Masques of Gold (39 page)

“Never mind that,” Justin said harshly. “Since I did not find you lying on the floor, I assume you got up. I do not need all the little things now. I may ask about them later.”

“But I did not get up.” Lissa closed her eyes and laid her head back down on Justin's knee. “I lay there shrieking like an idiot until Ebba and Paul came in, and the boys too—oh, the poor things—and this is all, really. When I saw how much I had frightened Ninias and Witta, I stopped acting like a fool and told Paul to go get you. Ebba was not as frightened as the boys and I. She lit some candles and went to get more candlesticks. None of us wanted to be in the dark. But then I thought I would see you sooner if I waited by the window, and it was not hard at all to go through the shop.”

Justin heard the longing in those words, but all he said was, “So you saw nothing at all of the man who came into the house with your father?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you recognize his laugh?”

“No, but I should if I heard it again. It was hoarse and deep, as if it came from the bottom of a barrel.”

Justin nodded. That fit very well with his deduction of a man bigger and heavier than himself. “That may be helpful after we lay hands upon the killer, so tell me who, aside from the Chigwells, wanted William Bowles dead.”

“I did.” Lissa lifted her head and looked at Justin with wide, pleading eyes. “My father's death meant I could—could try to win you back. I did think of poisoning him, but I was afraid, not so much that I would be found out, because I am very clever in such substances, but I knew what I had done would give me no peace or rest and I would rot inside. I wanted him dead, but not by my hand or the hand of one I loved.”

“Lissa—” Justin began, intending to stop her.

She shook her head and put a finger gently on his lips. “Listen,” she said. “You may in the end decide I am lying, but it is better for me to tell you how much I wished for his death and why I did nothing. I even hid many of the little hurts he did me for fear Gamel or Gerbod would kill him. If I had thought of hiring someone I did not care about and who was already damned beyond another sin doing him harm…” She frowned, her face very intent. “I do not know. I might have…But I did not think of it, Justin. I swear I did not.”

He took her chin in his hand and laughed at her earnestness. “You are quite mad, Lissa. Most people exhaust themselves in trying to convince me that they had no reason to wish ill to the victim. I have never before had anyone explain carefully that she wanted to murder the victim and had not committed the crime merely by a slight oversight.”

“Well, you will go out and about asking questions, and you will soon discover what kind of man my father was.” She smiled faintly, and gently touched the hand that was holding her face. “I suppose I would rather have you know I thought of killing him than have you believe I felt no shame and anger at what he did. He was a liar and a cheat. He would have done much worse, except that he was too much afraid of being caught and punished.”

“Then he must have had many enemies.”

“Oh, he did, but as far as I know, none who hated him enough to kill him. The ill he did was mostly little things.” Color rose in her cheeks as she spoke. “He was more despised than hated, I think.”

“The kind of man who might ferret out secrets and make those who had them pay for his silence?”

There were tears of shame in Lissa's eyes, but she kept them on Justin's and answered steadily. “He would do it gladly, but I cannot think who would tell him a secret.”

Justin stroked her hair. “I am sorry to cause you pain, poor child, but these are things I must ask.”

“And I wish to answer, Justin.”

“I will need a list of—” Justin paused, realizing that there could be hundreds of names on the list of those a merchant would know, for good or ill. Perhaps it would be possible to shorten the list, he thought, and said, “If I tell you what I think I have discovered about the man who killed your father, will you try to match that to anyone he knew?”

“Yes, but what if I am mistaken?” she asked faintly.

“That you name a person will not convict him.” He patted her shoulder. “Besides, there cannot be very many who will fit. The man was, I think, taller than I and broader, of great strength, and—”

“Hubert de Bosco!” Lissa burst out, and then added, “But he was one of my father's friends—or, at least, my father employed him”—she looked down, then up again—“for ugly work, like collecting debts. They drank together too. Why should Hubert kill him?”

“So?” Justin nodded. “That is most interesting. With such men it is more often a quarrel among friends that breeds violence than an attack by a petty enemy. Do you know any more about this man? Where he lives—” He broke off his questioning and laughed. Lissa's hand had flown to her mouth again, a sure sign she had suddenly realized that she had said more than she should. “It is too late for second thoughts. Out with the rest of it. You have said too much to hide anything with success.”

