Masques of Gold (21 page)

The half-amused thought vanished as Justin remembered what else Lissa had said. She was not talking of only a few weeks' waiting until the noise about Flael's death quieted. She expected them to be lovers for some long time…or perhaps she expected that when he had supped of her and was able to think with his head instead of with his staff he would not wish to marry her at all. All that talk of “terms.” Justin's lips twitched. Lissa was more a fool than he if she did not know the power she held. Coupling could only spice, not sate, the appetite she raised. But she had warned him about her father. What had she said? If my father discovers…he will hold it over you. There was a real threat in that, considering the position he held, but all that Lissa's warning accomplished was to make him want her more.

Did he want her enough to marry William Bowles's daughter? Justin walked to the hearth at which he had been staring and kicked at the seeming structure in it, an ashy formation that showed how the fire had been banked for the night. It was true that William Bowles did not have the best reputation. A man who dealt with him, it was said, had better be sure of good witnesses with sound memories or he might discover that he had sworn to much more and would receive much less than he intended. That was unpleasant, but was it so terrible? The man was dishonest in small ways. Was it not Lissa's own determined honesty that made her father seem so black to her? No, he would certainly not have chosen a father-by-marriage like William Bowles, but there was no way but marriage to slake the thirst for Lissa's presence in his everyday life.

Justin stared at the untidy heap of ash into which the formation had collapsed after his kick. It had been a well-banked fire, showing still, after all these hours, a tiny red spark at its heart. Lissa was a good housewife as well as a good apothecary, he thought, recalling the way the coals had been heaped and at the same time feeling irritable at being fatuous. And then he smiled broadly as the real reason came to him why the undisturbed condition of the banked fire stuck in his mind. It had nothing to do with Lissa, had only got confused into his thoughts about her. What had been trying to get into his thick skull was that no one had burned anything to destroy it.

That was not an earthshaking observation, but it did at least close one avenue of investigation. Justin shouted for the men waiting below to come up. While they picked their way to the ladder, Justin cast a glance around to decide how to begin sifting through the debris for some sign of the men who had created it. He was briefly distracted when he saw the parchments strewn just as they had fallen when Lissa jumped up to kiss him for pulling her gowns out of the debris. She really had used them only as an excuse to speak to him alone. He gathered them up, placed her receipt book atop, and tied them into a thick packet with pieces of the torn bedding, then said to the first man up the ladder, “Take the gowns that are lying in what was the other chamber, these parchments, and the wooden box atop that pile of scrap to Master Goscelin's house and ask that they be given to Mistress Lissa.”

He turned to the other man, but as the first came toward him with his arms full of gowns, he realized that what he asked would take some doing and laughed. “Go down first with the box,” Justin said, unwilling to take a chance that the beautiful casket would be broken. “I will throw down the parchments and the gowns. Meanwhile, John, pick up some of the splintered wood and make good fires in both chambers. We need not freeze while we work. But, John, be careful to look at each piece. If you find anything at all caught in the wood or stuck to it, bring the whole to me.”

Scarcely ten minutes after Justin left Goscelin's upper chamber, William Bowles came into the shop and asked for his daughter. Mistress Adela, who had followed Justin down to reinforce the idea that Lissa was a sweet child and must be treated with gentleness, was still in the shop. Once belowstairs, she had noticed that one of the apprentices had a dripping nose and a thick voice, and she began to question him. Her first impulse when William entered the shop was to step into a dark corner and pretend she was not there, but she knew if she did not prevent it, William would follow his daughter. Although she had no real reason at all, Adela felt strongly that she must prevent William from interrupting Justin's meeting with Lissa.

“God be with you, Master Bowles,” she said, coming forward. “I suppose you have come to inquire about your daughter. I must confess I have not kept so strict a watch on her as you might desire, but do come above with me. You must not scold me here where my husband's folk will hear.”

“I have indeed come to ask about Heloise,” William said. “She did not wish to see me this morning, and I had not thought to disturb her again today, but a matter of our craft has arisen which makes it necessary for me to speak to her as soon as possible. I hope she has her senses?”

“Good heaven, yes,” Adela exclaimed, shepherding him up the stair and into the solar. “Dear Goscelin,” she cried, shutting the door behind her as she entered the room, “here is Master Bowles so much concerned for Lissa's health that I was afraid to tell him I could not stop her from going out soon after dinner.”

Goscelin rose from his chair, his face perfectly blank. He had no idea why Adela had brought Bowles up here instead of sending him to Flael's house, but he had learned over their twenty years of marriage to trust her, and he said, “You need not worry about your daughter's health. Her injuries looked worse than they were—no bones broken or cords torn, just bruises. She will be back in a little while, I dare say. If you are in a hurry, I will be glad to give her any message you wish to leave for her.”

“I am not in any hurry,” William replied blandly, although he was furious with Goscelin's none too subtle attempt to be rid of him. “I will wait, since it is a matter I must discuss with Heloise herself, and in private, as soon as possible.”

