Masques of Gold (12 page)

She turned away from the maid as she spoke, which deepened Binge's fear and resentment. Lissa was no more aware of that than she had been of her earlier coldness. The moment she entered the bedroom, images of Justin filled her mind. She could see him leaning toward her, feel the touch of his mouth on hers. What would have happened if she had not leapt away but had pressed her body against his? She shuddered as she slid into the bed, which Binge had left half clammy. At least she would have been warm in Justin's arms…and more than warm.

Although Lissa knew what had astonished her when her mouth met Justin's, she could not understand
why
it had happened. Justin was not the first man to kiss her. Some of those who had been proposed by their fathers as husbands or had asked for her in marriage on their own had desired more than her dowry and the inheritance that would be hers on her father's death. A few of those, misunderstanding the relationship between her and William, had courted her, thinking she could influence her father's decision about giving her in marriage. So there had been hand holdings and whisperings in the ear and kisses. In most cases Lissa had liked the men and had found their attentions pleasant, but she had never felt any stronger reaction than liking.

Certainly she had felt no desire of the flesh for Peter. She had found her marital duty endurable partly because she had been taught that sex was inevitable and necessary to have children and partly because Peter's attentions were infrequent and brief. In addition, she had suffered little discomfort from coupling because Oliva, her father's slave leman, who had served as her maid, had told her to smear herself well, inside and out, with a slick salve. But there had been no pleasure for her, no liking for the act.

It was astonishing, then, that the feel of Justin's breath on her face, the brushing of his lips against hers, should set up a silent clamor in her body, a feeling that her nipples were of themselves swelling and thrusting forward and, more astonishing still, that her nether lips were becoming full and moist and parting eagerly to welcome an invader. As her body warmed the bedclothes, Lissa considered the act of coupling, only replacing Peter with Justin. She was astonished all over again, not only at her own response but at how vividly her imagination painted what she had never seen—a virile young lover, naked and ready.

William's interview with Robert FitzWalter was not pleasant, but it was not as bad as it could have been. Lord Robert was not pleased, but once his first violent spurt of temper had cooled, he acknowledged that Peter's death was beyond anyone's control. He himself had not realized how timorous the goldsmith was, FitzWalter remarked to William; if he had, he would have handled the matter differently.

“I assumed,” Lord Robert went on, “that any man who would dare so bold a violation of an agreement would need a little strong persuasion before he confessed, or at least not die of fright before he was even threatened.”

“I wonder now,” William said, “if Flael did not tell the truth to us—that he believed the seal was in the box he handed me at the wedding.”

If he could convince FitzWalter of that, William thought, FitzWalter would never begin to wonder whether he could have got the seal before the box was handed to Hubert. Since FitzWalter was aware that his henchman was not overclever, the idea might otherwise occur to him. As if thinking of him stirred him to life, Hubert moved out of the dim area behind Lord Robert's chair.

“The journeyman did not take it,” Hubert put in. “I remember what the journeyman said. He said he dared not touch the seal before he had his price because his master checked to see that it was still locked in the box. And he could not open and reseal the box because his master wore his own seal always on his person.”

“That was not what I meant,” William said. “It seems to me, my lord, since the sons have fled, that Flael must have taken them into his confidence. They were very angry about the marriage. Could not the sons have taken the seal? They would have had access to their father's private chamber and, perhaps, to a way to empty the box without his knowing.”

“And taken the seal with them when they fled?” FitzWalter stood up angrily. “If so, they must not be seized by Sir
Justin's men.”

“I do not think they would have taken it, my lord,” William soothed. “They could have no use for it, and it would be a grave danger to them. As matters stand, they have committed no crime. It is no crime to move one's own property—and they could say they were placing the chests in safekeeping. They know they could not be held, once they proved they had no guilty knowledge of their father's death. But if the seal were found among their possessions…I cannot be sure they would have left it hidden; they are young and might not have thought the matter through, but I think there is a good chance the seal is still in Flael's house.”

“It must be searched,” FitzWalter said. “Thoroughly. More thoroughly than your last search. As for Flael's sons, I have eyes and ears among the guards, and if they are taken, I will hear of it sooner than Sir Justin but I would greatly prefer that we find them first.”

“I will speak to my daughter in the morning,” William offered. “She may have some idea of where young Peter and Edmond might have gone or of friends who might have taken them in. I will also try to induce her to move back to my house so Flael's will be empty—but she may refuse. She is stubborn, and I dare not press her too hard to move lest she begin to wonder why I want the house empty.”

