Masques of Gold (46 page)

Justin uttered a soothing platitude, and FitzWalter laughed harshly, but he shifted the subject to the effect the king's war might have on the wine trade. Both men were in perfect accord on that topic and they talked for a while longer before they parted amicably. But the smile died on FitzWalter's face as Justin left the hall, and he muttered to himself, “You are just a little too cautious and clever, Sir Justin, but we will do quite well without you.”

Still, dissatisfaction was mingled with admiration in FitzWalter as he stared for a moment longer at the doorway through which Justin had passed before he lifted a hand and beckoned a servant, to whom he said, “Find Hubert de Bosco and tell him to come here at once.”

Although Hubert had no notion of it, the irritation Lord Robert felt over Justin's avoidance of the net he had cast saved Hubert a painful beating. The knowledge would not have diminished the rage Hubert felt when his master gave him the sharp edge of his tongue for his attempt on Justin's life, but he was far too much afraid of FitzWalter to consider disobeying him. He promised hastily never again to trouble Sir Justin in any way, but then added sullenly that he had not suggested that Hervi kill his master. He had given him the knife to protect himself.

FitzWalter cut off the excuse with a gesture. Whether what Hubert said was true or a lie was irrelevant to him. “But I will give you one more chance to redeem yourself.”

“I will not fail you, my lord.”

“You have already failed once,” FitzWalter snapped. “Did I not tell you to fetch Bowles's daughter to me?”

“But, my lord—”

“I do not want to hear your excuses. The time for the meeting is growing close, and if she knows anything I must get it from her before then. So you will go to Bowles's house tonight near midnight and get her.”

“Should I hire men to break in or—”

“Idiot!” FitzWalter exclaimed. “Do you want to rouse the whole street? All you need do is smear your tunic with blood and wrap a stained bandage around your head so that your face is hidden. Pretend you are hurt. Bang on the door and ask for help. Once in the house, you can strike down the journeyman and get the girl. And do not hurt her! I want her able to answer my questions.”

Understanding dawned, and a smile spread over Hubert's coarse features. He nodded eagerly.

FitzWalter sighed, barely restraining impatience, but he knew an outburst of temper would only confuse Hubert, and he said quietly, “That is all, but keep out of sight for the rest of the day. I told Sir Justin that I had sent you to Dunmow. If you are seen by anyone outside of this household so that news of your being in London comes to Sir Justin's ears, you will suffer for it. When you have the girl, muffle her well in a blanket and enter through the small postern gate. Bring her to the old cellar, but into my chamber there, not into the room with the instruments. I will wait for you there, so do not linger. Be sure you are back with her before Lauds.”

“I will get her back in good time,” Hubert assured him.

FitzWalter made a moue of distaste but said nothing more and waved a dismissal. Creatures like Hubert had their purposes, but this one, he thought, was almost at the end of his usefulness. He also knew too much. It would be a disaster if Justin marked him as Bowles's killer, seized him, and questioned him. After Hubert had brought the girl and assisted at questioning her, FitzWalter decided, would be a good time to be rid of him. Her death and Hubert's could be arranged so that it would be plain Hubert had murdered her and had been killed by those who discovered him in the act—none, naturally, having any connection with FitzWalter's own household.

He stood and stretched, pausing suddenly with his arms still out while a frown appeared between his brows. Had he heard that Sir Justin was involved with Bowles's daughter? Had not one of his factors mentioned a rumor that Justin had used Bowles's death to make the woman his mistress? There was so little chance the girl knew anything that it was not worth starting Sir Justin on a hunt with a grudge behind it. But he had no other avenue to explore. He must question Bowles's daughter or give up the idea of finding the seal. Flael's sons had not taken the seal with them; they believed their father had given it to Bowles. And Bowles was dead—by his own order!

FitzWalter dropped his arms and ground his teeth. That seal could make all the difference in the attitude of the barons at Bury St. Edmunds. It would mark as genuine, beyond any protest, false letters from the king that could be used at the meetings to push the barons, if not into rebellion, at least into immoderate language. When news of what they said came to the king, John's own actions would ensure their adherence to the party that opposed him.

