The Assassin's Wife (29 page)

Durga’s bloody face confronted me. Her eyes glowed like tempered steel. She dragged me to where Shangula knelt by the old woman. Shangula, tangled hair about her face like a lion’s mane, roared curses.

Shangula drove me away. I knew then there could be no turning back. No longer part of the Rom, I must travel alone as Mara had taught me. I quickened my pace and the city streets grew familiar. Soon I stood in Forster Lane with its shops full of bright Venetian glass. Purposefully, I walked towards the Chepe.

* * * * *

Standing by the steps, the open bake-house door wafting its familiar mouth-watering fragrances, Margaret Mercer, smaller than I remembered in a charcoal, woollen gown, eyed me with a quizzical expression.

“Well, I never expected to see you!”

Surprised by the wariness of her manner, I hesitated.

“You’d best come in.”
 

She moved back a step as if to allow me passage to the living quarters above the shop but the lack of warmth in this welcome made me awkward. I stood smiling uncertainly, conscious of the hum of voices from below.
 

“I couldn’t wait to get here,” I said at last.

“You’ve certainly kept us talking these last months.” Her keen gaze travelled over my gaudy, thread-bare garments. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but we’ve had no end of folk enquiring after you.”

“People asking after me?”
 

Her shrewd appraisal unnerved me almost as much as her words.

“Aye, men from Bishop Stillington’s household—saying he was anxious to speak to you. Hal told them you were still in the Butler wench’s employ as far as we knew, and that we’d heard she’d gone to Norfolk.”

“
Bishop
Stillington?”

“Aye, Bishop of Bath and Wells. King Edward appointed him so just after the Wydeville wench was proclaimed queen. Where’ve you been hiding, Nan? Didn’t you hear any news?”

She waited then, her eyes steady on my face.

“We heard little in Norwich,” I answered, vague with shock. “The sisters have turned their backs on the world—” A wave of unease passed through me with sudden violence. Why had King Edward shown Stillington such a mark of favour? Conscious then of Margaret Mercer’s relentless gaze, I began to bluster. “But why would Bishop Stillington want to speak to me?” Feigning astonishment, I tried to hide the stab of fear that set my belly lurching. “When he knew I was with Dame Eleanor?”

“Why, indeed.” Time had whitened much of her hair and etched more lines into her face, but her mind moved as astute as ever. Her unblinking eyes probed mine. “Only last week another came hunting you—telling us you’d disappeared. We were so worried then—”
 

“I thought I knew that voice!” Someone seized me from behind and caught me in a warm, flour-dusty embrace. “I was just finishing in the bake-house—How long have you been here?”

Grateful for the interruption, and remembering how I’d parted from Harry in anger, I hugged him hard. “I’m sorry I—”

“No tears.” He squeezed my shoulders and steered me up towards the living quarters. “We’re overjoyed to have you back, aren’t we, Mother?”

“I was telling her, we began to think we shouldn’t see her again,” Mistress Mercer wheezed, plodding behind us on the stairs.
 

Settled by a cheerful fire, I fed my listeners with a tortuous tale of my travels, although I took care not to mention the Roma.

“Fancy Dame Eleanor taking the veil!” Meg gasped. “And then to die so young!”

“She took a fever.” I swallowed sweet wine, hoping they wouldn’t ask too many questions. The news of Stillington’s advancement still rankled. “They wanted to make a nun of me too,” I said with a shudder. “But I told Sister Ursula I’d family in London.” Looking round at their homely faces, I smiled in genuine pleasure. “I couldn’t wait to see you all again.”

“And there are more of us to meet now.” Big Hal beamed. “Meg and Harry named their little girl Nancy for you.” He turned to include his wife in this delightful piece of news but her wrinkled face remained inscrutable. I wondered then how much she believed of my story and what had made her so suspicious of me.

