“It doesn’t leave much out!”
“And London.” Petronilla glanced hurriedly at Hildegard. “I’ve never been there, sister. I’m sorry.”
She allowed her tears to trickle very slowly down her cheeks then with a little anguished cry she dropped to her knees. “I beg and implore you to honour me with your forgiveness, my lady.”
“You should be kneeling to your father and begging his forgiveness,” Melisen reproved. “If you were my daughter I’d give you a good whipping.” She looked the man up and down. “Let me invite you over to the house, sir. At least we can get out of this infernal heat. Your little girls might like something to eat and drink. Is their mother with you?”
“Dead, my lady.” The man quickly removed his cap and held it in front of him. “I’m a widower. Have been now for some five years.”
He indicated the smallest child. “I try to do what’s best for them. But nothing seems to work out. We’ve been making toys for the Rhineland trade, very pretty things, the girls could scarcely bear to part with them, but it’s come to nothing. I’m at my wit’s end. She’s a good little creature.” He touched Petronilla with great gentleness on the shoulder. “Don’t be harsh with her, my lady. She’s probably sick of having to look after so many little ones, being only fourteen herself.”
“Fourteen?” repeated Melisen in wonder. “You had better come with me.”
* * *
Aware that matters had been taken out of her hands Hildegard made off at once. While they had been talking something had occurred to her. By the time she arrived in Danby’s yard she had pushed the question of Petronilla to the back of her mind. It was another young woman she wished to speak to.
The first thing she noticed when she entered the yard was the guard at the far end and the second thing was that someone had rigged up a temporary shelter for her hounds outside the widow’s door. Both animals were lying peacefully in its shade with a large bowl of water between them and some half-gnawed bones. They greeted her fondly and allowed her to pet them and then she went on into the workshop and gave a call.
There was no response.
Poking her head round the kitchen door she saw it was empty. Even the deaf cook had gone. At the foot of the stairs she called out again.
The Widow Roberts appeared from Danby’s private chamber with a finger to her lips. “She’s up here, sister. Come up.”
When she reached the landing Hildegard asked in a lowered voice, “How is she? Is she able to talk?”
Tabitha put her hand to the door. “She’s much better since that mage said he’d have her betrothed fetched over.” She hesitated then whispered, “I may tell you this so you may better understand. She was with child. It was lost because of what happened—some would say it’s probably for the best.”
Then, without waiting for Hildegard’s response, she ushered her inside and in a bright voice said, “There she is, sister. I’ll leave you both for a while. Cook is going to come in and sit with her later on.” As she turned to go she said to Hildegard, “By the way, my nephew built a shelter for your hounds and now he’s taken Kit and the kitchen lad to watch the pageant.”
Thanking her for looking after everything Hildegard went over to the bed.
Dorelia was lying back with one hand over her brow.
Her hair had been washed and brushed and was spread out in a silky sheen across the pillow. She wore a high-necked shift but the bruises on her neck, blue, turning through green to yellow, were visible under the lace frill. When she heard someone approach she had opened her eyes and now, seeing Hildegard, she lifted one hand in greeting but let it drop onto the counterpane almost at once without the strength to do more.
“So kind to come … master told me what you did. Sit down and talk to me if you will—”
“I was rather hoping you would talk to me, Dorelia. That is, if you’re well enough?”
“I’m as well as I can be at present. Berwick has sent for my betrothed … I thought all was lost. If he comes … though I reckon he’ll want nothing to do with me when he hears the shame of what’s happened…”
Her voice was a wisp of sound and faded completely, but after she closed her eyes for a moment she seemed to gather strength from somewhere and, opening them, revealing their startling colour, began to speak again. “Poor Edric,” she said. “I’ve brought him nothing but grief, and if I’d known how it was going to turn out—I don’t know what else I could have done.… Will I be forgiven, sister?”
“I’m sure He’s already forgiven you. Master Danby too,” she added.
“I don’t deserve it … he’s a kind man…” Her voice faded.
