by J G Lewis
“Well,” she said cautiously, “I’ve sent a message to Spicewell informing him that I’m back in London and wish to pursue the matter of the missing children urgently, and I await any intelligence his men can provide me. Perhaps we can both go visit him tomorrow.”
Spicewell did indeed invite her to meet him, but in his grand chambers near the law courts rather than his business quarters down by the docks. He welcomed them in and congratulated Bill on his speedy recovery, then immediately launched into a dissertation on how Hilda’s child would soon be proved the rightful owner of Fernlees.
Ela grew impatient. “That’s encouraging, but what news do your men have of the child slavers?”
Spicewell cleared his throat, pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Then he paced across the room, with his hands oddly tented together. At last he spun around. “I’m afraid they’ve turned up no further information.”
His expression was pleasant enough, but Ela sensed an iron portcullis closing behind his warm gaze. Suspicions unfurled inside her. “They didn’t learn anything or they’re afraid to look into the matter?”
“Did you not find the girl you came to search for?”
“She found me. Her captors set her free, and I attribute her release to the pressure that we applied to them during my last visit. They returned her in the hope that I’d leave London and never trouble them again.”
“No doubt they did,” he said, looking down the length of his nose at her. “And for your own safety that would perhaps be the wisest move.”
Shock ran through Ela like a splash of cold water. “You’re surely not warning me away from the matter?”
“As your friend and a dear friend of your mother’s, I feel it’s my duty to warn you that you’ve poked a dangerous beehive.”
“Whose beehive?” He did know something.
But he held his hands up as if in despair. “It’s not my privilege to know that, but both of the men who gave you the information last time are dead. Their bodies were found at low tide in the River Thames near Richmond.”
Ela gasped and felt the blood drain from her body. Dalziel and Bray were both dead? She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Surely you want to avenge their deaths?”
“I’m an old man, my lady,” said Spicewell. He moved behind his big desk and rested his hands on it. “I’ve had a long and successful career in the law that I consider myself officially retired from. I take on cases that interest me and for friends that I wish to help. This matter is sadly outside my purview.”
Ela stared at him. He was afraid. Further, he was unwilling to help her probe deeper into the matter. “Someone powerful must be behind this.” Spicewell’s expressionless face angered her. “You must have some idea of who it is.”
“If I knew any more than you do I would tell you. Whoever it was boldly abducted a countess while gravely wounding her guards. Not a person to be trifled with.”
“I also am not a person to be trifled with,” she said quickly. She felt Bill stiffen. He clearly did not enjoy her displays of bravado. Perhaps he worried that he’d be called on to draw his sword to defend her again.
Ela let out a sigh. “The guards are recovering well, thanks be to God.”
“That is good news. But I still advise you to steer well clear of this dangerous matter.”
“And let an eleven-year-old girl—an orphan whose mother was recently hanged for killing her father—be doomed to a fate worse than death?”
Spicewell drew in a long breath as if calling on reserves of patience deep inside himself. “Be careful, my lady. I know you seek the office of sheriff of Wiltshire. Is it not better to gather your resources toward winning that prize?” He walked over to a carved oak chest and unlocked it with a key that hung on the belt at his waist. “I have some information about Sheriff de Hal’s conduct in Yorkshire.”
Ela’s interest piqued. “What is it?”
“It’s a written complaint by the burgesses of Scarborough.” He unfolded a piece of crisp parchment and read aloud a vivid account of de Hal and his men terrorizing the farmers, fisherman and merchants of Scarborough, a market town on the north Yorkshire coast. They accused him of demanding their goods at half price—or outright stealing them—and promising to burn their homes or imprison them if they refused.
The burgesses insisted that he’d destroyed all business in the town because people were afraid to come to the market there and have their goods seized or their lives threatened by the sheriff’s men. The complaint was lengthy and detailed and very damning.
Ela hadn’t formed a good opinion of Sheriff de Hal. He was greedy and seemed uninterested in pursuing cases that didn’t promise to fill his coffers in some way. But this was different. He stood accused of outright villainy such as you’d expect from a band of pirates or highwaymen. As Spicewell read on, she could hardly believe her ears. “How was de Hal made sheriff of Salisbury if he so grossly misused the office in Yorkshire?”
Spicewell shrugged. “I asked the same question myself. He’s clearly an aggressive man, ruthless and fearless in his misdeeds.”
She blinked, trying to make sense of it. “In bringing him to Wiltshire, it almost makes you think that someone deliberately wanted to sow trouble in Salisbury.”
Hubert de Burgh. The man who killed her husband.
“Once again, my lady, you’re asking me to speculate about matters that do not concern me.”
“When were these complaints made?”
“In the eighth year of his majesty’s reign.”
“Just two years ago?” Ela rose from her chair and paced across the room, fury burning in her veins. “This is outrageous. Simon de Hal runs riot in Yorkshire, earning the official complaint of the good people there, then is summarily installed in my ancestral castle to bring his reign of terror to Wiltshire?”
“Has he done such things in Salisbury?”
