The Witch of Eye (35 page)

‘The blue suits you very well, Your Grace, it brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘Do you really think so, Jenna?’

‘Indeed, Your Grace. And I was right,’ she added, nodding her head as she checked an entry in her note book, ‘you last wore the blue samite at the King’s reception for the Spanish Ambassador and you haven’t worn it since. On that occasion you also wore the diamond and sapphire necklace which was a birthday gift from His Grace the Duke.’

‘Ah, sapphire, the stone of destiny, and as you say, that lovely dark blue does enhance the grey of my eyes.’

‘While I have my notebook to hand, Your Grace, I’m anxious to bring it up to date,’ Jenna said. ‘Have you any engagements I don’t know about?’

‘No, nothing while my husband is away in Wales, except for dinner at the King’s Head in Cheapside later in the month.’

‘Yes, Your Grace. June the twenty-eighth. I have a note of it.’

‘These days,’ the Duchess said, ‘I tell you what has been arranged before I tell anyone. I rely on your little notebook rather more than I rely on Canon Hume. It’s very clever of you to be able to write. I value that ability in a member of my staff.’

‘I’m always grateful I was taught the skill, Your Grace.’

‘Do you read much, Jenna?’

‘Not really, Your Grace. I don’t have much opportunity, nor have I any money to buy books.’

‘No, quite. Books are expensive. But perhaps, one day, I’ll let you read one or two of mine.’

‘That is most generous of you, Your Grace. I would be very grateful.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’d enjoy them. The simpler ones, of course.’

Jenna hid a smile. ‘Of course, Your Grace. The simpler ones would be best.’

***

V
irley followed Vicar Stone at a discreet distance, anxious in case his quarry should happen to glance around suddenly and spot him. Stone walked at a smart pace but Virley, a decade younger, was easily able to keep up with him. By now he was burning with curiosity to know what was going on, even happy to sacrifice his reward in the ale house if only he could find out.

From Newgate, John Stone turned right into Warwyke Lane then kept up his brisk walk until he turned left into Paternoster Row. Virley slowed his pace. Clearly the man had business in St Paul’s and since the cathedral was such a public meeting place, that business was unlikely to be of a private nature. So there would be nothing to be deduced from that. He might as well find an ale house after all.

‘Virley! You old dog!’

He knew that voice. Odd, he thought, that he’d hardly seen the man since they were youngsters, but now he seemed to bump into William Woodham every few weeks. And always in the vicinity of St Paul’s. He turned to see Woodham riding up behind him, leading another horse by the bridle.

‘Collecting some more stationery, Virley?’ bellowed Woodham, slithering down from his mount.

‘No. I’ve just been delivering some. And you? What are you doing round these parts?’

‘Oh, this and that, you know. I’m footloose and fancy-free as it happens, for an hour or so anyway. Time to squeeze in a mug or two of ale. Care to join me? I’ve just accompanied Canon Hume to St Sepulchre’s and he didn’t want me to wait...’

‘St. Sepulchre’s!’ Virley exclaimed, taken aback. ‘But I’ve just come from there. I didn’t see you.’

‘Ah, you wouldn’t have. I didn’t stay outside more than a minute. Just enough time for him to dismount and go inside. He never wants me to wait. This is his horse.’

‘Then you dare not tie up these animals outside an ale house, Woodham. They’re valuable, surely.’

‘I’ll find a boy to look after them. That’ll be worth a farthing to any street urchin. ‘Ere, boy!’ he shouted and was instantly surrounded by a cluster of youngsters, vying for his attention. ‘Who wants to earn a farthing for an hour’s work?’

There was no shortage of willing volunteers and from the small window of the ale house which looked out on to Paternoster Row, William Woodham was easily able to keep an eye on the two horses and the adolescent boy who had firm hold on their bridles. From the look of pride on his grubby face, he might have been given responsibility for the crown jewels.

‘That’ll be something to go home and tell his mother,’ Woodham said with a smile, turning back from the window. ‘If he’s got a mother, that is.’

‘Who knows?’ said Virley. ‘Probably never had the benefit of a father, though!’

‘Poor bastard. That was you and me twenty years ago, Virley.’

‘Well, at least we both had fathers,’ Virley objected, ‘so you can’t call us bastards.’

‘I wasn’t going to. We were the lucky ones.’

