Roberta Gellis (20 page)

When he saw the faint quiver of Goden’s eyelids, before he was conscious enough to close his eyes more firmly and pretend he was still unconscious, Bell rattled the coins in his hand. Goden’s eyes opened.

“I know you were whoremaster in a house that sold forged documents. No, no, do not bother to deny it. I have no proof, no matter what you say to me here. There is no one else to hear you. I want you to sit here and name every single man or woman who did business with you—

“Name them? How? Do you think they told me their names? And that was years ago! How would I remember?”

“Goden, do not annoy me. I have done you no harm so far, but you are not a man who would be a loss to the world, and I would not be averse to ridding it of you. I know that you were once a clerk or even a priest.” Bell knew no such thing, but Goden’s flinch proved the sheriff’s guess right. “You can read and doubtless not only wrote down but kept in memory the names of those who bought false documents or had them made. Never mind how I know; not every man and woman who worked for you in the past loves you deeply.”

“Who?” Goden muttered. “Tell me who and I will gladly tell you everything you want to know.”

Bell shrugged. “I do not need to bargain,” he said. “If I like what I hear, I will give you these three pennies and go my own way while you go yours.”

Goden shook his head, frantically whining that he didn’t know any names. Bell smiled and unsheathed his dagger. Goden gasped and began to name men, one after another.

Bell listened without stopping him or giving any sign that any name was familiar to him. He heard many that he knew, a few that confirmed his own suspicions so neatly that he nearly nodded, and one or two that really surprised him because he would have sworn they were men of probity. When Goden stopped speaking, Bell did not prod him for more names. If he was keeping back a few special tidbits, Bell did not care. He simply handed him the three pennies, hauled him to his feet, and shoved him back along the way they had come.

Among the names were three men from Mainard’s Bridge Guild, three men who knew the Old Priory Guesthouse, three men of the five who had been in Mainard’s workroom the day Codi’s knife disappeared: John Herlyoud, Lintun Mercer, and Perekin FitzRevery. He would still need proof; Goden’s word was worthless, but those three would merit close scrutiny.

* * * *

When Bell rushed out, Magdalene stood a moment looking at the gate and sighed. She had been more stirred than she liked by Bell’s response to her innocent reaction to the spring warmth of the sun. If she had pulled him into her arms instead of confirming that she had been teasing him by kissing his nose, he would have turned back and satisfied the desire his kiss had wakened…and stayed for the evening meal and for the rest of the night.

Perhaps that was what she needed. Perhaps she had been celibate too long. The last time she had coupled had been with William, in April, a few days after Baldassare had been killed. William…. Magdalene shook her head. She did not want William; that was duty, although that last time a surprisingly pleasant duty. Bell would be different. He liked to play. She felt again the quick dart of his tongue, not a brutal thrusting invasion, but a tentative invitation.

Who would it harm if she yielded to him, took him as a man, not a client? Magdalene turned sharply and reentered the house, took her usual seat, and began, hardly seeing the pattern, to embroider. Who would it harm? Bell. As long as he did not accept that she
was
a whore, that there would be, must be, other men, and that she could and would only belong to him for the time he was with her, he would be jealous. Three men who had desired her were already dead.

The needle glinted as Magdalene drew it from the cloth, and she saw again the glint of light on her husband’s well-honed blade as he waved it, threatening to cut off her nose and her ears to save her from becoming a whore. Magdalene laughed softly, bitterly. That was funny. It was that threat that had turned her into a whore.

She had given him no cause for jealousy; she dressed plainly, worked hard, kept her eyes down when any man spoke to her. She kept to herself as much as possible, but there were times when it was necessary to go to market to purchase what the manor lands would not supply, to sell her embroidery and buy more cloth and thread, and she was lonely; she needed sometimes to laugh and talk with other women. But once Brogan had seen that stupid mercer’s journeyman following her, pleading with her, her husband had
looked
at her and noticed what she had grown into from the gangly child with too-big features that he had married. Nightmare followed.

Magdalene bit her lip. Her hand lay idle on her embroidery frame—and then a pair of shadows blocked the sunlight coming from the doorway and Haesel’s high voice broke her thoughts. Magdalene called a welcome and Sabina came toward her, smiling, while Haesel ran off to the kitchen.