“Not yet.” She frowned. “At least not that I know of. I moved my household to Gomeldon because it’s near the castle and I wanted to keep a close watch on him.”
“That may be the reason he’s behaving himself,” said Spicewell with a lifted brow.
“I’ve certainly tried to be a thorn in his conscience.” Ela walked back to her chair and sat. “And I shall be sure to breathe down his neck at every opportunity.”
“Be careful,” warned Spicewell. “You can tell from this complaint that he’s ruthless and unafraid of violence.”
“Against a countess who’s kin to the king himself? I don’t think he’s that much of a fool.” The idea of Simon de Hal being a renowned reprobate was starting to warm her heart. It would be all the easier to convince King Henry that she’d be a better sheriff for Wiltshire. Yes, she’d still have to pay for the privilege—as de Hal might well have done himself—but even de Burgh could hardly make the case that de Hal was more suited to be sheriff. “Though I do appreciate being forewarned.”
“Under the circumstances,” said Spicewell slowly. “You may wish to spend more time in Salisbury and less in London.”
Ela cocked her head. “Did someone suggest that you tell me to stay away from London?”
“My dear lady, neither I nor anyone else would presume to tell the Countess of Salisbury where she should or should not conduct her business. I simply warn you to have a care for your own safety and that of the members of your household.”
“I appreciate the warning. May I keep that copy of the burgesses’ complaints?”
“Indeed you may.” He handed it over. Ela folded it up and stowed it in the small purse at her belt.
She resolved to return to the one matter that didn’t seem to disturb Spicewell. “If Hilda’s child is born healthy and alive, God willing, he or she will be owner of Fernlees. What is Hilda’s status with regards to ownership?”
“She should claim her status as guardian of the rightful heir and take up residence there forthwith.”
“If, God forbid, the child dies, either during pregnancy or some yea
rs into the future. Then what happens?”
“Then the vultures would circle and likely one of them would pluck the manor from her.”
“Meaning de Hal or the king or some far-distant male relative of Drogo Blount’s?”
“Exactly. It is essential that the child be alive and healthy and installed at Fernlees as quickly and firmly as possible.”
“Understood.”
Ela didn’t like that Hilda’s toehold in her new role as lady of the manor was so tenuous and circumstantial. She resolved to help the girl acquire the skills to support herself in the style she was about to become accustomed to, should her new status be snatched away at some time in the future.
Truth be told, the people of Scarborough were an inspiration to her. She admired them for joining arms and standing tall in the face of tyranny, and she wished she could meet with them and congratulate them on ridding Yorkshire of Simon de Hal.
But right now she had more urgent matters to attend to.
Chapter 14
Outside Spicewell’s chambers they remounted their horses. “Should we ride to Westcheap and view the building to see if it’s still empty?” Ela was itching to act but wanted Bill’s moderating wisdom.
Bill rode up close to her. “We should keep our thoughts and our movements visible and knowable to as few people as possible.” He spoke so softly she could barely hear him. With his eyes he gestured at the four guards that rode with them, two in front and two behind.
Ela fought the urge to roll her eyes. What could you accomplish in this life if you could not even trust the men hired to defend you? But perhaps they should wait to discuss the matter in private. “Heard and understood.”
Back at the house Ela ushered Bill into her mother’s private study, where Alianore wrote her correspondence and kept her important documents locked up, and closed the door. Then locked it from the inside.
“They’ve murdered both of our informants,” she hissed, still in disbelief. “They threaten and frighten and browbeat their way into continuing their foul trade unmolested.”
“Like Simon de Hal did in Yorkshire.”
“Indeed. But what kind of England would we live in where such behavior is allowed to run unchecked? Surely the forces of law and order are an equal match for such brazen iniquity?”
Bill watched her in silence for a moment. “The profit motive can trump all other considerations for some men.”
“Those who have no thought for their immortal souls,” she spat.
“Some would argue that’s most men,” said Bill with a wry smile. “We’re hardly trained in the arts of war so that we can better follow the teachings of Christ.”
“You are an excellent example of a man who’s both knightly and Godly.” She frowned. “And you’re far from being the only one. Though the quest for riches and the lust for pleasure do tempt many men from the path of righteousness.”
Her own husband, for example. But William had certainly never enslaved children or burned a family from their home. His sins were those of a lusty man well able to enjoy the bounty that this world offered and who answered the call of his king promptly in times of war.
And he’d repented in the end.
Ela inhaled deeply. “I’m keenly aware that my greatest responsibility lies with my family and seeing my children raised to adulthood and settled into their lives—”
“Three down and five to go,” quipped Bill.
Ela smiled. “Indeed. But I would dishonor my ancestors if I allowed crimes to go unpunished under my very nose.”
Bill held her gaze. “And I have a calling to serve and protect you.”
“Indeed you do.” She smiled. “And I’m so grateful God has spared you to continue his work.” She sat at the small table where her mother wrote her correspondence. Her mother’s seal and sealing wax sat ready in a small wooden box. She indicated for Bill to sit in the chair opposite her. “We must find the children.”
