Authors: Cassandra Clark
* * *
Danby was visible inside his workshop. He was sitting in the gloaming staring into space. When Gilbert appeared in the light of the cresset in the yard his jaw dropped and then his eyes lit up. He rose to his feet and strode outside with arms outstretched, clearly assuming it was a good sign to see his journeyman accompanied home by Hildegard. He raised his eyebrows at her.
“We met down by the river,” she responded. “Gilbert was doing a few sketches for his pattern book.”
“Is that all?” Relief seemed to flood visibly through him.
She nodded. Now Gilbert would tell of his suspicions.
Instead, however, he simply made as if to push past into the workshop. Danby was not to be moved aside yet, however. His fondness for the journeyman was clear in the look of relief with which he had welcomed him back, but he couldn’t let the matter go without showing displeasure. The journeyman had been absent from the workshop without permission. Danby stood firmly in the doorway.
“So, have you got a good account of yourself?” he began.
Gilbert shrugged and did not look him in the eye. If he hoped that was the end of it he was mistaken.
“Where the hell have you been?” Danby poked him hard in the chest.
Gilbert kept his head down.
Danby pushed him again so that he stumbled backwards. “Skiving off? Come on, cock, explain yourself!” He pushed him a third time. “You’ve never been drawing in the dark. I want to know every last movement you’ve made today.”
Gilbert made another attempt to push past him.
Danby barred the way. “You’re due a hefty fine, d’you know that? Skiving off. I’m going to make sure you pay every penny.” He folded his arms. “Explain yourself and this had better be good.”
Gilbert’s eyes were washed empty when he looked up. “I’m not your bloody apprentice, Danby. I’m a journeyman. I work when I choose.”
“So why did you
choose
to leave that glass half finished … sir?” he added sarcastically.
“I had the idea that as the workshop seemed closed for the day I’d make myself scarce until you were sober enough to give me your instructions.”
Danby took a step back. He seemed halted less by his words than by the contempt in his employee’s voice. He reddened. “You fuckin’ impudent young devil!” He raised his fist as if to strike him.
Gilbert was blank-faced and didn’t budge. “Strike me, master. I’m not made of glass. I won’t break. It’s my leg not my fists that’s the problem. I can defend myself!”
Danby suddenly dropped his fist and, putting his face in his hands, rocked back and forth on his heels muttering, “No, no, no, what the hell am I doing? What am I thinking of? Have I lost my senses?”
He raised his head, his face showing the strain he was under. “Punch you? Punch
you,
Gilbert?” he exclaimed. “Never! Never in this world. The Lord strike
me
down if I do. But you’re right to despise me. You have right on your side and I can’t deny it. I’m incapable of running my own workshop. You’re right. I am not fit. And I’m shamed by it. That I should let myself carry on like this! What a show I’m making of myself! What a bloody show!”
He stepped aside. “Come on, come on in, come in. Have confidence, lad. It’s all over. Come inside, do.”
Gilbert, keeping a wary eye on Danby, limped towards the threshold.
Danby let him through. “While I was sitting here I was doing some hard thinking. And everything is changed. I’ve seen the light. Believe me, son, everything’s different!” He led the way into the workshop. “I’ll put my hand on my heart. I’m myself again. You’ll explain to me in your own good time. Now let’s get on.”
“Get on?”
“We’ve time to make up. We have glass to finish.”
“Working?”
“What else?”
“Working outside the hours?”
“I’m not guildmaster for nowt. If I say we work by candlelight, we work. I’ll square it with the other members should they dare to call me to account.”
Without saying another word, Gilbert went to the peg and took down his leather apron. As he tied it on he gave Danby a careful look but his master was already lighting candles and soon the workshop was awash with light.
Danby went to the rack and selected a sheet of coloured glass to place over the drawing. He laid it carefully on the trestle. Then he went to the stove and began to light it. He took the metal rod used for marking out the glass and placed it in the coals. Hildegard, having been forgotten, hovered in the doorway. Danby took the rod from the coals when it was red hot and began to follow the line of the drawing under the glass. When he finished he spat on the hot glass, tapped it and broke it to shape in one deft movement. His skill was beautiful to watch.
