15 The Sempster's Tale Read online

  Her mind was jerked elsewhere by Dame Frevisse asking Daved, “How is it with Mistress Grene?”

  Anne knew she should have asked that at first seeing him and was ashamed as Daved answered gravely, “Much as you might expect. Mistress Hercy does what she can, but how much can be done against such a grief?”

  ‘What of Lucie?“ Anne asked, bringing a filled cup to him.

  ‘I think she still only half-believes it’s true.“

  ‘Is anyone doing anything for Mistress Hercy?“ Dame Frevisse asked.

  ‘She cares for herself by taking care of others, I think.“

  Dame Frevisse nodded understanding of that likelihood. Anne sat down with her own drink and a little silence fell among them, Dame Frevisse looking down into the cup in her hands resting on her lap, Anne looking at Daved, Daved looking at Dame Frevisse. Anne knew his face well enough to know he was thinking of something more than just the moment, but she had no guess what before he said quietly, “Dame Frevisse.”

  She raised her gaze to him, her look as quiet as his voice.

  ‘About the duchess of Suffolk’s gold,“ Daved said.

  Anne drew in a sharp breath, but Dame Frevisse only said, “Yes?”

  Daved slightly smiled. “You already thought I had something to do with it?”

  ‘Given one thing and another, it seemed likely. And the more likely when I met you here today.“

  Daved’s smile deepened. “All our hope for secrecy seems to have been as undone by Jack Cade as the king has been. I came here today, yes, to give Mistress Blakhall the last of the gold.”

  Hurt twisted in Anne. She had thought it was for her alone he’d come.

  ‘The trouble is,“ said Dame Frevisse, ”that I haven’t even taken the second one. I’m here for it today. And now you say there’s a third.“

  ‘The last. But I fear you’ll have to take both today.“

  He began to unfasten his doublet. Anne rose and went to the chest beside the door. By the time she returned with the purse from there, Daved had brought out another one and was giving it to Dame Frevisse, who took it without pleasure, looked at the one that Anne laid on her lap beside it, and said, even-voiced, “I’m not happy about this.”

  ‘None of us are,“ Daved answered.

  They sounded so alike that Anne suddenly wondered what things the nun, like Daved, kept hidden behind quietness.

  Then Dame Frevisse looked up at Daved and surprisingly smiled. “At least you’re quit of it. You can be glad of that.”

  He matched her smile. “I promise you I am.” He made a slight bow to both her and Anne. “Now, by your ladies’ leave, I must go about my other business.”

  Despite the sharp cut of her disappointment, Anne said evenly, “I’ll see you to the door.” Hopeful of another moment alone with him.

  ‘My thanks, but no,“ he said. ”You have your other guest.“ And he bowed to them again and left, leaving Anne bereft of even a final touch of his hand.

  Chapter 14

  Frevisse, watching Mistress Blakhall watch Master Weir leave, thought they would do well to be seen together as little as possible. With what she had seen yesterday and Mistress Blakhall’s many small betrayals today, her guess was strengthened that they were more familiar with each other than outwardly admitted. How much “familiar” was not her business, she firmly told herself and held up the two purses of gold and asked, “Can you help with this again?”

  Mistress Blakhall readily fetched a large scrap of heavy cloth and a length of thick cord from a basket near the window seat and sat down beside her sewing basket to begin cutting a circle from the cloth, asking while she did, “Are you still wearing the other?”

  ‘It’s safe in St. Helen’s,“ Frevisse said. Empty, she did not add, and the coins spread under unbound pages of books in the box strapped shut and put under her bed.

  ‘That’s to the good. You’d be more than a little burdened otherwise.“

  ‘The thought of it all is burden enough.“

  ‘True.“ Mistress Blakhall paused to push a straying wisp of hair from her damp forehead out of sight under her wimple before choosing a needle and threading it.

  Watching as she began deftly to stitch along the folded-over edge of the cloth, Frevisse asked, “This Master Weir. ”Won’t his coming here so often—three visits near together to bring this gold—raise talk among your neighbors?“

  Mistress Blakhall’s hands did not falter. She went on working her needle quickly in and out while answering easily, “He’s been here sometimes before now. It’s known I buy Paris-spun gold thread from him. Some kinds of better silk thread, too, at a better price than I’d have from a draper or mercer. It’s a kindness he does me because he knew my father. The neighbors talk, but their talk is something I live with anyway, being a woman living alone and working my own way in the world.”

  ‘You prefer that to marrying again?“ Frevisse asked mildly.

  ‘I do.“ Mistress Blakhall paused her sewing and looked up. ”Another man so good and loving as my husband was would be hard to find, and since God has seen fit to give me such skills that I need not marry from necessity, I’ve chosen not to. I’ve come to like my life as a ’woman alone.‘ “ She went back to stitching. ”Will you leave London now you have all the gold?“

  ‘If it’s at all possible, we’ll be away on the next upriver tide.“

  ‘Will that be safe if there are rebels to the west, the way rumor is running?“

  ‘We can only wait for better word or else take our chance,“ Frevisse said calmly. And did not add the question large in her own mind: How safe was London going to stay? Gates and bridges depended on people’s willingness to keep them shut, and from what she had heard, London’s willingness had begun to waver. Master Naylor had been disappointed to the edge of anger today that Dame Clemens was willing to go out of St. Helen’s with her again; had insisted he and Dickon both accompany them and was downstairs now, waiting with undoubted restlessness to be away, both from here and London. With that thought, Frevisse said, ”Concerning the cloth for the vestments. May I simply give you leave to choose such as you deem best for the work and recommend you have it from Master Grene?“

  ‘That would serve well.“

  And both she and Master Grene would play straight in the matter, Frevisse thought, because the duchess of Suffolk was a woman only fools would try to cheat, and why do so when her future favor would be worth far more than some present small gain?

  Mistress Blakhall had finished her stitching, was beginning to work the cord through the cloth’s folded-over edge to become a drawstring.

  Frevisse watched in silence, and when Mistress Blakhall gathered the cloth on the cord, completing the bag, Frevisse gave over the two purses. Mistress Blakhall put them into the bag and helped Frevisse put the cord around her neck under the concealing folds of her wimple. The weight was doubled from last time but again, with the purse slipped inside her gown, nothing showed, and Mistress Blakhall gave a sigh of relief much like the one Frevisse supposed she’d give, too, once she was as quit of the gold as Mistress Blakhall now was.

  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 do
wn.” 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 steadily 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, an
d 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.