Roberta Gellis (23 page)

The information about movement after dark was less certain. Bertrild’s slaves had seen and heard nothing. Their pallets and blankets were spread under the table and wall shelves in the kitchen, and all had been so exhausted
by the terrors and excitements of the day, not to mention the long walks to accomplish the errands on which Bertrild had sent them, that they slept like bludgeoned oxen.

There was one report of violation of the curfew, however. A woman who lived in the corner house, which also backed on the alley that exited into the Chepe, had been up nursing a new babe and said she had heard a horse’s hooves passing some time before Matins. She had not got up to look at who it was; she had been tired and, frankly, did not
want
to know if one of her neighbors had business that took him out in the dead of night.

“I think that, with what you saw in the wheelbarrow and the fresh dung outside Mainard’s back gate, it is reasonably certain that Bertrild was—” Magdalene glanced at Ella and continued cautiously—”ah…moved from the house on Lime Street to the yard of Mainard’s shop.”

“She will not come here, will she?” Ella asked, frowning. “The last time she shrieked so that I was frightened to death.”

“No, love,” Magdalene soothed, wishing that certain random events did not fix themselves so firmly into Ella’s usually faulty memory. “That was a long time ago, and Mistress Bertrild has gone away. She will never come back.”

“Oh, good!” Ella said, and put a spoonful of preserves onto a round of bread with great satisfaction.

“Then it must have been the messenger,” Sabina remarked. “And if it was, did he do it for himself or for her uncle?”

“She knew him personally,” Bell reminded them. “She called him Saeger.”

“That is not a name one hears very often,” Diot said.
“I wonder if it is local to where Bertrild’s father lived and whether Borc also knew Saeger.”

“Hmm, yes,” Bell said. “I hope we will be able to catch him today. Is there anything more you can tell Tom that will help to identify the man, Diot?”

She shook her head slowly. “I would know him if I saw him, I am sure, but to paint what he is in words….”

She looked sidelong at Magdalene as she spoke, fearing that her whoremistress would think she was holding back deliberately. And then she looked down, studying intently the rich, white cheese and soft, fresh bread at her place. She would not lose what she had, she vowed, remembering how willingly Magdalene had trusted her to watch the house in her place last night.

Then Diot almost smiled. She might be able to kill two birds with one stone—show that she wished to be helpful and test Magdalene’s assurance that Stav was not still hunting her, Magdalene had said she had paid Stav to forget his grievance, but Diot was not sure he would not have taken the money and then had his bullies set upon her anyway. That had made her shy of going out even with one of the other women. But if she went with Tom and Bell’s men were also watching, she would be safe. If Stav’s men came for her, they would be driven off, Magdalene would know Stav had violated his promise and set her powerful friends on him, and she would be free. If, on the other hand, no one troubled her, she would also know she was free.

“Is it really important that this Borc be taken?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bell replied with some force. “More than ever now that I have questioned the five men who were in Mainard’s shop on Friday. Several of them have no witness to where they were when Bertrild died; others have only the word of a too-devoted household. So, not only will Borc be able to tell us whether he extorted money from those five, but if he did know Saeger, he could tell us what Saeger looks like.”

“Then if Magdalene can find some clothes fit for a whore who would eat in such a cookshop, I will become what I was not so long ago and go to the cookshop with Tom. I doubt Borc will know me, but even if he does, he will only recognize me as a whore from Stav’s and not be suspicious.”

“Why, thank you, Diot,” Magdalene said. “That will be very helpful.” Then she looked at Bell. “Unfortunately, knowing what Saeger looks like will not be much help if he has gone back to Bertrild’s uncle.”

“If he ever came from her uncle in the first place. Do not forget that one of Mainard’s servants—I think it was Hamo, but I am not certain—told me that the messenger’s boots were wrong. They were polished leather with thin soles, not the kind of shoe that a messenger from the country would wear.”

“That is very interesting,” Sabina said softly. “And there is something else to consider. I am not sure how many of Mainard’s friends knew that Bertrild had an uncle who lived outside of London. She did once go to stay with Sir Druerie, but I doubt any of the men asked for her, and Mainard never mentioned her if he could avoid it. The only one I am almost certain knew was Master FitzRevery because he has lands in that area also.”

