15 The Sempster's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  Frevisse did not know who Hawardan was—or Stock-wood, come to that—but Raulyn’s pleasure in all of it repelled her, and she was glad Mistress Hercy came from the bedchamber to say at him, “Come in and tell Pernell that all’s well. She needs to see you.”

  Raulyn laughed and went, pecking a kiss onto Mistress Hercy’s cheek as he passed. Rubbing at the spot, Mistress Hercy headed toward the stairs, saying to Frevisse as she went, “I’d best see how things are with the household. Are you doing well enough? Do you need aught?”

  Frevisse assured her that she needed nothing. Except answers, she silently added.

  Dickon must have been about to come up as Mistress Hercy went down; he was in the room almost as soon as she was gone, carrying a tray that he brought to set on the seat beside Frevisse, saying as he did, “It’s day-old bread, and the ale isn’t new either. The cook is sorry for that. But the chicken is today’s chicken. It’s good, even without the ginger. Have you heard Master Grene’s news?”

  ‘I’ve heard. Dickon, there’s something I need you to do.“

  ‘Go back to St. Helen’s for something?“ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Something here. There’s a midden heap by the rearyard gate. I want you to find out when it’s cleared away, find out if it’s been done this week at all, and…“

  ‘The scavagers come around on Wednesdays,“ Dickon said. ”But they haven’t this week. Cook was complaining of it this morning.“

  ‘Then what I want you to do is go through the midden and find me something if it’s there. One or both of a pair of a man’s hose. If they’re there, they’ll be nearer the bottom than the top. At almost the very bottom, probably.“

  ‘In the midden?“ Dickon asked as if in hope he had misheard her.

  ‘In the midden.“

  His wrinkled nose and wryed mouth told what he thought, but he backed a step and started to bow but paused to ask, low-voiced and leaning toward her, “Is this to do with the friar’s murder?”

  Frevisse hesitated, then leaned toward him and answered in an equally low voice, “It has to do with murder, yes. So be careful.”

  Looking somewhat more ready to the task if still nothing like glad, Dickon finished his bow and left, and Frevisse ate, finding the chicken savory with young onions and garlic, but mostly her thoughts were away to Father Tomas and what he had said about Brother Michael’s attackers. They had looked like London roughs to him, and Hal’s fellow apprentice had said that about the man who had fetched Hal away. The city’s curs, Raulyn had just called them. The kind of men easy to hire for some passing work.

  Not for murder, though. Some would be willing to it, yes, but whoever hired them would be open to extortion afterward. She didn’t see Raulyn doing more than hiring such a man to take the message to Hal and bring him somewhere Raulyn was waiting with some ready reason why he was there. Hal, set on reaching his mother, would have accepted whatever he said. Then, with the messenger paid and gone his way with no questions, Raulyn need only have had Hal to somewhere he could be struck down—not so very easy, with the city laws that kept the streets well-lighted by lanterns outside householders’ doors and people about and no reason to take some back-alley way. Maybe tell Hal they should pause at the church to make quick prayer for Pernell’s safety. And somewhere in the shadows strike him down. A dark corner of the churchyard would have given a place to wait, too, until he was sure of carrying Hal inside and to the crypt in safety. Once in the crypt, he would have been free to do all the rest—kill Hal, strip him, mutilate him—with small likelihood of being found at it. Then he need only leave the church unheeded, no great matter at that hour, and go home to Pernell and Lucie as if nothing had happened.

  It would mean Raulyn had been bold to the point of foolishness and cold-hearted almost beyond imagining.

  And the fact still held that Raulyn had lost rather than gained by Hal’s death. That made no sense. And there were two other things she wanted to know: Who had told Anne that Hal went out brotheling that night, and where had Raulyn been when Hal was being murdered?

  She was ashamed that latter question came to her only now, when it should have been one of the first. If he had been here, then he had not been out in the night killing his stepson. Was she so set on his guilt that she was failing to think of the plainest questions? What else might she be failing to ask?

  Her anger at herself brought her to her feet and started her pacing the room. Come to it, why was she so set on finding Raulyn guilty of Hal’s murder?

