Baynard's List (A Stephen Attebrook mystery Book 2) Read online

  A few people were loitering at the doors, servants mostly who were undoubtedly there because Valence expected everyone to attend the Terce mass. Most were watching a pair of boys who were wrestling and not doing a very good job of it, straining and grunting without a decision either way. Since everyone wrestled, everyone felt competent to shout instructions to their own favorite, and this made a racket. Stephen wouldn’t have minded watching too, but he had other more urgent business. One of Valence’s grooms, whom Stephen recognized, emerged and scolded the crowd for the noise they were making, then spoiled the game by running the boys off with a kick and a few choice words.

  Stephen edged through the doors and stood at the back of the chapel. He surveyed the crowd, trying to spot Christopher’s nurse, Gunnora. She was a short plump woman, and he could not find her in the press.

  The chaplain was chanting something in Latin out of sight behind the hedge of bodies. He spoke good Latin and didn’t mispronounce any of the words, a common failing of country priests who were often badly educated. But Henle could afford a chaplain who’d been to Oxford. The sonorous Latin words, which sounded like singing even when it was not meant to be singing, rolled through the air with the inexorability that only Latin possessed. Stephen smiled. You could announce you were on your way to the privy in Latin and it would still sound majestic. With some effort he could have made out what the priest was saying. Unlike most people here, Stephen had studied Latin, but more the reading than speaking kind. And he didn’t care to make the effort. He had only been mildly religious, and since Taresa had died he had completely lost his faith. When she had fallen sick, he had clumsily tried to nurse her and when she had collapsed into her last sleep and it was obvious she would not awaken without a miracle, he had prayed and pleaded with God to save her. He had promised everything he possessed, including his own life. But she had died anyway. He could not forgive God for stealing her.

  A hand touched his arm. This was not some casual brush in the crowd because the hand did not let go. He turned to see who it was and found himself looking down into the cool face of Margaret de Thottenham.

  At any other time, he would have enjoyed meeting her. But not now.

  “Good day, Lady Margaret,” Stephen murmured, trying not to let his interest show.

  She smiled at him. “I’m so glad to see you. We were wondering how your search was going. Olivia is desperate to know who killed Muryet.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t learned anything useful.”

  Her face fell. “Oh.” Then she brightened. “But what is your next step? You must have a next step. What will you do now?”

  Stephen sighed. The last thing he wanted was someone prodding him about what he was going to do next, even if it was a beautiful woman. Had it been anyone else he would have made some excuse and moved away. But his mouth said for him, “For what it’s worth, I’ve learned that Makepeese went to live with his mother in Upper Galdeford.” Not until he’d spoken the words did it hit him how thin and useless that information seemed.

  “And you’ve been there to speak with him?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Why not? The trail will get cold if you don’t act quickly.”

  Perhaps so. But there was something he had to do before he continued the hunt. He said lamely, “One’s soul comes first, my lady. There is time yet.”

  She frowned. But anything she might have said was interrupted when Olivia came up as the crowd began filing through the main door. Olivia was flushed with excitement. Why should she would be excited over a mass puzzled Stephen, until it became clear that it wasn’t the mass but an invitation to dinner by the Henles that had stimulated her. Townsfolk weren’t casually invited to dine with the castellan’s family, so this was a rare honor.

  The two women chatted about the forthcoming social event while Stephen scanned the crowd. He spotted the nurse as she neared the door and moved to intercept her.

  “Good day, Gunnora,” Stephen said.

  Gunnora looked nervous at being confronted by him, and made a shallow reverence in reply. “G’day, your honor.”

  Christopher was in her arms. At the sight of his father, he leaned forward and held out his arms. “Da!” he cried.