“So he does,” Bell said, eyes narrowing with interest.

“Yes, he keeps his shop as a mercer, but he is also a wool merchant and ships his fleeces down the Itchen. He has a farm…I cannot remember the name, but Mainard would know.”

Magdalene noted that Sabina said her lover’s name easily with no hesitation and no vocal tremor. Her confidence in him seemed to have grown rather than diminished since the day she left her rooms above Mainard’s shop, despite the fact that two full days had passed since Bertrild’s death and he had not come or sent any message. It was significant, also, that she had retreated to her room and stayed there the entire time that William’s men had been in the house and that clients had been with Magdalene. Clearly she had no intention of taking up her past role in the Old Priory Guesthouse.

As soon as she had a moment to be private with Sabina, Magdalene decided to discuss with her the purse Mainard had handed over. There had been more money in it than Magdalene expected, far too much for a few weeks’ or even a few months’ board and lodging while he sought a new wife. The amount had left Magdalene unwilling just to give Sabina Mainard’s message, which implied that Mainard wished to take Sabina back into his keeping. Nearly a pound in silver was more in keeping with a farewell gift or a payment for silence—unless Mainard was in the habit of giving Sabina large sums of money, or in his hurry he had not remembered how much silver was in the purse. That thought was such a relief that Bell’s voice penetrated Magdalene’s concern with Sabina.

“Does a lot of business with lands across the narrow sea, does Master FitzRevery?” Bell was saying, “I wonder if he was ever involved with the rebels in Normandy? Could that be what Bertrild knew? If it was, and she threatened him, he would have had good cause to—” a glance at Ella “—ah…send Mistress Bertrild away. King Stephen is usually a most good-natured man, but that fiasco in Normandy cut deep, and I think he would not be too ready to forgive anyone who was mixed into that business.”

Sabina shook her head. “Mainard would never tell even me a thing like that if he suspected it. Me and Master FitzRevery are good friends and have been for many years.”

Bell recalled the ambivalent things FitzRevery had said when he spoke to him and the doubts he had had that FitzRevery was truly pleased when he learned that Mainard probably had witnesses to his whereabouts when Bertrild was killed.

“I hope Master Mainard will not be disappointed in his friend. It appears that Master FitzRevery was one of the men for whom Letice lifted a seal.”

Magdalene’s lips parted, and he grinned at her with friendly malice. “You do not always know best about everything, even in your own trade,” Bell continued. “I told you you should have left that matter in my hands. I found the old whoremaster without any trouble. The sheriff of Southwark was happy to tell me his name and current place of business—if it can be called that.”

Magdalene giggled. “I never thought of going to the sheriff, not that he would have told me anything if I had thought of it. We each follow our own paths by habit, and this time yours
was
the easier way. But did you get the man to tell you anything?”

“Oh yes.” Bell’s smile turned grim, and he touched the hilt of his knife. “I can afford to use threats.”

“Oh, Bell,” Ella said, looking reproving, “that is not polite, and it could be dangerous. You are not usually so unkind.”

After a minute pause and a quick swallow, Bell said, “I try not to be, sweeting, but sometimes one must use a little unkindness to make life easier for such good, innocent girls as yourself. This was not a nice man. Letice knew him and she will tell you.”

Letice nodded vigorously and made a horrible face, then pretended to twist her own arm and strike herself. Ella looked horrified.

“Not to worry, love,” Magdalene said. “You may trust Bell not to hurt the good and innocent.”

Ella smiled and blew Bell a kiss, then examined the supplies on the table and chose another round of bread and a pot of honey. Magdalene nodded at Bell, who made an apologetic moue, promising wordlessly to be more careful.

“The whoremaster’s name is Goden, and the sheriff is still trying to find enough evidence to…er…remove him. I…ah…convinced him to tell me the names of the people who had patronized that side of his business and among them were three who had been in Mainard’s shop on Friday: John Herlyoud, Lintun Mercer, and Perekin FitzRevery.”

While he was speaking, Letice had slid off the bench and gone down the corridor. Now she returned slate in hand. “Cudl Ber woreed” she wrote, and proffered the slate to Magdalene.