“And Jankin?” Hildegard asked softly.
Dorelia’s lips trembled. “Dearest Jankin. He was a light in all the darkness … I don’t know how I would have survived all this without him.… There was no badness in him … he did not deserve what happened.…” Her lips trembled even more and her words trailed away again.
“Why would Gisburne and Baldwin do such a thing?” Hildegard asked as gently as she could.
“Jealousy,” she replied simply. “Baldwin could not leave me alone. He was mad, obsessed. It made him want to drag me through the dirt because I couldn’t love him back. He said he had made a mistake—” She broke off.
“Mistake?”
Dorelia gave her a bleak glance. “He said he sold me to his brother when he should have kept me for himself.” Her eyes brimmed. “You see, sister, I lost everything when my father died. I thought he had money but it seems he had nothing. I didn’t know which way to turn. Baldwin appeared and he was kind at first. I thought he was a refuge. And then … then I saw his true colours. By then it was too late…” She wiped her eyes.
“There is something more I need to ask you, Dorelia,” Hildegard murmured. “I fear people’s lives may be in danger—and you may be able to help prevent it.”
“Danger?”
“I’m not sure about any of this.” She paused. “I wonder whether you can tell me anything more about Jankin?”
Dorelia widened her eyes. “What sort of thing?”
“About his beliefs for instance?”
She shook her head. “What would I know? He was no different from any other apprentice.”
“Surely there’s something?” Hildegard paused. “Did he sympathise somewhat with the rebels?”
Dorelia looked confused.
“It can do no harm to him to tell me what you know,” Hildegard urged. “Was he planning anything with the others?”
Dorelia gave a small sigh, halfway between fear and resignation. “You’re right. He can’t be harmed anymore.” She glanced at Hildegard for reassurance and seeing her expression, said hurriedly, “He was what the old-timers called a hothead. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Them apprentices are all alike. Mostly it’s just talk. They wouldn’t do anything. They’ve their livelihoods to think of—” Biting her lip she broke off.
“So he was planning something?”
Dorelia gave a slight nod.
“With others?”
“No,” she replied at once, voice almost inaudible. “Not with the others. And it wasn’t so much planning as … I’ll explain.” She took her time before beginning to speak and Hildegard wondered what she was about to reveal.
“As you’ve guessed he sympathised with the brotherhood—”
“The Company of the White Hart,” Hildegard confirmed.
“Them.” In a rush she said, “He used to listen to Gilbert spouting on and he became persuaded by him. He was eager to do something. ‘Anything,’ he said. ‘We can’t live under their insults any longer. We’re not serfs now.’ Everybody knew that Tabitha’s son had been in the Company. He was one of those murdered about eighteen months ago over near Beverley. Six apprentices all told and the killers never brought to justice.”
Hildegard’s eyes narrowed. She remembered that terrible event very well indeed. She had come across the gibbet in the woods with its grisly bu
rden. And nearby she had found the body of an apprentice clutching one of the phials containing a scrap of cloth soaked in the blood of Wat Tyler. It was a sacred relic to the rebels, as sacred as the blood of a saint to believers.
“Go on,” she urged.
“When Tabitha was upset one day, it being her son’s birthday and him dead at eighteen,” Dorelia continued, “Jankin found her in tears. She told him why. It made his blood boil. ‘I’ll find his murderers for you, mistress,’ he said. ‘Trust me!’ He had such a good heart. He would have found them too, but he could never keep his mind on anything for long and…”
She began to focus with unnecessary attention on a loose thread on her sleeve. Hildegard gave her time to continue.
After a moment she looked up, blushing. “Before he could think what to do Baldwin caught us both. And he found a way of turning it to his own advantage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Baldwin threatened to tell the master about us.”
“That you were lovers?”
