Masques of Gold (33 page)

Slowly Lissa had gone down the rest of the stairs. She had stood indecisively in the shop for a few minutes, then finally stepped to the door and told Paul that she did not want to be troubled with customers unless death would follow her neglect. Then she went into the workroom, where a heap of celandine lay on the worktable together with a flask of very strong wine, a copper measuring cup, and a tablet of wax on which Witta, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor scrubbing the plant press, would record the mixture and the date. She sent him out to gather cowslips—it was too late in the season for cowslips and they both knew it, but Witta was glad to run off. Cleaning the press was a nuisance and pressing for juice was hard work. Lissa heard him in the back, asking Oliva for bread and cheese to take with him.

She moved around the workroom, not accomplishing anything but too restless to be quiet while she struggled with an unpleasant truth about herself. How appalling. If Justin did not resent her for the damage her father did, she would resent him. But she had no right to hurt him to save herself discomfort. Must she then agree to marry? That was mad! If she grew to hate him, would he not feel it? Would that not hurt him? Then clearly her original plan was best, not to allow her father any hold on Justin…unless Justin would not care, in which case…

With a muffled cry of frustration, Lissa looked about until she saw a crock of lilies of the valley, which had been steeping in wine for a month. She rushed to find a cloth for straining and a proper crock for the liquor. And when that was done she cleaned the press, but she could not forget her uncle's expression. Grief at having disappointed him had not outlasted the careful wringing of the cloth that held the solid remains of the lilies of the valley. Shrewd Gamel might be, Lissa told herself as she put the cloth to soak clean, but he did not understand this situation and he certainly did not understand the problems of a man and woman who had to live together day in, day out, year after year, within a circumscribed group of people.

Of course, Gamel cared little or nothing about what was thought of him—except that he was honest in business. Sudden silences among those who had been his friends could not rub his temper; contemptuous snickers behind the hand could not add shame to shame. His cargo unloaded and sold, he would be gone in a week or two. By the time the press was cleaner than it had been in years, fury against her uncle burgeoned in Lissa.

The rage lent strength to her arms as she pressed the celandine, but did not last long. The misunderstanding was not Gamel's fault. He would never have blamed her and called her cruel and dishonest if Justin had not thrust himself between them. The trouble was Justin's fault, Justin's not Gamel's!

At last there was no more to do. Lissa had cleared the workroom, heard Witta return, seen Paul and Ninias drawing in the counter and shutting the shop door. Grim-faced, Lissa climbed the stairs to the solar and got her accounts, but she could not bring herself to think about them and put them away. For a while she sat staring into the empty hearth, then paced the floor, cursing the long, long evenings of late spring. Eventually she dragged her chair to the front window and sat staring out into the street, praying that Gamel would return and say he was sorry he had been angry with her and that he forgave her. But it was Justin she saw, striding toward the house.

In the dark Justin was no more than a blacker shadow. Still, Lissa could not mistake him, and her heart first leapt and then sank. She rose to her feet when she first saw him, but when he passed the house she stood still, leaning on the chair, shaking with fear and guilt and renewed anger. When he was late he came to the front door, knowing she would be on the watch for him no matter the hour. Other times he would go around into Budge Row, where the alley that led to the back garden opened, and enter by the back door. She had time before she must face him.

When her breath came evenly, Lissa moved into the solar. She knew she should consider what to say, but her mind refused to bring a single clear thought out of the chaos inside it. Then she heard his voice faintly from the kitchen, making some remark to her servants followed by a laugh, and a burst of rage so strong overcame her that she gasped for breath. She had no awareness of the next few moments. If he talked longer to the servants, she did not know it, nor did she hear him on the stairs. He could have appeared by magic for all she knew, but suddenly he was there.

“What have you done to me, you fool!” Lissa cried. “Why did you turn my uncle against me?”

Justin stopped just inside the door and stared, then walked two steps farther into the room so he could shut the door behind him.

