesitated, then looked up again, hoping that her guilt would not show on her face but afraid that if she did not look up, Justin would guess she did not wish to meet his eyes. “Perhaps if the journeymen along the street were questioned, or any of our neighbors who have sons eighteen or twenty years of age, they might know who Peter and Edmond's friends were. I cannot help. Peter and I left for Canterbury the very day we were married, and we have been in London less than three weeks. How could I know the sons' friends?” Her voice began to grow unsteady and she bit her lip and looked down.

“I beg your pardon,” Justin said softly, leaning forward and touching her hand. “I am angry with myself, not with you. I was making rather merry last night with my cousins and I came here with an aching skull and muddled wits, so I was slow to act. I will set some men to asking questions tomorrow.”

“Oh, was that why you frowned so horribly at me?” Lissa uttered a little giggle. “I could not imagine what I had done to make you so cross, especially when we were talking about Peter's woman.” She looked questioningly at Justin. “Did someone speak to her?”

“Yes, and you were quite right. She swore she had not seen Flael since you married him. And others confirmed that Flael had not been in the area for some time, a month or more was the estimate. She was quite bitter about it, for seemingly he paid her well and gave her pretty trinkets. She showed us two pieces. I think they were base-metal models to be shown to clients before the real piece was cast.”

“Peter's clients!” Lissa exclaimed, sitting upright. “Not those for whom he made plate and jewelry, the—the clients to whom he lent money. I know I said none of the debts seemed large enough to make a man desperate and that Goscelin said he could think of no one who hated Peter, but perhaps your better knowledge of the men who are mentioned will give some meaning to the records that I could not detect.”

With the words she rose and went into the bedchamber, coming out with the very thick roll of parchment that seemed to list all Peter's debtors. Handing it to Justin, she pulled her stool around to the side of the chair so she could look at the parchment too. They pored over it for some time, Justin remarking on some of the names and shaking his head or shrugging at others. Like Lissa, he could not see that any debt was monstrously burdensome, and he was about to say so when a little gasp drew his eyes and he saw her struggling to suppress a yawn.

“Good Lord, you must be half dead,” he said. “I forgot that you told me you hardly slept last night.”

“No, no,” Lissa protested. “I slept half the morning away.”

Justin laughed and then yawned himself. “Well, I did not,” he pointed out. “And it is very possible that the reason I cannot think is that what is inside my head is abed at home, even though my stupid body is still sitting here. May I take this record home with me? I promise faithfully I will return it as soon as I can.”

“I do not care if you do not return it at all,” Lissa said. “I do not intend to collect those debts, not unless I am forced to do so.”

“Do not be a little fool.” Justin turned and lifted her head with a finger under her chin. “I do not mean that you should not show mercy to those who need it, but some of the names on this list are fellow goldsmiths who may have borrowed to lend at still higher interest. Should they have not only their profit but a reward for being greedier than Flael? And other names are those of merchants who most probably borrowed to enlarge their business or to make some purchase that would bring much greater than normal profit.”

“Yes, but how can I know?” Lissa said uncertainly. “I have such a fear that I will bring someone to grief or ruin—”

“You
are
a goose!”

The words were murmured almost against Lissa's lips. She moved her head, hardly knowing whether she was stretching upward to bring her mouth against Justin's or trying to withdraw. The result was the merest brush of contact. Justin jerked his head back and Lissa almost fell off the stool. Both cried some kind of confused apology and jumped up. Lissa simply stared at Justin, looking dumbfounded.

“I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “It was an accident.”

Mutely, she shook her head, still staring, one hand pressed to her breast. Then she dropped her eyes and murmured, “No, no, the fault was mine. Forgive me.”

“There is no fault,” Justin said more easily. “We are both so tired that we are reeling. I will take this list, make inquiries, and let you know from whom you may demand payment safely. Will that content you?”

“Yes, yes,” Lissa replied, but her breathlessness and the way she kept glancing at Justin and then away made quite plain that she had no idea to what she was agreeing.

Justin took a step toward her and she gasped, her eyes remaining fixed on him until it became clear he was not going to come closer—but she did not back away. “I will go, then,” he said.

“If you must,” she breathed.

Again Justin was sure she had not the least idea what she was saying, that she was merely repeating a formula she had used for many years when guests said they must go. He took his cloak and swung it over his shoulders, resisting the temptation to turn and look at Lissa. He was sure she was staring at him, and when he moved to open the door he thought he caught a flicker of motion and turned fully toward her. She had only dropped the hand she had been holding against her breast, but her eyes were on him. She lowered them and bit her lips when he faced her.

“God be with you,” he said. “Sleep well, Lissa.”

“God keep you.” Her voice faded on the last word; then her eyes flicked up at him again and she said faintly but with a kind of determination, “And bring you to a swift returning.”

Justin went down the stairs into the shop, where night candles were burning. He checked automatically that the door was barred and bolted for the night, and turned toward the workroom where he heard voices. They stopped as he entered the room, and he would have passed through without even seeing the speakers, since his mind was fully occupied, had Witta not flung himself across Justin's path.

