by Toni Mount
The final document was a later deed, transferring ownership by the heirs of the aforementioned Walter Marley of a plot of land adjacent to the first property. This was a recent document – no subterfuge required to make it appear ancient, dated to the eighth year of our present King Edward’s reign: 1468. It purported to be witnessed by the lord mayor, Ralph Verney, who signed himself as holder of that office, and both his sheriffs: William Constantine and Henry Waver. But I knew Ralph Verney, he being Kate’s uncle. He and the named sheriffs had indeed held office in the same year but in 1465, if my memory served me correctly.
My work completed, I realised I had not been offered so much as a cup of water throughout my hours of toil. I was thirsty, indeed. I left my uncomfortable seat to stretch the knots from my spine. Turning, I saw Geoffrey Wanstead had not departed but was slouched upon a book chest in the corner, sound asleep. On the floor by his feet was a jug of wine and an empty cup. What a selfish oaf! I crept close and helped myself to the wine.
‘To whom should I apply for the reckoning for my services?’ I asked loudly, rattling the pewter jug and cup together.
He awoke suddenly, looked about, wide-eyed and blinking like a startled owl.
‘What? You haven’t finished yet.’
‘I most certainly have. I made detailed notes for you on every document I found to be untrue. Seven of them all together. I have set them aside for you. Upon Saturday, we agreed a halfpenny per document…’
‘Oh, you remembered that well enough, though you forgot to come this morn, as arranged.’ He snatched the wine cup from me and drank what drink remained.
‘I had much upon my mind, made my apologies and completed the task in one day, as demanded of me – all nine-and-twenty documents. Now I be weary and would have the monies owed: fourteen pence and one halfpenny, by my reckoning,’ I said, emboldened by the parlous condition of my purse.
‘I will deduct a ha’penny since you helped yourself to wine without permission.’
‘I have laboured eight hours without refreshment. What do you expect of me? I would have asked, had you not been sleeping.’
‘Wait here. Don’t touch anything – especially not my wine. I’ll fetch your payment and be done with you.’
Wanstead left. I resumed the wobbling stool and waited. And waited. The ill-mannered wretch was taking his own good time. My belly rumbled and my mouth felt parched.
Eventually, he returned, a small money bag in one hand and a paper in the other.
‘Sign this receipt,’ he ordered.
‘I shall see the coin afore I do, sir.’ I liked this fellow less with every minute that passed.
He muttered something about ‘accursed scriveners’ but emptied the money onto the board.
‘Count it, if you must, but hasten. I am taking supper with the bishop, shortly.’
I counted the coins. They were correct in number: fourteen pence, less a halfpenny for my solitary mouthful of wine.
‘These are not acceptable.’ I slid three coins towards him. ‘They be counterfeit. I have seen their like of late. They be of tin mostly, not silver as the sterling coins of the realm must be.’
‘Don’t be absurd. They come from Bishop Kempe’s coffers. How dare you insinuate…’
‘I insinuate naught but state the true fact, sir: these coins be faked. I refuse to accept them as payment.’
‘Take them or be damned.’
‘Nay. If I take them, they shall be presented to the city bailiff first thing in the morn, and he shall be told how I came by them. By midday, the lord mayor will know of the bishop’s – or your – involvement in spreading counterfeit coins about the city. ’Tis a treasonous act, as you be aware, no doubt. Now pay me with true coins or matters could become embarrassing…’
Wanstead went to his own purse and took out a few pennies to sort through.
‘By the Rood! I’ve got two of those shiny things here also. What do I do about that? I’ve been cheated by some tradesman or other.’
‘I suggest you check the bishop’s coffers and your own and take any dubious coins directly to Guildhall. Only in that way can you avoid any accusation of spreading false monies.’
‘But where are they coming from? Who is putting them about?’
‘I know not. Now… the three pence you owe me? I would have them afore I leave.’
Wanstead sighed, added three good coins of his own and replaced the total of fourteen pence back in the bag.
‘Take it. Sign the receipt and go! Be gone, you caitiff.’