At supper I met my namesake, a winsome child with russet curls, who took a great fancy to me. While Meg chattered of Aunt Grace selling the tannery after Uncle Will’s death and moving to Dorset to be with Sarah and Walt, Nancy sat on my lap stealing morsels of food from my dish—an indulgence which made Margaret Mercer raise her bushy eyebrows in mock reproof.
 

“And Judith?”

“Has a little boy—with red hair just as you predicted.”
 

Meg’s careless words sparked a sudden, uncomfortable silence. The fortune-telling incident returned to taunt me then, and I wondered how much she’d told the Mercers.

“Has anyone seen Brother Brian?” My innocent query produced another strange effect.
 

Big Hal coughed. “A friar came looking for you, not long after you’d gone to Norfolk.” He avoided my eyes, his awkward delivery suggesting embarrassment. He cast sheepish glances at the others. “He told us your priest had gone into a monastery up north.” Again he paused to clear his throat. “There’s some scandal about him and a young scholar getting over-fond of one another.”
 

“I hope you won’t mind sleeping in the attic.” Mistress Mercer’s strained voice cut short the conversation. With a nod at Harry, she ushered me upstairs to the old chamber I’d once shared with Philippa. Fidgeting uncomfortably, I pretended interest in the furnishings, the newly painted walls and velvet hangings.

“Remember this?” Harry picked up a wooden creature from the shelf.
 

“My little horse! Oh thank you, Harry!” I flung my arms about him. “What a crosspatch I was for leaving him behind.”
 

“And here’s the companion I promised.” Blushing, he indicated another, more skilfully executed.

Mistress Mercer eyed me pertinently. “No one likes this chamber much,” she said. “Marian complained she had bad dreams and wouldn’t sleep in it after she saw something on the stairs just outside—”

My cheeks flamed. “Perhaps she heard some tale from Philippa,” I answered, arranging my little horses on the shelf in an attempt to divert her.
 

“You can help with the deliveries tomorrow,” said Harry, without consulting his mother.

Still breathing hard from the steep climb upstairs, the stout matron gave him a sharp look. “Aye, I’ve no doubt she’s anxious to acquaint herself with the city again.”

Outside in the street next morning, he tipped me a sly wink. “You’ve not told us much about your time in Norwich, Nan. There’s some secret or other about that affair, I’m certain. You’ve never been much good at lying. Mother’s got the scent of it, I warn you!”
 

Wary of listeners, I glanced about me. “I’ve good reason to keep quiet,” I answered. “There are some things I can’t tell you—at least, not yet. But I truly need your help. I’m looking for someone and it’s very important I find him soon. He’s in the Duchess of York’s household.”

“Ah, it’s a he, is it?” Harry’s eyes twinkled. He drew me round the corner. “I thought as much. And in a noble house, eh?”

“You must promise, first, to say nothing to anyone—not even Meg.”

Dear Harry. Swearing loyalty, he listened with patient humour as I described the man I must find.

“You saw him in Silver Street among the Duchess’s men? And he asked you to meet him in the Boar’s Head? But you didn’t bother to ask his name?” Harry looked at me in amazement. “Well, I wonder why you’re so very keen to find him—” His teasing brought colour to my cheeks. “Tall, black-haired, blue eyes, muscular, strong-looking, northern speech—A fine man for a maid, eh? But it’s not much to go on, is it?”
 

My urgency halted his laughter. “I’d know him anywhere. I must find him, Harry. He’s connected with a dream I’ve had since childhood.” I tried to cover my confusion by glancing at the stalls and passing customers. How could I tell him I’d been on the verge of running off with this man and still blushed at the memories he roused?
 

A solemn Harry confronted me. “Mother says you’ve Second Sight. She and Aunt Grace gossiped of it often enough. You women are all alike when it comes to spells and potions and fortune telling—can’t get enough of it. But it’s a dangerous thing—”

“It’s not a gift I’d wish on others.”

“But this dream—Is it so important you’d risk your life for it?” His unaccustomed gravity alarmed me. “There was a witch hanged in the city only last month—”

Shutting my ears to his warning, I spilled something of my secret. “The lives of two noble boys are in danger. Somehow I have to save them. Don’t look like that! It may sound silly, but Brother Brian believes me.”

