Willows for Weeping (25 page)

Janna sucked in a quick breath and then, before she had time to think about it, she quickly unfastened Ralph's scrip and groped inside. Her searching fingers touched a small leather pouch. She pulled it out and stared at it. It took a few moments to recognise what she held. Winifred's purse! At once she opened it, although she could already tell, from the feel of it, that it was empty. The hand had gone. Given to the bishop to compensate for the lost letter? Janna wondered if Bishop Henry considered such a prize a fair exchange for having his treachery known to all.

But how had Ralph come by Winifred's purse?

She remembered the scene in the alehouse, the drunken sot who had lurched into their table and almost fallen into her lap. Ralph must have seized on the diversion to cut the purse from Winifred's girdle. But why? He couldn't have known about the hand because she'd warned Winifred not to tell him, not to tell anyone. Besides, Winifred had felt such shame she was unlikely to have told Ralph anything, even without Janna's warning. She cast her mind back, trying to remember if anything had been said to alert Ralph to the fact that Winifred might own something precious.

Winifred had mentioned their 'unfinished business', and had gestured towards her purse at the same time. A giveaway sign for anyone with a suspicious mind? Had Ralph offered to accompany Winifred in her search for Ulf in the hope that she might show him the letter he thought was concealed in her purse? Winifred had mentioned she'd had the devil's own task in shaking him off so that she could speak to Ulf in private. Janna nodded thoughtfully. Thwarted of his quarry, Ralph must then have cut off her purse to see for himself what it contained. What a surprise he must have had!

It was one mystery solved, although Janna greatly regretted that the bishop would profit from Winifred's wrongdoing. On a sudden impulse, she thrust her hand into Ralph's scrip to see if there was anything else of interest in there.

Her fingers touched something, a scrap of parchment judging by its shape. Had the bishop written another letter, and was Ralph on his way to deliver it when he was killed? If so, it would certainly be worth reading!

Janna folded her fingers around it and drew it out. There were only a few words penned on it and she read them without difficulty. 'John fitz Henry, Alwarene Street.'

John. The name leapt to her eye. Ralph had known several men with the name of John, so he'd told her. Was this one of his friends? Or was this her father's name, and the name of the street where he lived?

Janna stared down at the parchment in her hand. She'd begun to shake again, but this time with excitement and hope. Could it be? Had Ralph kept his promise to her, in this at least? Or was she chasing after shadows, wanting to believe the best of a man who had shown himself capable of deceit and betrayal, theft, and even murder?

John fitz Henry? Her father? Or someone else? Her stomach was roiling, she was frightened she was going to be sick. She clutched the parchment tight and held it close.

A sudden commotion sent her head spinning around. A huge pale dog had launched itself into the river in hot pursuit of the ducks. They scattered in alarm, quacking their terror. The dog surged through the water, barking and snapping after them. His barking stopped as he crunched down into feathers. Brutus. Several swans sailed regally past, favouring the dog and its prey with a sidelong sneer before lifting their heads and extending their long necks as proof of their superiority.

Janna looked about for the dog's owner. Ulf was hurrying along the river bank, his pack bouncing on his shoulders as he rushed to call his dog to heel. He was carrying something in his hand. He hadn't seen her. Having learned her lesson well, Janna stood up and waited while he whistled Brutus to his side. She watched as the dog shook itself, showering its master in a waterfall of drops. That done, it lay down and began to devour the duck, feathers and all.

Knowing she was safe for the moment, Janna called out to Ulf.

His steps faltered as he caught sight of Ralph. His face paled as he suddenly realised what had happened and who it was that lay so still beside her. Then he hurried forward and put his arms around her. She leaned into him and cried all over again for the man who had wooed her, who had betrayed her trust, and who had died such a horrible death. And she cried also for what she had done that had brought about such a bloody conclusion. If she hadn't told Ralph about the letter they'd found on the dead man's body, Bernard might still be alive. And so would Ralph, for Walter would not have sought him out to take his revenge in so hideous a fashion.

Janna peeked out to take another look at the blood-soaked body. She drew in a breath, swallowed hard, and pulled away from the shelter of Ulf's arms. She scrubbed her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed through a clogged nose. No matter how much she might try to deny it, she was responsible for the death of two men. Juliana had been right; death had followed Janna from the start. Perhaps death still stalked her now. She shuddered. If she could undo anything in the world, it would be her careless words to Ralph that had spelled Bernard's doom, and ultimately, Ralph's too. Truly, Juliana must curse the day Janna had come into their lives.