Caitiff? I could have him for a slanderer, calling me a base and despicable fellow. But I was beyond caring, wrote S.F. upon the paper and departed, glad to breathe the cool air outside. My headache was now of such proportions, my head felt to be the size of one the boulders I had drawn, about to be slung by the trebuchet.
Chapter 13
Monday eve
The Foxley House
At home, not only was my dinner waiting, long gone cold upon the hearthstone but, had I returned any more tardily, my supper would have been sitting beside it.
‘Oh, Seb, I was becoming so worried,’ Rose greeted me, concern writ clear in her eyes. ‘You must be so hungry. What shall I serve you? Shall I warm your dinner over a pan? Or shall you have supper whilst it’s yet hot? Everyone else has eaten.’
‘Just supper and little of it, Rose. My head be thumping and plaguing me so. If you have a remedy to hand, I should be grateful.’
‘My poor Seb. You look that worn. I’ll prepare some meadowsweet for you.’
I admit I did no justice to the bacon and pease pottage the dear lass set afore me. But the ale and the remedy both I drank down swiftly. The noise that Kate and Nessie were making, clattering pots as they washed them, proved beyond bearing.
‘I shall seek my bed, Rose, rest whilst the remedy goes to work. I fear I be fit for naught else.’ I went to the foot of the stair.
‘Don’t go to your bedchamber, Seb.’
‘Oh? Why ever not, pray?’
‘Your brother and Chesca are there, making full use of your bed, by the sound of it.’
I had heard no such sounds but neither was I paying attention to much besides my indisposition. I sighed.
‘What of Adam’s chamber? Do not tell me Ralf has retired and be snoring already.’
‘Nay, not retired but he and Jonathan Caldicott are playing Nine-Men’s-Morris there. They seem to have formed a friendship.’
‘They had better not be gambling under my roof, not after Jonathan borrowed the money from me to pay his rent.’
‘You lent that man money? Whatever were you thinking? You know silver runs through our neighbour’s fingers like water through a sieve.’
For a moment, it was as if Em had returned to scold me. The hairs prickled upon my neck and I shuddered. Her voice was so like…
I shook myself free of the memory.
‘I know… but I was perplexed… unable to see any other means of persuading him to leave the shop. It was a mistake. I suppose I must content myself now with my palliasse on the workshop floor.’
‘Adam’s working there, making rapid progress on the Vegetius.’
‘The settle in the parlour then, too short though it be…’
‘Or you could use the bed Kate and I sleep on. We’ll not be using it for an hour or two.’
‘My thanks. A few hours should see my head restored.’ I did as Rose suggested. Little Dickon was slumbering like an angel in his cradle at the foot of the bed, thumb in mouth. I removed my boots then lay, yet dressed, upon the coverlet, grateful for the soft pillows. I was somewhat aware that Gawain came to lie at my side but sleep claimed me after that.
Some while later, Rose awakened me with a gentle touch upon my arm.
‘Seb? It’s nigh time for Kate and me to come to bed.’
‘
Eh?’ I rubbed sleep away with my knuckles.
‘You’re in our chamber…’
‘Oh, aye. I recall now.’
‘Are you feeling any better?’
I sat up, thought upon the matter, collecting my wits. The headache was no more.
‘Much improved. I thank you. Come, Gawain, off the bed, you idle beast.’ I pulled on the boots I had discarded anyhow a while since. ‘What hour is it, Rose?’
‘Ten of the clock just gone. St Martin’s bell chimed before I woke you.’
‘How rude of me to keep you from your rest. Forgive me. I knew not how long I slept.’
‘You were in need. I could see that. Was your work for the bishop so taxing?’
‘Nay, but hard upon the sight. And naught to drink all the while did not help. Then that fellow Wanstead attempted to pay me with some forged coin. I was having none of that and told him so right plainly but it all took time.’
‘Did he give you proper coin after?’
‘Eventually.’
‘Seb, we need to speak of money, you and me. Not now. The morn will be soon enough. But we must discuss the matter, privily.’
