The Law of Angels (46 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

As she reached the street a few minutes later the Host reappeared on its meandering journey through the town. This time she stood in a doorway so she didn’t have to kneel.

Other people were doing the same. Even a few who were at the front of the crowd remained standing despite objections from those behind. Harsh words were exchanged between spectators of different persuasions. Several people crossed themselves and looked askance. Others joined in the dispute.

“It’s a free country,” somebody retorted. “We can think what we like. We don’t have to believe your popish lies.” More argument followed until the crowd, through sheer force of numbers, pushed the disputants apart.

Hildegard meandered back along the route of the pageant and eventually found a niche on a window ledge within earshot of the stand at Jubbergate. She didn’t hear a word. All she could do was go over everything that had passed between herself and Hubert since she had handed him alms by mistake.

Every word he said burned in her mind. She realised that she should not have spoken so critically. He was the abbot after all. But surely that wasn’t a reason to be forced to stand trial in front of the Chapter of monks at Meaux?

She went over her words again and again and could find no real fault in them. How could he take exception to the truth?

If they dare cross-question her she would stick by every word. He could not take offence at the truth. How could it horrify him to discover her shock at his visit to Avignon? He made no apology for his allegiance with the anti-pope.

This was England.

Clement was the French pope, known for his avarice and duplicity. And the king of France was again rumoured to be massing forces on the other side of the Channel ready to invade. The mother house of the Abbey of Meaux, what’s more, was itself French. By putting a detour to Avignon above his immediate return to Meaux he had clearly shown where his loyalty lay.

How could Hubert defend that? It must be true what the prioress had hinted: He was in the pay of France. He was a spy.

Miserably she watched the plays from the street until the sun was nothing but a burning disk overhead.

*   *   *

Still no sign of the mage. Above the rooves the sky acquired a molten look. A strange light tinted with copper the underbelly of a single large cloud.

During the next half-dozen plays the cloud expanded and darkened and dropped lower. A deceptive breeze suddenly sprang up. It refreshed the air for a moment and then abated. The banners looped from balcony to balcony across the street had fluttered briefly to life and now fell still once more. People took off their straw hats and used them as fans then replaced them for fear of sunstroke. An enterprising gardener brought out sheaves of rhubarb leaves and sold them for a farthing each. The water-sellers did a roaring trade.

Hildegard realised that she could be sitting in more comfort under the awning with the de Huttons—the old friends Hubert had referred to in such a scathing manner—so, heavy-hearted, with no idea whether the rumour of explosion was to be trusted or not, and with a headache just beginning, she made her way back across the river to Micklegate.

*   *   *

The sequence of plays was continuing as she took her place on the stand. Petronilla turned to her in excitement. “You’ve just missed the glaziers’ play, sister. That beautiful man you know called Gilbert was the Archangel Michael. He was magnificent even though they hardly allowed him to speak more than a couple of lines. I am
so
enamoured of him.”

Melisen broke in. “Don’t be such a ridiculous child. He must be at least twenty-six, even older than I am!”

Hildegard scarcely heard them chatter on. She was wondering if Danby had told Ulf of his suspicions regarding Gilbert.

As far as she understood him, he and Stapylton had merely agreed to mention the apprentices in general. There was the performance to consider, the humiliation of failing to provide a play to the necessary standard and the severe fine if they failed. No doubt Danby felt that as long as he could keep an eye on his journeyman, retribution could wait and the honour of the guild be maintained.

It was impossible to believe that Gilbert had planned to set an explosive in the crowd. Poor Danby, she thought. He looks on Gilbert as his son.

Unable to sit still she got up with a muttered explanation saying that she needed something for her headache and, trailing back towards Harpham’s, had just reached the gates into the courtyard when a stranger stepped from out of the porter’s lodge and planted himself directly in her path.

“Sister Hildegard?” he asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“I do. May we go inside?” He gestured for her to precede him into the lodge.

Inside she turned to give him a long look. He was an angular sort of fellow, tall and stooped, his face parchment-coloured and grooved with worry lines running vertically down his forehead as well as on both sides of his mouth.

