Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (16 page)

Amiot
plucked up his courage and went into the inn. Once inside, he was greeted by
one of the apronmen.

“I am
here to see - a Mistress Loveday?” said Amiot, adding hastily, “‘Tis
not for myself, y’understand, but for the woman that tends my house. This woman
has provided a remedy for her and she is in need of some more.”

Soon he was
feeling his heart pound in apprehension as he climbed the stairs to Meg’s
rooms. By the time he reached the door, he was almost breathless and Meg,
seeing his face, helped him quickly to a chair. Without being told, she knew
that his pulse would be racing hard. A decoction of hawthorn berries, she
thought. That was easy to do. Also, there were still a few precious tiny
bundles of her most special item. This case warranted it, she thought.

Bringing
Amiot a glass of wine, she waited, smiling encouragingly as he took some sips.
She saw that the muscles of his face and neck were tight and his lips looked
pale. Even when he recovered, he seemed reluctant to speak about whatever it
was that was causing his anxiety. Meg was almost certain that she knew, though.
There was one thing guaranteed to make a man look like that. Gold -
particularly gold that belonged to other people. Rubrum unguentum, red
ointment, she thought, though her face betrayed nothing. That’s what the
Puritans call it, with mocking irony, for they know its grease will open any
door.

Amiot,
feeling somewhat better, said, “My servant - Mother Garland - recommended
you …” The words came out almost in little gasps.

“Pray,
wait until you have found some more breath,” said Meg, and was encouraged
to see the hint of a smile on the man’s face in response.

After a
while, Amiot spoke again. “‘Tis true that she seems mightily improved
these days and she speaks highly of the ointment that you provided for
her.”

Meg smiled
modestly. “I am content that I was able to assist.”

“It is
- she is - almost rejuvenated!” said Amiot, thinking of the way Mother
Garland had twirled a leg.

“It’s
kind of you to say so,” said Meg, wondering how much, if any, wine Amiot
kept in the house.

“And
so - I was wondering whether y’might be able to assist me. Y’see, I find it so
difficult to find rest of a night.”

Meg made a
little noise of sympathy.

“The
dawn’s in the sky some mornings before I find any ease. Then when my eyes do
close in sleep, it’s time to rise and be about the day’s labours.”

“What
is your occupation?” asked Meg, although she already knew. She was
watching him closely as he replied.

“I am
a lawyer,” said Amiot, shifting slightly on his chair, as though he was
suddenly uncomfortable. “And well-known here in Marcaster.”

“Forgive
my ignorance,” said Meg, apologetically.

“No
offence taken, Madam,” said Amiot. His shoulders seemed to sag slightly as
he continued, “If y’can help me - if anyone could help me - find rest - I
would pay anything for a good night’s sleep.”

There was
genuine sympathy in Meg’s voice as she said, “I understand. Even the highest
in the land would pay for sweet rest; and I have a noble remedy that will
provide it.”

“The
highest in the land?” said Amiot, looking at her curiously. He sighed.
“Well, perhaps the highest have the most afflicted dreams at night, since
they have the heaviest burdens to carry.”

Meg wanted
to ask him about his own burdens, but she knew when to remain silent. Trust and
confidence were important parts of her relationship with those who sought her
aid and it took time and patience to build them. Instead, she rose to her feet
and went over to a chest that rested on a stool in a dark corner of the room.
When she came back, she was carrying a little packet wrapped in dark coloured
fabric.

“This,”
she said, looking directly at him in a kindly and serious fashion, “is a
receipt from ancient times. Place a little in wine each night and allow it to
infuse slowly. Then drink it. There is enough here for a week. When it is gone,
return and I will provide more. And be not afraid - ” she raised a hand,
because Amiot had looked as though he wanted to say something ” - for
there is naught that will harm y’here. The ingredients are all wholesome and
many would be familiar to you. ‘Tis all in the blending, that is where the
skill lies.”

Amiot
looked at the packet. It was fastened with ribbon and sealed with a blob of
wax. He saw that there was something impressed into the wax - an image with
words around it. He thought that he could make out something like
“Meg” and then saw that the legend was Tris*Meg*Istus. But the smell
- there was a glorious smell rising from the packet. A smell of fruit, resin
and, curiously, fresh green plants. The smell transported him to the outdoors
and he felt momentarily better. If simply the smell of this could have such an
effect …

Meg put a
finger to her lips. “This is so remarkable that it is only available to
the few that I believe have most need of it. I do not advertise it abroad. I
will also prepare a decoction for you to take in the morning and at noon.”

“Thank
ye,” began Amiot. “And what do I owe ye?”

Meg shook
her head. “Try it; and if you do not find yourself sleeping well after two
nights, there will be no fee.” She could say this with confidence, for she
had never known anyone who did not wish for more of this drink.

Amiot felt
better already. He hesitated, looking down at the packet he was clutching in
his hand. A curious look came over his face. He seemed to be avoiding Meg’s
eyes. It was a furtive look, and when he did glance at her, briefly, she read
more in his eyes. There was desperation there; and fear; and greed.

“I
thank you, madam. And - I wonder …” He paused. “You know of the
forthcoming match?”

Meg nodded,
giving nothing away.