'Walter's doing?' Ulf said quietly.

Numb with despair, Janna nodded.

'And he is . . .?'

'Gone.' Janna jerked a thumb in the direction of the East Gate.

Ulf lifted an eyebrow. 'I'll wager he intends to go back to Sarisberie. He'll want to tell his mother that he has avenged Bernard's death.'

'And Adam will be freed – of this murder, at least.' Janna gave a mournful sniff, and wiped her red eyes on her sleeve.

'I'm sorry, lass.' Ulf patted her hand, trying to bring comfort. 'I know you cared for Ralph. And if it's any consolation, I think he cared for you. It was only time and circumstances that . . .' He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

Janna wanted to believe him. If Ralph had cared for her as much as Ulf thought, he might well have taken the time to ask questions about her father, and to write down what he'd found out. Wordlessly, she unclenched her hand and showed Ulf the scrap of parchment.

'I can't read,' Ulf confessed. 'What does it say?'

'John fitz Henry. Alwarene Street.' Janna's heart gave a sudden kick of excitement. Suddenly, her father seemed to have come very close.

'Is it important?'

'I came to Winchestre to find my father. I showed Ralph his ring. It has a crest on it and I think Ralph recognised what it meant. He promised to help me look for my father.' Janna's voice faltered. She had to swallow hard before she could continue. 'I found the parchment in his scrip, along with this.' She held out Winifred's purse.

Ulf's eyes widened. Then, suddenly, he began to laugh. 'I suppose it's empty?' he questioned.

Janna nodded.

'Poor Winifred. Her loss is the bishop's gain, I suspect?'

Janna kept on nodding.

'But Ralph thought Winifred might have the letter. That's why he took her purse?'

'Yes.'

'Bastard,' Ulf said softly.

Ulf, Janna reflected, was a man and so he wouldn't have been as susceptible to Ralph's charms as she had been. He would not have been taken in, as she was. And Ulf was right. There was nothing good to be said about Ralph's character, nothing at all.

Perhaps regretting his judgment, or at least his means of expressing it, Ulf held out to her what he'd been carrying. It was a swan's feather, white and downy soft.

'Thank you, Ulf.' Janna was touched by his kindness.

'A feather from the wing of the archangel Gabriel,' he said solemnly.

Janna didn't know whether to laugh or be reverent. She looked at the twinkle in his eyes, and took the risk of smiling.

'It'll bring you comfort.'

Janna raised a questioning eyebrow.

'It will also bring you luck, if you believe in it,' Ulf assured her.

'Then I'll believe in it,' Janna told him, reflecting that if he spent some time along the river bank, he'd probably find enough angel feathers for an entire fluffy wing.

Her thoughts were echoed when Ulf said, with a glimmer of a smile, 'If the good bishop is a collector of relics, I should pay him a visit.'

Janna held out the feather, but Ulf brushed it away. 'No,' he said. 'That's yours.' He rose to his feet, and extended his hand to Janna to pull her up. 'Alwarene Street,' he said, as he pulled her to her feet. 'I know where that is. Do you want to go there, Janna?'

'What, now?' Janna's hands felt clammy. She suddenly found it hard to catch her breath. 'But what about . . .?' She gestured towards Ralph's body.

'Leave it be. There's nowt you can do for him, and we don't want to be caught up in the hue and cry after his killer. So we'll just pretend we've seen nowt and know nowt, and we'll go looking for your father instead. Come on.' Ulf hooked his arm through hers and, not giving her any chance to find an excuse, he began to hurry back along the river bank in the direction of the East Gate, whistling to Brutus as they went.

'No! Wait!' Janna wanted a moment's privacy before facing the crowds along Chepe Street. 'I have my father's ring here in my purse.' She touched the small bulge through the fabric of her gown. 'It might help us to find him.'

Ulf nodded, and turned his back while she hurried between the sheltering fronds of a willow tree.

'May I see it?' he asked when she came back to him, clutching the ring tight in one hand and the swan's feather in the other.

His eyes widened as she handed it to him. 'Are you sure this belongs to your father?'

'Yes! Well, no. I'm not sure. But I think so. I found it along with a letter to my mother.' Janna was puzzled by the glint in Ulf's eyes and the dawning excitement on his face. 'See, here?' She traced the J of the swan. 'My father's name is John, so it seems likely that this is his ring. Doesn't it?'