  Stephen took the boy before he fell on the ground. It felt good to hold him. It had only been just over a month since they were parted, but already the boy seemed different: bigger and changed. He was already talking more English, which mixed oddly in with the Spanish that he already knew. At least Christopher was well fed and seemed happy. But Stephen couldn’t hold the boy for long. It wasn’t done to show public affection for one’s children. He passed the child back to his nurse. Christopher squirmed in her arms and tried to get down, but Gunnora held him firmly.

  “What happened, Gunnora?” he asked. “Why did Eustace give up Christopher?”

  “I don’t know!” she said.

  “How could you not know? Lords have no secrets from their servants.”

  Gunnora dropped her eyes to the ground. “No one knows what they said to each other.”

  Stephen looked disgusted.

  “My lord did not want to give him up,” she said defensively, “but Valence insisted.” She stepped closer and said in a lower voice, “There is something between them. Valence has some hold over him. I don’t know what it is, but it’s powerful. They went into his lordship’s chamber and when they came out it was done. Whatever it was, it frightened his lordship. I know it did. He tried not to show it, but I know it worried him. He made me go. To protect Chris and keep him safe.”

  Stephen nodded as if he sympathized and understood, although he was completely mystified. They walked out of the chapel into the bailey. “Will you be staying here long?”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Going to Haverford, it’s said.”

  Stephen had heard of it, or course, although he had never been there. It was Valence’s chief manor. “Valence is treating you well? They’ve given you decent rooms while you’re here?”

  “A small one, but quite comfortable.”

  As casually and as disinterestedly as he could, he said, “Which one is it? Those rooms above the hall can be so small and cramped and drafty. If you’re not fully satisfied, I’ll speak to Henle myself.”

  “There’s no need, sir. It’s the one on the third story at the back by the watchtower.”

  “There?” He pointed to the right toward a large square tower that loomed over the hall.

  “Yes, sir,” Gunnora said.

  Stephen nodded. “That’s a good room.”

  “You know of it, sir?”

  “Yes. Smallish, but comfortable. The window lets in the morning light.”

  “That’s the one, sir.” She hefted the boy on her hip. “Now, if you don’t mind, sir, we’re off to the nursery.”

  “There you go,” Stephen said. He wished he could follow them and watch Chris play. He had enjoyed sitting in the bailey of Rodrigo’s castle in Spain and watching the boy play in the dirt alongside the other castle children. Taresa had abhorred allowing him to play in the dirt because he liked to eat rocks. The memory saddened him. All those other children were probably dead now, or enslaved. He doubted that many of Chris’ playmates had survived the final assault on the castle.

  He found Margaret and Olivia had not yet gone to the hall, where most of the other church-goers were headed. They were watching him and it would have been rude just to walk away without saying anything. So he approached, intending to find some excuse to get back to business as quickly as he could.

  Margaret said, “You are a man of many parts. Soldier, king’s officer, and evidently a student of the law.”

  “You’ve been talking to James de Kerseye.” De Kerseye was a lawyer now and had once been something of a friend.

  “He told us that the two of you once clerked for Lord Ademar at Temple Bar in London, but that you had a falling out with him.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Stephen said, not wanting to tal
k about it.

  “He also told us that Lord Ademar holds your son for your good behavior. Was that him?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

  Stephen was surprised that de Kerseye would know that, and her concerned touched him. He nodded. “Yes.”

  “A handsome child. Will Lord Ademar harm him if you are not compliant?”

  Stephen again was surprised: it was not obvious that Christopher was in danger. How could Margaret have foreseen that? He said, “I don’t know.”

  “Death is often the fate of hostages,” she said with unexpected grimness. “Then you mustn’t lose a moment. You must find the list. What will you do now?”

  Stephen said, “I’ll have to go to Makepeese’s house and see if he’s there.”

  Margaret drew herself up and it was only then that Stephen realized how short she was — barely reaching his chin. “Then that’s where we will go. Let’s be gone. There’s not a moment to lose.”