“If you think that I, or any man, or even God, could turn your uncle against you, you are the fool, not I,” Justin replied, but he found it difficult to meet Lissa's eyes. The full enormity of what he had done had just come to him, but then the sense of what she had said totally overwhelmed the shame he felt at having drawn a third party into their affairs, and he echoed, “Turned your uncle against you? What are you talking about? If there is one thing your uncle and I agree upon, it is that you are the most beautiful, most perfect woman in the world.”

“You convinced him that I had promised to marry you without conditions,” Lissa said, stony-faced.

“I did not tell your uncle you had agreed to marry me. Far the contrary. I told him that I wished to marry you but that I could not bring you to set a date. I told him also that I loved you and that I felt I would be a good husband for you, and I made him acquainted with my birth and with my ability to support and protect a wife.”

“Oh, innocent man,” Lissa's voice dripped poisoned honey. “I am sure you told a tale without bias—”

“No, I did not.” Justin was growing angry and his voice sharpened. “I desire you for my wife. I told the tale so that he would feel your greatest happiness and well-being would be served by becoming my wife. It so happens that I believe this to be the truth.”

“You did not care what your sad tale of woe would make him think of me. He called me cruel and dishonest. He accused me of…of toying with you for amusement. He was angry with me! He has never before been angry with me in my whole life.”

“You are being ridiculous, Lissa. Nothing could make your uncle think ill of you. Angry…well, a man might feel for another man.”

That statement reignited into a blazing fury what had been diminishing to a tearful resentment. Suddenly Lissa stood on the edge of a vast gulf with all of womankind, all scorned, all bearing bruises and scars and burdens while distantly, across the gulf, came the voices and laughter of men blaming them for all of mankind's sorrow, calling them lecherous and the fount of original sin.

“Out!” she gasped, barely able to croak out the word. “Out! Go enjoy my uncle's company. Go revile the light-minded, lighthearted whore who has wronged you so much by loving you when she should have had more sense. Out!”

“Lissa! What did I say?” Justin was startled, almost frightened, by the distortion of her face, the barely restrained violence he could sense in her.

“The truth,” she spat. “You have spoken nothing but the truth. Men, no matter how different, will always bond together to constrain a woman to their will. Now go, and do not bother to return.”

Justin stood staring and then said softly, “Lissa, you cannot mean that. I am sorry I drew Gamel into this business. Perhaps it was a mistake—”

“You do not know how great a mistake,” she said. “But I will not be forced by you and my uncle to do what I know is wrong and will only bring me—and you—more grief than we have ever known. Now get out of my house. And you can suck on this sweet comfit to take away the sour taste of not having your own way: You have taken from me the one protection I had against my father; you have left me naked to his cruelty.”

“Listen to me—” Justin began, but the look on her face stopped him, and before he could begin again she simply walked away into the bedchamber, and he heard the bar on the door go down into the slot.

Justin had taken two angry steps after her before the sound froze him in his tracks. He stopped not only because the bar made it impossible for him to force his way into the bedchamber but also because its presence, not common in a private house, recalled to him what Lissa had told him of how her mother and father lived together. One blow on that door and he would lose her forever, Justin thought, and wondered in his fury if he should do it and be done with her. The ninny, he raged, staring at the wood with eyes so hot they should have bored holes in it. If she is afraid of her father, all she need do is marry me and I will protect her. Instead she mopes and mows about my making her uncle angry—as if that will stop him from caring for her.

But the rage was only a cover for anguish and guilt. He knew that he should not have confided in Gamel or tried to win his sympathy. He should have given Lissa a chance to speak to her uncle first. However wrong she was, he had hurt and frightened her terribly and she did not deserve it. She might be silly, but she was trying to protect him—God alone knew from what. He swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. He would have to find and talk to Gamel, who would have to convince her that he would love and protect her no matter what she decided about marriage.

