Chains of Folly (13 page)

“Not so innocently,” Bell said, but he looked relieved.

Diot shrugged. “The chain prevented them from all rushing in together, and Tom was able to reach through the opening and prod them away with his sword.” Then she nodded, also looking relieved. “They could not have come deliberately to do harm or they would have made a stronger effort. I do believe they were armsmen looking for a good time and annoyed not to be welcomed.”

Bell nodded unhappily. “I would not be surprised if some were Salisbury’s men, put out of the castles the king is taking. Winchester is hiring those he can, but—”

“He had better be careful,” Magdalene interrupted sharply. “To hire Salisbury’s men atop this call for a convocation will not endear the bishop to his brother.”

“No.” Bell sighed. “But he is so very angry. He does not show it much, but he is really furious. I spoke privately to the knights he set to the task of hiring the displaced men-at-arms and urged them not to spread abroad that it was Henry of Winchester who was hiring. They are doing their best, I believe.”

They entered the house and shut the door behind them. Bell looked around at the neat room, at Magdalene’s large embroidery frame, at the workbaskets set beside the stools near the hearth. He imagined everything overturned and trodden underfoot, wine spilled, perhaps lamps and candles overturned and setting the rushes ablaze.

He closed his eyes, reopened them. It was not his business. Let her beloved William protect her. He started to turn toward the door. Magdalene put a hand on his arm. He could feel it shaking.

“Don’t go, Bell,” she said. “Stay this night at least.”

Letice also put a hand on his arm. Her knife had disappeared and her black eyes looked huge in her dark face.

“We would be much easier if you would stay,” Diot said. “There is a small chance that those men will seek support and come back for revenge.”

Ella opened the door of her room and peered out, her cheeks tear streaked. When she saw Bell in the middle of the group of women, she ran to join them. “You will not leave me to be beaten,” she wept. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“No, love,” Bell said, unable to resist response to the fearful child. “You did just right by going to your room.”

“But I cannot go back now,” Ella whimpered. “I could hear the men shouting. I could not sleep. I would have fearful dreams. And I cannot even sew. Look at how my hands shake.” She held out her small, plump hands, and they were trembling, “Dear Bell, will you not play a game with me so that I can forget the banging and shouting?”

“I do not think that we are in the right mood for playing games,” Magdalene said, “but I have had sent to me from France a tale of love and adventure. You have a fine rich voice, Bell. Will you read to us of ‘Aucassin and Nicolette’?”

“You will read us a story!” Ella exclaimed breathlessly and ran into her chamber to bring out a prized possession—in fact a gift that had been sent by Master Gerome—a stool with a soft leather pillow fixed atop.

Then she plumped herself down on her own stool and folded her hands into her lap, bright, empty eyes fixed on Bell in happy expectation. Magdalene slipped away to her chamber to get the scroll. From the corner of his eye as he looked at the stool, Bell saw Dulcie coming from the kitchen and going into the empty room beyond Diot’s. She was carrying linens for the bed, a pillow, and a blanket.

Bell thought of the clean, quiet chamber, the sturdy, comfortable cot with its stuffed mattress, the warmth of the soft blanket; then he thought of his bed in the bishop’s house—the pallet on the floor, the snoring or quarreling men, the sound of dice rolling, shouts and cursing. Bell sighed and unbuckled his sword belt.

Magdalene broke her fast on Monday morning in the very best of spirits. She knew that Bell was long gone, which was just as it should be. He would be in good time for all to be ready when the bishop wished to leave. He would not feel rushed or guilty or that there was any inconvenience in lodging at the Old Priory Guesthouse.

Dulcie told her, speaking English instead of the French she seldom used, that Bell had wakened her at dawn to lock the gate behind him and she had brought him ale and bread and cheese and a piece of pasty for breaking his fast. While he ate Dulcie had asked, as if it was the most ordinary question in the world, whether he would be with them for dinner and the evening meal.

“Not for dinner,” he had said, without the smallest hesitation, Dulcie reported. He would be busy with the bishop all day. And if he were dismissed early, he would ride over to the Tower to discover who the big man who wore Mandeville’s badge was. As for the evening meal… There he had hesitated, but only as if he were considering what he would be doing, not as if he was reconsidering staying with them.