'Christ's bones!' Ulf let out an incredulous whistle. 'Do you know what this is?' he asked, touching the crown at the side of the swan.

'It means that my father was loyal to the king. Not King Stephen,' she added quickly, lest Ulf mistake her. 'He only came to the throne after my father gave this ring to my mother.'

'No. It means that your father was probably a bastard.'

'What?' Anger flared bright. Janna swung her hand back to strike Ulf. How dare he compare her father with . . . with Ralph!

Ulf pushed her hand away. 'That's not a reflection on his character,' he said, with a wry smile. 'What I'm saying is that your father was illegitimate. His name says that he is John, son of Henry, and so does his ring. He's one of the old king's bastards.'

'But . . . but . . .?' Janna was having trouble understanding what Ulf was trying to tell her. 'What does that mean?'

Ulf smiled. 'It means,' he said gravely, 'that you are the granddaughter of a king!'

JANNA WAS HARDLY conscious of the crowds thronging Chepe Street as Ulf pushed his way through, dragging her along in his wake. She was still fighting to come to grips with what Ulf had told her and what it meant for her future. What was most on her mind was the realisation of Ralph's final betrayal: that he must have recognised the insignia on the ring right from the start and determined to use her to better his own position. No wonder he'd treated her with such respect! He didn't love her at all, it was her connection to the crown that he coveted.

The knowledge was shattering. But Janna knew she could not dwell on it for they were on their way to meet her father and she must focus, now, on the ordeal that lay ahead. She was the granddaughter of a king! She was the illegitimate daughter of an illegitimate son of the king! There was a small warmth in thinking that, if her father's birth was also in question, he must surely look more kindly on her birth, on the fact of her existence.

A myriad of questions ran through Janna's mind. Did Eadgyth know who she was bedding when she went off with John? Did she know she was consorting with royalty? If so, why didn't she go to the old king and demand his help once she realised she was with child? Was she too ashamed? Or was she afraid that if she found the king she might also find her lover, married and living happily with someone else? Not having read John's letter, she didn't know how much he'd loved her and that he planned to return.

Yes, Janna thought, as she walked along with Ulf. Her mother's fear of encountering her lover no doubt kept her as far from the old king as possible. And now she, her daughter, was about to meet John for the very first time! Would her father be at home? What would he look like, how would he greet her? Would he be glad to see her, this reminder of his past, or would he send her on her way?

What if he was wed? What if his wife was home and sent Janna away before she had the chance to meet her father? One moment Janna felt her spirits lift in excitement and hope, and the next she was cast down in despair. Ulf kept glancing sideways at her as they walked along, but he did not speak. Perhaps he sensed her turmoil and realised she needed time to get used to her new, strange circumstances. Janna was grateful for his silence.

He turned to the right and then stopped so suddenly that Janna bumped into him. 'It's quite a long street,' he said. 'There'll be several estates along it, I'll be bound. How shall we know which is the right one?'

Warehouses and shopfronts lined the street, and Janna looked around, suddenly doubtful. 'If my father was the king's son, would he own a shop?' she asked.

'I don't know.' Ulf scratched his head. 'Why don't we ask someone?'

Sighting two men in conversation outside one of the shops, they crossed over to speak to them. 'Can you tell us where we might find John fitz Henry?' Janna asked, holding out the ring to them.

'That's Sire John to you, mistress,' one of the men reproved her. The other studied the ring in silence, then gestured in the direction of the town walls. 'His manor's up near the North Gate.'

Janna started forward, anxious to get there as fast as she could, to outpace her growing fear. All she wanted was for her father to love her and to welcome her. She wanted to become part of his family, if he had one. That was what she most desired. But first, she had to find the courage to see this through.

She walked beside Ulf, her quick strides betraying her nervousness. Ulf tugged on her sleeve to slow her down. 'Have you thought what you're going to say to your father when we get there?'

Janna shook her head. 'I'm too frightened to think,' she admitted breathlessly. 'Oh, Ulf, you don't know how I've longed for this moment. I was never sure I'd succeed in finding my father. And now . . .' She shook her head, full of wonder at the moment.

'Whatever happens, I'm here and I'll help you,' he promised. Janna smiled shakily, grateful for his reassuring presence.

They had to ask several times before they were finally directed to an imposing door set within a tall wall. A bell attached to a rope invited their attention, and Ulf gave it a hearty tug before Janna could stop him. Now that the time had come she was sweating with terror. She needed a few moments to compose herself. But their arrival was announced and she must deal with the situation as best she could.