Justin had no trouble at all finding Gamel since he presented himself at the Steelyard at first light. That was easy enough; he had not closed his eyes all night. Still, having learned that Gamel had slept in the quarters kept for him, he waited politely until he was told that Gamel had finished breaking his fast. Then he sent in his name, and unlike certain unpleasant episodes in the past, he was taken at once to the hall and brought to the table where the ship master was toying with some ale. He was hailed with pleasure; a second alehorn was brought and filled. All went well until Justin tried to explain the mistake he had made and what he felt Gamel should do to correct it. At first Lissa's uncle was simply incredulous. He could not believe Lissa had taken his remonstrance so much to heart or that she would believe he would try to push her into a marriage that she herself did not desire.

“She told me she loved you, that she
did
wish to marry you,” he protested, slamming his alehorn down so hard half the liquid spouted out.

“She has told me the same,” Justin agreed dully, his head in his hands. “Yet she thinks she has some reason to wait—”

“Some stupidity about that snake William,” Gamel said, pouring more ale into the horn.

“Yes. She seems very much afraid of her father.”

“Afraid of William? Lissa?” Gamel laughed heartily. “He is more afraid of her than she of him. And until you began this tale, I would swear that Gerbod and I were more ruled by her than she by us. Not that we were afraid of Lissa, but she is so clever…”

He began to laugh again and spent considerable time recounting the occasions on which he had scolded Lissa for this or that and she had laughed at him and danced his words around until he seemed to be approving her. He began to think Justin's concern quite humorous and that Lissa might be playing a trick on her too-serious suitor.

“It is true enough that she does not like to be told what to do,” Gamel said, still chuckling, “and she may have decided to punish you for bringing me in to settle the matter before she was ready. But she will be sorry when she realizes that she has gone too far and hurt you. She is most tenderhearted. She was only jesting.”

Justin reached for his own ale, but his hand was shaking and he clasped both together and let the horn stand. “Gamel, I know Lissa's humor. She often teases me and never goes too far. I do not know why, but she was truly frightened by your telling her that she had been unkind and dishonest in her treatment of me.”

The sea captain was silent for a little while, and then he nodded. “She said I had called her dishonest, did she? Hmmm. If I did, I had forgotten that. Yes, she might take that to heart. We were afraid, all of us, that her father might twist her to his way of thinking. It might be that we marked her a little too deeply with a fear that we would not love her if she was not always honest.”

“God knows you have done your work well.”

“I cannot be sorry for it.” But Gamel's voice did not have its usual ring, and if Justin had known him better or even been less consumed by his own misery, he would have sensed something amiss when Gamel spoke again. “She told me the same farradiddle about William as she told you,” he said uncomfortably because he did not like to speak half-truths and Lissa had told him much more than she had told Justin. “But that cannot be the real problem.”

With the worst over, Gamel leaned forward over the table and his bass ramble became easy and as confidential as its natural volume would allow. “You have only to give William a few bruises and tell him you will break both his legs if he steps out of the straight and narrow path of virtue, and he will cause you no trouble. But Lissa knows…”

Gamel refilled his drinking horn and looked at Justin's, which was untouched. Then he looked at Justin, who was sitting with his head in his hands again, and he was moved to pity for the younger man's misery. Why had Lissa been playing this woman's game? Was it because she had tasted the joys of being a widow, of having complete power over her own life and money? His niece might not wish to yield that up even to a man she loved. Gamel shook his head. She was too young to seize the bit between her teeth. She might be the best a woman could be, but she was still a woman and needed a man to rule her.

“Perhaps I am not sorry she was frightened,” he said. “I am sure she loves you but not so sure she was not testing her power over you, which is not a good thing for a woman. We have spoiled her, Gerbod and I, and my father was even worse while he was alive. She may need a little lessoning. Let her think I will withdraw my affection. She will the sooner come to heel. You can be married before I go—”

“No!” Justin exclaimed, looking up. “That would turn love to hate. It is half hate already. You did not see her face when she bade me leave. I beg you, just assure her that you will love her and protect her, no matter what she decides about our marriage. If you cannot do that, do not speak to her of it at all. Forget it. Pretend that I do not exist. Gamel,” he said desperately, “I will not marry Lissa by force.”