Lissa did not answer him immediately. She had remembered her father's fear when she said she thought Hubert might be involved in Peter's death and her guess that Hubert was only the tool of someone of great power. But the effect of the intensity of her father's fear had been diluted by the passing of many months, his murder removed the reason she had had for concealing his possible knowledge about the cause of Peter's death, and she was sure Justin was astute enough politically, to use, or not use, what she would tell him to the best purpose.

“Lissa,” Justin urged in a minatory voice.

She had been looking past him and now turned her head to meet his eyes. “I will tell you everything I know now, and I hope you will not be very angry with me. I told you no lies when Peter died, but I did not tell all the truth either. I had reason to suspect that Hubert de Bosco was the man who killed Peter—”

“What?”

“Please, let me tell the whole tale, Justin. It is a very long story, and you may shout at me all you like at the end of it, but if you interrupt me each time I say what surprises you or you dislike, I will never be done.”

He stared at her, blank with rage for a moment, certain that her only purpose was to divert him from suspicion of Edward Chigwell, and then he remembered that his own first reaction had been to link Bowles's death with that of Flael. There was something else too. The name Hubert de Bosco had a familiar ring, as if he had heard it before. Justin nodded curtly.

“As you must have realized, there was something strange about my father's decision to marry me to Flael,” Lissa began, going on to point out all the anomalies about the marriage. Justin glared impatiently, having been struck by the peculiarities himself; however, when she began to describe the behavior of her father and Hubert at the wedding itself and the strange way she had been searched before she left with her husband for his estate in Canterbury, he leaned forward, listening intently.

“I had no choice but to believe that Peter had promised something to my father that he had pretended to deliver but had actually withheld—or that his sons had substituted false for true gems or something of that kind, since young Peter and Edmond were violently against the marriage from the first. You can guess then, that when Peter was found dead and, as I thought, tortured, I was frightened to death that my father had been trying to get from Peter what he was cheated of, and had gone too far.”

“So
that
was what you were hiding!” Justin exclaimed. “But why? Surely you did not think we would hang the innocent daughter with the guilty father.”

“Hang me, no. But I did fear that the court might confiscate my father's business or fine it so heavily for blood money that it would be ruined. That would have ruined me too, and it is my sweat this business has floated on for years.” Lissa put a finger on Justin's lips when she saw he was about to protest. “I might have told you anyway, but I learned before you returned to Flael's house that my father had nothing to do with Peter's death, did not even know of it until after the body was discovered. He nearly had a fit when he heard that Peter had been tortured, and I thought he would die of fright himself when, seeing he was not guilty, I told him I thought Hubert had done it, trying to get for himself what Peter had withheld.”

“Then he must have thought this Hubert guilty too. So why did you let your father's fear of the man silence you? Did you think I would have the name of my informant called aloud in the marketplace?”

“I was not concerned about that,” Lissa replied. “What held me silent was that my father was not afraid of Hubert. He was cautious in dealing with him, but no more than that. When I saw my father's dreadful terror at the idea Hubert would be exposed, I realized that there must be someone beyond Hubert de Bosco, someone with great power—”

“De Bosco,” Justin broke in. “By Christ's sweet ears, I remember where I heard that name. Hubert de Bosco is one of FitzWalter's men—a giant, but a stupid lout…”

“Perhaps—” Lissa began, but Justin was not listening and she did not continue, realizing that Justin had also made the connection among her father, Hubert de Bosco, and Lord Robert FitzWalter.

Then Justin shook his head. “No, I cannot see any reason why FitzWalter would order your father's death.”

“My father told me when he left London in February that he was going north to do business for FitzWalter,” Lissa offered.

Justin blinked, thought a moment, then shook his head again. “From what you have told me, William Bowles does not seem like a man who would dare cheat Lord Robert FitzWalter. Am I mistaken? Did he account himself so clever?”

“No. No, I cannot believe he would dare. He was a coward and took advantage only of the weak and those with no redress. And yet,” she added slowly, thinking back to her last conversation with William before he left London, “he meant some mischief. There was a kind of gloating pleasure under his talk…Still, no. I cannot believe that had anything to do with Lord Robert or my father would have been afraid also.”

After a moment's silence, Justin shrugged. “Even say your father did dare cheat him, FitzWalter would not have ordered him killed. Why should he take such a chance? All he need have done was to swear out a complaint over a crime committed on his estate. He could then have dragged your father off to Dunmow, where he could have tortured him at leisure and killed him at will.”

