by J G Lewis
Petronella frowned. “But why?”
“We don’t know.” She didn’t want her sheltered, pious daughter to be haunted by nightmares of what might happen to a young girl in the clutches of greedy and lascivious men. “But she’s likely in danger and we must find her.”
“Perhaps she ran away? Richard told me that Sarah from the bakery tried to run off with a shepherd boy when her parents betrothed her to old Master Whipple the cobbler.”
“Don’t believe such nonsense. Master Whipple is old enough to be her grandfather. I’m sure it’s just scurrilous gossip. Even if it wasn’t she’d never be so foolish as to run off. Besides, this missing girl’s only eight—where would she go?”
“Why would anyone snatch an eight-year-old child?” Petronella picked up one of the little black kittens stretching itself by the unlit hearth. “She’d be no use except as a mouth to feed. Though I suppose they might train her to be a beggar or a cutpurse, poor lamb.”
Ela hoped that was all they planned to do with her. But she doubted it. A pretty young girl…she shuddered. “I shall hire Master Spicewell to employ his network of contacts to find her.”
Spicewell was a lawyer friend of her mother’s who’d proved his ability to send tendrils into the London underworld the last time she hired him.
“A messenger on a good horse could be there by midday tomorrow,” said Bill.
“My mother is in London through the end of the month,” said Ela. “I had a letter from her this morning. I shall go visit her.”
Bill’s expression looked doubtful.
“What? Do you think I’m running too much up and down to London when I should look to my hearth here?”
He stayed silent.
“My true hearth is at the castle and you know that. Until I settle myself by that hearth again my heart will be unquiet.”
He still said nothing.
“You think it wrong of me to leave my children? It’s true that Will and Isabella, who I trusted to guide their younger siblings, are now married and gone, but Petronella is now almost a woman and quite capable of taking charge of my brood. And they’re in the care of their tutors.”
Bill Talbot hadn’t moved. She tilted her chin at him. “You shall stay here to watch over them.”
“Nay, my lady. If you go to London to search for this child you’ll need me at your side.”
“Ah, he speaks at last!” She turned and crossed the room again. “Are you sure I need your ministrations more than my innocent babes?”
“You have the courage of a man but lack a knight’s training. That is a dangerous combination without a squire at your side.”
Ela stopped, startled that he would be so bold. She glanced at Petronella to see if he’d shocked her. She was easily scandalized.
“I can mind the little ones, Mama.” Petronella straightened her shoulders under her plain green gown. “I’ll make sure they mind their books and that the boys don’t play outside after dark.”
“Well, it seems as if the decision has been made.” She looked at Bill. “You and Hilda shall come to attend me.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Mama?” asked Petronella. “Hilda’s pregnant and should rest.”
“She’s still in the early stages of her pregnancy.” Thank goodness she’d stopped vomiting several times an hour. “She’ll be fine. I survived all my pregnancies, as you and your siblings bear witness. We mothers are stronger than we look.” She shot a glance at Bill. Truth be told she didn’t want to leave Hilda unattended. Her new maid had already demonstrated her foolishness by getting entangled with a much older and thoroughly unsuitable man and finding herself pregnant and alone after he was murdered.
Hilda was emotional from her pregnancy—vulnerable—and cursed with an excess of beauty. The last thing Ela needed was Hilda, left unattended, falling into the clutches of another man. Better the girl stay by her side.
“I shall write to my mother that we’re coming, and we’ll leave first thing tomorrow. Please call for the messenger.”
When Bill had left the room, Ela drew Petronella close. “I do wish our beloved Sibel was still here to mind the household in my place, especially with Will and Isabella gone, but I trust you to keep the peace.”
“It will be good practice for when I become an abbess.”
“Indeed it will.” Ela squeezed her arm. It wouldn’t be long before Petronella flew the nest into either marriage or a convent. Her children were scattering across the country, and it felt like her heart was being torn into pieces to go with them.
She thought again of Alys Wheaton and how desperate she must be feeling right now, her daughter snatched from her home. The very thought of her loss stole the breath from Ela’s lungs.
“Petronella, please gather your brothers and sisters that I may speak to them before Compline.”
Now where was Hilda? It was time to teach her how to pack in a hurry.
Chapter 3
The journey to London was no longer and no shorter than usual. They stayed overnight in an inn that allowed them to attend early-morning services at St. Mary’s church in Egham, which buoyed their spirits before they resumed the final leg of their journey. Ela’s carriage arrived at her mother’s house, with Bill and the attendants trotting behind it, not long after midday the following day.
Her mother’s house was large, with three gables and decorative black timbering in stark contrast to the fresh white plaster. It put Ela’s rustic manor at Gomeldon to shame. Her mother must have some poor soul up on a ladder spreading fresh lime on it once a month. The black ironwork on the door gleamed as Bill clanged the bell next to it.
Crespin, the porter, welcomed Ela effusively and brought her into the comfortable parlor before going to summon her mother. Hilda removed her cloak and took it away to shake it out and hang it.
Ela expected to see Alianore’s face wreathed with smiles at her daughter’s unexpected visit. Instead, her mother swept into the room with a stern gaze, her high brow creased with concern.
