But the woman had taken more trouble to help her than she need have taken, and despite suspicion of her and Master Weir, Frevisse realized she liked her, both for her kindness and for her willingness to dare life alone. The behest to “Judge not, lest you be judged” was all too often easier said than done, but this was maybe a time for it.
‘There’s only the matter of the patterns then,“ she started.
But Raulyn Grene called up the stairs, “Anne, may I come up?” and already was, there even as Mistress Blakhall stood up, saying, “Raulyn. Yes. Come up. Is it Pernell? The baby?”
‘Not the baby, no, but could you come to her? My lady,“ he added with a quick bow to Frevisse. ”For her mother’s sake as much as hers, could you come, Anne?“
He was red-faced with heat and hurry, the assured merchant gone from him, and Mistress Blakhall said with sharp concern, “Raulyn, sit down.” Taking him by the arm and making him sit on the chest beside the door. “Dame Frevisse, bring some ale, please. Raulyn, what’s happened?”
Frevisse quickly filled a cup and brought it to him. He had pulled off his hat, was catching his breath, but beyond being hot, he looked a man stretched too many directions at once and confused and in pain with it. He took the cup from Frevisse with a nod of thanks while answering Mistress Blakhall, “It’s all that’s happening. What has to be done because of Hal. The rebels. And then Pernell. Nothing is as it should be. Mistress Hercy is doing what she can, but between Pernell and Lucie and seeing to the household, it’s too much for her alone. Pernell shouldn’t be left to herself, but we don’t dare let anyone with her who might say too much. Could you come to her? For only a while. It would help.”
‘Drink,“ Mistress Blakhall told him. ”Of course I’ll come.“
He drank, but when he lowered the cup he said to Frevisse, “Would you, too? You’d be someone different. Anything to turn her mind even a little aside.” He was a man grabbing for any hope. “You could pray with her. Father Tomas has but…” He made a helpless gesture.
In all charity Frevisse could hardly refuse his plea, and she bent her head with a slight, accepting murmur. Which was less than Master Naylor would have to say about it, she thought bleakly.
Mistress Blakhall was looking about for what she might need with her but asked, “You’ve been able to keep much of it from Pernell then?”
‘She only knows he was stabbed and left dead in the crypt.“ Master Grene’s breathing and color were evening, letting his face settle to grimness. ”Talk has to be rife elsewhere, though. My worst fear is that damned friar is going to make worse trouble of it. He won’t let go that Jews did it.“
Mistress Blakhall swung around from closing her sewing basket. “Father Tomas denied that!”
‘How likely is he to believe Father Tomas?“ Master Grene returned. ”He wants Jews, and he’ll keep at it until he’s found them.“
‘Except there are no Jews in London to find,“ Frevisse said quietly.
‘We’d better hope there aren’t,“ Master Grene said back. He stood up, ready to leave. ”But there’s Father Tomas for a start.“
‘He’s a Christian priest,“ Frevisse returned.
‘That hasn’t been enough to save a man in other places.“
‘How far has Brother Michael spread this talk?“ Mistress Blakhall asked.
‘Not far yet, I gather. Mostly he’s been pressing Father Tomas on it. Pushing to know more. He—Father Tomas— was warning me of it when he came to see Pernell. What he’s said at Grey Friars I don’t know. Brother Michael, I mean. What I fear is the hell that’ll break loose if he does start up a Jew-hunt.“
While he spoke, he stepped aside to let the women go down the stairs ahead of him, but Mistress Blakhall stood rooted in the middle of the room, staring at him. For a long moment he looked straight back at her, and to Frevisse it seemed they were sharing an unsaid thought that neither of them liked. Then Mistress Blakhall dropped her eyes and started forward. Frevisse followed her, and above them as they went down the stairs Master Grene said, “One thing to the good about these rebels is that with all the talk and trouble over them, less heed’s been given to Hal’s death than would have been. Maybe Brother Michael’s troublemaking will go the same way.”
