The queen's man : a medieval mystery (26 page)

"Think again," Jonas said coolly. "Do this for me and I'll owe you a favor. Do you truly want to turn that down?"

Philip smiled faintly. "No, I suppose I do not." When he looked over at Nora again, it was with a calculating, professional eye. "You want only the purse?"

When Jonas nodded, Philip turned to go. Luke quickly caught his arm. "Do you not want one of us to cause a distraction?"

"That will not be necessary," Philip said, too politely for Justin and Luke's liking, for they detected the hidden amusement in his voice, the utter assurance that was so closely akin to arrogance. As they watched, he strolled across the nave toward Nora. Justin expected that he'd bump into her, then make his move in the ensuing confusion. But they seemed barely to brush, their contact so brief and inconsequential that no apologies were even required. Justin felt a stinging sense of disappointment. Philip had bungled his first try. How many tries did he get ere he aroused Nora's suspicions?

"He shied away like a spooked horse," Luke hissed. "This is your master thief, Jonas?"

"Indeed he is," Jonas said complacently, and as Justin and

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Luke looked on in astonishment, Philip ambled over to Nell, squeezed past her, and moved on. He looked back once, grinned triumphantly, and then vanished into the crowd, leaving them to marvel at a sleight-of-hand so deft that they'd neither seen it done nor were able to explain exactly how it had been accomplished, even though they'd been watching him as intently as cats at a mouse hole.

Neither Justin nor Luke had seen Philip pass the purse to Nell, either. But now she bent down, straightening up with the pouch in her hand and a puzzled look on her face. She glanced about at the people closest to her and then approached Nora. For the men, it was like watching a play without dialogue. But it was easy to follow the plot.

At sight of the proferred purse, Nora gasped, hastily fumbling under her mantle. Nell gestured toward the spot where she'd purportedly found the pouch. Within moments, they were both smiling, both talking, with considerable animation. And when Nora at last turned back to the impatient peddler, she held out his cloth for Nell's inspection. Nell shook her head emphatically, pointing toward a bolt of russet wool. For a moment, she looked in the men's direction. Although he could not be sure, Justin thought she winked.

They flipped a coin to see who'd follow Nell and Nora. Luke won, and Jonas went off to tend to other duties. Justin eventually went back to Gracechurch Street. Gunter was keeping an eye on Lucy and Shadow, and Justin passed a restless hour in their company, eventually wandering over to the alehouse to await word.

Nell returned in late afternoon, flushed with cold and excitement. She'd already shared all she'd learned with Luke, but she was quite happy to recount it for Justin's benefit. The alehouse was crowded, but instead of taking over from the harried Ellis, she ordered ale and then launched enthusiastically into her narration.

She and Nora had spent the afternoon together, browsing in the shops along Cheapside, stopping for a meal at the cookshop

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down by the river. They'd gotten along right well, she reported jubilantly, and had agreed to meet again in two days. No, of course she'd learned nothing yet of the Fleming. What did Justin expect of her—miracles? She must tread cautiously at first, do nothing to stir up Nora's suspicions. For that much she had learned this day: Nora was no fool.

"Aldred w r as right. This is a woman with secrets. She was most grateful that I'd recovered her purse and did not seem to be weighing her words with me. Nevertheless, she told me very little about herself. It will take time to gain her trust."

That was not what Luke wanted to hear, for it seemed to him as if his London days were slipping by like the sand in an hourglass. "You say she told you nothing useful. But from what I could see, the two of you never ran out of words, chattering away like magpies. Just what did you find to talk about, then?"

"We talked mainly about men, God love them, about what fools they can be." Nell smiled at them then, so blandly that they could not be sure if she'd been joking or not.

The days that followed were a severe test of patience for Luke and Justin. They took turns trailing after Nell, as she and Nora explored the city and the perimeters of their newfound friendship. In Nora's free time, the women met for dinner at the cook-shop, watched the Friday horse races at Smithfield, visited the Eastcheap market, even a cockfight. And they began, with exasperating slowness, to exchange confidences.

