Masques of Gold (22 page)

“You will ruin us,” Lissa said, but she sounded and felt uncertain.

Perhaps there was no danger in what her father was doing. One of Lissa's hands crept up to touch her lips. He was not the kind of man to expose himself to danger, if his greed did not blind him to it. And he had been afraid when she first spoke of treason; but when she asked how he knew FitzWalter, he had recovered immediately. Could that not mean that, by being reminded of the person who had introduced him, he had been reassured that his business for Lord Robert was not treasonous? Lissa, who had been frowning into nothing, now glanced upward quickly. Her father's expression confirmed her opinion that there was nothing more she could do to change his mind now. She would have to raise the subject again once she was in the house. If she pricked his pride, he might let slip more information so she could judge whether what he had agreed to do was truly innocent.

William had been watching her while she sat with one hand to her lips and a worried frown wrinkling her brow; he was thinking sourly that Heloise was looking for a way to cause trouble. But when he caught the flicker of her eyes to him and then away, a look he thought of as sly, it occurred to him that she might be worried because she feared she had already talked too much, and he asked sharply, “How do you know so much about Lord Robert?”

Tears stung in Lissa's eyes as a vivid memory rose of that evening when Justin had talked about FitzWalter. She might never have the joy of that kind of companionship of mind and body again because the first aim of her life must be to keep her father from gaining a hold on Justin. His question had startled her, and she had no ready answer, but she was determined never to mention Justin's name to him again.

William came closer and seized her arm. “I asked you how you knew so much about Lord Robert,” he repeated.

She bit back a cry—he had grabbed her bruised left arm and hurt her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it—and pushed him away hard. He released her, knowing the limits she would allow before defending herself so violently and viciously that she frightened him. It was a game he often played, taking pleasure in the small but constant pain he inflicted on her, knowing she was too proud to complain to her uncles over a minor misery. This time, however, her eyes were strange when she looked at him, and he backed away farther than he intended.

“I have to know,” William said, turned half away from her, his voice defensive now. “Where you learned so much about Lord Robert might be important. Have you been asking questions about him? Did Peter speak of him?”

“Women talk,” Lissa said, looking down at the fire.

“Oh, court gossip.” William was relieved. “And speaking of court ladies, you have just reminded me that Lady Margaret de Vesci came by the shop this very morning asking for the creams you make for her, and we had none to sell her. You must come back at once and begin to prepare a new batch. I said you would bring them to her on Monday.”

“I cannot come today,” Lissa said, barely keeping herself from sobbing, knowing that she could not dare let Justin come to her father's house at all and that she would somehow have to explain that to him. “I am too hurt and too weary. I will come tomorrow.”

“If the creams are not done in time, on your head be the blame,” William said lightly. “You will have to carry your own explanation and excuses to Lady Margaret. I will not be home on Monday. By then I should be far north as York.”

Lissa, who had been staring dully down at her fingers in her lap, looked up, eyes wide. “York?” she repeated.

“What the devil ails you?” William snarled. “And do not begin to warn me against Lord Robert. You accursed idiot, once he had singled me out, do you think I could have refused him even if I had wished to do so? I told you I had to go north.”

“It had gone out of my head,” Lissa admitted. “I will come home tomorrow without fail.” She hesitated then, unwilling to take the chance that she would miss seeing Justin, whose rigid sense of duty might keep him in Peter's house long past a reasonable time to visit in the evening. “But not until after dinner, I am afraid,” she went on. “If you are to be in York by…No, York by Monday is impossible. Even if you were to ride like the devil—”

“No, no,” William said hastily. Since he had never intended to go as far north as York, he had not considered traveling time to that place. “I am going to York, but I do not have to be there on any particular day.”

“Thank God for that,” Lissa said, not wishing to seem eager to be rid of him for fear he would stay at home two weeks just to spite her. “We will have to settle the accounts and see about trade goods and coin for your journey. And there must be a way to keep your name and FitzWalter's separate. There is money enough? You have not done any heavy buying since I have been gone, have you?”