Despite the noise in the small room, they drank in companionable silence for a moment. There was a question Virley wanted to ask and now was the time to ask it.

‘What’s going on in St Sepulchre’s?’

‘How do you mean, “going on”?’

‘Well, I’ve just delivered some ink to the Vicar and he was behaving very strangely. Then that tub of lard Thomas Southwell turned up with a tall, thin fellow wearing spectacles.’

‘That’ll be Roger Bolingbroke. They’re both advisers to the Duchess of Gloucester.’

‘That’s what the vicar said, though he didn’t mention the Duchess of Gloucester. He said they’ve met there before this.’

‘Yes, they do meet quite often, with or without Her High and Mighty Grace. Not always in St Sepulchre’s. Sometimes it’s St Martin-in-the-Vintry ... St Benet Hithe ... could be anywhere, really.’

‘And is the Duchess the only woman involved in these meetings?’

‘As far as I know she is. I’ve never seen any others.’

‘Interesting,’ said Virley thoughtfully. ‘They meet to say Mass, do they?’

‘Yeah. As far as I know. I’m never invited to stay.’

‘Aren’t you ever curious, William?’

‘It doesn’t pay to be. Me? I keep my mouth shut and mind my own business. It’s easier that way.’

Virley changed the subject. He clearly wasn’t going to get any more information from Woodham so it was pointless asking him if he knew why Margery Jourdemayne and the girl might be involved. He’d have to carry out his own investigation.

‘Let me get you another one of those,’ he said, getting to his feet and draining his tankard to the dregs. ‘And then I’d better get going. I’ve promised to meet a very promising companion and she’s cooking dinner for me.’

‘Hey, hey!’ Woodham leered. ‘Don’t let me stop you if you’ve got
that
sort of dinner in prospect!’

‘I won’t.’

***

K
itty’s arm felt very sore where Mistress Jourdemayne had dragged her up the path towards the church. Terrified, she wanted to run as fast as her legs would carry her, away from what might happen behind the church door, away from the unknown.

But where would she run to? If the church had been in Westminster, she’d have known the good hiding places and she could have stayed out of sight until there’d been a way of finding her friend Jack or one of the other boys, or perhaps Master Jourdemayne. She might even have run to the monastery and asked the monks if she could stay there. But this wasn’t Westminster: this was London. She stood in her damp clothes, shivering in abject misery, dreading whatever was going to happen.

In the church porch her mistress, still holding Kitty’s arm in an iron grip, pulled her round to face her.

‘Now, you’re sure, aren’t you, Kitty, that what you told me was the truth?’

‘What ... about what, mistress?’

‘That no boy has ever interfered with you ... put his hands on your ... down there?’

‘No, mistress,’ Kitty snivelled unhappily. ‘No, never.’ She couldn’t imagine why Mistress Jourdemayne wanted to know such a strange thing.

‘You’d better not be lying to me, Kitty!’ The Mistress knocked at the door and, almost immediately, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door was opened by a tall, thin man who nodded distractedly and mumbled a greeting. Then he bent down to look at Kitty as though inspecting her, adjusting his spectacles to get a better view.

‘Oh, a girl!’ he said, sounding disappointed. He made to close the door then had to hold it open again for another man to leave, a man who had a kind-looking face. If he really was kind, Kitty thought, she could have tried to slink away behind him and asked him to help her, but the mistress still had hold of her arm.

The thin man closed the door and glanced down again at Kitty. ‘Couldn’t you find a boy, Mistress Jourdemayne? A boy would have been better for what we hope to achieve.’

‘I’m sorry, Magister,’ said the Mistress, ‘there was no guarantee that the boy I had in mind would be entirely pure. You can’t always predict these things with farm boys. They behave like the animals they live with.’

‘Ah, well,’ said the thin man, ‘we’ll have to do our best.’ He turned the key to lock the door again and tried the handle to make sure, then he beckoned them forward.

‘The most important thing,’ he went on, ‘is that the child is a virgin. ‘You are quite certain of that, Mistress Jourdemayne?’

‘Yes, absolutely certain.’

‘That’s good. Because in fact, it’s the only thing about which the First Mirror of Lilith is absolutely specific. So maybe it’s not important that we have a girl rather than a boy. Perhaps we’ll be still be able to achieve a successful result. Come along, little girl,’ he said, leading the way up the nave as Mistress Jourdemayne prodded Kitty in the back, ‘don’t be frightened, we just want to carry out a small experiment and we want you to help us.’