Nell had been forthright from the first in talking about the life she'd concocted for herself, with the help of her male partners. "Bella" claimed to be the wife of an overbearing, older man, a well-to-do chandler who supplied candles to half the churches in London. It was not a happy match; she'd dropped enough hints to make sure Nora picked up on her discontent. Unfortunately for Nell and her fellow conspirators, Nora was much more sparing with intimate details of her own life. It was fully a week before Nell learned anything at all of the other woman's past.

"She has not had an easy time of it," Nell related to a very attentive audience. "At fifteen, she was seduced by an English

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merchant in Dublin on business. When he returned home, he took her with him to London. He'd promised to marry her, but he'd neglected to mention that he already had a wife. So he set Nora up in a cottage, whilst she sought to convince herself that in time, he'd leave his wife for her. Instead, she got with child, and he stopped paying the rent. Cast out into the streets, she miscarried of the babe. She did not tell me the rest of it. In fact, she has yet to admit she whores for a living."

Justin found himself feeling great sympathy for that young Irish girl, on her own in a foreign city, with neither kin nor friends to turn to for help. "That poor lass," he said. "Little wonder she became a whore. What else did she have to barter except her body?"

"And then she had to get herself entangled in that hellspawn Fleming's web." Luke shook his head. "If not for bad luck, she'd have no luck at all, would she?"

Nell leaned back in her seat, regarding them with bright, mocking eyes. "Are the two of you always so tender toward whores? Or just the ones with flaxen hair and fluttering eyelashes?"

Luke and Justin exchanged puzzled glances. "You said yourself, Nell," Justin protested, "that Nora has had a hard time. It surprises me, in truth, that you seem to have so little pity for the lass."

"Well, it does not surprise me that you have so much pity to spare, Justin. But I did not expect you to be so trusting, Luke. I know many men retain a touching belief in whores with hearts of gold. I'd not have thought to find a sheriff's deputy amongst them, though. Can it be that some of these fabled creatures can truly be found in Winchester?"

Jonas gave a guffaw of laughter, nearly choking on his ale. But Justin and Luke both bristled, Luke denying vehemently that he was "trusting," and Justin demanding to know why Nell was so lacking in charity. "The woman had been badly used. How can you be so unmoved by her story?"

"Mayhap because I did not take it as gospel."

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The two men traded looks again. "You think it was all a lie?"

"No . . . not all of it. She might well have been abandoned by her London lover. But even at fifteen, I doubt that she was the utter innocent she claims to've been. And if she miscarried of her babe, I think it's probably because she found a midwife who knew which herbs can end a pregnancy. As for being cast out penniless, I doubt that, too. Our Nora could teach a cat about landing on her feet."

"Why do you judge the girl so harshly, Nell? Do you truly find whoring to be such an unforgivable sin?"

"No, I do not," she insisted. "For too many women, there is no other way to feed themselves and their children. Justin, you are usually so quick. So why are you so slow now to grasp what I am saying? I do not mistrust Nora because she is a Southwark whore. I'd not trust her were she the mayor's wife. When I said she'd not had an easy time, I meant it. But rain falls on the good and the ungodly alike, does it not?"

"And Nora is one of the ungodly?"

"Yes," she said firmly, "I believe she is. She may have an angelic smile and a soft, honeyed voice, but she has flint where her heart ought to be. After a week in her company, I can tell you this about your 'poor lass,' that she puts Nora first and foremost. Remember how we were guessing why she'd take up with a killer like the Fleming? Well, I'd say it is for whatever she can get from him."

Justin lapsed into a troubled silence. If Nell was right about Nora's selfish, unscrupulous nature, that meant her danger was twofold: from both the Fleming and his whore.

Justin arrived at the alehouse in midmorning, for Nell had agreed to meet Nora at the Westcheap market at noon. He would accompany her partway, then follow the women at a circumspect distance, muffled in one of the nondescript hooded cloaks he'd bought for their surveillance.

Justin was in better spirits this morn, for Nell's reconnaissance finally seemed to be paying off. Nora had begun to mention a

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mysterious, as yet unnamed lover, bragging about his generous gifts, boasting that he doted on her every whim. He was away on business, she claimed, but she hoped he'd soon be returning.

Jonas had stopped the official hunt for Gilbert. No longer did his men roust the ale-keepers and stew-masters in search of the Fleming, and he'd put the rumor out on the streets that they believed Gilbert had fled London. They were heartened, therefore, by Nora's offhand remarks about her lover's return. Did this mean their ruse had worked? Did the Fleming now think it was safe to venture out and about again?