The door opened and a short, fat man peered out. Was this her father? Surely she should feel something, some stirring of recognition, some calling of the blood? But Janna felt nothing other than fear.

'Yes?' His glance raked first Ulf and then Janna. It was clear from his expression that he was not impressed by what he saw. His mouth turned into a tight bud of disapproval when he looked down at Brutus, who now sported a ruff of bloodied feathers around his muzzle.

'We seek Sire John,' Janna announced, having learned her lesson.

The man bobbed his head, showing a round bald spot at his crown fringed by a rim of greying hair. 'What is your business here?'

'I have his ring.' Janna showed it to him. His eyes widened, and he visibly gulped. 'I'll fetch the steward straight away,' he said, as he opened the door wider. He beckoned them to follow him through a large hall to a room at the back of the imposing town house. 'Please wait here in the scriptorium. Make yourselves comfortable, I pray you,' he said, gesturing towards several stools. Without waiting for their reply, he vanished once more. Janna had noticed a flight of stairs which led to rooms above the scriptorium. From the time she'd spent at Hugh's manor, she suspected they might be her father's solar and living chambers. Soon now, he would come to her.

She craned her neck upwards, wondering why the steward had to be fetched when it was her father she wanted to see. Was her father up there now, in his private chambers? Was he looking down on them, perhaps wondering who his visitors were? Would he see something of Eadgyth in her daughter? Would he, by some chance, sense who was waiting downstairs for him, waiting to come into his life? Was he, even now, on his way down the stairs to greet her with a kiss and a warm embrace? Janna was tense with anticipation and fear.

But no-one came, and time wore on.

'Do you think that man's forgotten us?' Janna asked. Seeking distraction, she walked over to a table and picked up some pages of parchment. They were scribed with notes and numbers which seemed to be names of properties and descriptions of goods to be sold or traded. Janna looked at the writing, wondering if this was her father's script and these were his accounts.

'The steward's obviously in no hurry to see us.' Ulf looked at Janna. 'It might be as well,' he suggested, 'if while we wait, you tell me everything you know about your father just in case this steward proves obstructive and needs persuading. I know you went to the abbey at Ambresberie to question the nuns. What did you find out? Why did your mother tell you so little about him? And why are you so anxious to find him now?'

The last was a question that Janna wouldn't answer. The true cause of her mother's death and her reason for finding her father were best kept secret. But she admitted all else to him, including her mother's belief that her father had abandoned them.

'Come with me.' The fat servant's reappearance took Janna by surprise, so lost was she in recounting the past. He bustled them out of the house, panting after his exertions. 'The steward's in the orchard,' he said, by way of explanation. 'I didn't know where to find him.' Janna chafed with impa-tience. She didn't want to waste time talking to the steward if her father was upstairs. But it seemed they had no choice but to follow their guide. She looked about her, drinking in every detail as they passed a storeroom crammed with bales of wool and a long workroom thrumming with industry.

A sunny garden now spread in front of them, with a well at its centre. Janna gazed wide-eyed at rows of vegetables, flowers and herbs, growing tall and lush in the summer sunshine. There was ample here to feed her father, and his family if he had one, plus a whole retinue of servants. Janna looked behind her, craning upwards in a vain effort to see through the windows of the floor above the scriptorium. Was that a shadow moving there? Was her father, even now, looking down upon them and wondering who they were? The doorkeeper had veered off to one side of the garden, which was screened by trees. Ulf touched Janna's hand. She turned to follow their guide into the orchard.

It was densely planted with trees of varying size and shape. Janna recognised apple and pear trees. The fruits were still green and hard, but they would swell and ripen into the autumn. She became aware that her jaw was clenched tight. Her heart leapt about, crazy as a grasshopper in a field of wheat. She took a long, slow breath and made a conscious effort to relax.

Their guide hurried up to a man who was sitting at ease beneath an apple tree. 'Here they are,' he said, and bustled off again without further explanation.

'My name is Warin, steward to Sire John.' He didn't trouble to rise and greet them. He was bent and wizened, and had a wary expression on his wrinkled old face. Janna was at once sure that, no matter what she said, or whatever proofs she might offer, he would neither believe nor help her.

She looked at Ulf, expecting him to say something. But Ulf shook his head slightly, making it clear that it was up to her to convince the steward to take them to her father.