“Of course, that is perfectly true,” Lissa agreed heartily, not caring in the least whether it was true or not so long as Justin did not take it into his head to try to bring FitzWalter to account. “It is ridiculous to think that Lord Robert had anything to do with this. If it was Hubert with my father—they were both drunk. A quarrel could have started and Hubert struck before he thought.”

Justin raised his brows and began to say that her idea did not fit at all with her account of the laughter and the very short interval between the time the men entered the house and the time the killer went out. His remark was interrupted by a heavy pounding on the door, and he got up at once, saying over his shoulder, “That will be Halsig with my men.”

Lissa got up too, more slowly, and then hurried after him, crying, “Wait, Justin,” as she reached the landing. He was already halfway down the stair, but turned to face her as she started to come down. “You will not charge FitzWalter with this, will you?” she pleaded, and then, before he could reply, she drew a startled breath and added, “Oh, my God, it
was
Hubert in Peter's house that night. He looked short because he was below me.”

The last remark made no sense at all to Justin, and he had no intention of answering the first. He was annoyed and said, “I cannot listen now. Go back to bed. I will come tomorrow,” raising his voice as the pounding on the door began again.

“Will you dine with me?”

“I do not know. Let me go.”

He pulled away as if she were holding him, although she had not touched him except with her eyes and voice. Yet it was hard to go down the stair while she went up, and Justin had a vivid mental image of her taking candles and going into her bedchamber, wearily drawing off the bed robe…He uttered an obscenity under his breath and ran down the remaining stairs to let the men in.

Lissa looked around the shop as though she had never seen it before. All signs of her father's bloody murder, except some dark stains on the floor near the door, had been removed in several days of furious and unremitting scrubbing and whitewashing. Now the light of a brilliant October morning coming through the open windows and door lit the whole small room, reflecting back from the newly whitened walls and the highly polished counter to show the bales and boxes piled against the lower walls, the many bundles of herbs hanging from the rafter pegs, and the rows and rows of shelves, each with its line of pots or sacks. It was a perfect apothecary's shop, just what she had always dreamed of; moreover, it was all hers without debt or doubt—and it was dust and ashes in her mouth.

On the night her father was killed, she had been almost certain Justin would soon be her lover again. The pain in his eyes when he looked at her, the tenderness that kept creeping through his severity, the difficulty he had in parting from her, all cried aloud of undiminished love. But he had not returned as he had promised to speak to her the next day, and the day after that, when he had come, he had been all business, interested only in specific facts. He would not let her bring up any extraneous subject that might provide an excuse for a longer conversation. Worst of all, he had been quite cheerful. The sick longing was gone from his eyes, and he left her with a casual wave when he had his answers, without a single backward glance. And he had not returned since.

Lissa had not felt much beyond a vague worry until this morning, owing to the rush of duties that had occupied her. She had grown accustomed to being alone and had been fully occupied getting her father buried, proving his will, which she was relieved (and surprised) to discover had not been changed since he had made it under pressure from her grandfather, and applying to the master of the pepperers to be accepted into the guild in her father's place. That would take time, and she would be expected to prove herself, nor were there many other women in the pepperers guild, only two, but she was well liked. The only anxiety she felt about acceptance was opposition from Master Chigwell if he renewed his offer of marriage with Edward. She would have to refuse, and he might be angry.

There were also puzzles to occupy her mind in the odd moments when she was not directing the servants in removing signs of the murder from the shop, dismantling her father's bed, or giving the few garments William had brought back with him to the priest, who would pass them on to the deserving poor. For example, who was Amias FitzStephen? And why had her father been carrying, in a belt under his clothing, receipts made out to Amias for three-quarters of rental of a manor called Red Cliff? Why had a message of thanks come from a ship master whose home port was Haarlem and with whom Lissa knew they had never done business? And why had Master John le Spicer asked her if she was in urgent need of money and laughed when she assured him she was not?

The questions rose in her mind again, but they echoed hollowly. All they woke in her was hurt. She had savored them at first, thinking about how she would discuss them with Justin, but it seemed that Justin was no longer interested in her or in her problems. But perhaps she was losing hope too soon. Perhaps he was simply too busy to attend personally to the details of a single murder just now. Lissa had heard that King John was already back in England and was expected to come to London in the next week or two. If so, there would be a great influx of lords and ladies and their servants, and preparations would have to be made for keeping order.