It was a backhanded kind of hope, but better than none, Frevisse supposed as she asked, “Have you heard aught from crowner or constable?”
‘Nothing. What can they hope to find out after all this time?“ Master Grene said.
Told the changed plan, Master Naylor looked sour but only said, “We’ll be nearer St. Helen’s. That’s something.”
Getting Dame Clemens from her family, everyone in talk about the rebels and more excited than alarmed, took time but at last they had her away and walking at haste along Cheapside, Master Grene’s hurry leaving her too short-breathed to say more than, “Yes, of course,” to Frevisse’s explanation of where they were going and why. That left Frevisse time to see that in even the while she’d been at Mistress Blakhall’s the feel of London had worsened. Where there should have been the flow and busyness of a London midweek day, people were gathered in ever larger and louder clots and clusters, the anger and restless unease there had been changing now to a roiling sense of being done with waiting.
Frevisse felt what she imagined she would feel if standing below a weakening dam with flood waters rising behind it—a great desire to be elsewhere. To find the shops and houses in Swithin’s Lane all closed was only the more unsettling, and the servant keeping the gate to the Red Swan’s yard was on the inside this time, peering out so carefully in answer to Master Grene’s knock and, “We’re here, Pers,” that Master Grene slapped the flat of his hand against the wood, demanding impatiently, “Open it!”
Pers hastily got the door and himself out of the way. Master Grene let the three women enter ahead of him, then followed them, with Master Naylor and Dickon coming last as Master Grene ordered over his shoulder at Pers, “Bar it again.”
At the yard-end of the gateway passage their way was blocked by two young men and a half-grown boy trundling a lurching one-wheeled barrow laden with a large canvas-wrapped bale of something over the cobbles toward the hall. Two other like bales waited there at the foot of the steps, and Mistress Blakhall asked “Raulyn, what’s toward here?”
‘I’m shifting things from the shop into the hall’s cellar for safer keeping. Wyett, is this the last of them, or all that you’ve done while I was gone?“
Not pausing in wrestling the unwieldy barrow forward, the older of the two men said, “This is the last of it. Everything else is in and down.”
‘Safer keeping?“ Master Naylor challenged. ”Why? I thought everyone was saying the rebels can’t get into London.“
‘They can’t ’get‘ in,“ Master Grene said grimly. ”That doesn’t mean they won’t be ’let‘ in. So better safe now than sorry afterward.“
‘Let in?“ Master Naylor gestured angrily at Frevisse and Dame Clemens. ”What are these women doing here, then, when they should be where they belong?“
‘They’re safe enough for now,“ Master Grene said. ”Nothing has happened yet, and maybe won’t. I’m only—“
Dame Clemens interrupted, her voice rising, “I want to go back to St. Helen’s. Now.”
‘Yes,“ Master Naylor agreed, moving back toward the gate. ”Now, while the going is good. Dame Frevisse—“
‘Dame Frevisse, please,“ Mistress Blakhall said unexpectedly. ”Between us, we can reassure Pernell better than I can alone.“
Frevisse knew “lie to Pernell” was what she meant, and if London’s patience was about to break under the weight of all the angers at the king, she wanted herself and the gold safe into St. Helen’s before it happened. But the lives of both Pernell and her unborn child might well depend on how well she was guarded from the truth, and since surely Master Grene said true that Mistress Hercy was wearing out keeping guard for her daughter’s sake, Mistress Blakhall’s plea was hardly to be denied; and far more st
eadily than she felt, Frevisse said, “I’ll stay.”
She met Master Naylor’s glare and added, refusing all his furious, silent objections, “Do you and Dickon see Dame Clemens back to St. Helen’s. Then return for me. I’ll have done what I can here by then. Master Grene, would you send a woman with them, for propriety’s sake?”
Dame Clemens, already edging back toward the gateway, said quickly, “There’s no need. Things as they are, we’ll just go.”
Master Naylor stayed where he was and demanded, barely on the right side of courteous, “Dickon stays with you, and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve seen Dame Clemens into St. Helen’s. You swear you’ll leave then?”