  To that at least she found she had immediate answer. If he was guilty of both Hal’s murder and Brother Michael’s, then all was settled. If he was not guilty of both, then likely Hal’s murderer would never be known, and she hated that thought.

  Raulyn came from the bedchamber. Frevisse’s pacing had her almost in his way to the stairs, and she moved farther aside, dropping her eyes lest her look at him betray too much. He passed her with only, “My lady,” and was gone, leaving Frevisse looking after him. A prosperous merchant with a goodly home and a settled place in London’s life, in fine health, loved by his wife, father of a son, and soon father of maybe another.

  Why would he have killed his stepson?

  Father Tomas and Lucie came out of the bedchamber, followed by Anne still carrying Daved’s doublet. She closed the door with great and silent care, and only when she had followed them well away from it did she say softly, “Thank you, Father,” and to Frevisse, “Pernell finally fell to sleep while Father Tomas prayed and Raulyn held her hand.” She looked around as if in hope he was somehow still there. “I wish he would have stayed with her. You’re going to leave, too, Father?”

  ‘It’s time I returned to St. Swithin. I may be needed there. Or at least missed.“

  She, Lucie, and Frevisse all curtsied to him, and he blessed them, signing the cross in the air toward them, before he left. When he was gone, Anne turned to Lucie and said, “I still need to mend Master Weir’s doublet. Will you find me thread in your mother’s sewing basket to close-match it?”

  She held out the doublet and Lucie took it and went with outward willingness to sit on the floor beside the sewing basket beside her mother’s chair while Frevisse said, “Mistress Blakhall, might I talk with you?” and went away to the far end of the room before Anne answered her. Anne followed her, and because they were likely to have little time Frevisse said immediately, low enough to keep her words from Lucie, “About the night Hal was killed.”

  Anne flinched. “Please, no. I’d just like not to think about—”

  ‘One question. You said he had gone out to a brothel. Who told you that?“

  ‘Raulyn.“ Anne’s voice fell even lower than it was, and she looked sideways at Lucie to be sure she did not hear. ”When Hal was first missing. He thought Hal had gone over the river and not got home before the gates closed.“

  ‘Was that something you thought likely?“

  ‘Of Hal? No. Even if he was nigh to old enough by some reckoning, he was young for his age.“

  ‘It’s not what Mistress Hercy says Master Yarford says happened either.“

  Anne frowned. “I know. It’s odd.”

  ‘Why would Raulyn say the other, do you think?“

  ‘Rather than be worried, he was making light of it, I suppose.“ Anne paused, then said slowly, as if seeing something she had not seen before, ”He was greatly merry that day, I remember. Not at all ready to be bothered over Hal gone missing. He’d been gone such a little while, after all. But he knew by then that…“ Her words trailed off but Frevisse followed her thought easily enough. Raulyn had been told by then that a man had told a lie to have Hal, and yet he had been merry.

  Lucie came with the doublet and several twists of thread of different greens. Together she and Anne went to the nearer window to see them better, but something in the yard drew Anne’s sudden heed, and she leaned over the sill for a better look. Lucie knelt on the window seat to see, too, and Frevisse, drawn by their suddenness, joined them. There
were only Daved and Raulyn going down the stairs to the yard in talk together, but Anne said, aloud but more to herself than anyone, “I hope he doesn’t let Raulyn draw him into going out, if that’s what Raulyn means to do again.”

  With sharp fear Frevisse clamped a hand onto Anne’s arm and said with all the force she could, “Stop him. Say whatever you have to say, but don’t let Daved go out of here with Raulyn.”

  Chapter 26

  Not understanding Dame Frevisse’s alarm, only that it was for Daved, Anne sprang to her feet, grabbed her skirts out of her way, and went out of the parlor and down the stairs as near to running as she could, and came from the screens passage to the head of the outside stairs to see him and Raulyn crossing the yard toward the gate, still in close talk. She paused to gather herself and her breath, then called, “Master Weir!” And when both men stopped and turned toward her with matching question on their faces, she smiled to let them know it was nothing desperate and beckoned, hoping Daved would come back to her. But if he did not, she fully meant to go after him and take hold on him to keep him here if she had to.