At sight of Nell, Justin's mouth dropped open. "Good God, what happened to you?"

"It looks dreadful, does it not?" Nell lifted a candle up to give him a better look at her blackened eye. "You'd swear a man's fist did the damage," she said proudly. "Do you want to know how I did it? First I smudged kohl around my eye, and then I smeared on cinders, ever so lightly. Lastly, I powdered it over heavily, the way a woman would do to try to hide it."

"Very convincing," Justin agreed. "But we never talked of this, Nell. What are you up to?"

"I've grown weary of the waiting, too. When I stumbled on the stairs yesterday and bruised my wrist, it gave me an idea. Now that we've found the fishing hole, it is time we baited the hook."

Nell and Nora were sitting at a trestle table in a tavern just off Watling Street. It was poorly lit by pungent tallow candles, its once whitewashed walls smoke blackened, its matted floor rushes filthy with mud and mouse droppings. Nora had suggested it, though, because they served meals. The women had ordered a hot eel pie with their wine, and the aroma was appealing. But Nell was too nervous to have much of an appetite, and Nora was absorbed in her scrutiny of Nell's blackened eye and bruised wrist.

"Your husband did this?"

Nell nodded, averting her eyes. For an unsettling moment,

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she could not recall what his name was supposed to be. Justin had chosen the name, that of a tightfisted miller back in Winchester. Adam? No . . . Abel. "He can be foul tempered when he's drinking," she mumbled, taking a deep swallow of her wine. Should she say more? No, she'd done enough complaining already about his sour nature and miserly ways. Let the bruises speak for themselves.

Nora was frowning, on the verge of speech. But they were interrupted again by another customer, this one shy, not brash, clutching his woolen cap between work-roughened hands as he offered diffidently to buy them more wine. While it was not unusual for women to frequent their neighborhood alehouses and taverns, Nora and Nell were too young and attractive not to draw unwanted attention. Nora now sent the man away with a stinging, expletive-laden dismissal. For all that she looked as demure as any virgin bride, she had a command of invective that even fishmongers or sailors might well envy. As the man slunk off in embarrassment, Nell could not help feeling sorry for him. But at least they'd not be bothered again; Nora's scornful tongue-lashing had echoed throughout the tavern.

"Does this happen often, Bella?"

Nell shrugged. "Abel likes his ale, and he's hard enough to please even when he's sober ..." For the first time, she felt vaguely uncomfortable about feigning friendship like this; Nora's sympathy seemed quite genuine. "The worst of it," she said, "is that he maltreats me in front of others, calling me 'slut' and 'dull-witted cow,' not caring at all if the servants or Joel can hear."

"Joel? You've not mentioned him before."

"Oh . . . did I not?" Nell fiddled with her napkin. "Joel is Abel's journeyman. Lord knows why he stays, for Abel pays him only a pittance and takes out his vile temper on Joel, too. A pity, for Joel would do right well for himself, if only he had the means. It was his idea to add perfume to the French soap. I did tell you Abel sells soap as well as candles? Well, French soap is made by boiling mutton fat with wood ash and caustic soda.

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After Joel talked Abel into scenting it with rosewater, sales were much better . . . I'll try to remember to bring you some when we next meet/'

'Thank you," Nora said absently. The blue eyes Justin and Luke had so admired were too shrewd and knowing for Nell's liking, and she continued to stare down at the warped tabletop. "Is he young . . . this Joel?" When Nell nodded, a cynical smile played about Nora's mouth. "So you fancy him, do you?"

Nell raised her head. "What if I do?"

"Smooth your feathers, girl. I am not blaming you for having a wayward eye. What woman would not prefer a young ram to an old goat? But what do you mean to do about it?"

"What can I do? I cannot run away with Joel, for we'd both starve. On the days that Abel goes to his guild, we steal some time together in his shop, in the back room. We make do with what we can. But if Abel ever caught us . . ." It was easy enough to fake a shiver. Nell had always had an overly active imagination, and she could even summon up a dash of pity for poor, foolish Bella, trapped in a miserable marriage and about to leap from the frying pan into the fire.