Surely, FitzWalter thought, the Bowles girl could not be important to Sir Justin. He nodded, remembering that he had just heard Justin remark cynically on his casual relations with women. Possibly Sir Justin had been futtering Bowles's daughter and would be annoyed when she disappeared, but FitzWalter did not see that as any reason for Justin to pursue the criminal with more than usual intensity. Women were plentiful, particularly to those who could make trouble for them or save them trouble for the small price of a joining.

In any case, FitzWalter thought that he, who had never even met the girl, would not be connected with her disappearance and death, except through a man he had employed out of pity. Hubert was the one closely associated with her father. Probably Justin would assume that Hubert had killed the daughter in a rage because Justin himself had become forbidden prey, or he would think that Hubert was taking out on her some unfulfilled portion of his quarrel with Bowles. Since Hubert would be dead, it would not matter what Sir Justin decided was the cause of his action.

***

About the time Justin left Baynard's Castle, a mature lady, escorted by a maid and a sturdy manservant, came to the counter of Lissa's shop. She examined the condiments displayed with a keen eyed glance and then asked to see Mistress Lissa on private business. Paul almost turned her away, guessing from her age that she would ask either for a love potion or for something to make her fertile—both of which he knew Lissa would not attempt—but there was a timid dignity about the woman that made it impossible to lie to her. He pulled aside a barrel and bowed her in. She entered, bestowing a small smile on him, but she gestured to the maid and manservant to remain behind. Having offered her a stool, Paul went through the workshop door and told Lissa she had a customer who wished to speak to her privately.

“My name is Margaret FitzAilwin—” the woman began as soon as Paul had gone out to the counter again, shutting the door behind him.

“Oh dear,” Lissa interrupted, “you are Justin's aunt. I do hope you have not come to scold me and ask me to give up Justin. I do assure you that I am not a woman of light virtue. I love Justin quite sincerely, and we intend to marry as soon as the matter of my father's murder is cleared up.” She smiled tentatively and added, “In Justin's position it would be awkward for him to marry the chief suspect.”

The worried look cleared from Margaret's face and she responded to Lissa's smile. “I have not come to scold you, and I would not dream of interfering in Justin's life. If Justin has given his word and you have accepted him, you are betrothed as surely as if a contract had been written. Neither of you is a child, but your agreement seemed so sudden. I—I was concerned for you—” She stopped abruptly and clasped her hands nervously. “I should not have come,” she added, getting up. “It was stupid of me.”

Lissa cocked her head inquisitively. “Concerned for me?” she repeated, picking up the significant phrase. Then she sighed. “There has been talk about us. I was afraid of that, but Justin claimed that I was ashamed of him when I suggested that we keep his visits secret. Are not men the most unreasonable creatures? They act as if taking the most common precaution is a personal insult. Oh, please, Mistress FitzAilwin, will you not come abovestairs with me and take some refreshment?”

Mistress Margaret protested, saying she could not stay and mentioning the maid and manservant waiting for her. Lissa did not urge her further to come up to the solar, but she was determined to learn what was being whispered about her and Justin. She put on a sad, worried face and hinted that Justin's aunt really did not approve of her, although she was too kind to say so.

In confusion and anxiety, Margaret reseated herself, and it was not long before Lissa extracted the entire tale, not only the sordid rumor that Justin had forced her into his bed but the story of the withdrawn offer of marriage and the fear and revulsion most women felt for Justin. Since Lissa had already met the reaction in Adela, she managed to control her anger and incredulity, only laughing and assuring Mistress Margaret that her relationship with Justin was not at all sudden; she had known and admired him since the great fire of 1212, Lissa pointed out, and they had come much closer when Justin had investigated her husband's death.

“He was so kind to me,” Lissa said. “I know he does not
look
kind, but he helped me in so many ways that were no part of his duty and that must have been a trouble to him, although he pretended they were not. And his eyes laugh, even if his mouth does not. Justin is no pompous ass like that sucking cub Edward Chigwell. I did not know how much I loved Justin until I was almost trapped in marriage with Edward.”