“And we must discover who abducted you. I shall have to keep one eye open at night until we know that.”
“Your concern is appreciated, though I doubt they’ll expose themselves to study by doing such a brazen thing again.”
“Your bravery does you credit.” His tone suggested this wasn’t entirely a compliment.
“You think me foolhardy?”
“I think you more courageous than half the king’s knights. You’re made of the same unrelenting stuff as Empress Matilda.”
“I hate being compared to her.” Ela glared at him. She’d heard this backhanded compliment before. “She’s my husband’s ancestor, not mine. She was cheated of her rightful throne and couldn’t gain the support to take it back. I have no wish to walk in her shoes.”
“People speak of her difficult and tyrannical nature, but perhaps that’s a mischaracterization. History is written by the victors, after all.”
“I had no idea you carried such a torch for Matilda.” She paused. “Or are you trying to warn me that people are already speaking of me in the same terms?”
Bill swallowed. “What other people think is none of my business.”
“Let them talk. I refuse to concern myself with the whispering of gossips. I also refuse to let crime flourish under my gaze. And I will find that house with the black and white tile floors. Shall we walk out and take the air this afternoon?”
Bill looked wary. “You mean walk around looking for that house?”
Ela’s ears pricked as a chime sounded in the distance. “I think I heard the bell for Vespers. We should attend and ask for the Lord’s intercession in our work.”
With an entourage of armed men in tow, Ela walked past the small church on her mother’s street and kept going toward the larger one, St. Michael and All Angels, two streets away. She’d never been inside, but she’d certainly noticed it. The dressed-stone structure rose nearly three stories tall and boasted stained-glass windows and intricately carved oak doors.
It was the kind of church likely to have a sizable and accomplished choir.
Bill maintained a placid expression while she led them to the doors and past the black-robed brothers flanking it. Instead of heading to the front of the church, she took up a seat near the back of the nave, where she’d have a better view. Two attendants stayed outside, and two came in and stood near where she sat.
Aside from the brothers, the altar boys, the priest and sundry other ecclesiastical persons, there were only three other congregants inside the body of the church at that hour. Two older women prayed the rosary on their knees at the front of the church. A middle-aged man in a moss-green cap stood behind them and might have been there as the attendant of one or both of the women.
She snuck a glance around the interior of the church. Gold embroidery ornamented the rich red fabric of the altar cloth. The candlesticks on the altar looked to be of solid silver. The side chapels contained life-sized painted wooden effigies of various saints.
Ela realized with a jolt that the floor was a pattern of black and white tiles. Her blood pounded louder in her ears as a procession of twelve choirboys entered singing a sweet incantation and took up their places to the right of the altar.
Ela resisted the urge to glance at Bill. She kept her gaze ahead, toward the altar, while trying to absorb as much information as she could through her peripheral vision. If this church was somehow associated with the person who’d abducted her, they’d be watching her.
The windows around the altar, though small, shone with brightly colored stained glass and must have cost a small fortune. Pillars of carved stone flanked the nave and side chapels. If there were any tombs or memorial plaques, she didn’t see them. The church gave the impression of being newly constructed—at great expense—rather than being ancient.
The priest was a tall man with a long, mournful-looking face like a saint from an old manuscript and an air of authority.
The service proceeded as normal, the psalms sung with great beauty by the choir. No one else came in. After the service, Ela
ventured into a side chapel with a carved effigy of a saint. She couldn’t tell which saint it was. Or maybe it wasn’t a saint. Maybe it was actually a likeness of the rich patron who’d paid for this beautiful place.
She lit a candle for her husband and dropped a coin in the box, then knelt and prayed for her husband’s soul, for the health and safety of her children and her household—including Hilda and Bill—and for the wit and cunning to find Elsie Brice and take down the ring of child thieves.
It was a lot to ask for and she suspected the Lord might find her greedy. But at least she didn’t ask for his intercession to make her sheriff of Salisbury. She intended to accomplish that on her own, and the document Spicewell had given her would surely help.
Outside on the street, Ela tried not to look around curiously but suggested to Bill that she felt lightheaded and wanted to get some air before returning home. The sun still hovered above the rooftops, casting a rosy glow over the city. Bill murmured some nonsense about what a fine evening it was, and they set out walking slowly along the street.
Great houses sat on either side of the church and across the street. The house next door had a chiseled stone foundation that rose almost to shoulder height, topped with a pattern of black wood and white lime. She had a better view of the house across the street, which had a fine clay tile roof instead of thatch, and at least eight chimneys.
“How can we find out who owns these houses?” she whispered to Bill.
“The king’s tax collectors must know who pays taxes on them.”
“I hardly think they’ll open their books to me.”
“Perhaps the sheriff could ask them for that information.”
Ela hesitated. She’d felt leery of Sheriff le Duc ever since he’d all but shoved her out of London. Was he in the pay of someone powerful who’d told him to get rid of her? The damning document listing de Hal’s crimes vividly illustrated that sheriffs were liable to fall prey to the same greed, opportunism and fear as other mortal men.