“A good party?” Magdalene asked. “Did the betrothed pair seem satisfied?”

“Well, Haesel said both were smiling nearly all the time. Both spoke to me and their voices were…light. So I think it is a good match. Master Chandler made nothing of there being a death in my ‘family’ and thanked me for coming to sing, but he did ask a hundred questions about Bertrild.” Sabina shrugged. “I told him Mainard and I knew nothing because we had been at Master Newelyne’s christening feast until nearly Compline, and Bertrild had died before Vespers. I said nothing about her being killed in the Lime Street house because I thought Bell might not want that known, and it does not matter. Mainard could not have killed her.”

Magdalene swallowed a sigh. Poor Sabina. Surely the funeral guests were now gone and Mainard could have come or at least sent her a message. It was cruel of him to put her aside without even telling her—but she was only a whore and likely, to his mind, did not merit even common courtesy.

Still, Magdalene said nothing to Sabina. If it gave the poor girl comfort to deny to herself that her lover had dismissed her, let her have that comfort as long as she could. Only Magdalene silently renewed her vow that no man would ever be able to do that to her. It was not only for Bell’s good that he must accept her as a whore, but for her own.

Meanwhile Sabina had been prattling happily about the fact that two more men had invited her to entertain at small functions and, she said, smiling broadly, a
woman
had offered an engagement to sing at her husband’s birthday dinner. Of course, Sabina went on, she had taken the woman aside during one of her rest periods and told her that she had once been a whore, but the woman had not withdrawn the invitation. She said she assumed all female players were also whores and then asked whether Sabina had been the husband’s whore. Fortunately, it transpired, when the woman brought the husband to where Sabina could touch and smell him, that she had never met him before. And, Sabina said, laughing, as she listened to the husband and wife she became sure the poor man had never dared to go with any whore.

Soon after, Ella joined them, her explosive and impatient client “Bam Bam” having left. Because she was eager to hear all about the party at which Sabina had entertained and Sabina, still excited by her success, was happy to go through the tale again, Magdalene was left to her own thoughts. Those, as she watched Sabina’s lovely, happy face and thought how soon it would be marred by tears, became more and more sour until, at last, she resolved that she would visit Mainard the next morning and force him to tell Sabina to her face that he did not want her any more. Likely that would cost her a good client because he would not return to her house when his second marriage soured, but it would be worth it. Clients she had plenty. Women like Sabina were few and far between.

* * * *

A restless night did not change Magdalene’s decision that she must speak to Mainard; however, it did alter a trifle what she intended to say. She also wondered, as she set out across the bridge, whether free of his personal devil Mainard would even let her in the house. However, the servant who opened the door, although he was surprised to find a veiled woman on the doorstep, only said, “You are too early. You will have to wait, but I will tell the master that you are here.”

Fortunately Magdalene was made speechless by a burst of fury, and the servant went away before she could speak. It seemed to her that Mainard had already arranged for women to come to his house so he could choose among them. In the moment the thought formed, Magdalene was already laughing at it. Many things changed,
but not Mainard’s face. And then she wondered whether her own bitterness was tainting the man rather than anything he had done.

“I am sorry I do not have the clothes sorted yet, Sister,” Mainard said, coming down the stair. Then he saw who it was and said, “Magdalene! I thought you were the sister sent to collect whatever of Bertrild’s clothing is not good enough to return to her uncle. Good God, I was just about to send one of the servants for you. Please, will you come abovestairs? There is something I must show you.”

His expression was worried, but not guilty. Apparently no thought of Sabina or her fate troubled him. Torn between fury and a fear that her prejudices might drive her to a hasty and incorrect conclusion, she held her tongue and followed him back up the stair. The solar was large and surprisingly lavish, one end of the room holding a massive, carved bed, better fitted to a nobleman’s bedchamber, and the other two chairs—real chairs with backs and arms—set before the hearth. Just now the chamber was littered with more gowns, undertunics, stockings, and every variety of female finery than Magdalene thought reasonable.