“Hello, Mama.” Ela greeted her brightly and kissed her cheeks. Her mother’s poodles barked at her ankles. “Don’t look so overjoyed to see me.”
Her mother took her hands. “I would be, but I know that you’re not here for a social visit.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your letter with its inquiry after Master Spicewell.”
“I know he’s a close friend of yours, and he’s looking into a legal matter for me.”
Alianore looked doubtful. “You had him investigating that nasty opium trade for you.”
“Indeed. He has many useful contacts that can be of service.”
Alianore’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you really here?”
Ela sighed. “A child has gone missing from Salisbury. A girl of eight from the village. Apparently it’s not an isolated incident. Children are being taken from their homes and sold or traded as if they were chattels or brute beasts.”
“And you’re here to save them all.” It wasn’t a question.
“Would you have me leave this little girl to suffer at the cruel hands of her captors when I might lead a search to find her?”
“Is there not a sheriff in Salisbury appointed to do this tiresome and potentially dangerous work?”
“Simon de Hal doesn’t do anything unless it can put coin in his purse. This girl’s parents have no wealth or social standing. And I strongly suspect that these unfortunate children are being brought to London.”
Alianore’s chest rose as she inhaled a deep breath as if to steady her nerves. “What makes you suspect they’re here?”
Ela hesitated. “I’ve heard rumors of a criminal organization that operates here to steal and sell children.””
“And on this rumor you’ve uprooted your household and abandoned your own young children to fly to London.” Her mother bent to pick up one of her poodles. She held it to her chest and peered at Ela.
“My children are in good hands.”
“You’re bored at Gomeldon.” Alianore’s tone was accusatory.
Ela blinked. “I have plenty to do. I’ve engaged an architect to design the monastery to be built in William’s memory.”
Her mother lifted a brow. “So he’s busy, and you’re harrying the sheriff of Salisbury for not taking the position as seriously as you would have.”
“It’s a child, Mother! A small child as young as little Ellie. If you’d seen her weeping mother—”
“Well, now that you’re here in London, how do you propose to find her? Shall we go pace the streets hoping for a glimpse? What are her hair and eye color?”
Ela ignored her mother’s snide tone. “Blonde and blue.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll spot her immediately. Shall we head for the market?”
Ela crossed her hands over her chest. “Spicewell has a network of informants that he employs to help him build his legal cases. I hope that they can inquire in the right places to seek information about anyone running an illegal network that trades in children.”
“Something so despicable would be cloaked in secrecy.”
“Indeed, which is why we won’t stumble across it in the marketplace. Do you think it’s too late for me to call on Master Spicewell at his chambers?”
“Undoubtedly, but you will have no need to as I’ve sent a messenger for him and he’s on his way here right now.” Her mother’s expression had softened.
Ela smiled. “Thank you! I do appreciate your help and your hospitality.”
“It’s not as if I had a choice.” Her mother’s mouth twisted as if she was trying to fight a smile. “With such a force of nature for a daughter.”
“You have no idea how much restraint I show, Mother.” She wished she could turn England upside down seeking justice for her husband’s untimely death. “But clearly there is urgency to this matter. The child might be spirited out of the country or abused in some way that will destroy her as surely as death.” She’d had nightmares of what might happen to this innocent girl.
“Hilda, will you fetch some water for me to wash my hands and face?” Ela asked. Hilda hurried away.
Ela turned to her mother. “Poor Hilda attracts all the wrong kinds of male attention. Please tell me there isn’t some handsome young man in your household to turn her head.”
Alianore’s eyes widened. “How am I supposed to notice if my pot boys are handsome or not? Can you not lock the girl up in a chastity belt?”
“If such a thing existed I doubt it could accommodate a girl who’s already pregnant.” Ela sighed. Hilda was already more of a burden than all her own daughters put together. But she was her beloved Sibel’s niece and had been cast out by her parents, so Ela had taken on the responsibility of trying to see her safely settled in life.
“I’m sure the ironmonger who made the fine metalwork for my front door could put something together for her.” Alianore’s lips flattened.
“That won’t be necessary. And please don’t be unkind to her. She’s suffering enough already. She cries daily for her lost lover and her fatherless child.”
“No doubt that scoundrel would have abandoned her anyway if he was alive.”
“We’ll never know, because he’s dead.”
“Killed for the manor he stood to inherit.”
“Yes, but his killer was convicted and hanged, and—” Ela glanced at the door. Hilda hadn’t returned. She lowered her voice. “And I hired Master Spicewell to try to gain control of the manor for Hilda’s child, since it will be the only surviving heir.”
A knock on the door heralded Spicewell’s arrival. Hilda returned with water and a soft cloth, and Ela quickly washed her hands and face before the lawyer was shown into the parlor. She rose and greeted him.
Walter Spicewell was about her mother’s age, his hair full silver but his pale blue eyes full of interest and intelligence. Ela asked Hilda to take her clothes upstairs to the bedroom and air them. When Hilda had left the room, she turned to Spicewell. “Any news of Fernlees?” Fernlees was the manor she hoped to secure for Hilda and her child.