“She wants me to sleep out in the hut and her in here in the warm,” Witta said.

With his mouth already open to order Witta to do as he was told, for he had a feeling that Lissa spoiled the boy, Justin hesitated. He realized that there would be less chance that his men would be noticed or warning given to Flael's sons if both servants were in the house.

“There is no reason for that,” Justin said. “In fact, after what happened to your master, I want you both inside the house with both doors well barred after dark. Go get your pallet and what else you need from the hut.”

He went out with Witta but remained near the door because he had seen how furious the old woman looked and thought it not beyond her to shut the boy out despite what he had said. When he had seen Witta safely inside, he went to the shed to saddle his horse and then grinned. Good deeds, he thought, are their own reward, and went to the back gate where he called softly for the watcher Halsig had stationed there. He bade the man saddle up for him and, when he was finished, told him that the servants were locked in the house. The guard could use the hut to warm himself now and again, but if he was found asleep in it, Justin warned, he would not think the rest and comfort worth the punishment.

If Justin had realized how indifferent he sounded when he issued that warning, he would have been appalled. Voice and expression were almost an invitation to violate the words. However, by the time the guard had finished saddling the horse, Justin's thoughts had traveled very far away from the guard himself and even the reason the man was there. More than half his mind was already given to recalling that almost-kiss and Lissa's reactions.

The guard said something as Justin mounted, to which Justin responded only with a raised hand. He was puzzling over what he had done, realizing as he thought it over that his behavior all afternoon was not only outrageous but totally unnatural for him. Never in his life, or at least not since he was a stupid, callow boy, had he thought of seducing a decent woman. He had long since accepted, not without some chagrin, that he was not a great lover whom women found irresistible. In fact, well-bred women shied away from him in general; one of the reasons he was still unmarried years after he could well afford a wife was that the girls offered to him by fathers or brothers were unwilling, some openly, some fearfully hiding terror or distaste.

Despite assurances that a few weeks of marriage would change that attitude, Justin preferred bought women, who seemed to like him very well indeed. He frowned as he mechanically directed his horse eastward along the Chepe to his own house on the Mercery. His problem with the two women he had kept in the past was that they had grown
too
fond of him and had begun behaving like wives. That might have been desirable had he felt anything more for them than the mild liking that made them acceptable as bed partners. As it was, Justin had made haste to find them other willing keepers—one was now married—and separate himself from them. Since then, he had patronized the most elegant house in Southwark. Justin grinned into the dark. He had helped build that house, or rebuild it, after it was burned in the fire of 1212.

Thought of the fire brought his mind instantly back to Lissa. Could so brief a meeting have remained in her mind and made him desirable to her? When he leaned so close and called her a goose, had she been tempted to kiss him and then thought better of it because of guilt or modesty? And if she had been tempted, could he blame her? It was his behavior that had been improper from the beginning. In any case, she had resisted the temptation, withdrawn; but her expression and actions gave no sign of fear or disgust. Shock, he told himself; she had been terribly shocked when their lips met—but he had long experience in reading expressions, and what had shown on Lissa's face was not shock; it was astonishment, which was a very different thing.

It was also virtually inexplicable. Justin could have understood shock: She might have been shocked that she had come so close to yielding to temptation, or shocked that a man she plainly respected and admired had been so cruel and so crude as to try to tempt her. But what could have astonished her? Surely that moth-wing brush of their lips could not have taught her anything new about love. Justin dismissed that slightly wishful thought as he saw, with some relief, that there were still lights on in his house. He dismounted, beat briefly on the door, and when it opened transferred his rein to his servant's hand and went in and up the stairs without a word.

A little while later he was astonished himself. He had still been puzzling over Lissa's reaction, and when he got into bed, he felt not only a definite longing to see her there but a strong stirring of desire. He would have thought, after the tumblings of the previous night, that he would be drained dry for a week. Justin settled into the furs on his cot and stared up into the shadows created by the flickering of the night candle. Lissa was nowhere near as physically desirable as any of the girls he usually lay with, but none of them could have such an effect on him when nearly a mile distant.

Justin would have been further astonished if he had known how closely parallel Lissa's thoughts were to his as she stripped off her clothing and climbed wearily into bed. She thought she had put Justin out of her mind after he left the house. She had suppressed the urges of her treacherous body and shouted for Binge to come up and make her bed ready. For a while, her attention had been fixed on the sullen old woman. She explained to Binge that she intended to remain in Peter's house until his sons returned and that if Binge would not obey her, she would find another maid and drive Binge out. She did not mean it; to put the old woman out in the street would have been the same as murder. But Lissa was tired and a little frightened by what had happened to her. She did not realize how cold her voice was or how remote her expression, but her blank and icy regard brought home to Binge that her master was gone forever and, for all she knew, his sons too. For the moment fear suppressed hatred, and Binge whined an apology that Lissa dismissed with a sharp order to show her repentance by warming the bed without any more words.