by J G Lewis
The taller man drained his cup and set it down. “One pound for information leading you to those engaging in this trade—” He had a thick London accent. “And ten pounds for the return of the missing girl.” It wasn’t a question. Spicewell glanced at Ela.
She nodded. The price was dear by any standard. No doubt many would think her mad for pouring her own coin into the search, but it wasn’t entirely altruistic. She wanted to buy a reputation as one who could uphold law and order in Salisbury. Nothing came cheap in this age and since she was blessed with the funds to buy justice, then she was ready to pay for it.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a gold coin. “Can you provide us with any information from your existing store of knowledge.”
The man’s eyes fixed on the coin for a moment. When he lifted them they shone with what looked like amusement and she wondered which was the gaffe—the foreign gold coin or her formal manner of addressing him.
He reached out a grimy finger and thumb and almost snatched the coin from her hand. “I’ll need to make inquiries.” He spoke slowly, in a tone that might be seen as mocking. “But Master Spicewell knows I’m as honest as the sun is bright.”
Ela resisted the urge to gauge Spicewell’s expression. She trusted him to choose his associates wisely.
The shorter, bearded man was slower to drain and lower his cup, which he placed back on the tray with a thump. “We’ll bring news by tomorrow.”
“News?” A surge of anxiety rushed Ela. “We seek the girl herself, alive and well. If you can find her before sundown that would be ideal.”
“Before sundown?” The tall man blinked his dead gray eyes. “That’s unlikely. She won’t be found idling on a street corner. Such a trade—in living humans—will be tightly bound by secrecy and we’ll have to pry the bands off the barrel slowly and carefully so as not to explode it and destroy the contents.”
Ela blinked. His metaphor chilled her. Could the search itself lead to the girl’s death?
“We’ll meet here tomorrow morning after the bells for Tierce, and you shall tell us what you’ve learned,” said Spicewell. “God go with you.”
Ela breathed a silent sigh of relief after the men left. Their presence had put her on edge, and she wasn’t sure why.
“They are rough-hewn, to be sure,” said Spicewell. “But their connections reach into the darkest corners of London. If the girl can be found, they’ll find her.”
Ela wasn’t so sure but didn’t want to doubt him. His servant removed the cups and took them into a back room. Ela wondered if their lips had previously touched the cup she used and exactly what method had been used to clean it in between. She didn’t hear any splashing of water. Spicewell’s young servant likely just wiped them out with a grimy rag.
Spicewell ushered her outside, where she took a deep breath of the air, smoke polluted and river rotten as it was. The sight of Bill Talbot astride his gray palfrey cheered her, and she climbed back into Spicewell’s carriage with relief.
Spicewell returned her to her mother’s house, where they all ate a lavish dinner and her mother shared the latest gossip about which baron was falling deeper in debt and which lady had become pregnant while her husband was on a pilgrimage in Spain.
Ela was exhausted by the time they snuffed out the candles and Hilda undressed her for bed. As she said her prayers she wondered where poor little Edyth Wheaton lay right now and what terrors she might be enduring. She prayed that Bray and Dalziel would earn the coin she’d parted with and that tomorrow they could send the sheriff’s men in to save Edyth from her captors.
Chapter 4
The next morning Ela rose early, restless, missing her old morning rounds at the castle and even her more modest routine at Gomeldon. While the household slept, she attended Prime services at a nearby church with Hilda and one of her mother’s manservants in tow. She arrived home to find the household stirring and her mother fussing over her absence.
“This is London, not sleepy Salisbury!” Alianore bustled about the parlor impatiently brushing imaginary dust off the polished surfaces. “You should never go out without Bill Talbot. Anything could happen!”
“I took Hilda and Rufus with me.”
“Rufus isn’t a knight. What would he do if cutpurses set upon you? I don’t leave my house without an armed guard. You can’t be too careful these days.”
“It’s less than three hundred steps from here to the church, Mother.” Ela hated feeling like a scolded child. “And here we are, alive and well, thanks be to God.” She took an oatcake from a platter on the table and bit into it.
Her mother ordered a serving girl to fetch her a plate and a cup of freshly pressed almond milk. “People will talk,” she muttered. She strode past the hanging tapestry fast enough to send its woven trees swaying. “You’re a woman alone. Without protection.”
“If they talk about me rising early to worship my Lord, then let them.”