“De Hal has hired a lawyer in an attempt to gain control of the property.”
Ela was shocked. Why would the new sheriff think he had a claim to Fernlees? “On what pretext?”
“Expenses and trouble sustained during the trial to convict the man who killed the property’s owner. However, he has very little ground to stand on, him so lately being sheriff. He may try to claim it for the king, to curry favor.”
“The new sheriff played only a small role in getting the murderer convicted,” said Ela. Her blood boiled at de Hal’s audacity. He should never have become sheriff. The role should have gone to her after her husband’s death. “What of his chances?”
“Well,” Spicewell followed Ela’s example by seating himself in one of the handsome wood chairs. “I’ve always viewed attack as the best form of defense, so I’ve taken the liberty of investigating de Hal’s record as both sheriff and deputy sheriff up north. It appears that he was not well liked.” His pale eyes glimmered with mischief.
“Do tell!” said Alianore.
“All in good time, my lady. My case is a work in progress,” said Spicewell. “A combination of ancient documents safeguarding the manor for the Blount heirs, including Hilda’s unborn child, and a release of information that reveals the true nature of our opponent and thus undermines his claim to the property.”
“Good.” Ela’s brain was still working too fast to respond properly. “But I unfortunately need your help now on an even more urgent matter.”
Spicewell looked skeptical. “After your last investigation into the shadowy bowels of the opium trade, I’m more than a little apprehensive.”
Ela drew in a steadying breath. “We need to find a girl of eight who’s been stolen from her home in Salisbury. I’ve heard there’s a gang of sorts that steals children and trades in them.” She studied his face.
“I’ve heard of such. There’s a trade in everything in London.”
Ela’s eyes widened. “This cruel trade seems to be common knowledge. How can people go about their business when children are being bought and sold in our midst?”
Spicewell looked sheepish. “In my line of business I’m privy to news of horrific crimes every day. Not all of them fall within my purview.”
“I want urgently to find this girl, and if we can free other stolen children and destroy this group that exploits them, that would be even better.”
He inhaled deeply. “As you know, I do have a network of associates who can put their ears to the ground.”
“Can they do it today? This girl is in imminent danger.” She waited for him to reply that—for all they knew—the girl was nowhere near London, his people were already occupied, and that it was nearing dinner time…
Spicewell turned and called for the boy who attended him. “Jim, please summon Dalziel and Bray to my chambers. I’ll attend them there directly.”
“But Spicy dear, we’re soon to eat!” protested Alianore.
“These are not men I wish to bring to your doorstep, my dearest Alianore. I shall set them on the trail, then return.”
“May I come with you to meet them?” Ela knew it was a bold request.
He hesitated for a minute, probably dying to tell her it wasn’t a suitable situation for a woman, especially a great lady. “Please do.”
Ela had attended Spicewell’s luxuriously appointed chambers near the law courts before, so she was surprised when his carriage turned in another direction and led them to an entirely different building deep inside the city—a low structure of blackened wood, close enough to the docks that she could smell the river.
“What is this place?”
“In addition to my legal interests I sometimes buy and sell a few items. I find it suits me to keep a separate premises.” He smiled as if this were the most normal thing in the world, then instructed Bill Talbot to join his carriage driver in a courtyard where they’d be close enough but hidde
n from sight.
Ela looked at the low, unimpressive doorway. “Do you meet with your business associates here?”
“I do. It’s not necessary to excite feelings of envy among those less fortunate.” He assisted her in climbing down from the carriage. A servant opened the door, and he took her into a dim interior lit by one small diamond-paned window. Once inside his servant removed his plum-colored, gold-edged tunic and replaced it with a plainer dark gray one.
Ela was grateful that her clothing was simple and plain. She despised ostentation except when entirely necessary and wore a simple blue gown with white embroidery at the neck and cuffs.
He offered her a seat on a plain wood chair. The afternoon was warm for September so there was no fire in the hearth. The room had an air of studied neglect, with dust in the corners and a pile of scuffed ledgers on a well-worn table. It was a stark contrast to his richly decorated chambers near Westminster Hall. Clearly Master Spicewell led something of a double life.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump. The servant—a raw-boned young man barely older than her son Will—opened the door and two men entered. Despite the warm afternoon, they both wore dark cloaks.
“Good morrow, Master Dalziel and Master Bray. I thank you for attending at such short notice. My client here has a matter that needs swift attention.” He gestured to Ela. She waited for him to introduce her, but he forged on. “She brings news of a young child missing from Salisbury in Wiltshire. A girl of only eight who was snatched from her home.” He poured two cups of wine from a carafe that his servant had brought, then handed a cup to each of them. “I seek your knowledge of the trade in children.”
Neither man had spoken, and Ela observed them as they each took a bracing swig of wine. They were close to her own age—two score years or maybe more. One stood taller than the other, with flat gray eyes and oily light brown hair escaping from a plain cap. The other had pale, glassy blue eyes and a dark, dense beard that obscured his jaw. He wore a crudely wrought wooden cross on a hank of string about his neck. Ela should have found the holy iconography reassuring but instead it was oddly unsettling.
