[Ela of Salisbury 03] - The Lost Child

by J G Lewis

  “I’ve not yet found the chance to even mention that the opium trade still likely continues at Pinchbeck’s old shop. I hesitate to involve him in yet another matter. Perhaps my mother will know.” They walked down the street and turned around the corner. These fine houses lay apart from each other, with walled gardens in between. Gates that pierced their brick and stone walls through which she caught glimpses of the gardens, with their espaliered pear trees, stone fountains and sundials.

  They rounded another corner, and Ela noticed that one wall continued around the corner without another house in sight and no gate to provide a view inside. This house sat on a large plot, one large enough to fit two dozen houses in a more cramped quarter of the city.

  As they walked she saw a man emerge—seemingly from the wall itself—about fifty feet ahead of her. He didn’t glance her way and turned to walk in the same direction they were heading. He wore a long black cloak—not a monk’s robe but a cloak.

  Ela felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

  “Let’s walk faster,” she whispered. If only she didn’t have to bring an entourage of armed men with her everywhere. It made subtlety challenging.

  But there was something about that man. Something that quickened her steps and made her heart beat faster. As they passed the part of the wall he’d emerged from she turned and saw a solid wood door right in the wall. Above the wall rose the gables of a tall house with diamond-paned windows.

  Are we being watched? She felt eyes everywhere, but it was likely her imagination. The man walked fast, his cloak flying out behind him. His thick, black hair was slightly curly, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him.

  Up ahead he turned and crossed the road just as a pony cart came by. He paused and cursed at the cart, which blocked his way for a moment. He turned just enough for her to see his face.

  “It’s Vicus Morhees,” she rasped. She grabbed Bill’s arm. “I’m sure of it.” The man had haunted her nights since he escaped untried while suspected of being an instigator in two murders.

  She knew they couldn’t continue to chase him in this manner. Sooner or later he’d turn to see a noble lady with four well-dressed guards striding briskly toward him. He might even recognize her.

  But she needed to know where he was headed.

  She tapped the guard to her left on the arm and whispered, “Follow that man as if your life depends on it. I want to know where he goes and what he does.” Then she turned to the man on her right. “Follow your fellow guard. As soon as he arrives at that man’s destination, report back to me. God speed.”

  As soon as they left, she spun around and she and Bill circled back with the other two guards. “My mind is spinning,” she admitted. “Vicus Morhees? What could he have to do with this?” She kept her voice barely above a whisper as they were still in the vicinity of the mysterious house with its large garden. She didn’t want to be overheard by someone hanging washing or plucking herbs—or spying on them.

  Bill frowned and kept walking straight ahead without looking at her. “I don’t like this at all.” His face was pale. “And it’s getting dark.”

  “Are you all right? Do your wounds ache?”

  “My wounds are fine, but I was sure we’d seen the back of that reprobate. Was he in the church with us?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not sure how that house and its wall connect to the church.”

  “I think they back up to each other.”

  “So, if I was in that house I’d be able to hear the singing of the church choir.” Her mind whirled. “Does the same wall enclose them both?” It was hard to see where the wall began and ended, especially with the sun sinking below the rooftops.

  “It’s possible.”

  Whose house could it be? Not Vicus Morhees’s own house. He was a devious criminal who’d manage to take temporary control of both a manor and a business by trickery just a few months earlier, but he wouldn’t have risen to these dizzy heights that quickly.

  He must be working for the person who lived there.

  Back safely inside her mother’s house, Ela paced around the parlor, thinking aloud while Bill listened. The candles on the table guttered every time she walked past them, but she was too anxious to sit still. Hilda—who she didn’t like to leave alone for too long as she was prone to brooding—sat in the corner, mending a pair of stockings.

  “Morhees plied the opium trade between Exmouth and London. He fell under suspicion for two murders connected to the trade, and both times he had an iron-clad alibi in Exmouth at the time of the killings. He proved highly strategic and skilled at getting others to do his dirty work, while keeping his robes high and dry in the meantime.”

  “Could he be the one who recognized you and alerted the child slavers that you’re investigating them?”

  “He could. I had words with him one day at Fernlees when I went there looking for Osbert Pinchbeck.” She frowned. “But what do the child slavers have to do with the opium trade?”

  Bill sipped his cup of spiced wine. “These underworld organizations—that trade in stolen goods or goods disguised to avoid taxes—are just as likely to be involved in the traffic in humans. To them the children would be yet another product. They have ships coming and going to various ports already and are quick to realize where there’s fresh profit to be made.”

  “But that’s so…messy.”

  “Not really. You have sheep on one manor and crops on another and milk cows on a third.”

  “I have all three and pigs as well on several of my manors. The cows graze the rich pasture, sheep graze the poorer land, the oats and wheat and rye and barley grow on the good arable land and pigs root in the woods.”

  “See? It’s the same principle at work. Diversification for maximum profit.”