Jostling at his side were four little girls, ranging in age from around five to twelve or so. They were prettily if shabbily dressed and the man himself, their father perhaps, had on a worn tunic over darned brown hose.

He said to her, “I believe you have custody of my daughter.”

Chapter Thirty-five

She stared. “Your daughter?”

His glance was eager as if she held the key to all his future happiness. “I’ve just come from Swyne. The prioress there told me you brought her to York for safety? I mean my little Petronilla.”

“She’s safe and well,” Hildegard told him evenly. “If you would like to see her, come with me.”

“Hear that, girls, I think we’ve found her!” he exclaimed.

The children were standing in a chain of clasped hands and the smallest, a tousled moppet, anchored this little chain to their father’s sleeve with a firm grip of her chubby fingers. The chain broke at these words, however, and the little girls surged round him so that he was suddenly knee-deep in a sea of piping children.

In one swoop Hildegard grasped the entire picture. “It’s not far,” she reassured him. “Follow me.”

They practically had to fight their way through the crowds towards the stand.

Despite the evident delight of the little family it didn’t stop Hildegard from briefly wondering if he had been sent to kidnap Petronilla just as the knight had tried to kidnap Maud, but she led the way to the pageant stand anyway. It was reassuring to note that there were plenty of guards around.

When she reached the steps she said, “If you wait here I’ll go up and fetch her.”

Petronilla was leaning on the railing, her glance fixed avidly on another play. She was accompanied by Maud and one or two personal servants. Lady Melisen was lying back with her eyes half-closed and seemed to find the heat even under the canopy too much to bear. Lord Roger was asleep.

Hildegard called over. “May I borrow Petronilla for a moment, my lady?”

“Oh do! They never stop chattering and I’m too hot to care about anything just now.” Melisen fanned herself with the edge of her veil. “We’re all about to decamp to Harpham’s to refresh ourselves. I’ll be delighted when the storm breaks. This weather is intolerable.” She stretched out a languid arm. “Run along, Petronilla, do as you’re told.”

The girl got up and followed Hildegard down the steps. Hildegard was in front and temporarily blocked the view of the people below. When she reached the bottom she stepped to one side.

There was a gasp from the top of the steps. “Father!”

“My little chick! My beauty! My little dove!” The stranger climbed swiftly up the steps to sweep her into his arms. He carried her down then twirled her round in a flurry of skirts before setting her on her feet again.

Then he stepped back and tried to adopt a stern look that didn’t quite convince. “My angel, why did you run away without telling anyone where you were going?” he asked in hangdog tones.

“I didn’t think anybody would notice,” Petronilla replied, giving him a wary glance from beneath her lashes.

“We’ve been out of our minds, pippin! Your sisters have been crying their eyes out ever since you ran away. Isn’t that so, girls?” As at a sign the children gave little squeals of delight and threw themselves all over their sister.

Melisen appeared at the top of the steps. “What on earth’s going on?”

“This is Petronilla’s father,” Hildegard announced. She stepped out of the way.

Melisen slowly descended the steps. When she reached the bottom her glance was on the stranger but then it fixed on Petronilla “Your
father
?”

Petronilla stared at the ground.

“You told me you were an orphan. You told me your guardian was a wicked fellow who had tried to marry you off to an old man. You told me … you told me a pack of
lies,
madam!” Melisen’s voice had risen.

Petronilla began to cry.

Melisen was unimpressed. She used tears to good effect herself and was not moved by others adopting the same ploy. “So you are not an orphan! Your inheritance has not been squandered by a profligate uncle! May I ask, has anything you told us been true in the slightest degree?”

“Everything was true,” blubbed Petronilla, “except where I came from and why. That was the only lie.”

“It doesn’t leave much out!”

“And London.” Petronilla glanced hurriedly at Hildegard. “I’ve never been there, sister. I’m sorry.”

She allowed her tears to trickle very slowly down her cheeks then with a little anguished cry she dropped to her knees. “I beg and implore you to honour me with your forgiveness, my lady.”