‘Yes.“ Silently blessing him for that way out.
Master Naylor nodded sharply, said to Dickon, “She’s your duty then til I return,” made her a sharp bow that ignored everyone else, turned on his heel, and followed Dame Clemens’ hurry toward the gateway.
To his back, Dickon said gladly, “Yes, sir,” openly pleased not to be tucked away into the nunnery again.
As Master Naylor and Dame Clemens went out the gate, Master Grene’s men were heaving one of the bales of cloth up the stairs to the hall, and Frevisse said at Dickon, “Help them.”
Dickon readily bounded up the steps to add his strength to theirs, and left alone and unable to go forward for the moment, Master Grene said low-voiced to Frevisse, “Do you have it all now?”
‘Yes.“
He gave a single, satisfied nod and turned to Mistress Blakhall. “I’m trying to get Daved to bring his uncle to sail at their first chance. The sooner they go the better. If you have chance to urge him…”
Sounding both bleak and defensive, Mistress Blakhall said, “I will.”
All of which told Frevisse that Master Grene knew something of whatever was between Mistress Blakhall and Daved Weir as well as about the gold.
The way now clear, they went on up the stairs and inside, Master Grene saying as they went, “I’ll leave you to go up to Pernell. I’m bound for the cellar to see how my men do.” He smiled. “I keep my wine down there, too.” His smile disappeared. “Anne, do all you can for her, please. Everything’s gone so wrong.”
‘I will,“ Mistress Blakhall promised.
He left them, and they went up to the parlor where Frevisse had so briefly been before, still a pleasant room but with all pleasure was gone from it. Pernell was standing at the window overlooking the yard, her hands under the great swell of her belly to ease its weight a little. She still wore a loose child-bearing gown but this one was black-dyed, and her fair hair, which had been fastened up and covered by a light veil yesterday, was hanging loose and uncombed down her back. The little girl Lucie, likewise gowned in black, was curled on one end of the other window bench, looking much like a small animal wanting a burrow in which to hide, her eyes red from crying, the rolled cloth of a sampler clutched in her hands but no sign she had been sewing on it.
Pernell’s eyes were red and swollen, too, as she turned from the window and held out her hands, saying, “Anne,” and Mistress Blakhall went to her as Mistress Hercy came from the bedchamber carrying a goblet. The marks of grief were less on her, probably from the necessity to be strong for her daughter, granddaughter, and unborn grandchild, Frevisse guessed; and she likewise said, “Anne,” but briskly; and to Frevisse, “My lady. Lucie, bring wine for our guests, please.” Continuing to Pernell while Lucie uncurled and went into the bedchamber, “You promised you’d drink this if I made it, and it’s made. Borage and valerian in pale wine,” she added to Mistress Blakhall and Frevisse. “To quiet the mind and ease the heart.”
Mistress Grene took the goblet but said while she did, “Nothing will ease my heart. There’s only grief from now onward.”
‘There isn’t,“ her mother said, guiding her toward the nearest chair. ”I’ve lost two children in my time, and my husband, too, and despite it all have found pleasure in life again afterward. You did, too, after your Henry died, remember. Not the same pleasure, no, and the sorrow never truly goes away.“ She made Pernell sit. ”But it lessens, because you still have the living. Raulyn and Lucie and little Robert and the baby to come. So you drink your drink. For the baby’s sake if not yours. That you’ve lost much doesn’t mean you should set yourself to lose more. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.“ She paused pointedly.
Dully her daughter finished, “Blessed be the Lord’s name.”
Mistress Hercy patted her shoulder approvingly. “You remember that. Give thanks for what you have and let the rest be as it has to be. Anne is here. You talk with her awhile. Let her tell you what foolishness people are up to in London today.”