“I see.” Goscelin's face now wore, if possible, even less expression than it had before. He had become quite fond of Lissa during his dealings with her over the four days since Peter de Flael's death, but he was not prepared to become familiar with William Bowles for her sake. Still, it was not in the goldsmith's nature to offend any man who had given him no personal insult, and he turned to his wife and said, “Pour a glass of wine for Master Bowles, Adela. And you, Master Bowles, come to the fire and warm yourself.”

“Thank you,” William said, one corner of his mouth curling in acknowledgment of the grudging hospitality.

There was a silence and then, feeling the need to make small talk, Goscelin said, “It seems that the king will not come to London at all before he goes to France.”

“And just as well,” William replied. “Each time he comes, he has another demand.”

“But he has balanced what he asks of us with great favors and great liberties,” Goscelin pointed out.

William shrugged. “So all say, and yet I have seen little benefit of those words and seals on parchment. One could come to terms with a king's sheriff or bailiff who held office for years. Now—” He sipped at the wine Adela had handed to him, angry because he knew how the goldsmith would interpret those words and angrier because the interpretation would not be so wrong. “Well,” he went on briskly, “it is all the same to me. I have little to do with such men. Still, I will be glad if King John stays in France and even gladder if he keeps with him all his great nobles.”

Goscelin laughed, covering a certain interest. He had heard that William Bowles could ask a favor of Lord Robert FitzWalter and be reasonably sure of having that favor granted. What Bowles had done to earn such consideration Goscelin did not wish to guess because he had no desire for his conscience to urge him to go against Lord Robert, but now it sounded as if FitzWalter either had withdrawn his goodwill or was asking payment in return.

“I cannot agree with you,” Goscelin said easily, still smiling as if he spoke in jest. “It is easy enough for you, whose business is mostly with the ladies who will remain here in England, but not so good for those of us who depend on the lords' custom to make our profits. But,” he went on smoothly, “you sound as if you have been pinched. Let me see, who is in London who could have—”

“No, no!” William cut him off sharply and tossed off the remainder of his wine. “There is no special case. I am only afraid that the quarrel between the king and the barons will break out into open war. If so, let them fight in France. You know who will suffer the worst if they come to marching armies here in England.”

“Alas, I do,” Goscelin said in total if unwilling agreement.

He was aware from William's barely concealed alarm that there must indeed be some reason for him to wish FitzWalter would go far away. There was no use in pursuing the question directly, however, and Goscelin drew his wife into the discussion, easily inducing her with a hint here and there to turn the talk to illness, medications, and the problems even the best compounders had in predicting the strength of certain most valuable but dangerous drugs, like hemlock and foxglove. Goscelin missed his purpose, which was to discover if William would avoid the topic or look in any way uneasy while discussing it, implying that he might have provided a fatal dose of something or other to someone.

Quite the contrary was true. William leapt on the subject, and he spoke with a peevish sincerity, which Goscelin could not mistake, about his own ignorance of all such matters. It was Heloise who had initiated and carried out that end of the business, and if disaster struck, it would be on her head. He never did more than sell the herbs themselves, and he added, at considerable length, that he preferred to deal in condiments, which brought a better profit. He had not quite finished all he had to say on the subject when a brief scratch heralded the opening of the door and Lissa came into the room.

“Oh, my dear,” Adela cried, “where have you been? You look so tired. There, I blame myself. I should not have allowed you to go out. And here is your father, quite out of patience with us for being careless with you, for he is in a great hurry to tell you something.”

Lissa was tired and in no mood to deal with her father, but before she could protest, he said, “That is quite true. Also, I must talk to you privately, Heloise. I am sorry to be rude, but the matter is of importance and of some urgency.”

“Very well.” Lissa knew it was useless to try to escape her father in this mood. In any case, since she no longer had the refuge of living in Peter's house, it would be better to pacify him and listen to what he had to say. “I suppose, we could go—” she began vaguely.

“You need go nowhere,” Adela interrupted. “You may talk here in the solar. Goscelin must come down to the shop with me anyway. One of the apprentices has a running nose, and I must know whether this boy can be spared and may be sent to bed.”

Lissa walked quickly across the chamber, limping slightly for, with the stimulus of Justin's presence gone, her whole left side ached and throbbed, and kissed Adela's cheek. “My most heartfelt thanks,” she murmured. “I am tired and ache in every limb. I am very grateful not to need to go out in the cold again.”

“Poor child.” Adela loosened Lissa's cloak pin but did not pull off the garment, urging the girl silently into the smaller of the two chairs by the fire and only then opening the cloak to allow the heat easier access. “I should not have allowed…”

Adela's body hid Lissa from her father, and the small satisfied smile Lissa allowed to appear communicated enough that Adela did not finish her remark. Instead she said briskly, “No use bemoaning a cracked cast. Better to melt it down at once and begin again—so, off to bed with you, Mistress Lissa, as soon as your father has his say and is gone. And that—pardon
my
rudeness, Master Bowles—should take no long time. Come, Goscelin.”