If Justin was deeply involved in those preparations, he would never think of taking the time from his duties he might believe necessary to reestablish their bond. Lissa knew it would take no more than one sentence, but if he would not come near her, how was she to let him know she desired no prolonged courtship? She had no objections to Justin doing his duty; she was busier than usual herself at this time of year because every captain who could find a cargo was bringing his ship into port before the autumn storms began. Much as she loved Justin, Lissa would not want him clinging to her. She would be glad he had his own duties to occupy most of his time. Still, a man had to eat and sleep, and there was no reason why he should eat or sleep alone.

Lissa bit her lip, knowing that she was grasping at a hope founded on nothing but her desire. Nonetheless, she could not bear not knowing. If Justin truly did not want her any longer, it would be better to know. Then she could water the dust and ashes with her tears and mold a new life from the remains of the old. But if Justin would not come to her…Well then, she would go to him, but she needed some excuse. She could not simply walk into his house and say she wished to marry him now that her father was dead. A murder—Wait: The receipts made out to Amias FitzStephen would be the perfect excuse.

Before she could lose her courage or have second thoughts, Lissa ran up to the solar and put the receipts into her purse. She wiped her hands nervously on her skirt after touching them. The outside of the parchment was stained with blood that had seeped through a tear in the soft oiled-leather belt her father had worn under his clothes. The stains were long dried, and wiping her hands was silly, but Lissa could not help it. Yet for all her horror of her father's murder, it was easier to think of that than of what she was about to do.

She was not the kind to shrink from a truth that, however painful, would free her from continuous misery, so she threw her cloak over her shoulders, told Paul she was going out and was not certain when she would return, and walked as quickly as she could up Soper Lane, past the Mercery, and around the curve to Justin's house. The door was open, but she stopped outside, startled by the noise within. The large room was full of men, talking and laughing. She could not push through them; it was impossible. But it was equally impossible to retreat because she feared she would never again find the courage to thrust herself into Justin's life. She hesitated, taking a step into the room, and when several of the men turned to look at her, backing away.

A burly man followed her out, and Lissa backed up two more steps, not recognizing him in her distress until he said, “Mistress Lissa? Did you want Sir Justin?”

She blinked and peered at the man, knowing him now, but wondering if the terrible accuracy of what he had said was deliberate. His face showed only friendly recognition, however, and she sighed and said, “Oh, Halsig, how glad I am to see you. Yes, I did want to speak to Sir Justin. I found something that my father was carrying that was very strange, and I thought Sir Justin should know of it, but I can see he is too busy. This can wait until—”

“He isn't working with the men, mistress. There's a clerk for that, and we're only taking on men for the watch. Most of them are from the old watch who were sent to the king's war and have come back. Only a few I don't know, and Sir Justin will talk to them later. You come with me. I'll find a quiet place for you until I can go up and ask him if he can see you now.”

“I can give the receipts to you,” she said, her heart sinking because she knew that Justin would find it much easier to say he did not want to speak to her if he did not need to face her.

She was not allowed to escape, however. Halsig said he could not take anything pertaining to the murder without witnesses, and the clerk who could serve as witness was too busy. Even as he spoke, he beckoned her forward. She had little choice but to follow him around to the back of the house where he brushed off a stool in the kitchen and told her that Mary, gesturing to the maid, would bring her a drink or anything she wanted. Lissa shook her head mutely. She sat quietly, not thinking at all until Halsig came back with a broad smile on his face.

“Come this way, mistress,” he said, leading her to the door that opened into the main chamber, and then behind the bench on which the clerk was sitting. “I knew he'd want to see you if what you had might be to do with Master Bowles's death,” Halsig went on in a friendly way. “He's been away two days, after that big man you thought might've done it. Up in Essex, I think, and only got back late last night. Just go up.” He gestured at the stairs. “The door's open.”

Essex, Lissa thought. Dunmow, FitzWalter's estate, was in Essex. She ran up the stairs and into the solar. “In the name of God,” she cried, “you have not been asking FitzWalter about my father's death, have you?”

Justin, dressed in a handsome blue robe embroidered around the neck and sleeves with an elaborate pattern in gold thread, was coming out of his bedchamber. The blue robe lent color to his eyes, but his mouth was hard. When she spoke, he stopped in the doorway and said, “I thought we had agreed that I would never tell you how to mix a potion and you would never tell me how to find a murderer.”

