Roberta Gellis (15 page)

“An attacker with a knife?”

The cordwainer shook his head. “That makes no difference to Mainard. I saw him do it only a few months since. The Bridge Guild was meeting in the Salters Hall that is north of Candlewick Street. Most of the contributors to the building of the new bridge were there, but the largest donors were up front on the dais. Someone, I do not remember who now, moved that the names of those who gave more than ten pounds should be engraved on a plaque to be fastened to the stones at the bridge entrance. This was so agreed without argument, and the men gave their names. That was when the trouble began. When one of them, Lintun Mercer, spoke, a young man suddenly sprang to his feet and cried out that Master Lintun’s name must not appear but that of his father, Master William Dockett—

“Lintun Mercer? William Dockett? Why do I know those names?” Bell muttered.

Newelyne realized that Bell did not expect him to make any answer to those questions but took his remark as a desire for more information and continued, “This younger William Dockett claimed half the business still belonged to his father, also William Dockett, who had been the original member of the guild, and said he wished to give permission to have the guild dues and contributions deducted from his share. At that point, Master Lintun protested that the business was solely his, that young William had seen his father’s name and seal on the document that reserved a half share to William Dockett only during his life.”

“What has this to do with Master Mainard?”

“The dispute over the inheritance, very little, except that Mainard was a witness in the case. But I was telling you of Mainard’s strength and at that point the young man drew a knife and leapt at Lintun. I think he would have killed him had not Mainard been there. He grasped young Dockett’s wrist, shook the knife free from his hand, pinned his arms, lifted him right off the floor, and carried him out of the hall. And all this before anyone could raise a cry.”

Bell had been giving only a divided attention to this tale, which seemed to have nothing to do with Bertrild’s death. He had heard of Mainard’s strength before, and he was increasingly annoyed by the familiarity of the names of Lintun and Dockett when he was sure he did not know any such people. Unless, he thought, with an unpleasant sinking sensation, he had heard the names at Magdalene’s? The notion made him uneasy, but a moment later he remembered with relief that the familiarity had nothing to do with the Old Priory Guesthouse.

The memory of the cloth that had gone astray sparked a mild interest in him. “Was that just general benevolence on Mainard’s part or did he have some interest in young Dockett?”

“Well, he had known the older Dockett through his neighbor, Perekin FitzRevery, and wanted to save the son trouble. As I said, Mainard stood witness for young Dockett. He said that at the time Lintun bought a half share of the business he had heard the father assure the son that he and his sister would still share half the business when he died. Old Dockett said that perhaps one of his grandchildren would wish to be a mercer.”

“But if he and the son had quarreled, could he not have changed his mind?”

“According to Mainard, there was no quarrel. The son wished to be an apothecary, and he is. The daughter married a goldsmith, a match greatly desired by both young people, not so much by the fathers, who would have preferred marriages within their own trade. But Dockett was very indulgent.” Newelyne shrugged. “Mainard thought it strange that he had cut them out.”

Bell thought it strange too—if Newelyne’s tale was near the truth. It brought to mind the frightened journeyman at Master Lintun’s counter, but he could not guess what had caused the fear and it was none of his business, as long as the bishop’s cloth was delivered as promised. He also shrugged. “If the case was settled—”

“It is not,” Newelyne said. “Mainard told me it was put aside by Andrew Buchuinte when he retired from office, and Octadenarius has not yet completed his investigation.” The cordwainer grimaced. “It seems that
there were questions raised as to the probity of the witness to the documents, but—” He stopped abruptly, looked uneasy, then smiled. “I see the crease is gone from between your eyes. Have you remembered where you heard the names?

Bell laughed aloud. “Oh, yes. I went to see Master Mercer on the bishop’s behalf. He had not delivered an order of fustian cloth.”

“Oh?” Newelyne raised his brows and cocked his head as if Bell had said something that was not altogether a surprise to him.

“He promised to make good without any argument,” Bell hastened to say. “And the order had been given just about the time that Dockett died, so some confusion was almost inevitable.”

