Roberta Gellis (39 page)

His toolbox? That was ridiculous. If another saddlemaker wanted his tools, he would have taken the whole box. All together they were valuable; singly, they were only valuable to him. He had used them a long time, and they fitted his hands and were worn down to the angles at which he worked best—but that would be a disadvantage to another man. He did unlock the box, open it, and look in, but nothing was missing. Nothing had been missing from his house either, although that had been searched much more roughly.

Mainard closed and locked his toolbox again, looked at his work-table, and drew a sharp breath. The saddle he had been working on was ruined! He leaned closer. No, it had not been ruined, only all the stitching had been cut, the padding pulled out…. He stood staring at it then turned slowly to look around the room. That was the only saddle that had been pulled apart, and it was the only saddle he had worked on since Bertrild’s death. Someone who knew what was going on in his shop had opened the seams of that saddle, where he might have hidden something, opened his toolbox, searched through the shop and the workroom. He stood quietly, breathing deeply. Someone was searching for the packet he had given to Magdalene…someone with a key to open his shop.

He set his teeth and went into the shop and up the stair to Sabina’s chambers. Here was chaos: chests emptied and furniture overturned, garments and bedding strewn everywhere. Color rose into Mainard’s unblemished skin until the two sides of his face nearly matched. He stood still, fists clenched
so hard the short nails bit into his callused palms, swallowing hard, fighting the impulse to rush next door and beat Perekin FitzRevery to a pulp. It was bad enough that the man had abused his trust by searching his premises and damaging his work, but to show such disdain for a woman Perekin
knew
he loved…cruelty, too, to disturb Sabina’s furniture. It took her so long, so many bruises, to learn to move freely.

And then rage was swallowed up by alarm. What had been done in the Lime Street house was not the work of one man. To overpower the servants must have taken several working together. Five men were being bled by Bertrild. Five men had been in his shop the day that Codi’s knife was stolen. What if they somehow
learned that he had given that packet to Magdalene? What if they thought he had given it to Sabina to keep safe? What if they decided to wrench the secret of where the documents were from Sabina or Magdalene by force?

He left the room in chaos and hurried down the stair. He could send the servants from Lime Street to straighten it up another day, when all knew that the documents were beyond their reach. But for today, until he could arrange for the safekeeping of that packet, he had to get to the Old Priory Guesthouse to warn Magdalene. He would stay himself to protect the women there until Octadenarius or some other power had the packet.

Henry had two customers at the counter, but Mainard interrupted without a thought. Taking several farthings from his purse, he handed them to his man.

“I will not be able to come back to help you close up,” he said. “I must go to the Old Priory Guesthouse. Get someone to carry the goods in and get the key from Perekin FitzRevery to lock up. Keep the key.”

He had forgotten all about Sir Druerie and would have rushed to Magdalene’s without even leaving a message for him, except that his guest caught at his arm as he hurried down the street and asked where he was going in such a hurry.

“The shop was searched also,” he said. “They are looking for that packet I told you of. I am afraid they are growing desperate and will try to force Magdalene to give them the documents. I must go to the Guesthouse and make sure the women are safe.”

Sir Druerie patted the sword at his side. “They will be safe. Lead on.”

The gate bell pealed with such violence that Magdalene jumped to her feet, oversetting her embroidery frame, and ran out of the house to answer it. It pealed again and again, and she flung open the gate without even looking to see who was ringing. Letice must have been attacked, she thought. Perhaps Bell had been hurt defending her. They needed refuge.

She saw Mainard, his beautiful eyes wide with anxiety, his huge chest pumping, before she even realized how ridiculous her thoughts were. “Are you all right?” he gasped. “Is Sabina safe?”

“Of course we are all right,” Magdalene said. “Why should we not be safe?”

“Because of what I gave you to hold,” he replied, but her answer had calmed him, and he turned to look at Sir Druerie, who was leaning against the wall, still gasping for breath. “I am sorry I rushed you along so fast,” he said to the older man. “Nothing like this has ever happened
to me before. I was afraid my unwillingness—

“Yes, yes,” Magdalene interrupted, “but do not waste time on confessing your sins here. Bring your friend in where he can sit down and drink a glass of wine.”