Gilbert handed him the grozing iron. “What about Mistress Dorelia?”
Danby’s hand didn’t falter as he trimmed the edges of the glass. “Never heard of her.” He paused, then straightened. “May they rot in hell, the both of ’em.”
He bent over his work again. “I thought you could try your hand at the silver stain on the Virgin’s hair tomorrow,” he murmured. “It’s time you got your chance. You’ll do a grand job.”
He lifted his head. “The person you mentioned is not here and if she showed her face I would not have her back for all the gold in Westminster. Now let’s get this job finished, lad. It’s behind time.”
* * *
Next morning Danby and Gilbert were up shortly after dawn, busy again in the workshop. Sleepless, Hildegard had heard one of them go to the well and had crawled out of bed to see who it was. Gilbert. Carrying a bucket of water back inside.
After they had got down to work the previous evening Hildegard had walked up to Micklegate with her two hounds in the hope of having a word with Ulf. He would know whether it was worth taking Gilbert’s remarks about Baldwin seriously. But she was told he was out of town. She left a message and, doubtful about raising an alarm based entirely on hearsay, decided to wait until he came back before doing anything else.
After all, Dorelia and Jankin could be anywhere, in another town setting up as man and wife in a place where nobody knew them. After her experience at the hands of Gisburne, nothing was more understandable than that Dorelia, accompanied by her true love, should run away as far as possible.
As for Baldwin, what he did, alas, was not against the law.
Just before eight this morning she saw Danby and Gilbert take off their aprons, wash their hands in the bucket standing outside the door then, smartly attired, the master wearing a light cloak over his shoulders and Gilbert with his blue one over his arm in partial concealment of his affliction, they left the workshop, crossed the yard and went out towards the street.
“Gone to St. Helen’s no doubt,” observed Tabitha glancing out of the window. “I’m off now as well. Are you going to accompany us, sister?”
With a shock Hildegard remembered it was some time since she had attended a service and tomorrow would be the eve of Corpus Christi. “You must be off to Lady Mass?”
“Just going. I’m accompanying yon cook of Edric’s and the two little lads.”
“I’ll come along in a minute. I’ve one or two things to do first.”
Tabitha wrapped a scarf over her head and went out saying she would see her there. A few minutes later the troop of four set off.
With everyone out of the way it was an ideal time to check out a few things that bothered her.
After Jankin’s alleged night in the stews at Baldwin’s expense he must have reappeared after Gilbert left that morning, and she wondered what had passed between him and Dorelia to persuade him to leave with her. Dorelia would have finally decided enough was enough after John Gisburne’s visit and she must have appealed to her lover to help her escape an intolerable situation.
She crossed the yard and pushed open the door into the workshop. The stairs were off to one side next to the door into the living quarters. She peered inside. There was no one within. She turned to the stairs and began to climb. At the top the air was still as if unbreathed. It held a faint aroma of the flowery perfume Dorelia used.
A door to the right must lead into the chamber the couple shared, she supposed, while directly ahead was a stepladder. It would lead to the attic under the eaves where Jankin lodged.
She quickly pulled herself up rung by rung and arrived on a small landing with just one door.
She pushed it open. Gilbert was right so far. The attic had been cleared out. There was nothing here now except for a bed in one corner. The mattress was a thick straw bag, smooth as if newly turned. She glanced round.
A few hooks on the wall for clothing. A line where a cloak might have hung. She peered under the bed. Bare boards. Not a sign of dust. That struck her as strange. Danby’s housekeeper must be extremely thorough. Was it the deaf woman? she wondered. She doubted whether she was even able to climb the ladder.
Something wedged under the foot of one of the legs of the bed caught her eye. She reached down. It was a small feather. Pure white, as if from the breast of a swan.
A chuckle behind her made her swivel with a startled gasp.
Standing in the doorway was Master Baldwin. He came inside, kicked the door shut then leaned against it with folded arms.
“So,” he ground out, “what have we here?”
Chapter Twenty-five
He moved swiftly across the chamber until he was standing over her. “Snooping, are we, sister?”