“You should be kneeling to your father and begging his forgiveness,” Melisen reproved. “If you were my daughter I’d give you a good whipping.” She looked the man up and down. “Let me invite you over to the house, sir. At least we can get out of this infernal heat. Your little girls might like something to eat and drink. Is their mother with you?”

“Dead, my lady.” The man quickly removed his cap and held it in front of him. “I’m a widower. Have been now for some five years.”

He indicated the smallest child. “I try to do what’s best for them. But nothing seems to work out. We’ve been making toys for the Rhineland trade, very pretty things, the girls could scarcely bear to part with them, but it’s come to nothing. I’m at my wit’s end. She’s a good little creature.” He touched Petronilla with great gentleness on the shoulder. “Don’t be harsh with her, my lady. She’s probably sick of having to look after so many little ones, being only fourteen herself.”

“Fourteen?”
repeated Melisen in wonder. “You had better come with me.”

*   *   *

Aware that matters had been taken out of her hands Hildegard made off at once. While they had been talking something had occurred to her. By the time she arrived in Danby’s yard she had pushed the question of Petronilla to the back of her mind. It was another young woman she wished to speak to.

The first thing she noticed when she entered the yard was the guard at the far end and the second thing was that someone had rigged up a temporary shelter for her hounds outside the widow’s door. Both animals were lying peacefully in its shade with a large bowl of water between them and some half-gnawed bones. They greeted her fondly and allowed her to pet them and then she went on into the workshop and gave a call.

There was no response.

Poking her head round the kitchen door she saw it was empty. Even the deaf cook had gone. At the foot of the stairs she called out again.

The Widow Roberts appeared from Danby’s private chamber with a finger to her lips. “She’s up here, sister. Come up.”

When she reached the landing Hildegard asked in a lowered voice, “How is she? Is she able to talk?”

Tabitha put her hand to the door. “She’s much better since that mage said he’d have her betrothed fetched over.” She hesitated then whispered, “I may tell you this so you may better understand. She was with child. It was lost because of what happened—some would say it’s probably for the best.”

Then, without waiting for Hildegard’s response, she ushered her inside and in a bright voice said, “There she is, sister. I’ll leave you both for a while. Cook is going to come in and sit with her later on.” As she turned to go she said to Hildegard, “By the way, my nephew built a shelter for your hounds and now he’s taken Kit and the kitchen lad to watch the pageant.”

Thanking her for looking after everything Hildegard went over to the bed.

Dorelia was lying back with one hand over her brow.

Her hair had been washed and brushed and was spread out in a silky sheen across the pillow. She wore a high-necked shift but the bruises on her neck, blue, turning through green to yellow, were visible under the lace frill. When she heard someone approach she had opened her eyes and now, seeing Hildegard, she lifted one hand in greeting but let it drop onto the counterpane almost at once without the strength to do more.

“So kind to come … master told me what you did. Sit down and talk to me if you will—”

“I was rather hoping you would talk to me, Dorelia. That is, if you’re well enough?”

“I’m as well as I can be at present. Berwick has sent for my betrothed … I thought all was lost. If he comes … though I reckon he’ll want nothing to do with me when he hears the shame of what’s happened…”

Her voice was a wisp of sound and faded completely, but after she closed her eyes for a moment she seemed to gather strength from somewhere and, opening them, revealing their startling colour, began to speak again. “Poor Edric,” she said. “I’ve brought him nothing but grief, and if I’d known how it was going to turn out—I don’t know what else I could have done.… Will I be forgiven, sister?”

“I’m sure He’s already forgiven you. Master Danby too,” she added.

“I don’t deserve it … he’s a kind man…” Her voice faded.

“And Jankin?” Hildegard asked softly.

Dorelia’s lips trembled. “Dearest Jankin. He was a light in all the darkness … I don’t know how I would have survived all this without him.… There was no badness in him … he did not deserve what happened.…” Her lips trembled even more and her words trailed away again.