  Chapter 12

  Stephen had not missed Margaret’s “we” and not “you,” and was turning it over in his mind, wondering what to say, as they walked together toward the narrow gate to the outer bailey. As drunk as she made him feel and as reluctant as he was to put aside the wine cup of desire, she would just be in the way. He had more important things to do today than find Makepeese and the thief of the list.

  Then Olivia called out petulantly, “Margaret!”

  Margaret stopped abruptly and swung back. “What is it, dear?”

  Olivia looked stricken. “The dinner! We’re going to miss it.”

  “Then you go.”

  Olivia leaned close so that only they could hear. “But I’m not invited. You’re the one who got the invitation, not me. I’m only to be your guest.”

  “And you still will be. The steward knows that you came as my friend. He’ll seat you even without me. You just go in as if you belong there. If anyone asks about me, tell them I’ve taken ill and have had to return to the house for a nostrum. Sir Stephen has agreed to escort me.” She said in a more meaningful tone. “The ladies will understand that.” Margaret pulled back and said more matter of factly, “This is your chance. Play it right and they will accept you, and then who knows what the future will hold.”

  “I can’t do this by myself.”

  “Yes, you can. They know who you are and where you came from. Now that you are husbandless and without his baggage, you’ll be more agreeable to them. You were brought up for this very opportunity. Now be strong. You know what to do.”

  Olivia stood there for a moment, quivering almost imperceptibly with anxiety and breathing hard. Her eyes darted from Stephen to Margaret and back again. “All right then,” she said with sudden fierceness. She turned about and strode determinedly to the hall.

  Margaret observed the effect of her words with a small satisfied smile. Then she said abruptly to Stephen, “Shall we go, sir?”

  “If we must,” Stephen sighed. For such force of personality to emanate from such a small person was unexpected.

  They passed through the inner gate to the outer bailey. Stephen unconsciously increased his pace, as he often did when he was in a hurry. Margaret lifted her shirts and hurried to keep up. Unlike Gilbert, she did not complain about it. Stephen slowed for her when he realized he was walking so swiftly. He said, “This may not be a place for a lady.”

  “What do you mean? That Makepeese lives in a hovel? You think I’m not accustomed to hovels or to the poor? There are poor enough on my manors and I deal with them like anyone else.”

  “Well, it’s not your affair, so there’s no reason to . . .”

  She did not let him finish. “I shall not stand by and see a good man’s child put at risk if there is something I can do to help.” Then she took his arm and said softly, “If there are women involved, and I am sure there are, I may be able to speak to them more frankly and persuasively than a man might do.”

  And that was that. He might as well try resisting a river.

  She also had a way of getting him to talk about himself, which he normally did not do with anyone. Before they had reached the main gate she had pried out of him the facts of his indenture to Valence, a subject which he had never shared with anyone, as if his mouth was a clockwork and all she had had to do was turn a key to unwind him. “I was a little wild as a boy, always getting into trouble. My father thought I needed discipline. He was right about that, but he picked the wrong master. Eventually, I rebelled and ran away.”

  “And he lost his surety,” Margaret said. Apprentices, especially those in professions such as the law, had sponsors who stood surety that they would complete the terms of their contracts. If they failed, the sponsor stood to lose the surety, which usually was a considerable sum of money.

  “Yes. I disobeyed him and cost him money.”

  She laughed. “So, failing at law, you turned to soldiering? An odd switch.”

  “I always wanted to be a soldier, earn a fortune and retire to my manor.” He shrugged. “It seemed like the only way to get one. My older brother was the favored one, you see. I got nothing.”

  “It does not seem you earned a fortune,” she said delicately.

  “I did, but I lost it.” He sighed, thinking of the fortune he and Taresa had to leave behind when they ran for their lives — or rather, when she had carried him off, delirious with fever from his wound, just before Rodrigo’s castle fell to the Moors. He tried to push the memory aside but it was too bitter and heavy. “All of it.”

  “Fortunes can be made again.”

  “Maybe.”