‘Be there a problem, lass? Is the glover not paying you fairly for your beautiful work? I shall have words with him, if ’tis the case.’
‘It has naught to do with him. But the morrow will suffice to speak of it. God keep you this night, Seb.’
‘And you, dearest lass.’ I kissed her forehead and departed, finding Kate upon the stair. ‘God bless you, Kate. Sleep sound.’
‘You too, master.’ She was giggling as I went down to the kitchen, hungry, despite the lateness of the hour.
I lit a taper from the banked embers of the fire that I might see what I was about. The house was quiet. Grayling, our mouser, stretched before the hearth, yawning hugely, the way cats do. I found my dinner platter upon a shelf, covered with a cloth. My appetite was such that I could not be bothered to stoke the fire to life, heat water and warm the food, so I ate it cold, sharing the cheese dumplings with Gawain. The cat regarded me with hopeful eyes but if she was hungry, there was a mouse behind the wainscoting in the parlour I had heard of late, scrabbling around.
Having eaten, I felt alert, too much awake to sleep again, as yet. Since I was once more destined to lie upon the palliasse in the workshop to pass the night, I would go there now, to avoid disturbing Nessie in her chimney-corner bed, taking the candle.
The guild forbade working by candlelight and rightly so as no man could do full justice to his craft by an uncertain, flickering flame. Thus, I dared not work upon the king’s commission but I could find other matters to occupy a mind not yet inclined to rest. I took out the notes I had made at Guy Linton’s place, remembering there to be a puzzle I thought to unravel. Was it truly only upon Thursday last? It seemed so long ago that I made these scribblings, recording the oyster shells, lined up by a dying man’s left hand, each containing a pigment, ready for a painting he would ne’er execute. I was certain they held some hidden meaning, a message I should comprehend yet had failed to do so, thus far, at least. I had written:
Right to left, dragon’s blood, realgar, azurite, lapis lazuli and another lapis, a second shell of azurite (somewhat spilt), malachite and crimson lake.
‘Why so much blue?’ I had made a note to myself. ‘Red, tawny, blue x 4, green and red.’
Guy Linton was right-handed, I knew that, but must have arranged the shells left-handedly. I thought about it, wondering how I might manage if forced to do likewise. I picked up a piece of charcoal and attempted to write my name. I discovered it was easier, if I made the letters backwards. It was also better to make the marks from right to left, to avoid smudging what was already written. Somehow, it felt more natural. Could Guy have left his message in backwardwise? I rewrote the list in reverse order. It made no more sense than afore. Then it occurred to me of a sudden: d-o-g. Kate had laughed, seeing I had spelt a word upon the miniature of the trebuchet, whereas I was indicating the pigments to be used in the customary manner. What pigments had Guy lined up? Crimson lake, malachite, azurite, lapis lazuli (twice), azurite, realgar, dragon’s blood. Then I wrote them as I would have done to indicate pigments to be used: C-L, M, A, L, L, A, R, D-B. Ignoring the final letter B, Guy had spelt out a name: C Mallard. It could not be a coincidence and it explained the use of the blue pigments more than once each.
I had solved the puzzle. But what did it mean? Was Clement Mallard, the vintner, Guy’s killer? Or had he paid others to do the deed? Or was he the reason or cause behind Guy’s death? If so, did the like apply to Philip Hartnell’s murder also? Did the cutler have any connection to Clement Mallard? For all that I seemed to have unravelled one mystery, its solution but served to raise a number of new queries in its place. Upon the morrow, I needs must inform Thaddeus of my discovery, that he and his constables could question Mallard. I would be interested to hear his answers.
Tuesday, the twenty-second day of June
The Foxley House
We had broken our fast and I was preparing to go to Guildhall, to tell Bailiff Turner of my deductions, when Rose caught at my sleeve.
‘Seb, when I collected the eggs this morn, I saw something amiss with the henhouse. Before you leave, I think you should take a look. Come, I will show you.’ She led me out of the kitchen, across the yard, beyond the pigsty to the garden plot. There she stopped, beside the lavender bushes.
