Masques of Gold (24 page)

Partly to avoid thinking about a conflict of wills with Justin, Lissa returned to her original point. “But what I meant to say was that none would believe Vesci's excuse a second time.”

“Not unless he said the king sent for her and Lady Margaret went willingly,” Justin remarked, his lips making a thin line with downturned corners. “Many women go willingly to John's bed, not only because they hope to gain his favor but for pleasure.”

“But Justin, who would believe that the king had summoned her?” Lissa protested. “King John may be accused of doing foolish things, but it would take a drooling idiot to summon Vesci's wife at this particular time.”

“I said Vesci could use it as an excuse for rebellion. I did not say anyone would need to believe it.” Justin's eyes were cold and gray as dirty ice. “Those who wish to be rid of the king and those who will be loyal to him do not need to be convinced. Their minds are already set. Of course, if a letter could be produced—”

“How could such a thing be done?”

Justin shrugged. “When many orders or summonses are written, sometimes the signatures or the seals are set on the parchment first. Then if the scribe leaves a little too much space the true letter can be cut away and something else written there. Seals can be forged also, or used without the owner's knowledge, although I have never known anything like that to happen with the king's seals. They are carefully guarded, made by, and entrusted only to those above suspicion. But John is more hated by his nobles than any king in my memory.”

They were both silent for a little while; then Lissa said, “I think I will go to see Lady Margaret. I cannot help her, but perhaps she needs someone to listen.” She saw Justin about to protest and added, “Not about the king and her husband. She never speaks to me of such things or of matters of state. She is too proud for that. But small things that trouble her—of pain in her teeth, or that her skin is too dry. There is a comfort in talking of little sorrows and finding some help for them.”

“There is no harm in what you offer, if that is all, and there might be good in Lady Margaret thinking well of you. But do not let her confide too much in you, even matters of a purely personal nature, unless you are sure you can trust her not to turn on you.”

Lissa nodded. “It makes for an uneasy heart to know the secrets of the soul have been bared. You are right. I will not let her go too far.”

Only after she said that did Lissa wonder whether Lady Margaret would be in the house she and her husband used each time he had come to attend the king's court in the past. She mentioned this to Justin, who said at once that it was not far out of his way and that he would escort her there. If Lady Margaret was not living there, he would go on, leaving two men to see her to whatever other places she wished to try. Lissa objected only mildly, pointing out that he was mounted and she had no horse, which Justin solved by saying he would borrow Adela's riding mule.

Lissa did not think she needed an escort, but she did not feel much like walking and she saw no reason to quarrel with Justin about borrowing the mule and escorting her when accepting would allow them to be together longer. She also felt that if the men who had invaded Peter's house grew to regret having allowed her to survive, they would take action soon or not at all. She was not much afraid, just enough to be glad of the guard Justin offered.

Her interview with Lady Margaret did not answer any of the questions Justin had asked, mostly because Lady Margaret exclaimed quite kindly at her first sight of Lissa that she hoped it had not been her request that had caused Lissa's bruises. The sympathy, accompanied by an unexpected warmth that had replaced the lady's usual haughty manner, increased Lissa's reluctance to pry. Moreover, in her haste to assure Lady Margaret that she did not permit herself to be misused in such a way, Lissa told the tale of the thieves who had wrecked her late husband's house.

To Lissa's surprise, because she imagined so high a noblewoman must live a life more exciting than her own, Lady Margaret was quite thrilled by the “adventure,” and asked a great many questions. So, although Lissa could not find an opening to discover whether the lady had come from Windsor, for which she did not have much heart by then anyway, she did have the satisfaction of knowing that she had pleased her client. They almost forgot the creams in the comfortable give-and-take of their talk, and it was Lady Margaret who called Lissa back and reminded her, this time with a pleasant smile so that the words lost any sting, that she was a businesswoman with a living to make. She asked for two more pots of each cream then, and when Lissa protested that she might be using too much, her eyes grew sad and she shook her head.

“I use them as you told me, but it may be…a long time before I come to London again,” she said.

Lissa did not answer that, only saying that she would send the creams as soon as they were ready and, if Lady Margaret was no longer in residence, would see that the pots followed her if she would leave a message to say where they should be sent. Her eyes dull, the lady nodded and then waved a dismissal. It was only as she left the room that Lissa realized it was strangely bare. There were no tapestries on the walls, only the one chair in which the lady sat, and two stools. And when she went down she saw that all the litter of a nobleman's existence was missing from the hall. There was no extra armor, no squires working over men's or horses' harness with one ear cocked for a bellow from above—well, the lord and his squires might be out, but there were no hawks or empty perches, no racks of boar spears—only a small fire burned in the large hearth, the dais was empty, and everything that was in the hall clearly belonged to the five rather elderly men-at-arms.