Magdalene pursed her lips unhappily. “Yes, and Letice reminds me that she told me the client she calls ‘Cuddle Bear,’ who is one of those three, has been badly worried for a month or six weeks. Likely he is one Bertrild was draining.”

“Oh fine!” Bell remarked sourly. “I have a wonderful case against the man. Goden’s word, which
is utterly worthless, and a whore’s opinion, which is inadmissible. Has no one a piece of real evidence against anyone?”

Real evidence! The package Mainard had given her might well have something worthwhile in it. If Bertrild had sent it to a goldsmith for safekeeping, it must be valuable or dangerous. Not jewels, then, but documents—dangerous enough to cause Bertrild’s death. Magdalene slid off the bench and rose, plucking at Bell’s sleeve to bring him with her.

“Come to my chamber,” she said. “I have something to show you.”

There was nothing special in her face or voice. For one joyful instant, however, Bell thought that something he had said or done had sparked desire in Magdalene and she had decided to satisfy it before any of the day’s duties fell upon her. When she closed the door behind them and pulled in the latch string, he started to reach for her, but she evaded his grasp without even seeming to be aware of it, fumbled in her pocket, and withdrew a key.

With that in hand, however, she proved she
had
been aware of his attempt to take her in his arms. She cast a single roguish glance over her shoulder at him and smiled mischievously. “Do not you dare try to grab me,” she warned as she bent to unlock the metal-bound chest that sat beside her bed. “This is not an invitation,” she added, moving the strongbox aside. “It is business only.” Then, lifting out Mainard’s packet, she handed it to Bell.

“What is this?” he asked, smiling to hide his chagrin as if he had been teasing her.

But she did not respond to the smile. “Something of Bertrild’s, I believe,” she said soberly, and went on to tell him about going to see Mainard at Lime Street to ask what he intended to do about Sabina, about the way he had greeted her, and about the jewels he had found hidden in one of Bertrild’s chests.

“I will look at them,” Bell agreed, “but I doubt I will know them. Mainard’s idea of asking goldsmiths who made them seems more reasonable, but there is no sense confining the questioning to your clients. If Mainard will come with me to the justiciar and swear as to where he found the pieces and that he believes they are the fruits of a crime, they will be protected from seizure by Sir Druerie—although if it is the man I believe it to be, Mainard need have no worries about him. But that doesn’t tell me what this so carefully sealed package is.”

“Because I don’t know what it is. That came from Johannes Gerlund, Bertrild’s goldsmith, who told Mainard that in addition to the packet, she had ten pounds banked with him.”

“Ten pounds!” Bell exclaimed. “If she was draining her marks to that extent, I am surprised she lasted as long as she did.”

“Well, what do we do with that package?” Magdalene asked. “Should we open it?”

“What do you think is inside?” Bell held the package up near his ear and shook it. “Something is moving within,” he reported, “but it does not clink like metal. Of course, if it is more jewelry, the pieces maybe wrapped in cloth. Perhaps I should take it just as it is to Octadenarius.”

“But what if it does not hold jewelry?” Magdalene said, following her earlier train of thought. “What if it is the evidence on which Bertrild was collecting the money. If Octadenarius opens this, he is an official and he
must
take notice of any illegalities. Surely some of these men have paid already for their crimes both in money and in agony of spirit. Would it not be well to temper justice with mercy for Bertrild’s victims?”

“You want me to overlook murder?”

“No, I do not mean to excuse the murderer, although as Mainard said, if the man hadn’t stolen Codi’s knife and tried to put the blame on the poor journeyman and Mainard, I might be tempted to do so.” She sighed. “And the purpose of beginning this was to clear Mainard’s name. If he had been seen throughout the day at Newelyne’s christening party so there was no chance at all that he had gone to Lime Street…. But he
could
have done it.”

Bell did not reply to that directly. He was still very angry with Mainard, not only for hurting Sabina but for making his own lot more difficult. How could he ever convince Magdalene that she would be better off in his keeping than running her own very profitable business—even if it was a whorehouse—when her woman had been thrown away like a dirty rag. Instead of answering, he turned the package over, examining it carefully and hefting it in his hand.