She held the gate wide, and tactfully stepped behind it so her presence should not embarrass the older man when Mainard almost picked him up and carried him down the path. She shut the gate and followed.

Sabina was again on the front step, calling “Mainard? Mainard? Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Did those men hurt you? Oh, who is breathing so hard?” Her hands came up, feeling for the beloved form even though she knew he was not yet close enough to touch.

“Be careful of the step!” Mainard bellowed. “I am not hurt.” And then more softly. “Go in. You will be chilled.”

Magdalene rolled her eyes heavenward. How those two, so devoted to each other that it made her faintly sick, could still manage not to understand they were best together, she did not know. She wished most fervently for many reasons that Bertrild’s murderer would be found and that she could be rid of those accursed documents. And not least of those reasons was that there would then no longer be any excuse for Mainard not to settle matters.

She hoped Mainard would keep Sabina because the girl truly loved him, but she was no longer concerned that Sabina would be forced back into whoring. She had two or three engagements to entertain each week, and one woman had actually changed the date of a dinner she meant to give so that Sabina could sing for her guests. She would not make as much money singing as she had made whoring, but her list of clients was growing, and before the money Mainard had given her had run out, she would be able to pay for her keep and Haesel’s.

By the time Magdalene entered the house and closed the door, Mainard had seated his guest at the table, and all her women had put aside their embroideries and risen to their feet. Ella cried out, “Oh, poor man,” and ran to fetch a cup from the shelves against the back wall. Diot caught up a flagon of Magdalene’s good wine and poured it for him, and then went to the kitchen to get a small plate of sweet cakes; experience had taught her that sugar and wine were a good restorative.

Still breathing hard, Mainard’s companion only nodded his thanks, but Magdalene saw his shrewd eyes taking in everything—first Sabina and Mainard; then the women themselves in very attractive but unrevealing gowns; the stools grouped around the hearth, two with needlework set down on them; the scrubbed table; the clean floor; the neat shelves, holding only household goods, no whips, no restraints, no sexual toys.

Magdalene then also looked at Mainard and Sabina, again standing hand-in-hand,
Mainard staring down into Sabina’s face, which she had lifted toward him as if to facilitate his examination. Recalling his haste and anxiety and the remark he had made about “what he had given her to hold,” Magdalene decided she had no more time to waste on the game of statues.

“Mainard,” she said, touching his arm, “why did you run all the way here? Why were you so anxious about our safety?”

With what appeared to be a physical wrench, he pulled his gaze away from Sabina’s face. “Did you hear that my house at Lime Street was searched on Friday?”

“Yes, Bell told me.”

“Well, my shop was searched yesterday, searched by someone who had a key to open the door and who knew what I had been working on all last week. It certainly was not Codi or the boys. They were with me in Lime Street, and I hold the keys; Henry does not have a key—I had to go to the shop to open it for him. Nothing was taken from either place. Am I wrong in thinking those searches were for something only recently come into my possession?”

“I think not, but why should you think the Old Priory Guesthouse would be in any danger?”

“Because the searcher—no, there must have been more than one because of the way the servants were confined at Lime Street—so, searchers, could not find what they sought in my house or in my shop and might assume I had given it to my leman. I was afraid they would come here to try to force the secret out of her…or you.”

“I thank you for your concern, but—

“But no buts. They have all been guests here. Would you think to keep them out without a warning?”

“Ah, I see what troubled you. You feared they would come in under false pretenses and then threaten us.” She smiled slightly. “I assure you they would have found nothing here and likely gone quietly away. However, I thank you again for your concern.”

She twitched at his arm lightly, and tilted her head toward his companion. With her other hand she tapped Sabina’s wrist. Obediently, Sabina released her grip on Mainard’s hand. Although Mainard did not respond at once, first looking down at Sabina, he turned toward the table when Magdalene pulled at his sleeve a bit more insistently.