Vesci was not with his wife, Lissa concluded, and Lady Margaret's movements were somehow tied to those of the king. Lissa did not know the whole story and did not want to know it. She wished now that she could go home at once to begin preparing her creams and settle matters with her father. However, she had to return the mule and collect Witta, and as soon as she showed her face at Goscelin's house, Adela was there, insisting she stay to eat with them and tell her all that had happened.

Adela had been too kind for Lissa to refuse, so she did her best to content the goldsmith's wife without saying anything of note. There was no way to escape admitting how bare Lady Margaret's house was when Adela pressed for descriptions, but that did no great harm, since Lady Margaret might well be only passing through London. Still, Lissa was glad when, as soon as they were done eating, she was able to plead much work to be done in starting the creams, beg the loan of a little handcart that Witta could draw loaded with the parchments, Peter's box, her receipt book, and her clothes—all she had left—and leave for her father's house.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the house or shop that could be seen as Lissa came down Soper Lane from the Cordwainery. The plank with its bundles of herbs was athwart the door of the shop, the barrels of pepper in their accustomed places, and Paul was behind the counter holding up a bundle of dried mint for a woman, his head turned slightly to Ninias, who was talking to another. Lissa was prepared for a warm, excited welcome because she knew her father tended to mistreat his servants and she took their part; however, she did not expect that when he saw her Paul would drop the mint or that an expression of terror would come onto his face.

“I am not really hurt,” Lissa said, as soon as she was close enough, thinking that it was her bruised face that had frightened Paul, but he only looked more terrified, and then she saw that he was looking beyond her at the two men-at-arms. “Paul!” she exclaimed. “Whatever is wrong?”

”N-nothing,” he stammered. “N-nothing.” And turning to the woman at the counter, he fumbled for the mint again, asking, “Do you like this bunch?”

Unsettled by the nervousness of the journeyman, the customer glanced over her shoulder, saw the waiting men-at-arms, mumbled something about returning later, and walked away. A second woman, who had been sniffing at a peppercorn that she had crushed between her fingers, also walked away after a sidelong glance at Lissa's guards. After a distracted glance at Paul, who was pretending to rearrange the wares with hands that shook so hard the dry leaves were shaken loose from the stems, Lissa turned and smiled at Justin's men.

“I do not know what your orders are,” she said, “but as you can see, you will not do my business any good if you stand here. I am sure I am safe now, so you may leave, if that will not cause trouble for you. Otherwise, you had better come inside the shop where the customers will not see you.”

After a brief consultation, the men-at-arms decided that their duty was done, smiled in acknowledgment of Lissa's thanks, and walked away. Lissa turned around and caught Paul staring in openmouthed amazement at their retreating backs.

“Ninias, stay here. As soon as more than one customer arrives, call us. If you are asked, you tell exactly what you saw—and not one word more or I will tweak your ears until you wish you had held your tongue. Paul, come inside, there are two creams I must start at once.”

Lissa slipped past the barrels and gestured for Paul to enter the shop. She turned back to Ninias to bid him tell Witta, who was just in sight at the end of the street, to come in through the back alley and wait by the garden gate until someone could let him in. By the time she entered the shop, Paul was grinning at her with every evidence of the joy she had expected in the beginning. Exasperated, she grasped Paul's arm and shook it. “What the devil is wrong with you?” she asked, her voice too low to carry but the irritation in it like a scream.

“Nothing now,” he replied eagerly, still smiling, and holding out to her a heavy bunch of keys. “It was only…I found these keys on the counter when I woke this morning. I swear it was just dawn, but your father was already gone. I went up to give him the keys—well, you know he sometimes takes more wine than he should—and he wasn't there. His clothing was gone too, all of it, and nearly all of the rare spices. All the saffron is gone, all the cumin, and the flask with the sleeping potion too. When I saw the men-at-arms behind you, I was sure he had been caught in some bad crime and that they had come to arrest him. And I thought they would blame me for not holding him and account me an accomplice—”

“Do not be so silly,” Lissa snapped. “How could you hold your master? And as for being his accomplice, your face would protect you. No one who looks so much like a hooked cod could be other than a dupe.”