“Force! Do not be ridiculous! She said she wishes to marry you. She gave her word, which must be her bond.”

“Marriage is not a business contract.”

Gamel looked at Justin in blank surprise. “What are you talking about? Of course marriage is a contract, and sanctioned by the Church and the law.”

“Gamel!” Justin cried. “Do you know your niece at all? You will destroy us. She will hate me until she dies if you make her choose between losing you and marrying me. I tell you she is playing no games with me. She is mistaken, but she thinks she is holding off our marriage for
my
sake, to protect me.”

That statement made Gamel look thoughtful. The truth was that he did not know his niece very well. He was in her company a few hours a day, a week or two at a time, four or five times a year. That might not be a good way to develop an intimate knowledge of a person, but some things had impressed themselves on Gamel—and the persistence of Lissa's opinions, particularly of her dislike, was one. He began to doubt the wisdom of pushing Lissa into something she did not want to do, and it crossed his mind briefly that if Justin was right, she would in the end come to hate him too.

A chasm of loss so deep he could not bear to consider it opened before Gamel's feet, and he asked, “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Only tell her you love her, that you will always love her, no matter what she does.”

“Well, that is the truth,” Gamel said and set down his alehorn. “Come, we can go now.”

***

Paul's face, frightened instead of welcoming, when he saw them was warning enough that the storm had not blown over. Before Gamel could make any suggestion, Justin said he would go up the street to the alehouse.

“If I am wanted, one of the boys can fetch me,” he said. “If I am not, you will know where to find me.”

“Surely you can wait in the shop,” Gamel rumbled.

Justin glanced sidelong at Paul and his lips twisted wryly. “I am not welcome where clients can see me. No one loves a thief taker. I drive away trade.”

He turned and walked away and Gamel, who was now beginning to feel ill-used, did not try to stop him. He pushed behind the counter and through the shop to the stairs. When he flung open the door of the solar, Lissa stood up.

“I was just making ready to come to you, uncle,” she said. Her voice shook. “I have done wrong, I confess it. I can only beg you to forgive me. I will amend it in any way I can, except that I will not marry Justin, not until my father is dead. If he still wants me then, I will marry him on any terms he names.”

“Girl…” Gamel said, but he could say no more and only opened his arms to her. She flung herself forward into them, sobbing and trembling, and he held her for a time while he mastered his voice. Then he shook her gently. “Lissa, I cannot imagine how you can be such a fool. You are all the blood that is left to Gerbod and me. How could you think I would stop caring for you for any reason? You little idiot. Did you stop caring for me when you heard things I had done that you did not like?”

She did not answer that, only asked, “What am I to do?”

“About what?” Gamel asked. “And why ask me?” he went on, half jesting and half irritated. “You will do what you like no matter what I say. You always have done.”

“Not this time, uncle,” she said. “Can you sit with me for a few minutes?”

“All day, if you like.” He went and sat in the chair, adding as Lissa carried a stool to his side and sat beside him, “I only came to see you. My cargo is mostly gone already, except what I carried for you.”

“I must ask what you think I should do about Justin.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I have done so much harm already that I cannot trust myself—”

“Oh, no,” Gamel said. “I am not fool enough to pick up the same hot coal twice. If you have something to settle with Justin, you settle it with him. I like the man. I think he would make a good husband for you, but I am not going to stand between you and get kicked by both.” He drew her to him and wiped her face roughly, then kissed her cheeks and forehead. “You are a very foolish girl, but I love you nonetheless and always will.”