Dorelia blushed. “We were in terror lest it got out. He said to Jankin, ‘I’ve got a hold over you now. If you want to stay safe you’re going to have to do me a favour or two.’ I was frightened he’d do something bad to Jankin if he refused, and I said, ‘I’m the only reason he’s got a hold over you. We must stop. It’ll be his word against ours.’ I didn’t know then about the White Hart lads, but Baldwin suspected Jankin of being a sympathiser like most of the other apprentices. I said to Jankin, ‘If he tells the master about us you’ll lose your apprenticeship. We must stop.’ But he wouldn’t give me up … and I—” she looked shame-faced, “I was too weak to resist.”
She closed her eyes and her lips trembled.
“What did Baldwin want Jankin to do?” asked Hildegard.
“He wanted chapter and verse about the Company of the White Hart, what they were up to. He wanted their names and the times and places where they met. He wanted Jankin to inform on his friends.”
“So what happened?”
“Jankin made stuff up. I warned him not to mess about. I knew what Baldwin was like. Jankin said he could handle it. He invented a pack of lies. Baldwin made him carry messages between himself and Gisburne.”
“What about?”
“They were trying to undermine de Quixlay. It wasn’t just Baldwin and Gisburne. They had other supporters. Clerics. A few friars. A nun. Somebody at St. Mary’s. One or two guildsmen as well, them from the Lorimers’ Guild, I think. He took messages between them but he wouldn’t tell me much in case I let something slip. But I knew for sure Gisburne’s lot were working against Simon de Quixlay. Gisburne wanted him out of office and himself put back in.”
This fitted in well with what Ulf had told her a few days ago about the long-standing rivalry between the two men.
Dorelia said, “Jankin had no idea what an evil bastard Baldwin was. I warned him, ‘Once in his clutches you’ll never escape.’ And that’s exactly what happened. Baldwin would not let him go.”
“But why did Baldwin want Jankin dead if he was willing to spy for him?”
“Maybe he knew he was being messed around.”
“How would he know that?”
“He could always winkle the truth out of a situation, Baldwin. It must have been when the fire-bombs were set. Jankin heard what happened to that poor cloth-seller and her husband. He didn’t know whether Baldwin was involved but he knew for sure it wasn’t the White Hart. He decided he would inform on Baldwin to de Quixlay.”
She gave Hildegard a quick frightened look. “It’s more than just Baldwin and Gisburne. They’re small fry. They have a master, one of the great lords, somebody close to the king.”
This all made sense. It was well known, of course, that Gaunt and his brother the Duke of Gloucester held land and property here in the Riding. Gaunt held a string of castles all across the region. He was even a major benefactor to St. Mary’s Abbey here in the heart of York itself.
“Jankin didn’t understand the power he was up against,” Dorelia said. “He was a child. But even I could see that. The next thing is Gisburne must have found out Jankin had been to see the mayor. He must have had an informer planted in the mayor’s chambers. While master was out Baldwin and a couple of his cronies burst into the attic and—”
A tear started to trickle down her cheek. “Baldwin forced me to go with them. He didn’t need to take me. It was nothing to do with me. I didn’t know anything. But he was mad. He planned to keep me a prisoner and do whatever he wanted with me.”
“How did he manage to get you away without being seen?”
“They had a cart waiting in the street. It being pageant week, with plenty of strangers around, nobody was bothered at seeing a cart. The yard was empty—they timed it well—and they bundled me up in a cloak and dragged me out naked underneath it. I thought Jankin was dead. He’d broken the guild rules and brought his pageant wings to show me.… Then blood. Everywhere.”
“But he wasn’t dead?”
“They’d only wounded him. And that was worse. Because then he knew all the time what they were doing to him—and to me—and—” She broke off again and her eyes were brimming with tears again and she whispered, “Can I tell you this? May I speak, sister?”
“Go on, my dear.”
“They tied him to the wheel. They made it grind round. They were laughing and singing the rebels’ song about the mill—it grindeth small, small, small.… And his wings were ripped when he went under the water. The feathers floated away into the mill race. And then he came out of the water and they turned the wheel again and he went down underneath and they held him there and when they were sure he was dead they cut him loose and let him fall back into the mill pond where you saw him—”
Hildegard took her by the hand.