  There was no need. He said something more to Raulyn, and as Raulyn went on toward James and Pers waiting at the gate, came back to her. Anne watched him come and longed to be in his arms and everything as it was a week ago, when everything had been right and she had still held hope he might, some day, for her—

  She stopped that thought. She had long forbidden herself hope that Daved might some day become Christian for her. Had told herself that whatever would come from her love for Daved, would come, and she would treasure what she had while she had it. Though it was less than what she wanted, it was more than she had right to, and when the time came to pay the price of it, she would. And still, despite herself, she had hoped. Until yesterday. Until she watched him against the friar and known he would never turn Christian for her sake or any other reason. Had known, too, that the price of her love was come due, and soon she would have to pay it.

  And despite she had tried to make her summons to him light and kept her smile, Daved asked intently as he started up the stairs toward her, “Is there trouble?”

  Anne felt her mask of a smile fall away and said, “Dame Frevisse says you’re not to go out with Raulyn. You’re not going, are you?”

  ‘I’m not going with him, no. James is. What is it?“

  Anne surprised herself by giving a sob on her half-caught breath and fought herself to steadiness, not understanding why had she been so frighted. “I don’t know. She just said I should stop you from going out with Raulyn.”

  Daved looked back across the yard to where Raulyn and James were gone out and Pers was barring the door in the gate again, then guided Anne back inside, saying as they went, “Tell her I’m not so foolish, and that I’m still asking questions.”

  No one was in the screens passage, but she held back from even touching to him, only looked up into his face, said, “I’ll tell her,” and started to turn away.

  ‘Anne,“ he said; and when she turned back to him, ”Anne, I love you.“

  She smiled with all her heart behind it. “And I love you,” she said and left him, taking her pain with her. Only when she was alone again on the parlor stairs did she falter, stop, and lean against the wall, struggling against her tears. She loved him, but their love was not enough to keep him here or safe, and this time when he went away…

  But grief to come did not lessen present necessity, and she forced herself steady and went on, to find Dame Frevisse still at the window and that Mistress Hercy was returned, was sitting in Pernell’s chair with Lucie standing beside her, both of them looking at Daved’s doublet. Anne went to Dame Frevisse and quietly gave her Daved’s message, to which the nun only nodded. Then Anne drew a joint stool near to Mistress Hercy, holding out a hand for the doublet, saying, “Now I’ll show you how to mend that manner of rend, Lucie,” and for a simple time gave Lucie a small lesson in mending, starting the mend herself to show Lucie how to needle-catch the torn threads and thread-weave them into the good, then let Lucie try it for herself, Mistress Hercy watching closely and finally saying, “Our Lucie has a way with a needle, doesn’t she?”

  Anne stroked a gentle hand down Lucie’s fair hair. “She’s becoming a skilled sempster, yes.”

  ‘It’s something Raulyn can add to his bargaining for her betrothal,“ Mistress Hercy said with satisfaction, and lifted her voice a little to include Dame Frevisse with, ”I don’t suppose you favor marriage, being a nun?“

  ‘I do favor it,“ Dame Frevisse answered easily. ”It keeps a great many women from becoming nuns who shouldn’t.“

  ‘Myself,“ Mistress Hercy said, ”I’ve always thought better a bad monk than a bad husband.“

  ‘However true that may be,“ Dame Frevisse returned, ”I’ll not grant you ’better a bad nun than a bad wife‘ because I might have to live with that bad nun.“

  Mistress Hercy and Anne both a little laughed at that, and Mistress Hercy said, “Well, it’ll be a few years yet before our Lucie’s a wife, but we’re hoping for her betrothal before long. Raulyn has lately been talking with a Master Basse in Hertfordshire who looks possible. High gentry he is, so she’d be marrying up. Has several good manors to his name, property here in London, no children yet with any claim on what he has, and a not-too-distant kinship to Lord Warrenne that could lead to something at court and business sent Raulyn’s way. The trouble is he knows his own worth, and I gather he wants something more in the way of dowry than Lucie has, but…” Mistress Hercy’s momentary brightness at talking of ordinary things faded. She broke off with a small cough and a sniff and said, “Lucie dearling, go fetch some wine from the kitchen for us, there’s a good girl.”