“If you beat her well, she will be more agreeable,” FitzWalter remarked disdainfully.

“And have her run to Sir Justin and tell him I want the house empty? I know her. That is just what she would do, and I cannot keep her prisoner because Sir Justin may still have questions he wishes to ask her.”

FitzWalter said nothing for a moment and then smiled. “I am sure you will find a way to search that house whether it is empty or not. But do not come here again to give me news. I will have a talk with Sir Justin on my own.”

It was fortunate for William that FitzWalter was not relying on him for news because he found it impossible to pry anything of importance out of Lissa when he questioned her in the hope of satisfying his own curiosity. Oddly, even William realized that she was not deliberately spiting him; what he could not decide was whether she knew nothing more than she told him or was thinking too hard about something else to hear his questions properly. Also, he had little time to question her. William had come at first light, expecting to find Lissa still abed and have some time to talk to her alone.

His first check was that he found Lissa wide awake, already dressed in the sad-colored gown she had worn after her mother's death, conferring with the priest about the burial. Ordinarily, a public crier would have been hired to call out the time and place where mass would be said, but because England was still under interdict, which meant no service could be held in a church, there were complications. The priest did not want to chance being reported for having violated the pope's order, and Lissa did not want it said that she had taken advantage of the interdict to be niggardly about her husband's interment. The matter was settled by compromise: A full mass was forbidden; Lissa accepted that, but she insisted on some ceremony. Since the king had made his peace with the pope and it was expected that the interdict would be lifted very soon, the priest agreed to say the Office for the dead at the church door.

As soon as Father Denis left, William asked Lissa about Flael's sons. She had greeted him with polite indifference when he came into the solar. Now she looked at him as if she was not sure that she had ever met him before and said there had been no news. William then changed his tack and told her she looked terrible and that she had been a fool to remain in a house where a murder had been committed. She replied woodenly that the murder had not been committed in the house. William continued to urge her to leave, but he was certain she did not hear him. Before he could decide whether to strike her to draw her attention and ease his irritation, there were footsteps on the stairs. To William's surprise, Lissa stiffened and her vague glance changed, fixing on the doorway with a sudden alert intensity.

For the third time that morning, the knock that heralded a visitor set Lissa's insides churning. Please God, she thought, not him! Not now while my father is alone with me. William was the very last person in the world to whom Lissa wished to display any weakness, and she had never felt so incapable of controlling her expression and voice.

Despite the emotional upheaval she had felt when she went to bed, Lissa had slept well and dreamlessly; however, when she woke, all the confusion and desire of the previous night renewed themselves. In vain she reminded herself that she was a widow of one day, that her husband was to be buried in a few hours. The moment she relaxed in an attempt to sleep again, Justin slipped into her mind and visions of him slipped into her bed.

In desperation, Lissa had got up and begun to go through her clothes chest. She found what she sought at the bottom—the dark, drab gown she had made when she knew her mother was dying. As she shook out the creases and made the gown ready to put on, sad memories cooled her heated imagination. Still, after she had called down to wake Binge and Witta, washed, dressed, and eaten, the sound of knocking on the door made her tremble. She told herself angrily that Justin was not a fool. He would not come so early and expose himself, and her too, to malicious gossip. Nonetheless, she found herself weak with mingled disappointment and relief when she saw Father Denis.

Her conversation with the priest had calmed her, but when the sound of knocking came again a few minutes later, Lissa was still afraid she would not be able to face Justin without betraying herself. Thus, she was almost glad to see her father when he came into her solar; not that she was surprised that he had come. She had expected him, although not quite so early; William was always punctilious about public duties. Lissa knew he would not care to start talk by failing to support his daughter at her husband's burial.

Nor was Lissa surprised when the first thing William asked about when they were alone was Peter's sons. Plainly he still hoped to get his fingers on some of the contents of Peter's strongboxes. And when he began to urge her to come home, Lissa hardly listened because she had expected that too and knew in advance all the arguments he would use. He did not want her company; having lost, when Peter died, whatever business advantage he expected from their marriage, William wanted her back at work in the apothecary shop. Lissa did not mind that; she enjoyed her part in her father's business, but she had no intention of going back to William's house unless Peter's sons returned and drove her out of this one.