'Yes? What do you want?' he said, sounding annoyed at having his afternoon disturbed in this way. Janna wondered if he'd been asleep under the apple tree when roused by the doorkeeper.

'My name is Johanna.' Janna took a deep breath to summon up her courage and give her the strength to continue. 'I am the daughter of Eadgyth, whom your lord knew a long time ago.'

The steward blinked in surprise. He clambered to his feet, the better to survey Janna. Clearly, he doubted her word. A sudden bark drew his attention, and his brows knotted together in a thunderous frown. 'Kindly control your hound!' he ordered. Janna followed his gaze and saw, to her horror, that Brutus had launched himself into a fine patch of lavender and was busy squashing the bushes flat in pursuit of some small creature.

Ulf whistled, but Brutus ignored him.

'Unless you put that dog on a lead, you'll have to leave!' The steward sounded delighted to have an excuse to get rid of them. But Ulf merely grinned at him, rooted around in his pack for a moment, and hauled out a length of twine. He walked over and grabbed Brutus, who hung his head knowing what was coming next. The steward scowled at the pair. He seemed determined to ignore Janna. But she hadn't come so far to be thwarted now by his insolence.

'I am here to see my father,' she said, demanding his atten-tion. 'I am here to see Sire John.'

Warin blinked again. He turned to look at her, a closer inspection. A slow smile tugged the corner of his mouth, but his eyes stayed hooded and cold.

'Sire John doesn't live here,' he said. 'He lives in Normandy, with his wife and his family.'

Time stood still. Reality seemed suspended while Janna struggled to absorb what the steward had said.

Normandy. Wife. Family. Her numbed brain struggled to comprehend the calamitous news. She couldn't believe she'd come all this way for nothing. And yet it was what she'd feared all along. Her father was wed. He had a wife and family. Even Ralph had warned her that her father might be in Normandy. Was that why he wouldn't tell her at once what he suspected? Had he wanted to check on her father's whereabouts first, and prepare them both for a more gentle introduction? The fleeting warmth brought by the hope of Ralph's regard quickly gave way to icy numbness once more.

'Does . . . does my father ever visit his property here?' she asked faintly.

'No.' The steward smiled spitefully.

'Then it's time he did,' Ulf said, coming to Janna's rescue. 'You knew Mistress Johanna's mother, did you not?'

Janna noticed his new formality with her name. She hoped it was sufficient to impress the steward. She was grateful that Ulf had interceded on her behalf. Nothing like a persistent relic seller and a large dog to get to the bottom of things, she thought, as a faint spark of hope rekindled.

The steward didn't answer. Ulf took a purposeful step forward. Beside him, Brutus growled. Warin quickly skipped backwards, keeping a nervous eye on Brutus as he did so.

'Were you in your lord's employ when he brought Mistress Eadgyth away from Ambresberie to live here?' Ulf tried again.

The steward stared at his feet and said nothing.

'Show him the ring, mistress,' Ulf encouraged Janna.

In her confusion, she held out the swan's feather to Warin, then quickly snatched it away and proffered her other hand. The steward's gaze fixed on the ring. He raised his eyes to Janna, and she read there a grudging respect.

'So you must send for your master as a matter of urgency,' Ulf said, taking another threatening step towards Warin. 'I am sure you send messages on a regular basis, accounting for your management of his properties, and so on?'

Warin gave a reluctant nod.

'Then you must send him a message now. Tell your master that he has a daughter, Johanna, and that she awaits him here in Winchestre.'

The steward looked from Ulf to Janna. She thought he was about to refuse, and spoke up quickly. 'Let me have writing materials,' she ordered, sending a silent message of thanks to Sister Ursel, who had given her the means to make contact with her father. 'I shall write a letter to my father, and in it give him proof enough to convince him that I am no impostor.'

The steward hesitated. Janna knew that he would defy her if he could. She wondered if she was wasting her time, and if her message would even be sent.

'It is in your interest to send the message to Sire John,' Ulf said, with a gentle tug on Brutus's lead so that the hound lifted its head and bared its teeth at Warin. 'How long, think you, before he comes over to England?'

'I cannot say!' Warin nervously licked his lips. 'He may have urgent business to attend to that will delay his return, or even prevent it.'

Ulf gave another gentle tug. Brutus gave a deep growl. Warin took another hasty step backwards. 'Nothing can be so urgent as a meeting with his daughter,' Ulf said slowly, making sure that his message was clear to the steward. 'How long, think you?'