“But FitzWalter is—” Lissa began, and then the real meaning of what Justin had said penetrated to her and she stared at him, holding her breath with hope until he opened his arms. She ran then, flinging herself at him with such force that he grunted and staggered backward a few steps.

“There is no need to be so eager as to push me back into my bedchamber by force,” he said, chuckling, “particularly since my bed is not wide enough for two. Why did you not wait for me at home?”

“I could not wait. The floor will do,” Lissa said, tightening her grip on him, and then began to laugh aloud at the shocked expression on his face. “I was only jesting, my love,” she murmured, and kissed his chin and then each corner of his thin mouth.

The lips began to fill immediately, but he pushed her away—not roughly and not far, just enough so that her body did not press against his. “You will find it is no jest at all, if you kiss me like that.”

If Lissa had thought she could seduce him into it and that they could escape interruption, she would gladly have coupled on the floor, less because she was aroused than to seal their new bargain. But the time and place were wrong. Instead, she flung her arms around his neck, despite the hand that held them apart, and kissed him again—a great smacking buss that held joy and amusement and understanding without anything of sex.

“And what was that for?” Justin asked, as she released him and they both walked into the solar.

“For not being a stuffed-up pompous ass,” she replied, then stopped and stared as Justin whooped with laughter.

“Like Edward Chigwell?” he gasped.

“Absolutely!” Lissa agreed fervently, and giggled. “I was afraid to say his name for fear you would believe I did nothing but think of him—and to speak the truth I have been giving him more thought recently than is good for my digestion.”

“Why?”

“Because I am in terror that Chigwell will renew his offer and, when I refuse, that he will be angry and oppose my application to join the pepperers guild.”

“
When
you refuse, not
if
. You have no doubts?”

“I have had no doubts since the second time I spoke to Edward,” Lissa said, grinning, and then with a sly look under her lashes: “Now if the elder Chigwell had proposed himself, I might—”

“I am not as old as he, but I might have enough influence on the members of the pepperers guild to turn aside his spite, if he should feel any. Do you favor only old men? Or will you consider me as a husband?”

“I am finished considering husbands,” Lissa said.

The mischief in Justin's eyes, which had matched that in hers, died suddenly. “What does that mean?”

She put her hand on his. “That I will marry you where and when you say, without condition, without even a contract, if you ask that of me. That is what I promised, and I will keep my word.”

“I do not want a wife who comes only in fulfillment of a promise.”

“You know that is not true, Justin. I love you with all my heart. I have loved you for a long time, since before I even knew you.”

He looked down at her soberly. “I sometimes wonder whether you are still dreaming of some hero of romance. I am a thief taker, for all my knightly spurs. I
like
the work. I—”

“Yes, I know,” Lissa interrupted. She had heard Justin's troubled defense before. As a good burgher, she thought the hanging of thieves admirable and was slightly impatient with the gentle-born feeling that the sniffing-out of criminals, if not the pursuit and hanging, was dirty work. “And before we begin to think only of ourselves again,” she continued hastily, pulling her purse from under her cloak, “let me give you what was found in a secret belt under my father's clothes when he was made ready for burial.”

Having heard Lissa say what was of basic importance—that she loved him and would marry him when he wanted—Justin was ready to put aside his personal need for a little while. He took the pieces of parchment from the purse and examined them. The first was a full sheet, dated the first day of March, and stated that Amias FitzStephen had paid a quarter's rent on the manor of Red Cliff, which was then described as to its extent and buildings, with intent to buy on the part of Amias and to sell on the part of Master Henry, vintner of Bristol. The remaining two slips were receipts for two more quarters of rent, referring to the first agreement.

“Who is Amias FitzStephen?” Justin asked.

“I have no idea,” Lissa replied. “I never heard the name before in my life.”

“Well, the answer may be easy enough to come by. I will send a message to the vintner of Bristol asking for particulars about this Amias. Until he replies, I do not see what more I can do. Do you want these back, Lissa?”

“No.” Lissa drew herself together for a moment. “There is blood on them. What if it is not my father's blood but is Amias's and is of my father's spilling?”

“Forget it.” Justin tossed the receipts on a chest and put one arm around Lissa. With his other hand he pulled at the pin that held her cloak. “Will you not take off your cloak and stay?”