The strength of the determination she felt surprised Lissa and diverted her from a simple refusal that should have cut off her father's argument. She let him talk while she considered why she did not want to go home even now, when she was certain William had not been responsible for Peter's murder. Actually, she liked her father's house better than this one. Her chamber, though smaller, was no less luxurious than Peter's solar, and it smelled sweetly of the herbs in the shop below instead of being tainted with the odor of burning and hot metal and wax. Why cling to this empty house?

As the question came into Lissa's mind, the sound of knocking came again and, with the emotions that shook her, she knew the answer. She wanted to remain because the house
was
empty, because it would be much more difficult, perhaps even impossible, for Justin to come to her without notice in her father's house. The revelation, naked and blatant as it appeared in her mind, was such a shock to her that she could not react in any way when, instead of Justin, a plump woman entered, wearing a worried expression on a kindly face.

“I am Adela, Master Goscelin's wife,” she said, coming forward and taking Lissa's hand. “I was at your wedding, but I am sure you will not remember me.” She chuckled when a faint consternation added itself to the blankness in Lissa's face. “Now, now, that was not a hint that I expect you to remember me. I saw when I wished you good fortune and happiness that you did not really see or hear me—and I do not blame you at all. I have been married many years, but I remember well how confused and frightened and sad I was when I was married to my dear Goscelin. Girls have fancies…but that is neither here nor there. I assure you I did not thrust myself on you for the purpose of telling you about my wedding. I stopped by yesterday to ask if there was anything I could do for you, but Sir Justin's man told me your father was with you and I did not wish to intrude. I hope I am not intruding now, but I thought I had better come and tell you that Peter's brethren in the guild will wish to pay their respects.”

“You are not intruding at all,” Lissa said, summoning up a smile. “I am very grateful to you.” Neither the smile nor the statement was false; she was truly grateful to Mistress Adela both for talking long enough to enable her to suppress the idea that had shocked her and for warning her about the visits of Peter's brother guildsmen. “I hope you will be able to advise me,” she went on. “In view of the—the manner of Peter's death and also the interdict, which I was afraid would prevent the guild brothers from saying masses for Peter's soul, I did not know whether I should try to provide a—a feast for many or few—and worst of all, I—I have very little money.”

“Do not trouble your head about that at all, except to have some tables set up,” Adela replied. “The brethren of Goldsmiths will take care of the food and drink. The single men will bring bread and wine, and the married men, or rather their wives, will bring suitable dishes.”

“I am most grateful,” Lissa repeated with heartfelt sincerity, “and I will do whatever you think is best as well as I can, but I must tell you that I do not inherit any part of Peter's business and therefore have no right to know of the mysteries of the guild.”

“Is that the truth?” Adela seemed very much surprised. “Goscelin told me that young Peter and Edmond had run off with the strongboxes, and I imagined—what in the world could have made them behave like that?”

“Well, it was not that they needed to hide Peter's wealth from me,” Lissa said, but she guessed from Adela's remarks that her husband did not confide much of his business to her, and she hesitated to say any more.

“It is just as well,” Adela said, but she looked a little disappointed. “I was wondering what the guild would do if Peter had made you his heir. They have no women members at all.”

“Too bad the pepperers have not the same rule,” William remarked caustically.

He spoke softly, but Adela had sharp ears and flicked a glance at him that raked him up and down as she said, “The Goldsmiths have no rule against women. It is only that in the cases where wives and daughters have inherited among the brethren of Goldsmiths, they knew nothing of business and preferred to remarry or sell. I heard Master Peter praising Mistress Heloise's abilities in reading and keeping accounts, and I wondered whether she would wish to apply for Peter's place in the guild.”

Lissa's eyes met Adela's and she smiled. Apparently the lady had a fine sense of mischief and perhaps a little resentment of her husband's practice of keeping her in the dark. “Will you call me Lissa?” she asked. “It is what my friends and my mother called me.”

Before Adela could answer with more than a smile, William said, “It would not have surprised me if Heloise expected to be given her husband's place in the guild.”

“Now, Father, you know I would not have wanted that,” Lissa retorted swiftly, her voice dripping honey. “I know I am too ignorant of the craft.” Then she turned to Adela and went on in a natural, pleasant tone, “It would have been most unfair. The place belongs rightfully to young Peter. I do not believe any craft can benefit by accepting those who have not been raised in it. I will have my father's place among the pepperers, if I survive him, and that will be right and just because he has taught me the craft of an apothecary from childhood, and I can be a credit to the pepperers guild, which I could not be among the goldsmiths.”