Ella was saying, “Ah, you look much better now. I hope you are restored. It was foolish for you to hurry so. We are mostly free on Sundays, so if you want—”

“Ella!” Magdalene said warningly and the girl fell silent, but no one could mistake her disappointment. “We do not solicit custom here,” she said to Mainard’s companion. “But Ella does love her work. No one is taking advantage of her, I assure you.”

“No,” Sir Druerie agreed dryly.

“Sir Druerie is not come to be a guest here, Ella,” Mainard said, smiling at the girl and patting her shoulder. “He wished to meet Sabina, of whom I had spoken.”

“Oh.” The expression of puzzlement cleared from Ella’s face. “You thought she was going to sing this afternoon and wanted to catch her before she left. That was why you hurried so fast you were all out of breath. But her engagement was yesterday. Today Sabina will be here all day.” Ella smiled at Mainard and turned to Sir Druerie. “Do you wish to hear her sing, sir?”

“Later, my dear,” Sir Druerie said. “Now I would like to meet your wh—Mistress Magdalene.”

Magdalene stepped forward and curtsied slightly. “And you would like to be called, sir?”

“My name is Sir Druerie of Swythling—

“I do not think you are supposed to tell us your name,” Ella put in, frowning. “Not that I will remember it. I am not very good at remembering. But Magdalene always says that what you do not know cannot pop out of your mouth when you are not thinking.”

“That is very true.”

“Sir Druerie’s voice was pleasant enough, but Magdalene detected the beginning of impatience. “Ella, love,” she said, “would you be good enough to go to the kitchen and try to make Dulcie understand that there will be two more for dinner—that is, two in addition to Bell, who will soon return. Altogether there will be three, beside ourselves for dinner. Can you tell Dulcie that, love?”

“Oh, yes.” Ella looked toward the half-embroidered ribbon lying on her chair.

“This once, I will take care of your embroidery, and if Dulcie and Haesel are doing anything you think would amuse you, you have my permission to stay with them.”

“You are very kind to that half-wit,” Sir Druerie said when Ella had trotted down the corridor and disappeared into the kitchen.

“She is simple, childish, not a half-wit,” Magdalene said, a slight undertone of sharpness in her voice. “Within the limits of a five-year-old, she is really quite clever. And her good humor and willingness are of considerable profit to this establishment. Now, how may I serve you?”

Sir Druerie laughed. “Mainard told me you defended your women like an Amazon. That seems to be true. Actually you cannot serve me at all, although you likely are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I came, as Mainard said, to meet Mistress Sabina. I wish to serve Mainard, if I can, after the damage my niece did him. Do you object?”

“Not at all,” Magdalene replied without hesitation. “Sabina?”

But Sabina had already taken her staff in hand and was coming toward the table. She was pale, and Mainard stopped her, laying his hand over hers on the staff.

“You do not have to speak with him, Sabina,” he said. “You do not have to do anything you do not like.”

“Why should I not like to speak to your uncle-by-marriage?” she asked, smiling faintly, “if he will deign to talk to me and cares enough for you to make this effort, I can only be grateful to him.” Then she turned her head toward where she knew the table was. “If you will speak, Sir Druerie, I will know where to face when I answer.”

“If you do not mind, Mistress Sabina,” he said, “I would like to talk to you in private. Is there such a place?”

“My own chamber is private,” she said, extending the staff slowly and cautiously to be sure no person was standing in her way. “If you will come this way—”

“Sabina—” Mainard said, his voice shaking.

She turned toward him and smiled but did not speak and then went forward down the corridor toward her room with Sir Druerie trailing behind.

Magdalene drew a rather exasperated breath. When she first realized who Sir Druerie was and why he had come with Mainard, she had been furious because she thought he was Mainard’s excuse for abandoning Sabina. Magdalene did not doubt that Mainard adored Sabina, but she feared that he had been hurt so deeply and so often that he simply could not bear to expose himself to hurt again. Therefore, instead of seizing the joy Sabina brought him and living in hope that she would remain his lover, he intended to run away from the relationship using as an excuse Sir Druerie’s judgment that Sabina was a whore and would first betray him and then leave him.