In the face of aggression she thought it best to be bold. “I suppose I am.” She slipped the feather secretly into her sleeve as she spoke.
“And what do you hope to find in here?”
“Some clue to Jankin’s whereabouts, perhaps.”
“He’s run off with my brother’s wife. That’s all you need to know.”
“Aren’t you worried he’s missing?”
“What’s it to me?”
“He’s your brother’s apprentice. That should make it something to you, even if a missing person means nothing else. And where he is your sister-in-law is also, or so it would appear. Surely you would like to know she’s safe and sound?”
Her questions seemed to unbalance his composure as if he had expected her to bow her head under his hard stare. Now he seemed to realise that he had not got her measure after all.
He shifted his stance. “I’ve told you, they’ve run off. Nobody’s seen them since.” He did not meet her eyes.
“In a town like this it should be easy enough to track them down,” she replied. “I’m surprised nobody’s done so.”
“They’ll be long gone. Passing themselves off as man and wife in a place where nobody knows them.”
Although that was what Gilbert had suggested she realised she had doubts. “They could still be somewhere in the town,” she replied stubbornly.
“And where would you reckon to start looking? In a nunnery, mebbe? In the stews? Aye, that’s an idea. Mebbe we should send somebody to search the stews.” He gave a sniggering laugh. “Unless you yourself would like to go down there, of course. Doubtless you wouldn’t be able to get out quick enough, seeing all that naked flesh.” He licked his lips and gave another laugh. “On the other hand, sister, we might never see you again either, so taken with the rapture of what you deny yourself!”
This idea amused him. He looked her up and down, his shoulders shaking with exaggerated mirth. Then he said, sharp-toned, “I’ve often wondered what makes you people get up in a morning. What do you get out of life?”
She returned his stare. “More than you’ll ever know, sir.”
“Oh yes? Like living in the fear of hell fire? Or is all your talk of sin just a sham, as is so often revealed? Something designed to spoil our fun while enjoying all the pleasures of the flesh yourselves?” His expression was full of contempt. “The church is after worldly goods like everybody else. It’ll do anything for gold. It’s the greatest whore mistress of us all. And you monastics do well out of it.”
“You sound like an expert on whoring, master. No doubt that pleases your wife.”
A look crossed his face.
“Me?”
“I understand you’re seen in the stews often enough, among the purveyors of flesh?”
She couldn’t guess how he would react. He gazed at her without speaking, his eyes flickering over her as if trying to read her mind, but then he surprised her by lowering his voice to an intimate level.
“As a matter of fact, sister, I did do some work for one of them houses not so long ago. They wanted a piece of fancy glass in one of their chambers, to raise the tone of the place for their wealthy customers.”
As he said this he tried to outface her but she would not drop her gaze.
She could not tell whether he was lying or not. It sounded feasible. It could be Gilbert who was lying for all she knew.
That shouted question she had overheard was ambiguous:
Come for your money already, Baldwin?
It could have referred to an innocent payment for some glazing. She had already considered this herself. She didn’t like the man but it didn’t mean everything Gilbert had said about him was true.
“Julitta doesn’t like me working down there,” Baldwin continued, keeping his voice low as if his wife might have extraordinary hearing. He gave an intimate smile. “I can understand her point of view. I wouldn’t like it if she had some young lover-boy. I didn’t want to turn work away but I didn’t want to upset her neither.” He lowered his voice still further. “I hope you won’t let on? Just a secret between you and me, like?”
She started to walk towards the door, to get out, to get away, to free herself from what might be a web of lies, but he didn’t move out of her way, so when she was standing right in front of him she asked, “And Dorelia? Do you think she’s gone back to Wakefield?”
About to let her pass he slammed the flat of his hand against the door. Rage flared in his eyes before being obliterated by a recalculation of how matters stood.
“If you know anything about Dorelia you’d better tell me,” he ground out.
“I don’t know anything. I just wondered if you thought she might have gone back there?”
“Is it Gilbert? Have you been giving Gilbert an inquisition? Is that it? You want to watch him. He’s a bloody liar, a little snake in the grass.”