I walked on, towards the henhouse and the ivy-draped privy at the farthest end of the plot.
‘You said aught was amiss with the henhouse,’ I queried.
Rose shook her head.
‘The henhouse is as it should be. But I would speak with you, Seb, where none else can hear.’
‘Oh? There be some matter causing you concern, lass? Tell me.’
‘Firstly, I would apologise for yesterday. I had not the right to speak to you as I did.’
I frowned and shook my head, recalling no offence.
‘I scolded you for lending money to Jonathan Caldicott. ’Tis not my place to speak to you in that manner. A wife may have the right but I do not. Please forgive me. I will guard my tongue in future.’
‘Ah, Rose. Think naught of it. You were correct in all you said. I was foolish to give him so much as a farthing. I shall ne’er see it returned. Forget it.’ I made to go back towards the house.
‘Seb, you are kind to forgive me but there is another matter, concerning money. I don’t want to speak of it but can see no other way. I apologise for it before I ask…’
‘Ask for what, Rose? Do not fear.’
‘Since Emily passed to God – may her soul rest in peace…’ Rose made the sign of the Cross, as did I. ‘…I have been using the money she’d earned and put by in the cracked jug upon the larder shelf to feed us. I have also spent the few pence I’ve earned from the glover. But since your brother and Chesca came and I bought wine for her… the jug is empty. I need to ask you, Seb, for money to go marketing. The larder is quite empty.’
I laughed, embarrassed at my own thoughtlessness.
‘Oh my sweet Rose. What an inconsiderate churl I be not to have thought to give you money.’ I embraced her. ‘You should not be reluctant to ask, neither spend your own coin upon the household. In truth, the other Saturday, when I did the accounting, I wondered why our coin purse was over-filled, that we had spent so frugally, yet our board was generous as ever. I ne’er realised Em hid her own monies separately.’
‘Aye, that’s what has kept us fed since Eastertide. I knew of the jug in the larder. She told me of it, saying you knew not that it existed.’
‘I did not. But I will share the secret of our household finances with you, Rose. ’Tis only right since you perform the office of Mistress of the House. There be a loose brick to the right-hand side of the parlour chimney, halfway up. Lift it out and a leather bag lies hid behind it. Do not go
there now. Wait until the house be quiet. I would not have them all learn of it. But here, you require coin now for marketing…’ I took from my purse most of the money Geoffrey Wanstead had paid me yestereve. ‘Take this but look closely upon any change given you by the traders. There be counterfeit coins about in the city.’
‘How shall I know them?’ Rose took the pennies I offered.
‘They be… well… more silvery than true silver, shinier. And weigh lighter. If you drop a true coin, it rings, bell-like, but the fake coins sound dull. They be harder to dent with your teeth than proper sterling silver forwhy, so I was told, according to the goldsmiths, they have a little copper added. You must refuse to accept them or, if the trader denies you, take them straight to Guildhall. Otherwise, ’tis a crime to pass them on, knowingly.’
‘I’ll be careful, Seb, and thank you for being so understanding.’
‘’Tis I should be grateful to you, Rose, managing to keep us all fed for so long on so little coin without complaint. I ne’er realised.’
‘In truth, Seb, there was quite a lot of money in Em’s jug and I’m not sure she didn’t have more hidden elsewhere. Her business was proving most prosperous. More than she told you, I suspect. She called it her ‘ransom’. I don’t know what she meant by that. But, anyhow, purchasing wine for your brother’s wife took the last of it. ’Tis gone now.’
‘Her ransom? How strange.’ I turned aside. ‘I must be away to Guildhall myself, now, Rose. Last night, I solved part of the puzzle concerning Guy Linton and needs must inform Bailiff Turner of my deductions. I intend to be back afore dinner.’
As I walked along Paternoster Row and into Cheapside, I thought deeply upon Rose’s words. Ransoms were for the purchasing of freedom, were they not? Had Em been intending to escape our marriage, somehow? It was a dreadful thought that oppressed my heart with sorrow. Had my wife, whom I adored, loathed me so very much? I could not help that my eyes pricked with salt tears.