Paul looked so shocked—for he was accustomed to support, not blame, from Lissa—that she laughed. The situation was not humorous, however. She was sure, as she hurried up the stairs, that she would find empty money boxes. What she did not expect was that the chest below the shelf for the money box would also be empty—not a scrap of parchment or a tally stick remaining. All the rare spices gone and not a farthing to put down on account to buy replacements. All records of the debts owed to the shop, gone. All proof of payment of debts owed to others, gone. Lissa stood staring into the empty records chest and cursing her father with every vile disease she had ever seen or heard of.

Lissa was not really surprised that her father had taken all the money. Now that she thought back on the conversation they had had, she knew she should have read the signs of nervousness, felt suspicious of his easy agreement to her suggestions, and realized that he never intended to wait for her to return to the house. The sleeping potion…Lissa shrugged; her father used that often. But why had he taken the records? Out of pure hatred, because he wanted to make keeping the business alive as difficult as possible?

That was mad! The business was his living as well as hers—or was it? Perhaps her father no longer cared whether she came home to run the shop. Because he had found what he was looking for in Peter's house? No, if he found it, why did he bother to come to Goscelin's house to talk to her at all? He had wanted to make sure that she knew he was leaving and would come back. Taking the records was pure spite. Lissa recalled William's real pleasure when he saw her discolored face. Perhaps he had not seen the marks before. Perhaps he had not been involved in that search.

Her heart lifted, then sank again. Perhaps the whole tale he had told about FitzWalter was a lie, and he was fleeing the law. No, he could not have fallen afoul of the law; if he had done so, Justin would have known about it and told her. Then her lower lip slid between her teeth and she stared at the empty chest with fixed attention. She had found what she felt must come closest to the truth: Her father had got some kind of windfall, perhaps some legal but distasteful business that he had kept secret from her, like buying out some young fool's inheritance, and it had suddenly brought him either an estate or enough gold to buy property. With that, he had simply gone away.

Lissa closed the box that had held the records. He had not taken them out of pure spite. He had taken them as proof that the house and business were his, in case he lost what he now had and needed to return to London. When she had got that far, Lissa sat down rather suddenly on the chest she had just closed. Could her reasoning be sound? Could it be true that her father had gone for good? That he did not intend to return and would do so only if he had no other choice? She took back her curses. If he would only stay away, she would wish him the best health, the longest life, the greatest happiness any man could have. She would even send him half, even three quarters, of the profits. She—

“Mistress Lissa,” Ninias's treble voice floated up the stairs. “Can you come help at the counter, mistress? There are people asking for you.”

“Yes, coming,” Lissa called, and ran down to the shop, snatching at a smock that hung near the workroom door.

She smiled like the sun on all those who had seen her arrive followed by two men-at-arms—or had heard about it from others—and had come to discover what scandal was brewing. Lissa was glad to serve them up a fine dish of attack and robbery and threat of future harm, with her bruised face as evidence, just so long as each bought something. And buy they did, for it was only when the coins came into her hands after Paul and Ninias served them that she told a part of her story to each. The larger the sale the more of the story was told.

After the first rush of those who had actually seen Lissa's return or heard of it immediately, the number of customers diminished and she was able to slip away into the back room to begin preparation of the creams for Lady Margaret and a replacement for the sleeping potion her father had taken with him.

Oliva was standing at the door of the workshop, her eyes down, her shoulders slumped in despair. She expected, Lissa knew, to be punished because she had been William's leman, but she was a good maid and Lissa suspected she had gained little pleasure from her special services, and not much profit either.

“Oliva,” Lissa said, “do let Witta in at the garden gate and help him carry my clothing up to my chamber. You will have to look over the clothes. They were treated roughly by those who robbed my husband's house. They will need to be sponged and brushed and checked for tears.”

“Yes, mistress,” Oliva said huskily. “Thank you, mistress. And—and I am sorry, very sorry for all your hurts.”

Lissa could not help laughing at that cautious remark, which committed Oliva to nothing. “I am sorry my husband had to die,” she said, wanting matters clear, “but I am not at all sorry to be a widow. Do you understand, Oliva? Peter was kind to me. I had no reason to wish him harm, but there was nothing between us to make me feel great grief either. Now that my father has gone away, I am very glad to be home attending to my own business.”

“And I am very glad to have you home, mistress.” Oliva hesitated a moment and then said, “There is no food in the house, not even stale bread. Shall I go to the market?”