“And what was that all about?” the goldsmith asked his wife softly as soon as the door was closed behind them.

Adela looked confused, as she often did when he asked the reason behind some seemingly purposeless action. “Oh, I am not sure,” she admitted. “I just felt…I knew Lissa wished to be alone with Sir Justin, I do not know why, for he is not at all the kind of man most girls would wish to be alone with. I mean…he is so
hard.
If I did not know you had more power than he, I would be afraid of him.”

“There is no reason for anyone who has done no wrong to fear Justin,” Goscelin assured his wife somewhat absently while he considered what she had said. “He may be hard, but he is also perfectly just.”

“But sometimes justice is not at all appropriate,” Adela protested.

Goscelin looked startled. “Whatever do you mean, Adela?” he asked. “
Justice
is
always
appropriate.”

She put her arm around her husband's portly waist and squeezed. “You know I am never quite sure what I mean,” she admitted, “but I am very glad you are a goldsmith and not a hunter of men. I think Lissa has a…a hunger for Justin. How does one lie abed with a man who has caused the hanging and maiming of hundreds?”

Goscelin laughed and hugged his wife back without answering as he led her down the stairs.

Upstairs in the solar, William had come forward and now stood directly before Lissa, looming over her. “Good,” he said with a satisfied chuckle. “You have got a sound beating, and well deserved too. Did I not tell you to leave that house and come home?”

Lissa did not answer the remark, except by a single flashing glance, but she was now sick with the near certainty that her father had been involved in the robbery and destruction of Peter's house. All she said, however, was “Oh, step back, father. By now you should have come to understand that you cannot frighten me, and you only annoy me by making me twist my neck to see you. Say what you must say to me and go.”

“I have no intention and no need of frightening you, you stupid slut,” William said, “but I would be glad to buy a drink for the man who gave you a lessoning you need.”

“And that you are too afraid to give me?” Lissa's mouth curled with contempt. She pulled the pin from her cloak and held it up so William could see it. “Stand away from me, I said.”

“Fool! I simply do not wish to shout at you so that overcurious goldsmith and his prying wife hear every word I say.”

“More the fool you,” Lissa snapped. “Do you think because you listen at doors a man like Goscelin would do so? Besides, they have been so kind to me. If they want to know what your business with me was, I will tell them.”

“They will not ask and you will not tell them.” William laughed, and then laughed again when he saw Lissa drop her head with shame and swallow. “There
are
advantages to being the one wise man among a great many fools. Never mind that. I did not come here for the pleasure of having you lecture me on honor. Do you know that the king is going to France to—he says—win back Normandy?”

Startled, Lissa looked up. “Of course I know. What has that to do with us?”

“Not with us, with me. Lord Robert FitzWalter, who is accompanying King John to France, has asked me to oversee some business in the north for him.”

“You?” Lissa's amazement and disbelief were too quick and sincere to have been designed as a deliberate insult and thus displayed her contempt all the more, as did her next incredulous question. “Why should he ask you?”

Her voice wavered on the last few words because the answer had come to her. If a man wanted a deputy who would not worry about right and wrong, he might well ask William Bowles to play that role. Then, while her father sputtered over her disregard of his worth and importance and called her several obscene names, she remembered her conversation with Justin, remembered that what he had said implied that FitzWalter was ordinarily honest in business matters, remembered too that FitzWalter was an inveterate enemy of the king. So another, more dangerous, reason occurred to her for FitzWalter to employ her father, someone little known to him and of bad reputation. If he wanted treason done and wished to be able to throw away the soiled tool he had used to do it, her father would be ideal.

“Father,” she said desperately. “I am sorry for what I said. Please listen to me, truly you
must
listen. You must not involve yourself with Lord Robert. He hates the king, and John hates him. If what he has asked you to do can be accounted as treason…”

William looked at his daughter as if she had turned into an adder and bitten him. Finally, his voice high and his eyes staring fixedly into hers, he told her, “If there were even a smell of treason, I would have nothing to do with it, you fool. I am not such an idiot as to let myself be crushed between two great ones. The matter has to do with trade, nothing more, and the king will never hear my name.”

Lissa did not believe him. That fixed stare, eye meeting eye, which so many felt was a sign of sincerity, always meant William Bowles was lying. Common sense also protested. Surely Lord Robert had his own servants to deal with simple matters of trade. “Listen, please listen,” she begged. “What might look as innocent as washed wool to you might be goat hair. How did Lord Robert come to know you? What do you know of his business?”

Then, to Lissa's amazement, the fear she had seen under her father's words about trade disappeared. He laughed. “It is none of your affair how I know Lord Robert,” he remarked, almost good-humoredly. “If you are so concerned about my doing business for him, all you need do is keep your mouth shut and there will be only three in the world who ever know of it. Why do you think I wished to speak to you in private?”