  “I suppose he could have laid eyes on Edyth Wheaton when he was in Salisbury trying to establish himself there. He saw an opportunity—a pretty young girl with poor, friendless parents—” She stopped pacing and stared at Bill. “But he can’t have visited Salisbury recently enough to kidnap the girl. He’s a wanted man, and the sheriff’s men have orders to arrest him on sight.”

  “Unless they’ve been paid off.”

  Ela stared at him. “That does sound like something de Hal is capable of. And he could have sent a subordinate with instructions to kidnap the girl. Morhees wouldn’t have done it himself anyway. That’s not his style.”

  “Indeed. And he might have seen another opportunity in the orphaned Brice children.”

  “But the Brice children are tucked away deep in the countryside. How would he have learned about them?”

  “The murder case was cause for gossip. He could have heard people murmuring about the orphaned children in the market.”

  “That is true.” Ela’s mind whirred. So this one man might be behind two murders, another man’s disappearance and the kidnapping of two children? “If this is true Vicus Morhees is one of the craftiest and most dangerous men in England.”

  “He might have ordered your kidnapping.” Bill’s face was taut with concern. “In which case he knows you’re watching him and he’s certainly watching you.”

  “Then why would he emerge from that garden and walk right in front of us?” Ela had seen that as a stroke of luck.

  “To lead us somewhere?”

  “I suppose he is cunning enough for that.” She played with the base of a candlestick. “You think he was trying to lead us into a trap?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out when the guards return.”

  Ela sighed. “I hope these men-at-arms are as skilled as they say. Such hardened criminals are not to be trifled with.”

  “Are you thinking we should alert the sheriff and share your suspicions?” said Bill hopefully.

  “No, but clearly you’re thinking that. I’m afraid I have almost as little faith in Roger le Duc as I have in Simon de Hal.”

  “He did find the girl.”

  “He didn’t. She appeared in th
e street.”

  “Surely it amounts to much the same thing?”

  “Not at all.” Ela inhaled deeply. She hated that she’d developed such deep mistrust of so many of her fellow men in recent months. “Le Duc putting pressure on the kidnappers—without being seen to do so—almost amounts to him being part of the widespread web of this criminal enterprise, in my opinion.”

  Bill regarded her in doubtful silence, then rubbed his chin with his hand. “You think the sheriff of London is in their pay?”

  “I can’t prove it,” she replied. “But I don’t dare assume he isn’t.”

  “You could go straight to the king,” Bill suggested.

  “And right into the hands of de Burgh.” Ela lifted a brow. “Who would like nothing better than to see me disgraced or disappeared or dead. He might even see this as a wonderful opportunity.”

  Bill’s pained expression tugged at her heart. “I feel like we’re locked and bolted behind our castle walls, friendless and under siege from all quarters.”

  “Except we don’t even have the castle walls anymore, thanks to de Burgh. At least I assume de Burgh was behind the king’s decision.” She walked across the room again. “I feel strangely calm. Is that normal when one is under siege?”

  “Your husband was always calm in a crisis.” Bill’s expression brightened. “He could find humor in the most desperate of situations.”

  “And he survived enough of them.” Ela felt a surge of reassurance, as if William had suddenly appeared in their midst, armed and ready to fight. The thought warmed her, then sadness followed with the realization that it was a momentary illusion. “Though ultimately he didn’t live to a great age.”

  Not many powerful men do. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. If they didn’t die in battle they might perish in a tournament or fall victim to a plot, as her husband had.

  She’d had painful moments late at night when she wondered how long her sons would be granted to live. No doubt every noblewoman thought the same in the privacy of her chamber. Young noblemen were raised to put honor before all, even their own life.

  As they should. And she should lead by example. “Let’s leave the king out of it for now. He’s young, and although he’s been king for years, he’s only just now old enough to find his way in the role. I count him as an ally, but I know better than to call on him for every favor I need.”

  Her ally Spicewell had begged off this battle too. And she had to remember that Bill was injured. Her armies were depleted, and the enemies gathered at her gate.

  Suddenly a loud bang on the front door made her jump and Hilda shriek.

  Chapter 15

  Ela froze. She heard footsteps in the hallway as a servant ran to answer the door.

  Bill jumped to his feet. “My sword!” He looked around. A page had taken it away for cleaning.

  “Shhh,” said Ela. She wanted to listen.

  Hilda rose to her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Hilda, calm yourself.” Ela rushed to her.

  “Someone’s trying to get in.” Hilda stared at the door, eyes wide with terror.

  “Don’t move,” said Bill. He dove for the back door, which led to the kitchen passage. “I’ll be back with my sword.”

  Ela wanted to beg him to stay still and not injure himself, but she knew it would do no good. “Hilda, stop screaming. I need to hear what’s going on.”

  She heard a commotion in the hallway with a scuffling of feet and the sound of something heavy being hurled down and hitting both the wall and the wood floor.

  A momentary lull followed, and there was a measured knock on the door. “My lady, the guards have returned.”

  Ela’s heart pounded. “Hilda, sit right there in that chair and don’t move. Everything will be fine.” She didn’t want to invite whatever was going on outside into the parlor. Poor Hilda was still battling demons from the murder she’d witnessed. “I’m coming.” Ela hurried to the door, turned the handle and peeked out into the hallway.