Kitty’s heart was thudding as she took in her surroundings. The church looked like any other church so, surely, it was nothing to be frightened of. It all looked comfortingly familiar. This was the nave, there was the rood screen with the altar beyond it and the cross...

No! There was no cross. It was only as Kitty was pushed towards the altar she realised that a large circular object lay flat at the centre of it. It looked a bit like a shield, or perhaps it was a mirror, but it wasn’t easy to tell since the surface had been smeared with some sort of oil. And behind that stood, of all things, a doll’s wicker cradle with a doll in it. There were candles, too, a bit too near the dolls’ cradle, Kitty thought. It could catch fire. And the smell! What was that smell? Hyssop? Vervain? What was it?

A shorter, plumper man stood behind the altar, watching as Kitty approached with Mistress Jourdemayne behind her. At first he smiled encouragingly then he looked more closely at her.

‘Is this a girl?’ he asked. Kitty felt indignant. Did she look like a boy? No, on second thoughts, she didn’t like his smile very much at all. He didn’t look as if he really meant to smile.

‘A boy would have been more appropriate,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t a boy be found?’

‘I’m not sure it’s really that important,’ said the tall man. ‘The child’s innocence and virginity are the most important things.’

‘Very well then,’ said the other man with a sigh. ‘We’ll have to do what we can with what we’ve got.’ Reaching forward, he tilted the big shield-like object in Kitty’s direction.

‘Now, Kitty,’ whispered Mistress Jourdemayne, ‘all you have to do is to look into the mirror and tell us what you see. That’s all. Don’t worry, it’s only an experiment, but you must be sure to describe exactly what you see.’

With that, the short man looked upwards, closed his eyes and began intoning some words in a language that Kitty had never heard before.

***

‘I
deserve that!’ said William as Robin Fairweather placed two pewter tankards of ale on the table.

‘No more than I do,’ said Robin. ‘It was a tough drove this time. Thirty more bullocks than usual and it’s amazing what a difference they make. Still, I always enjoy the midsummer drove. Can’t complain.’

William pulled a tankard across the table towards him and raised it to Robin’s health as they settled themselves comfortably in the village ale house. The low light of the setting sun was streaming through a small window as they both relished their reward for a long day’s labour.

‘More animals, more responsibility,’ said William, ‘it stands to reason. But, believe me, it’s no more tough, in its way, than construing the accounts for the new abbot!’

‘You’re right. Reckoning is hard work,’ Robin agreed. ‘I’m always pleased when I get back home to Devon and hand over exactly the right amount of money to the cattle traders. Doesn’t Margery help you with the figures?’

‘No,’ said William abruptly. ‘She used to, but she hasn’t done that for a long time. Mind you, believe it or not, young Kitty had started to help me and she was shaping up very well. Had a natural knack for it.’ William frowned.

‘Isn’t she doing it any more?’

‘No, she isn’t. Margery grabbed her as soon as she realised the girl was getting good at writing and reckoning. She’s done that before.’

He had to change the subject. He was so angry with Margery and her selfish behaviour that he could hardly bring himself to speak about it and any more talk on the subject would surely bring the conversation round to Jenna. He certainly didn’t want to talk about Jenna.

‘How’s everything in your neck of the woods then, Robin?’ he asked. ‘Is your new wife still putting up with you?’

‘She does her best. Poor Rosamond, being married to a drover is no life for a woman. Her old man is away from home too often. Can’t rely on him not to have a mistress in every parish on the road!’

‘And have you?’

Robin glanced at William from under his eyebrows and tapped the side of his nose. ‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about,’ he said. ‘And talking of secret passions, how is yours?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh yes you do. I’m talking about Jenna Harding. The last time her name came up in conversation in this self-same ale house, you admitted you were in love with her.’

There was a long silence before William said quietly, ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’

‘And?’

William took a morose draught of ale. ‘And yes, nothing has changed,’ he said and sighed as he replaced his tankard on the table, ‘for all the good it does me. I never see her. She’s working for the Duchess of Gloucester now: she hardly ever comes back to the farm except to collect face creams and so on from Margery. And that’s not very often these days.’