Mistress Blakhall drew two stools to Pernell, lifted Pernell’s feet onto one, sat on the other, and with Pernell’s free hand clasped in hers, began to talk quietly. Mistress Hercy, released from her daughter’s need for maybe the first time that day, turned away. For just a moment her unguarded face showed all her own grief and weariness, and Frevisse said, “Will you sit, too?”, moving away to the window seat on the room’s other side.
Mistress Hercy went with her and sank onto the cushioned bench with a slow stiffness as Lucie returned with three silver goblets instead of only two clutched together in her hands. Sensible child, she brought them first to her grandmother and Frevisse before going to Mistress Blakhall, who took the offered goblet in one hand and put her other arm around Lucie’s waist, drawing the girl to her side affectionately. Pernell began to sip absentmindedly at her own wine, and Mistress Hercy, watching her, eased a little, saying softly, “That’s better.” She smiled wanly at Frevisse. “She’s ordered all her bearing-gowns dyed black. My worry is she’ll bring more grief on us all by a bad birthing.”
‘How long has it been since her last?“
‘Little Robert is nearly three. He’s at nurse in Sheen.“ Mistress Hercy took a long drink of wine. ”She’s trying, for the baby’s sake, to hold back from worse grieving, but it’s hard enough to have lost Hal without it was this way. And it’s only made harder because she can’t even choose his burial place in the churchyard or go to his funeral. All she’s been able to do is send good linen for his shroud.“
And all Mistress Hercy had been able to do was smother her own grief while tending to her daughter’s; and because letting her talk was the only help Frevisse could presently give, she asked quietly, “When will the funeral be?”
‘Tomorrow. Rebels and all allowing.“ Mistress Hercy shook her head, drank some more, recovered a little, and looked at Frevisse. ”What are you going to say if Pernell asks you about Hal?“
‘That he didn’t die in fear or pain, only suddenly.“
It was surprising how harsh with anger a face as soft and round as Mistress Hercy’s could go. “If I knew who’d done it to him, I swear I’d kill the bastard cur if ever I had the chance. Do you swear what was done to him was all done after he was dead?”
Steadily, for what small comfort it might be, Frevisse said, “I swear it.”
Mistress Hercy regarded her for a long, unmoving moment, then nodded, dropped her eyes, and drank again. In her turn, Frevisse said quietly, “Master Grene says naught’s been learned toward who did this thing.”
‘Nothing that helps anyway. Master Crane was here today and I made Raulyn tell me afterward what he said, but the sum of it was nothing. Hal went out that night, and that was the last that was seen of him.“
Keeping her voice carefully level, Frevisse asked, “Who stands to gain by Hal’s death?”
Mistress Hercy had begun to take another drink of her wine but stopped, lowered the goblet, and gave Frevisse a sharp, fixed, dry-eyed look before answering, “You’re the first to say that aloud, but I’ve wondered it.”
‘He had inheritance?“
‘A goodly one. So does Lucie. She’ll have it all now.“
But she surely had not arranged her brother’s murder, so, “Who else gains?”
‘No one. Raulyn was granted wardship of t
he children and their property when he married Pernell.“ A London citizen’s orphans coming by law into the London council’s care, their wardships were kept or granted as seemed best and usually to their mother’s new husband if she married again. ”That’s unlikely to change, so no one gains there, though Raulyn has lost what he would have made from Hal’s marriage.“ Since money tended to change hands between the buyer and seller of an heir’s marriage.
‘And if Lucie dies?“
‘Then all goes to a cousin of their father. He lives off in Leicester, hasn’t been to London in years, and so far as I’ve heard lately he’s prospering in his own right.“
Frevisse knew she had no true business asking these questions, took a deep drink of her wine to stop herself, and was saved from discovering whether she would have succeeded by voices sudden and loud in the yard below the window and Pernell immediately crying out in alarm, “What is it?”
Mistress Hercy was already on her feet, making haste across the room to the other window, saying soothingly as she went, “It’s just…” She reached the window and leaned out the better to see and hear, and her voice sharpened. “It’s Master Bocking and Master Weir. They’re…”
The Sempster's Tale Page 15