  She continued to pull out of him the most intimate things as they walked along High Street. He even spoke about his present work, which he did only because he had to to survive, and he even mentioned Taresa, although he skipped lightly over her, trying to conceal his sense of loss, which would not leave him, for no one wants to be burdened with someone’s grief.

  At the top of Broad Street, they met Gilbert and Edith, who were returning late from mass, probably because Edith liked to stop and chat with people at the church door. Gilbert blinked at the sight of Stephen and who was at his side. Stephen did not have a reputation in Ludlow for strolling about with beautiful women; even if he’d wanted such a reputation it would have been hard to earn because there just weren’t that many available beautiful women here. After Stephen had made introductions, Gilbert asked a bit too anxiously, “All preparations are ready for tonight, though?”

  “Tonight?” Margaret asked. “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Gilbert’s taking a journey,” Stephen said quickly in an effort to head off any further questions.

  “Yes,” said Edith with narrowed eyes and a suspicious tone. She didn’t know the reason yet for the journey, either, and that bothered her. Stephen knew he would have to tell her this afternoon, and hoped that she would keep her objections to a minimum.

  “Ah,” Margaret said, making conversation, “where will you be going?”

  “Oh,” Gilbert said, “a short way into Shropshire. Not far.”

  “Is that it?” Edith said.

  “Yes, my dear,” Gilbert said, rubbing his round stomach. “It’s business, as I told you. I shall not be long.”

  “It seems odd,” Margaret said, “to start a journey of any distance in the evening.”

  “He means before dawn,” Stephen said. “He’s getting an early start.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Edith said.

  “You must have misheard me,” Gilbert said.

  “I distinctly did not mishear you,” Edith said.

  “Well, I meant to say before dawn. I really did.” Realizing that too much had been said before someone not entitled even to have a hint of the secret, Gilbert said good day, and guided Edith away down Broad Street, who was put off to know a secret was afoot and to be deprived of further conversation with a new acquaintance.

  “That was odd,” Margaret said after they were out of earshot.

  “Was it?” Stephen said as
if he was disinterested.

  “Doesn’t he serve you?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “I thought he is your clerk.”

  “When the occasion demands. Otherwise, his life is his own.”

  “I see,” she said.

  Across Broad Street, they entered the defile of Draper’s Row, where the street narrowed considerably. Some of the richest men in town lived and not far along stood Ancelin Baynard’s principal shop. The ground was churned up from the recent rains and the passage of cattle and other traffic. They clung to the margins, hugging the sides of the buildings to avoid getting caught in the mire. Some of the householders had put down planks, temporary expedients to prevent the hapless traveler from sinking into the muck, but balancing on them was a bit precarious. Stephen dared to take Margaret’s hand to help her. Her fingers were soft, long and warm in the autumn chill. He was thrilled when she did not draw away but tightened her clasp with an eagerness that he risked fancying was more than casual politeness or a desire to avoid drowning. Was there hope? Or was he simply mad? He decided he must be mad.

  Draper’s Row wended for fifty or sixty yards, then opened into the expanse of Beast’s Market, the confluence of four streets. The empty timber frames of vendors’ market stalls stood to one side. Now that Margaret did not need the pretense of his assistance, she withdrew her hand and tucked both demurely into her sleeves. But she smiled and they made polite conversation as they waded across the market and passed through Galdeford Gate.

  Just beyond the gate there was a food shop that sold little pastries through the window to anyone who happened by. Although it was Sunday, and nobody was supposed to be doing any business, the shutters were down, a woman sat in the window bundled against the chill, and the warm scent of fresh sweetbuns assaulted the nose. If she had been within the walls, the wardens would have had a sharp word with her, but since this was outside they had no authority and she had only the lord’s bailiff and parish priest to contend with, both of whom were probably paid to look the other way. Margaret glanced at Stephen expectantly. He had no money and looked embarrassed. She dug into her purse and handed him a quarter-penny. “That should be enough for two,” she said.