On the words he stood up and went out, leaving Lissa on the stool with her head on her knees. Perhaps she had been frightened by his anger at first, Gamel thought, but she was no longer shedding those hopeless tears from any fear that he would abandon her. “Sir Justin will be coming back to see your mistress in a few minutes,” he said to Paul as he went out. “She is expecting him.”

Lissa, however, was not expecting Justin nearly as soon as he arrived. She knew she would have to face him, since Gamel had refused to be her intermediary, but she was stupid with exhaustion from a long night of regret and remorse and tears. Had she been capable of thinking, she would have realized that Justin must have spoken with Gamel to tell him what had happened. She also could have guessed that if Gamel and Justin had been together, they might come to the house together. And it was just like Gamel to leave with Paul an order she had never given.

As it was, she was still sitting with her head on her knees, wearily trying to decide whether a letter could serve her purpose or whether it would be better to go to Justin's house, when she heard a choked voice say her name.

She lifted her head. “I am so sorry, Justin.”

Her voice was raw with weeping, faint and cracked. Justin winced. In his work he had heard that kind of voice far too often from other women, women who had been misused beyond bearing one way or another. He had never thought to hear it from his own woman.

“In God's name do not beg my pardon,” he said, going down on his knees and taking her in his arms. “I swear I would have cut off my right hand rather than cause you such pain.”

“But it was my fault.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I fell in love with you. I think I loved you from that first time I saw you after the fire, but I did not know it until you came to the house that day we found Peter. That day…you were so fine and fair, and yet so kind to me. I knew I could not really have you because of my father, but I wanted you so much…so much.”

Justin could feel the little catches in her breath, the remnants of sobs that the body was too exhausted to produce. He got up, lifting her with him, and sat in the chair, holding her on his lap. “Lissa,” he said, “I am very glad you love me. Nothing else matters. We will live just as you like. Do not weep anymore, beloved. We will do just what you wish to do. But, dear heart, I do not understand…”

He did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he was afraid he did understand. He remembered his strong feeling, on the day he had been summoned to investigate Flael's death, that she was hiding something. The juxtaposition of that memory with her saying she could never really have him because of her father, together with all the other oddities—the unlikely marriage to Flael, the sudden departure of William Bowles the morning after Flael's house was ransacked, the fact that he had taken every asset he could carry and had not returned—raised a suspicion that had never entered his mind before: Had Bowles caused Flael's death?

Without conscious thought, he continued to comfort Lissa, striving to put aside his shock and horror. Nothing Bowles had done was Lissa's fault; nonetheless, if he was found to be a murderer, his property would be stripped from him and—and that of his family might be attached also. So
there
was the danger Lissa saw in marriage and from which she wished to protect him. But he would have taken her penniless, and gladly, and she must know it, so that was ridiculous—or was it? From the first Lissa had been aware that he had political enemies. If it became known that his wife's father was a murderer, that knowledge could be a nasty weapon.

Only that question was dead now. By the crown officer's decision Flael had not been murdered, so there was no longer any danger of confiscation of property. And Lissa still resisted marriage…of course, because that news would reach her father sooner or later and he would come home. Yet Gamel said she was not afraid of Bowles; Gamel had been utterly contemptuous of Bowles's physical courage and indicated that Lissa was too. In any case, Justin thought, she must know he could protect her physically, so there was something about Bowles he had not yet penetrated. Justin bent his head and kissed Lissa's hair.

If Bowles was a murderer, whether or not the crime could be fixed on him, he needed more consideration as a father-by- marriage than Justin had been willing to give him in the past. Perhaps Lissa was not the fool he had called her over and over, and it was better they should not be indissolubly bound before Bowles showed his face in London again. Then, Justin thought, he would be able to see for himself whether marriage was wise or not. As he made that decision, Justin could not help feeling a flicker of relief, which was immediately followed by a stab of shame. His hands tensed as fury touched him because he had been tempted by Bowles's evil to go back on a promise, but that too was not Lissa's fault. Justin buried both shame and relief in the darkest corner of his soul and turned his full attention to soothing her.