“Monster!” Lissa muttered, then laughed. “I have not a farthing, Oliva, not a single farthing. My dear father took every coin and shaving of a coin that was in the house, but do not despair. We have already profited from my adventures, and I promise you a rich evening meal to make up for your lack of a dinner.” The promise made Lissa think of Justin and the evening meal they had shared the day her husband's body had been discovered. If he had no duty and she could get a message to him, there was no reason they should not share the evening meal again. “Go up and tend to my clothes,” she said to Oliva, damping down a somewhat tremulous feeling of expectation. “I have a potion and some creams to make.”

As she entered the workroom an old pleasure pushed Justin to the back of her mind and Lissa stood for a moment looking around with a rich sense of homecoming and contentment. Everything was in its proper place, clean and tidy. There were little differences that told her the workroom had been used. On the broad shelf that served as a workbench, the largest mortar now stood on the right; she always placed it to the left. Also, the large containers of goose grease and tallow were on the counter instead of her own favorite smaller covered pots for each substance.

None of that bothered Lissa; it only showed that Paul stood in a different place than she did to work and that he was taller than she and had no trouble scooping portions from the big crocks. Why then should he bother to fill and refill the smaller ones? She was jealous neither of her tools nor of the place, for this was her kingdom and in it she ruled, no matter how many shared it with her.

Smiling with pleasure, Lissa took from one of the shelves below the workbench a smooth, heavily glazed earthenware bowl with a lip for pouring. From the shelves opposite, she took quart-sized crocks, tightly stoppered with cloth-wrapped, carved wooden tops, each marked with a symbol that matched the one on the belly of the crock. One showed a stylized onion, the other a comb of honey above a teardrop form. With a bronze measuring spoon and a thin, flexible steel spatula, Lissa prepared a base of equal parts of honey and onion jelly, the taste and odor of which were disguised with mint and lemon balm. To this she added juice of aloe and decoction of betony—the betony on general principles, as betony was good for everything.

Then she walked to a part of the wall where the shelves held light woven containers of rare spices. Behind one basket was a keyhole into which Lissa thrust a large black iron key that served as latch as well as lock. The door swung open displaying flasks of varying sizes, and on the bottom some flat leather containers. Lissa did not look at those; they held various roots and seeds, some of which she had not yet even tried to use, from lands whose names she had never even heard. As gifts, her uncles bought for her not only velvets and fine silk veils, but everything any man told them was a drug. Descriptions of each and what her uncles had heard about them were carefully inscribed in her receipt book. Someday she would know them all.

The flasks on the shelves at eye level held powders and decoctions whose uses Lissa knew. In the center a small horn flask was scribed with the stick figure of a man with leaves growing from his head. Mandrake, more precious than gold; that would certainly give anyone sleep, but Lissa did not want to use it. It was too costly. She could add it later to a small quantity of the potion for anyone who could afford the fee.

Farther along the same shelf was a much larger horn, which she took down after a moment's thought. This—poison hemlock—was good in small quantities for inducing sleep. Stronger doses might easily make the sleep permanent, and without much blame to the giver of the dose because each plant steeped produced a different strength. Lissa always made as large a quantity as she thought would not spoil, then tested it on a pig or two. If the dose was too strong, it was a peaceful way for the pig to die, and the flesh was still good to eat.

Lissa measured the proper amount of hemlock juice into the preparation in the bowl and added sweet wine, a few drops at a time, until the consistency was that of a thin syrup. She poured the finished draught into an empty earthenware jug, which she covered with a small piece of oiled parchment tied around the neck with a string. When that was done Lissa set dried roses to steep and, simmering on a hook above the fire, a pot half full of dried chopped mossberries covered with water. The rose water would provide a sweet scent for the hand cream, and the mossberries the red color for the cream for the lips. Witta, who was fascinated by any operation in the workroom, was delighted to attend to stirring the roses and the mossberries and to watch that the latter did not begin to boil over.

That done, Lissa came out to serve behind the counter again, to Paul's great relief. People had heard from others that murder had been done in William Bowles's house and that the mayor's guard had arrested Mistress Lissa. Out of curiosity they were now passing by the shop. Many just went on their way when they saw only Paul, seeming calm and undisturbed, but business picked up as soon as Lissa came out and remained brisk all afternoon. These were mostly farthing sales, but Lissa did not scorn them a bit. Four farthings made a penny, and she would need at least three pennies to get a decent evening meal at the cookshop and another four to provide breakfast and dinner the next day.