“Do not be stupid,” William snapped. “What is there to buy in winter?”

Lissa detected the uneasy tone in William's voice, but she associated that with her remark about FitzWalter, and she was too absorbed in her own happy visions of the immediate future to look further for a reason. And when her father growled that he had better go before her protectors came back and drove him out, she was too glad to be rid of him to find his behavior different from normal. His quick departure was not out of character. From his point of view, he had got his way. She had agreed to come back to live in his house and take care of the business. Lissa uttered a soft, choked laugh that was half sob. If only he had told her honestly in the beginning that he had to leave London and she had known she would be alone in the house and could invite Justin, she might have agreed at once—or would she?

The exhilaration that had lent her strength when she realized her father was going away had disappeared and left her more exhausted than ever. She levered herself out of the chair and tottered across the room to where the cot she had slept in stood. Carefully, because her left side throbbed and felt swollen, as if it would burst and bleed if she struck it, she eased herself down on the cot. Once she closed her eyes, even pain could not keep her awake.

Twice Lissa was aware of a disturbance, of a kind voice urging her gently to wake, but she shrank away from physical pain and from nagging worry and sank back into the warm dark of rest. The third time she heard the voice she was near waking, recognized that it was Adela speaking to her, and opened her eyes. The room was bright with sunlight, and she was terribly hungry.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I am afraid I have slept the whole day away.”

“Very nearly,” Adela agreed, smiling at her. “All of yesterday anyway. We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I am very sorry. I have been a dreadful guest.”

Adela laughed. “Not at all. You have been very quiet, not demanding at all.” The sharp lines of merriment in her face changed to softer ones of pleasure and relief. “But to speak the truth, I am very glad to see you so alert. I had a cousin who was struck on the head while tilting. He fell unconscious, but when he came to himself he seemed quite well. Yet later, at the evening meal, he fell down suddenly—and he never could be waked. Some said he was ensorcelled, but there was no one who had a spite for him and no witch nearby.” She sighed. “I could not help thinking of it when we could not wake you and I had let you persuade me to allow you to go out.”

“Perhaps I should not have done that,” Lissa admitted, taking Adela's hand. “It did make me very tired. But I really had to speak to Sir Justin. You see, Goscelin believes the damage done to Peter's house was done out of hate. I cannot say there was no hate behind it, but I felt whoever did it was searching for something. I did not wish to contradict Goscelin in his own house and—and going out has done me no lasting harm, I am sure, because I am starving, and one is never hungry when one is really ill.”

“True enough,” Adela said briskly, squeezing Lissa's hand and then removing her own. “Now shall I bring you something to eat in bed?”

“I would rather get up, please,” Lissa answered. It was true, but she also thought it would make less trouble for Adela's maid. She was well aware that her reason for wanting to speak to Justin was not the most convincing excuse ever offered and, feeling uneasy, babbled on. “I am glad I fell asleep in my clothes and do not need to dress. I seem to have slept away my tiredness, but I am so stiff I am sure dressing would have taken a long time. And I promised my father that I would be home soon after dinner.”

She saw the flash of curiosity in Adela's eyes, but she dared not tell Adela about her father's employment by FitzWalter. Simultaneously, Lissa could not bear to seem coldly unresponsive in exchange for the warm support she had been given. What she must do, she knew, was offer as a diversion a subject that Adela would find much more interesting than William Bowles's reasons for wanting to speak privately to his daughter.

“I must go home,” Lissa said. “I could have Peter's house repaired, but Justin said I must not live alone there.” She used Justin's name without his title deliberately. Adela did not acknowledge this “slip” by so much as a flicker of an eyelid, but Lissa was sure her hostess was too practiced in her woman's skill to miss the use. “He thinks,” she went on smoothly, “that the men who stunned me and let me live will begin to have second thoughts and fear I will recognize them in some way. I do not want to go, but I cannot act the fool. But it will be very hard for Justin to come to the house of William Bowles.”