  The porter’s lantern illuminated a shocking scene. One of the guards she’d sent after Morhees stood just inside the front door, his blue tunic splashed with blood and his sword unsheathed. He stared down at the floor where his foot sat propped on the slumped body of a man in a black cloak, who was bleeding profusely onto the floor.

  Ela felt a small scream rise in her throat, and she mercifully swallowed it. “What happened?” The body on the floor didn’t move. “Is he dead?”

  “Close to it at any rate,” said the lad with a rustic accent and a good deal of swagger. “Came at my cohort with a dagger and I ran him through.”

  Ela blinked. Was it Vicus Morhees?

  The sound of screaming alerted her to Hilda’s presence in the parlor doorway.

  “Hilda, could you please draw me a bath?” She wanted the girl anywhere but here. Hilda stared at her for a moment as if she—Ela—were demented, then turned and ran toward the kitchen.

  “Please show me his face.” The guard bent down, grabbed the cloaked shoulder and heaved him over like a sack of turnips.

  Ela held her breath as the porter lowered the lantern for her to get a better look. The face was blood-streaked and caked with grime, as if he’d been dragged along the ground, but it was unmistakably Vicus Morhees.

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Down by the river,” said the lad, his voice quaking. The courage and fire of battle were giving way to the realization that he’d just survived a fight—and killed a man.

  “Where’s your companion?”

  “Still there. He’s injured. I secured this one”—he glanced down at Morhees—“to my saddle and rode back with him.”

  Ela examined Morhees for signs of life. Unsurprisingly, there were none. He’d been dragged half a mile or more, apparently by his foot, which still had part of a rope tied around it. If Morhees was dead, he could never lead them to the stolen children.

  “Good work,” she managed, though she wasn’t at all sure that it was. “We must bring back your companion and tend his wounds. God willing, he’s still alive.”

  “I hope I did the right thing securing the attacker.”

  “I’m sure you did.” The young man’s bravery had now ebbed, and he looked fearful. “Your valor will be rewarded. This man was a true villain and deserved to be dragged through the streets of London.”

  She took a moment to thank God that it was Morhees and not some random, black-cloaked stranger.

  “We must call the coroner, but more urgently we need to rescue your brave companion.”

  “I’ll go with him.” Bill, shining sword unsheathed, appeared in the hallway. “I’ve called for fresh horses.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she retorted. Then she realized she’d been rude. “I’m sorry, Bill, but you’re too valuable to me to have you test your wounds riding around in the night.”

  Ela ordered two men to accompany the bloodstained guard to where the incident had happened. She sent another to the White Tower to raise the hue and cry. The sheriff would now be involved whether he wanted to or not.

  The sheriff’s men arrived in a commotion of pounding hoofbeats and clanging weapons. Vicus Morhees still lay slumped against the wall inside the front door. No one had ever been deader. At least that meant he was no longer bleeding onto the floor.

  Ela greeted the men and looked around for the sheriff.

  “Sheriff le Duc is dining away from home, my lady.” Their leader had windswept dark hair and flashing eyes. “Word of the incident will be sent to him. My name is Raymond le Forester and I am at your service in his stead, my lady.” He suddenly noticed Vicus Morhees’s body on the floor behind her, surrounded by rags intended to stop his bodily fluids leaking into the walls and floor. “This is the victim, I take it.”

  “Victim?” Ela glanced down at the awkwardly sprawled limbs. “No, this man was the attacker. He set upon my guard—” She hesitated a moment before admitting the next part. “Who
I’d ordered to follow him.”

  “Why was your guard following him?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the child who was abducted and then released last month. I’m back in London seeking another child who was taken from Salisbury around the same time. This man—his name is Vicus Morhees—was implicated in two murders that occurred in Salisbury in the spring. He managed to escape conviction because he convinced others to do his dirty work, but it occurred to us that he might have seen an opportunity to abduct the children while he was in Salisbury. Both families are poor and have no influence, and the latest girl is recently orphaned and—”

  Raymond le Forester held up his hand. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but this story grows too complex. You say his name is Vitus Moray?”

  “Vicus Morhees, I know it’s a strange name. It may not be his real name. He seems a slippery character with his finger in many pies.”

  “Please describe the incident that led to his death.”

  Ela realized she had no idea what had happened. “My guard will have to describe it for you.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He set out to retrieve his injured companion.” Ela blinked. They should be back by now. A messenger had ridden to the White Tower, waited for these men to mount, then returned with them in the time he’d been gone. “That’s a good question. They followed him from the walled garden behind St. Michael and All Angels. He said the incident happened by the docks.”

  “But why did you ask them to follow him? Did he have the child with him?”

  “No, but I was surprised to see him emerge from the place. It seemed an odd coincidence that someone who’d caused me so much trouble in Salisbury should suddenly appear under my nose here in London.”

  “He caused you trouble?” His voice rang with disbelief.