Terrible though this was it seemed to have nothing to do with the fires that had erupted nor with the threat written on Danby’s scrap of vellum. When she asked whether she knew anything about the fires Dorelia’s answer was to grip Hildegard by the arm.
“I don’t know who did such a sinful thing against innocent folk, but I do know one thing: They want to turn people against the rebels. They’re trying to push the blame onto them. They hate the Company of the White Hart.”
“Why do they hate them so much?”
“They want bonded folk to remain in bondage. It’s free labour to the landowners. And the Church wants to keep its stranglehold. They’re frightened of losing power over us. They’ll stop at nothing. Baldwin and Gisburne might be finished now but their master is still out there. And you can bet on it—somebody’s keeping him informed even now.”
“And are they planning to set more fire-bombs like the ones at the booths and in Stapylton’s workshop?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them.”
Hildegard offered Dorelia a drink from a pitcher on the stand next to the bed and she watched the girl drink until the cup was drained.
“There is one more thing,” Hildegard murmured as she replaced the empty cup on the stand. “Did Master Danby tell you he found some writing on a piece of vellum?”
Dorelia looked puzzled and shook her head.
“He found it in a creel in the small workshop,” she explained. “It was a draft of the warning that was nailed to the minster doors yesterday.”
“I heard about that,” Dorelia replied. “Wasn’t it some threat to de Quixlay and his aldermen?”
Hildegard paused and then she said, “It was almost certainly written by Gilbert.”
“Gilbert?” Dorelia’s mouth opened. She stared at Hildegard in shocked silence.
“Have you ever had any suspicions about him?”
Dorelia shook her head. “We trusted him.” She spoke as if in a dream. “We trusted him,” she said again. Then her eyes blazed. “But it must have been him who told Gisburne about Jankin’s visit to the mayor.”
“He knew about that?”
“Of course he did.” She gazed at Hildega
rd in horror. “Gilbert? I can’t believe it! The deceitful little snake!” Unwittingly she echoed Baldwin’s view.
Sinking back on the pillows she allowed her eyes to close. Her cheeks were as white as chalk. She would say nothing more.
* * *
Hildegard made her way downstairs. She was doubtful about leaving Dorelia in her present distress but Tabitha was waiting in the kitchen and went up straight away. Hildegard glanced in through the open door of the workshop as she was going out. But something stopped her. She was drawn inside to look at the glass.
It was at the stage where some of the pieces were already leaded and the rest were in place waiting to be fixed permanently within the calmes.
Even the face of the Queen of Heaven was in place.
A figure of enchantment encircled by stars was unmistakably Dorelia in all her youth and beauty. The image could be a token of Gilbert’s obsession, a work in praise of the unattainable as Baldwin had tried to claim. It filled the centre of the glass, coloured fragments suggesting the graceful curves of her blue gown. On either side were smaller images of the donors. Lord Roger just as she had seen before and Lady Melisen, her long hair descending like a cloak with yet a hint of the voluptuous body concealed under its tresses.
At the bottom edge of the glass there was also the image of the little red fox, Gilbert’s ambiguous signature, a symbol with many meanings. Although small it was plainly visible, looking up at the participants, half inside the frame and half outside. It aptly expressed Gilbert’s place in the drama. A loner with no obvious affiliations. Unable to enter fully into paradise.
She gazed at the glass for a moment longer. Gilbert was well placed to know everything that was going on in the craftsmen’s yards. Jankin, it seemed, had held nothing back. Dorelia said Gilbert knew about Jankin’s visit to the mayor to warn him about the plot against him. Had Gilbert taken advantage of the knowledge to betray him to Gisburne? His espousal of the rebel cause might be sheer invention. A lure to draw the rebels to their doom.
What was the story he had told young Kit about the owl? She is put in a cage and her hooting draws other birds to the huntsman’s trap.
The Law of Angels Page 37