Margaret stood up again, smiling with brimming eyes. “I am so glad for him, Lissa, that he found you. Indeed, he is everything you say. He was so full of laughter when he came to London, but my husband needed…” She hesitated and then went on very softly, “I do not know why he used Justin. I hope it was not to—to spare his own sons. But Justin changed—”

“Only on the outside,” Lissa said. “Inside there is still the kind, laughing boy—at least for you and for me there is. And you must not pity Justin or blame your husband. I am sure Mayor FitzAilwin chose Justin because he was best suited to hunt evildoers and keep the peace and even enjoys most of what he does.”

“Please do not tell him I came,” Margaret said as she walked to the door with Lissa.

“Not for the world!” Lissa assured her fervently, curving her lips into a smile with some effort.

The smile died and her lips thinned with fury as she closed the door behind Mistress Margaret. She was appalled at the hurt Justin must have felt when he heard what was being said of him and furious with his silly aunt for dealing him such a blow. Unfortunately there was nothing she could do, for it was clear that Mistress Margaret meant well. If the stupid woman were not afraid of Justin herself, she would never have believed the rumor and never brought it to his attention—and then Lissa sighed. No more than she did Justin suffer fools gladly. His aunt's silliness must rub his temper, and she must feel it. Well, that problem would solve itself once they were married and she could interpose herself between Margaret and Justin. Both would be happier and fonder, but what was to be done about the whispers?

Lissa had no answer to that question and was braced to greet a furious Justin who might propose anything from instant marriage—to which she really had no objection—to total separation. And Justin was wearing a frown when he handed his horse to Paul and stepped into the house, but it was more a frown of preoccupation than of rage or misery.

“Here, take this,” he said when they had entered the solar, loosening a leather pouch from his sword belt and pouring out the contents.

A pair of intricately worked chains of gold imprisoning between them stones of a fascinating golden green color fell into her hand. “Justin,” Lissa gasped, “you should not have—”

“Do not be silly. I would rather have it rumored that I bought you with gold than that I enslaved you with threats.”

He undid his belt and rested the sheathed sword in the slot designed to receive it at the end of the frame on which he would lay his mail. Smiling at Lissa, who was still staring down at the broad necklet, he bent and began to wriggle out of his armor without her help. He noticed that she had not reacted to his statement about enslavement by threats, but she was clearly too lost in admiration of his gift to make much sense out of anything for a while. And it was flattering to his choice that she continued to admire it, laying it on the table and straightening the links of the chains until he came up behind her, put his arms around her, and kissed her neck.

“I ordered it before Gamel came in the spring,” he murmured, “but you would never let me give you anything. The stones match your eyes…”

She turned in his arms and kissed him back, first passionately on the mouth and then more gently and tenderly all over his face. “I heard what you said,” she whispered. “It is disgusting. How could anyone think you would shield a murderess for the sake of a little pleasure you could buy on any road? How could anyone think you such a fool as to bed a murderess?”

Justin grinned at her. “Oh, I do not think anyone believes me to be a fool. Clearly you are not suspected of your father's murder. The tale is that I threatened to put you to the question even though I knew you to be innocent.”

“Justin! How can you laugh at so abominable a calumny?”

His lips twisted wryly. “I did not laugh at first. I was quite furious when my aunt first related the rumor to me, but when I had cooled down—I had a matter of greater importance to consider—I realized that there was more good than bad to be reaped from these whispers. Your reputation would be spared. You could scarcely be called a wanton if you yielded only to such pressure, and an increase in the belief in my ruthlessness could really do me no harm.”

“But it is not
true
,” Lissa cried. “You are the kindest of men.”

“You are deluded,” he said, laughing and kissing her again. “And I beg you will not go about spreading such a tale. You will ruin my ability to strike terror into those brought before me with no more than a cold glare. Then I shall have to use harsher measures to extract the truth—”