At the mention of the priest’s name Harry winced.

“Whatever people think, I trust him absolutely. It’s why I wrote to him from Norwich.” A group of nuns passed us, reminding me unpleasantly of Sister Absalom. “I wish I knew how to find him. Perhaps I should write to Alan Palmer in Ely?”

His shoulders rigid with anxiety, Harry gave me a hard look. “Perhaps you should.” His expression reminded me of his mother then. “And why’s this Bishop Stillington so desperate to find you?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Better you know nothing of him,” I answered, the memory of the hawk-faced prelate causing my heart to race. “If I can find those boys, I know I can outwit him, too.”

“I promise I’ll do all I can to help you.” Harry made this pledge with such solemnity tears stung my eyes, forcing me to turn away from him.

“I thought Maud might know something—but we’d have to be discreet,” I said, adopting a lighter tone. “I don’t want her prying—”

“Well, that’s a challenge in itself!” He handed me one of his baskets, a mischievous grin back on his face. “No time like the present. Are you ready to face the notorious Mistress Attemore? I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you and share the latest scandal!”

Though we pretended nonchalance about this enterprise, a sense of dread, like a chilling fog, enveloped me as we headed into the market.
 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Though Harry and I searched high and low over the next weeks, we discovered no trace of my black-haired man. Harry tried the Boar’s Head in Knightriders Street and even went to Baynard’s Castle, the Duchess of York’s London residence.

“I spoke to one of the men at arms, but he said the duchess’s attendants come and go all the time.”

During this turbulent period the Yorkist troops moved constantly. It made enquiries difficult. Of course, when Maud discovered my quest, she teased me mercilessly, reminding me of my pretended disinterest in Warwick’s men when we’d watched the parade all those years ago.

“And now you’re looking for some knave you glimpsed just for a moment.” She gave Harry a bold wink. “It’s time we got this wench a husband. How old are you now, Nan? Fifteen? What do you think of the butcher’s apprentice for her? When she’s a pair of brats to feed, she won’t have time to go searching after mysterious black-haired lovers!” Her coarsened features creased with mirth. I was glad when she turned her attention on Harry, for she drew other matrons into her banter and I loathed being the butt of their ribald jokes. “How’s that wife of yours?” she asked him. “Her babe must be due any time now?”

“The sooner the better, for her temper’s very short these days.” Harry assumed a pained expression. “How I suffer for it!”

The inquisitive matrons clucked their sympathy but humour sparkled in their eyes. Maud began some tale of a mild-tempered woman who’d turned into a shrew every time she bore a child. “Ten times her husband had to endure her terrible wrath,” she teased. “You’ve only begun your trials, Master Mercer!”

But the new babe turned out to be a healthy boy, born in the early hours of a bright spring morning and named Will for Meg’s father. Big Hal poured us generous measures of fine wine. “Let’s drink to the health of a new baker!” He raised his goblet high.

* * * * *

Somewhere close by a horse screamed. Between the ribbons of fog I caught a glimpse of plunging hooves and blood-flecked flanks. Far away, the muffled blare of trumpets signalled danger. But the white web drifted across my eyes, blurring the shifting shapes. Nothing in this landscape seemed familiar. A loathsome sense of isolation overwhelmed me.

Shockingly, unpredictably, arrows fell, whistling and thudding. Staggering blindly about the field I blundered into a savage group of men fighting hand to hand. My head rang with the hollow sound of clanging metal.

“The queen’s used her witchcraft.” A familiar voice whispered in my ear, insidious, gloating.

I turned to confront its owner but was caught among shadowy figures brandishing murderous weapons—sword, knife, bludgeoning mace.
 

Groans echoed. Something in their eerie timbre captured my imagination. I knelt in awe while the infernal fog billowed over me, inexorable as waves washing up a beach.