“Aha!” Adela exclaimed triumphantly. “I
thought
there was something very strange about the way Sir Justin kept asking Goscelin questions about you.” She looked eagerly into Lissa's face and dropped her voice confidentially. “Does he know he desires you yet?”

“Yes, but I am afraid he does not like it yet,” Lissa replied just as softly but with a much merrier expression. “I do not think he has any plans to marry.”

Adela nodded slowly, giving no indication that she echoed Lissa's amusement. Marriage was a serious matter to her and had only marginal relevance to the feelings of the man and woman involved.

“There is no real reason why Justin should marry,” she said thoughtfully.

“Hush!” Lissa hissed. “I do not think we should talk about this.”

“Whyever not?” Adela asked. “I am sure you are eager to know his situation, and it is right that you should. He is a hard man. Goscelin says he is just, and he may be just among men, but that does not mean he would be just to a woman. He might use you—” She saw then the way Lissa was looking over her shoulder into the solar and smiled. “Oh, we are quite alone. Goscelin has finished breaking his fast and has gone down to the shop. I thought I would let you sleep.” Then she patted Lissa's cheek. “No, the truth is I wanted to have a free hand for a little while if I could not wake you easily, and I did not want Goscelin to know if you woke up muddled in the head.”

“I am sorry I caused you so much worry.”

Adela gestured that away as unimportant and said, with considerable relish, “Never mind that. You want to know about Sir Justin. Well, his elder brother, who inherited the father's lands and the title of baron has, I believe, three sons and two daughters. And I have heard that Justin is much attached to his cousins, the late mayor's sons. So he does not lack a choice of heirs.” She paused and her lips quirked. “How interesting. That does not trouble you at all, my dear, does it?”

“Why should it?” Lissa asked. “I do not care about Justin's estate. I am well able to provide for myself and even for any children I might have.”

There was a moment's silence while Adela considered that. “I am not sure whether to be horrified or to envy you,” she said. “Even if I had not married into a craft and come to live in a city where most of my training is useless, it is almost impossible for a woman to hold her own land. A craft, however…Still, that is not to the point except to make me wonder all the more why you want Sir Justin of all men.”

“Because you are wrong about him,” Lissa said, smiling. “He is not hard, at least, not as you mean it. He will do his duty at any cost to himself, that is true, but he is really very good. Have you not noticed that he looks blackest and most grim when he is praised or offered a kindness?” She chuckled. “He cannot bear it! Poor man. He becomes embarrassed and has not the slightest notion of how to accept a compliment, so he growls to warn away such dreadful threats to his peace.”

“Hmmm.” Adela still did not wish to encourage Lissa to attach herself to a man she thought of as covered in blood, but what the girl had said rang surprisingly true. Still, in Adela's opinion, men got what they could for as little as they could. If Lissa was set on the man—and perhaps he would be a good husband—then the girl should not be deceived and done out of her rights as a wife with a tale of starving relatives.

“Of course,” Adela went on, “there is no reason why Sir Justin should
not
marry. I do not know how the brother plans to provide for his children, but I never heard there was any lack among the FitzAilwins. Moreover the children are young and may be thinned by time. As for the cousins, I know they need no legacy. They are well-to-do and growing richer. So if Justin did take it in his head to have a wife and a family he would not be spoiling any expectations.”

“He is a long way from desiring me for a wife,” Lissa said, more hopefully than truthfully.

“I am not so sure.”

Adela suddenly remembered that she had not been much worried about Lissa until Justin had appeared the previous evening. When she said Lissa was still sleeping and she did not think the girl should be wakened to answer questions that could be answered just as well the next day, Justin had insisted on seeing her anyway. It was he who remarked on how pale she was, that she lay too quietly. At the time Adela had been very angry, thinking that he was making excuses so that she would wake Lissa to be questioned. But he had stood looking down for so long, his face without expression but his hands clasped together so tight that the knuckles showed white, that Adela had begun to think of her cousin who fell into a swoon and never awoke, and whose temple had also been deeply discolored. Now, suddenly, she began to giggle.