  Lucie handed the doublet to Anne without looking up— to hide her own sudden tears, Anne feared—and obediently went away. Mistress Hercy took an handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes, murmuring, “I didn’t want for her to see me crying.”

  Gently Dame Frevisse said, “It’s possible to be too strong for your own good.”

  Mistress Hercy sighed on her tears. “I know. But just now… well, we can’t all be crying at once, can we?”

  Still gently, Dame Frevisse asked, “How much does Master Grene want this marriage for Lucie?”

  ‘Oh, very much.“ Mistress Hercy wiped her nose. ”It’s something he and Pernell both want. To marry her better, not just to another merchant, but into the gentry.“

  ‘He’ll likely have less trouble closing on it now,“ Dame Frevisse said quietly. ”Now Hal is gone and Lucie’s inheritance is doubled.“

  Mistress Hercy tucked her handkerchief away. “Little trouble at all, I suppose. That may be our only comfort in all of this—to have our Lucie married to someone who’s near kin to a lord. Raulyn is trying to do well for her, I’ll grant him that.” Her voice went suddenly bitter, her tiredness and grief lowering her guard, Anne thought, as she said on, “Mind you, it’s as much for himself as anyone. A foot in the gentry door with Lucie could open it wider for his sons. Never one to miss his chance, is Raulyn Grene, if you see my meaning.”

  ‘I see it,“ Dame Frevisse said quietly.

  Young Dickon came into the parlor, carrying a small, cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands, and Dame Frevisse asked, the words sharp-edged, “You found them?”

  ‘Where you said, my lady. I had one of the maids give me this oiled cloth to wrap them in. They’re—“

  Dame Frevisse sprang to her feet and went toward him. “Lay it on the floor and open it.”

  Behind her, Mistress Hercy rose, too, following her, asking, “What’s this?”

  ‘We’ll see,“ Dame Frevisse said, and ordered Dickon, ”Unwrap them.“

  He obeyed—knelt, laid the bundle on the floor, and began to fold back the wrapping at an arm’s length that Anne understood as a mingled smell of rot and rubbish reached her.

  Now standing beside Frevisse, Mistress Hercy demanded more strongly, “What is it?”

  ‘Wait
,“ Dame Frevisse said.

  Anne stayed where she was, Daved’s doublet forgotten on her lap, watching with them as Dickon opened the last fold to show a shapeless wet lump of dark blue cloth. Gathering her skirts carefully back from it, Dame Frevisse knelt at the other side of the bundle from Dickon and with unwilling fingertips began to pick at the filthy thing, saying, “It’s from the midden in your rearyard. As for what it is…” She separated the thing into two filthy things. “It’s a pair of hosen, I think.”

  ‘They were where you said they would be,“ Dickon said. ”Right at the bottom.“

  ‘Why?“ Mistress Hercy asked, with enough demand to leave no doubt she meant to have full answer to it.

  But Dame Frevisse made no immediate answer. Instead, she uncrumpled and looked at first one hose and then the other, so intent that Mistress Hercy let her question hang, watching over the nun’s shoulder, until at last Dame Frevisse said, “They’re neither of them damaged and look to be of good quality cloth. Why would they be thrown out as rubbish?”

  ‘You must have some thought about that,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”Else you’d not have sent your man to look for them.“

  ‘Dickon, bring me some water in the bowl there,“ Dame Frevisse ordered, nodding toward the laving bowl and water pitcher sitting on a shelf beside the stairward door, ready for anyone’s handwashing before going down to meals; and while Dickon rose and went to pour water into the bowl, she said, seeming to feel her way through the words, ”One of your women complained she was blamed for a pair of Master Grene’s hosen gone missing. My guess is that these are those.“

  ‘I’d guess so, too,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”The cloth looks good enough.“ She didn’t offer to feel it. ”And who else’s good hosen would likely be in our rubbish? What I’m wondering…“ She was demanding an answer now. ”… is why.“