“I
wonder - it is said by some that you - that you - ” He paused, glancing at
her again. She saw the colour in his face deepen. “Do you know - can you
see - the outcome? I would - pay well - ” He dropped his eyes again. The
pause that followed was so long he wondered if she had heard him.

Meg had
drawn a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she did
not look at Goldspink, but as if she were seeing something that was not there.
Something she did not wholly understand. One hand was stretched out in front of
her.

“I see
red - a red stone. And a golden letter.”

Amiot
hardly dared breathe. Eventually, looking at her wide-eyed, he stammered out,
“A letter? A letter - of the alphabet?”

Meg’s voice
seemed to come from a great distance. “Yes. It is - the letter ‘G’ that I
see - a golden ‘G’.”

* * * * *

Two days later
Meg was looking down into the street and turning a coin - a sovereign from
Amiot Goldspink - over and over in her fingers *** occasionally stopping to
weigh it contemplatively in the palm of her hand *** . She turned her head
slightly and said, “Matthew, what d’ye recall of the goldsmith’s
house?”

Matthew
thought for a moment. “It is interesting; the workshop is at one end with
a barred and shuttered shop window onto the street. The workshop window itself
is high, long and barred, on the wall at right angles to the street. The other
end of the dwelling has two storeys and is finer, with a good roof and chimney.
The door is in the centre and faces the street. Other than the shop window, the
street wall is blank, as is the other gable end. Not quite true; there is a
small casement on the second storey, and it faces the street also. But, behind
the dwelling, I do not know. There is a high wall and I heard barking
dogs.”

“Is it
possibly two dwellings united as one?”

“It
might be,” said Matthew, considering. “Yes. The workshop has a more
rustic look and the other end is quite new and fine despite the lack of
casements; and the roof and chimney, as I said, are good and impressive. The
lower portion might be the part that housed the original forge of his
father?”

“Yes;
and perhaps there was an arch or a - how do they call it in these parts? A
vennel? Or ginnel? Between the two buildings to give entry. An alley, in short.
And as for the lack of casements; windows can be removed and the space filled
in again. A goldsmith might do that for purposes of security.”

“True,”
said Matthew. “If so, it was by good workmen; the outside of the whole is
clean and smoothly plastered. You could not tell if it were once two dwellings,
or see where there were casements.”

“Our
Zacharias has proved successful in his trade, it seems; and there’s nearly as
much wealth in gold as there is in horses’ feet. I don’t doubt he keeps his
house secure. However - there’s always a way - where there’s a will. Matthew, I
don’t believe we have ever had a wager, have we?”

“No.
Are you thinking of the forthcoming match? If so,” Matthew smiled smugly
at her, “perhaps you should hear my other news.”

“Which
is?”

“That
Sir George Paston is staying with Sir Richard; though that’s not widely known.
Don’t you think he would be the rider for Sir Richard’s horse in the match? And
that there is likely to be a hanging or two. One of them we - I - certainly
know. This is the reason - well, the apparent reason - for Sir George’s
presence. To bear witness. And the rogue is Clink, who has been identified by
his victim. Meg, I feel ill about this …”

“Mmmm.
And - forgive me, Matthew - I already knew your news. As for Clink, the man is
a rogue - and a fool …”

“Certes;
and a bully as well. But I have broken bread with him. Stolen for him and the
others. With a purpose, but …”

“We
all fear the rope, high and low. It’s hard to wish that end on anyone, even a
knave like Clink.”

 “You
were talking of a wager?” said Matthew, seeing that Meg’s thoughts had
moved away. She was turning the coin in her hand again.

“Yes.
Not to do with the match, although - perhaps we shall find a way of wagering on
that, too; no, my wager is with you, Matthew, if you will …”

Matthew
grinned. “What wager is this?” he said, looking at Meg with mock
suspicion.

“I’d
wager that you had no chance of entering the goldsmith’s house without his
knowing it.”

Matthew
whistled. “You play for high stakes.”

“Well,
let us say it is an imaginary wager. How would you achieve it?”

“With
the help of a diversion - it’s possible …”

“Let
us consider it - out of idle interest, of course.”

“Of
course. The rub, as always, is in the dogs that guard the premises …”

Cornelius,
having woken up on hearing the word “dogs”, gave a little squeaking
yawn and stretched himself. His bright eyes looked from Meg to Matthew in hope
of a walk. They exchanged glances.

“Do
your thoughts go with mine?” said Meg. “Brother Nose-all is known for
his diversions.”

“Yes,”
agreed Matthew. “He is indeed.”

* * * * *

Later that
week, Zacharias was surprised to receive a visit from a new customer. Amiot
Goldspink had just recently left and Zacharias had been sorry to see that
Goldspink seemed to be shadowed by something again. He had been much better of
late. Putting aside thoughts of Goldspink and the lateness of the hour,
Zacharias greeted Meg courteously and gestured for her to come into his shop,
which was as comfortable as a parlour. Meg saw a small man with broad
shoulders, a strong, handsome face, and a keen glance. She knew that he was
summing her up and returned his smile with a gracious nod. As he moved across
the room to find wine for her, she saw that he had to almost drag one leg
behind him. This was not a recent injury, she thought. He accommodated it
without self-consciousness and moved with confidence.