She was so bemused by the state in which Bertrild had apparently lived that she had not noticed what Mainard was doing until he thrust a cloth packet at her.

“Look!” His voice was strained. “Did Sir Bellamy tell you about the tally sticks I found yesterday?” Magdalene nodded, but Mainard hardly waited for her head to bend, thrusting the packet forward. “Look what I found today when I emptied the chest in the storeroom. Look!”

He unfolded the cloth, and Magdalene drew in her breath.

“They are not mine,” Mainard cried. “I never gave her anything like that, not even for a betrothal gift. I make a good living, but not what would buy such jewels as these.”

“Merciful Mother,” Magdalene breathed, touching a row of winking diamonds and rubies set in elaborately worked gold. Beneath the neck piece, fitted to go on a man’s collar, was what appeared to be a matching bracelet, and a glint of blue suggested at least one more piece set with sapphires.

“Whatever could Bertrild have done to obtain these? What am I to do with them?” Mainard asked.

“Bring them to the justiciar?” Magdalene hazarded.

“I don’t dare,” Mainard said. “I don’t even dare give them to Leon Basynges, my own goldsmith. If her uncle hears about them and claims they were Bertrild’s as an inheritance from her father, he could demand that I return them to him or pay him their worth.”

“I never thought of that,” Magdalene admitted, knitting her brows.

“You take them,” Mainard said, thrusting the packet at her.

“Me?” Magdalene gasped, backing away. Did the fool mean them for Sabina? “Do you have any idea what would happen to a whore caught with such valuables, valuables that she could not prove she had bought or had been given to her?”

Mainard laughed shakily. “Forgive me. I am so shaken I am not saying what I mean. I did not mean for you to keep the jewels. I know that among your clients are goldsmiths. I hoped that you could show them the pieces and ask if they knew who made them. The work is very distinctive, I think. Then, if we knew who made a piece, we could ask that goldsmith who had bought it and thus come back to who had given it to Bertrild.”

“The plan has some merit,” Magdalene admitted, “but I am afraid to take such valuable items into my house. Let me speak to Bell about this. You know he can hold his tongue. And speaking of Bell reminds me about the tally sticks. Have you retrieved their worth from Master Gerlund yet?”

“No! I cannot think
what
to do about that. I suppose it is wrong to leave the money with Master Gerlund, and I do not want Sir Druerie to hear about it. Nor do I want to touch the money myself, and I cannot imagine how to return it without frightening those who paid Bertrild—supposing I could discover who they are and what they paid.”

Magdalene smiled at him. “There Bell and I maybe able to help you. We hope to lay hands upon the man who collected the money for Bertrild. He should be able to tell us from whom he collected and perhaps how much each paid, so I think you would do well to get the money from Gerlund.”

Mainard closed his eyes and put a hand to his head. “I cannot go just this moment. I still have all this to sort out—” he gestured at the clothing “—and chests I haven’t opened. And now I am afraid to let anyone else look through her things. God alone knows what else is concealed.”

Magdalene glanced out the window to judge the angle of the sun. She had time. “Let me sort the clothes;” she said. “I know what is valuable enough to keep for Sir Druerie and doubt I will make any horrible discoveries among them. You go to Master Gerlund.”

After some polite protests, Mainard agreed to Magdalene’s suggestion and, snatching up the tally slicks, which were in the bottom of an empty chest, rushed out. Magdalene made much shorter work of the clothing than Mainard would have done, and when the lay sisters arrived from a charitable order that fed and clothed the poor, she had two substantial bundles ready for them. Two dark, sober gowns, unornamented but scarcely worn, she saved out for the cook and the maid, together with three chemises and three pairs of stockings for each. Whether they were to remain with Mainard or be sold, they should have something for their years of harsh service.

It was not until she had completed these tasks that Magdalene remembered neither she nor Mainard had said a word about Sabina. Having seen him and been reminded of his goodness and his transparent honesty, she found it harder and harder to believe he would thrust Sabina out without a single word to her. Magdalene revised her approach yet again, from accusation to a simple question about his intentions. She had no time to ask, however, because when Mainard returned, he was even more shaken.