“Hmmm,
yes. Dockett’s death was very sudden, a surprise to all of us and something of a grief to Perekin FitzRevery, Mainard’s friend next door. A shock, too, when he found that Dockett had sold the business entire to Lintun. Master FitzRevery did some special trading with Dockett and had believed that would continue through Dockett’s son and daughter, who were to inherit Master William’s half share of the business. FitzRevery also stood witness that the father did not intend to give up the whole business.”

Bell nodded. “I met FitzRevery. He, too, gives Mainard a good name.”

“There is no one who will not give him a good name,” Newelyne said.

Except Sabina, Bell thought, as he thanked Newelyne for his assistance and obtained the names of several others of his guests who knew Mainard. She, poor creature, has been set aside without even the courtesy of a farewell. Not that Sabina would ever complain. The whores of the Old Priory Guesthouse did not speak ill of a client, except possibly among themselves. Clients who displeased the women or Magdalene were simply not accommodated again. Bell moodily kicked a stone as he walked farther down Cordwainer Street. There were always plenty of clients waiting. No hope that Magdalene’s business would fail and she would come to him.

By the time Bell returned to Newelyne’s house to retrieve his horse, he was thoroughly annoyed. Every man to whom he had spoken barely managed to hide a grin—or did not bother to try hiding it—when he mentioned Bertrild’s death. Every man had nothing but praise for the saddler, for his skill in his profession, for his honesty, for his kindness. Not one even looked speculative before denying that Mainard would kill Bertrild. A few showed barely veiled contempt for a man who would not even beat so shrewish a wife into submission. And, unfortunately, all together they could not assure Bell that Mainard had been in Newelyne’s house all the time from Sext to Vespers.

One remembered seeing him soon after he came in and speaking to him just before he left. Another recalled Mainard taking food and drink to Sabina and standing by her to see that she ate and drank without interruption from demands for another song. A third had deliberately sought him out to ask whether he had a ready-made saddle that he could buy. He remembered it had been hard to find Mainard, who betook himself to shadowed corners. And none could speak firmly about when they had seen him; the celebration had been too crowded, too lively, too enjoyable for anyone to make a note of the time.

What it all amounted to, Bell thought as he rode toward the bishop’s house, was that Sabina was cleared of all suspicion. Everyone remembered her. She had remained pretty much glued to her stool all day, partly because of the frequent demands for her singing and partly because of the crowd and her unfamiliarity with the house. On the other hand, Mainard could easily have slipped out of Newelyne’s house not long after noon and returned up to about a candlemark before Vespers without anyone being the wiser. Of course, that was true for everyone, but not everyone had Mainard’s reasons for wanting Bertrild dead.

Diot’s look of distress when Magdalene brought Sabina back did not escape Magdalene’s notice, but she said nothing about it, asking instead whether all had been quiet. Ella burbled that Letice had gone out, as usual, and that she had finished another row of flowers on the ribbon she was embroidering. She jumped up and proffered the work as she spoke.

“That is lovely,” Magdalene said, quite truthfully. Ella’s skill with the needle had been improving steadily and, given a design, her embroidery was now excellent. “If you should ever wish to retire, love, your needle will give you another source of income.”

“Retire?” Ella echoed, eyes round. “But I cannot take my embroidery to bed. You know how needles are, one moment firmly fixed in the cloth and the next gone. Why it might prick a friend who came to lie with me.”

Magdalene’s mouth opened, then closed, and she simply hugged Ella. “You are right,” she said. “It is better not to take needles to bed. It was silly of me to say that.” She took a deep breath, putting aside her concern for what would happen to Ella in the years ahead. At least that concern was many years in the future. “Now, love,” she went on briskly, “we need another stool by the fire. Sabina will be with us—she glanced sidelong at the blind woman’s still face and continued without any hesitation “—for a few days, until after Mistress Bertrild’s affairs are settled, at least. See if Dulcie can lend us one from the kitchen.”

Ella returned her piece of embroidery to her basket and ran off. Magdalene smiled at Diot. “I am afraid you will have to move to the new stool,” she said. “It will be easier for Sabina to find her old place.” Then she turned to Sabina. “I have taken on a new woman, love. Diot is in your chamber, and I hate to ask her to move.”