“He’ll be here till the bishop goes back to Winchester for the convocation,” Dulcie said, somehow her flat, deaf-woman’s voice conveying great satisfaction. “Should I go over to the bishop’s house and fetch his clothes?”

Magdalene giggled. “I think that would be going too far without his permission,” she said in English. “But you can ask him, all innocent like,
which
clothes he wants you to bring in case he comes in armor and would want to change.” She spoke slowly, not too loud, but saying each word separate from the others, which she had discovered Dulcie heard best.

“Load off n m’mind him bein’ here. That Tom means well, but he’s nothin’.” She looked at the table. “Had what y’wanted? You goin’ out?”

“Yes. To the East Chepe to see if I can sell some embroidery. Is there something you want me to buy?”

“Dill. And rice. And saffron. Nothin’ that’ll mess your clothes. I’ll get a haunch’v mutton myself. Need a bit extra. The man’s got an appetite.”

Magdalene laughed at Dulcie’s pleasure. The maid was a good cook and liked nothing better than to see the meals she prepared devoured. She left the table and went to a shelf to the left of the doorway, where she took down a smooth-woven basket. Into it she put a clean muslin cloth and then several ribbons embroidered by Ella, who was developing into quite a seamstress, a square picture done by Diot, and a sleeve cuff which she had been doing for Bell but had left unfinished.

After a moment of consideration, she took one of the bands Letice had done, all intricate curving lines without any bird or beast or human form. Having tucked it down at the bottom, she covered the basket with a plain cloth and went to her room for her veil.

The bridge was its usual self, full of merchants and customers. There were fewer peddlers selling foodstuffs to eat because it was too late for fast breaking and too early for nooning. In any case, Magdalene did not hesitate over any ware, no matter how attractive apprentice or journeyman tried to make it sound. One did not carry odd items one had bought when trying to engage a client.

She walked as usual up Gracechurch Street rather than Fish Street to save her clothing and shoes from taint, then turned right into the East Chepe until she came to Mainard’s saddlery. Henry had already backed away from the counter to make room for Magdalene to pass, but she smiled at him and shook her head.

“No, I don’t want to come in, Henry. If I have time, I will stop on my way back. I presume all is well with Sabina and Mainard?”

“Yes, indeed, Mistress Magdalene.” Henry laughed. “Sabina was singing yesterday afternoon and came home not only with a substantial gift over and above her fee but with the son of the household trailing along behind. Haesel said he had sneaked out and followed them. He did not believe a singer could be virtuous.”

“Oh, dear, I hope Sabina did not thwack him with her staff.”

“No, she would not attack the son of a client, and Haesel was with her. But it all worked to her benefit. He was a
very
pretty young man and she had told him several times that she was married. He did not believe her until she flung herself into Master Mainard’s arms. Then, taking in the size of Master Mainard—although Mainard of course made no threatening gesture—the fool went away. And Master Mainard was so thrilled that she preferred him.”

“Most wisely. I can see Mainard’s face, which Sabina cannot, and I, too, would prefer Mainard to a pretty-faced boy. But what I came for, Henry, was to ask if you know where I could find a mercer called Master Rhyton of Guildford. I understand he is recently come to London.”

“That is a really easy question to answer. It is Master Rhyton who has purchased the Lime Street house and taken Josne’s shop on the corner of Botolph.”

“Ah, thank you Henry. How convenient that I do not need to pass the shop before I come to the house. I really wish to speak to Mistress Claresta and see if I can sell her some of my embroidery.”

“You should have no trouble. Best of everything is what Master Rhyton wants and from what I’ve heard he can well afford it. It was said he nearly owned Guildford by the time he left. Came to London to look for a lord for Mistress Claresta so his grandsons will be noble.”

“And she? Is she looking for a lord also?”

Henry shrugged, but a customer approached the counter and Magdalene waved Mainard’s salesman away and walked to the next shop. She was welcomed there also, and passed at once beyond the counter into the shop where Perekin FitzRevery rose to greet her.

“I need a favor. Master FitzRevery,” Magdalene said.

“You have it,” the mercer replied without hesitation.