“Oh, no,” Sabina murmured,
turning her blind face toward where she knew her stool to have stood. “Of course Diot must stay there. It would be very wrong to change. The clients are used to that chamber. I will do very well in the last room—unless Bell is staying with us?”

Magdalene laughed. “No. Bell is not in charity with me right now. I have offended him mightily by taking your old clients ‘the Widower’ and ‘the Young Maiden, to my bed.”

Sabina giggled. “Did you not tell him that your virtue was not likely to be smirched by either one?”

“Now, now, Sabina. That would be telling tales about a client. Bell is not truly a part of the family, and we must not forget it.”

“Oh, is he going to be a friend then?” Ella asked, coming in with the stool. “If you do not want him, Magdalene, I will be glad to have him. He is a very pretty man. Very pretty, and looks to be well furnished below.”

“I have no reason to think otherwise,” Magdalene said, biting her lip as she thought of Bell’s probable reaction to Ella’s remarks, “but he is, as usual, on business and not looking for entertainment. And I do not think he can afford our prices.” She turned to smile at Diot. “Where would you like the stool placed, Diot?”

When that was settled, she took Sabina to her new room. The bed Bell used when he stayed with them was still there; Dulcie arrived with bedclothes. Magdalene thought about Diot’s white-faced silence and wondered whether she should have set her mind at rest about keeping her despite Sabina’s return—if it was a return. There was still a possibility that Mainard would want her back, but even if he did not and some of Sabina’s old clients would prefer her services, Magdalene had no intention of putting Diot out. For one thing, there would be no real trouble in expanding the number of clients; for another, Magdalene was finding it very convenient to have someone else who could go to the gate and deal with arrivals; for a third, Diot was too intelligent and beautiful to work in a common stew and not yet rich enough to set up for herself.

Moreover, Sabina’s arrival provided the opportunity for a final test of Diot’s character. If Diot tried subtly to torment the blind girl, her good behavior was too thin a gloss over a too-intense self-interest for deep trust. Pariahs as they were to the whole world around them, the women of this household needed to trust and support each other no matter what their small resentments and jealousies.

As Letice did not return for dinner, Diot cut up Ella’s food for her without needing to be asked. She began to reach for Sabina’s, Magdalene noted with interest, and then checked herself when she saw how deftly Sabina managed on her own. Then, as if the words were being pulled out of her, she asked about the murder.

Ella looked up. “Murder? Someone was killed?” She shuddered. “Who?”

“A very unkind and unpleasant person. You do not know her,” Magdalene replied soothingly.

“But will someone try to blame us? Brother Paulinus?”

“No, love.” Magdalene smiled at her. “Brother Paulinus is gone from the priory. You know that. Brother Boniface is now sacristan.”

“Oh, I
like
Brother Boniface,” Ella said, an enchanting if totally vacuous smile on her face. “Even if he prefers Letice to me, he never says I am damned and cannot pray.”

“He does not
prefer
Letice,” Diot said. “He likes you very well too. He goes with Letice because she is not a Christian. Thus, when he lies with her, he has only his own sin to answer for and need not worry about corrupting a Christian soul.”

That remark left Ella frowning slightly as she tried to understand, but Sabina quickly mentioned that she had learned several new songs and began to speak of how much pleasure it gave her to go about and perform, which permitted her to meet other musicians. Diot’s eyes brightened and her expression grew less rigid, particularly when Magdalene asked who Sabina’s clients were, and Sabina explained that originally they had all been Mainard’s friends but that others had heard her perform and invited her to sing for them also. There were now some who did not even know Mainard, and her clientele was growing.

By common consent, no further mention was made of Bertrild’s death even after the remains of the meal had been cleared away and they had gone back to their seats near the hearth. Sabina began to sing, but only songs she knew so well that music and words came from her without thought. It was the murder that was in the forefront of all their minds. Magdalene racked her brains for a way to be rid of Ella, but nothing she suggested caught the simple girl’s fancy until, like a special dispensation from heaven, the bell at the outer gate pealed.