Magdalene laughed. “How trusting you are to agree without knowing to what. But this will do you no harm. I only want to be able to say that I heard of Master Rhyton of Guildford’s daughter Claresta’s forthcoming betrothal from you or your daughter.”

“That is hardly a favor,” FitzRevery said, smiling. “You could have heard it anywhere in the Chepe. Rhyton has been telling the ‘secret’ of his negotiations with Sir Linley of Godalming in a loud whisper to anyone who would listen. I think Mainard must have been the first to have heard, and since I was next door, I heard next.”

Laughing again, Magdalene said, “And I was just talking to Henry. He could have told me and I would not have needed to trouble you.”

“It is no trouble. Always a pleasure to see you, Magdalene, since I have no womenfolk at all to disapprove.” Then suddenly his grin changed to a frown. “But when I told the news to my daughter, thinking she would be all atwitter, she was not happy over it. She said that Rhyton is making a mistake. Claresta is not the kind who wishes to be mistress of a landed estate.”

“Ah, then it was not the daughter who urged the marriage?”

“No, not at all.”

“Does she dislike Sir Linley?”

FitzRevery shrugged. “I have no idea. My daughter said nothing of that, only that Claresta was very much a mercer’s daughter. Interested in the business. She is all her father has, and he often took her with him when he went to buy and talked to her about the goods as if she were a son.”

“Ah well, if she has a lively mind, no doubt she can become interested in the working of her husband’s manors. But I had no idea the news was all over the Chepe. I had hoped to sell her some of my embroideries for her marriage chest, but I may no longer be alone in my offer. Still, I had better go along and see her.”

There was almost no purpose now to going to the Lime Street house, Magdalene thought. Obviously Linley had been telling the truth about his engagement with Master Rhyton and Linley’s fellow knights in Surrey’s household accounted for his whereabouts for the rest of the night. Nonetheless, Magdalene thought as she crossed the road and turned right again, it would be interesting to see how Claresta felt about the betrothal, and if she could sell some of Ella’s embroidery the girl would be thrilled.

Magdalene still did not want to arrive loaded down with parcels, but she did stop to look at a selection of colored thread. That could go into her basket. She caught herself picking too many blues and greens, colors that flattered Bell’s fair hair and blue eyes, and then chose more deliberately some of the brilliant shades that Letice loved and the pinks and yellows that were most attractive to Ella. For Diot…Magdalene did not know her taste so well but she found a rich amber that would show off her hair, and a glowing green that was much the shade of Diot’s eyes.

Naturally, having stopped to buy, Magdalene was almost besieged by other apprentices and journeymen along the street, who called out and reached out to her to show their wares. Some very thin cloth caught her eye. The worst heat of the summer was yet to come. She looked, felt, said she had an appointment to which she could not carry anything beyond her basket but that if the cloth was still there when she returned, she would consider it.

Finally, having stopped only once again, this time to buy and pop into her mouth a small round of rose leaves in crystallized honey, Magdalene turned left once more onto Lime Street. About a third of the way north on the street, before one came to the crossing with Fenchurch, was what had been Mainard’s house. It was a rather elegant two story structure, set well back from the street with no provision for a shop out front, which marked it ostentatiously as being a rich man’s dwelling.

The servant who came to the door in response to the sound of the bell, opened his eyes wide when he saw Magdalene’s veiled face. She was almost equally surprised by him. Jean had been Mainard’s first wife’s slave, starved to emaciation, dressed in rags. Now he was almost plump, his clothing was dark and plain but decent. His manner alone had not changed. Subdued and respectful, hinting that a harsh word would make him cringe.

“Mistress Magdalene,” he nearly whispered, “Master Mainard does not live here anymore.”

“I know, Jean. He sold the house to Master Rhyton. But what in the world are you doing here?”

“When the house was sold. Master Mainard offered us our freedom and asked if we would like to remain with the house. It seems that the purchaser was coming from Guildford and not bringing his servants with him. We were all afraid, but it seemed safest to us to stay where we knew we could go to Master Mainard for help…if, if the new master was not kind. But he is. Not like Master Mainard, but Master Rhyton pays us fairly and is in no way unreasonable.”