“I think it’s more likely they’ll ask themselves why you’re here in London, and going to and fro at all hours of the day and night.”
“I’m here to visit my beloved mother.” Ela took the plate and added some fresh berries to it from a bowl on the table. She sat and took a sip of almond milk. “Surely no one could find fault with that?”
Alianore shot her an arch expression. “Be careful. There’s no good reason for a woman’s name to be on people’s lips.”
“I’m far less concerned about people’s flapping lips than you are. I’m here to right a wrong, and I grow more impatient with each passing second.” She turned to Bill. “I thought we might go down to the docks on our way to Spicewell’s and visit our old haunt.”
“Pinchbeck’s shop?” asked Talbot.
“The very same. I’d like to see if the opium trade is still being plied there.” Her slimy neighbor Osbert Pinchbeck had disappeared in the middle of her investigations into his business—which had turned out to be a trade in opium cunningly disguised as a business importing and selling cheap trinkets. Spicewell suspected Pinchbeck was dead but a body had never been found.
A disreputable stranger with the odd name of Vicus Morhees had first taken over Pinchbeck’s manor, then disappeared into the mist when they pursued him as a suspect. If she could find even one of them it would be most satisfying.
“Bill, darling, do tell her not to be silly.” Alianore crossed her arms over her chest. “What good can come of poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? The opium trade is not illegal, but it’s most certainly distasteful and attracts a dangerous sort of man.”
Bill sat quietly, far too sensible to insert himself into a mother-daughter disagreement.
“Bill will keep me safe,” said Ela, after chewing her oatcake. “It’s on the way to Spicewell’s place of business, so why not stop there and see if it’s still in operation?”
Her mother gave a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know why dear Spicy insists on keeping that place down by the water. I’m quite sure he doesn’t need the money so why would he dabble in trade?”
“Probably the same reason he still practices law when he’s supposedly retired,” replied Ela. “He enjoys it. Not everyone is satisfied by an endless round of banquets and board games.”
“Spicy is a dab hand at games of chance. He always wins.” Alianore picked up a plump blackberry and placed it in her mouth. “Especially when there’s a large pot of coins on the table.”
Ela and Bill Talbot traveled to Pinchbeck’s shop on foot, with an attendant following behind them to hold their horses while they went about their business. The building’s worn exterior looked much the same, and the small, discolored sign advertising “necessaries” still hung crookedly near the scuffed door.
Bill’s firm rap on the door pushed it open a few inches, so he pressed it further and they peered in. The interior of the shop made even less pretense of a place of business than it had before. Three barrels were the only occupants of the dark storefront, and on inspection one was half fill
ed with the same cheap flutes she’d seen there before. The shelves, which had held a couple of empty birdcages on her prior visit, were now empty, with a layer of dust.
Ela startled to see a man sat at the back of the store, near the door to what she now knew was the real business—rooms upstairs where men gave themselves over to the pleasures of the poppy juice. He was no longer the old blind man of before but a much younger one, with pocked cheeks and oily curls about his forehead. He glanced up, and his gaze fixed into her like an arrow.
Her nerves jangled. “Good morrow, is Osbert Pinchbeck within?”
“Nay.” His curt answer was delivered with a sneer. “Never heard of him.”
“He owned this shop not four months ago.”
“I wasn’t here then, was I?” His thick London accent had a mocking tone.
Ela could feel Bill’s anxiety from behind her. She knew that he would snatch her and remove her from this place if he could. “May I speak with Vicus Morhees?” Morhees was a wanted man.
Bill’s hand on her arm made her jump. The pocked youth rose from his stool and took a step toward her. “Never heard of him.” His cold eyes looked directly into hers and Ela felt the chill of his gaze like a dagger to the heart. “And you need to leave.”
“My lady,” said Bill. His hand tightened on her arm. He sensed danger, as did she. But what would they do? Kill her in cold blood in broad daylight?
“Who operates this establishment?” Ela forged ahead, hoping to glean any information she could.
“The devil himself, my lady.” He slurred the last words, derisive, and took another step forward.
Does the devil pay taxes to King Henry III for the goods he sells here? She knew they were still secretly trading in opium and evading taxes by hiding the true nature of the business. The criminality of it galled her. She resolved to report this to the local sheriff so that at least some action could be taken.
He raised his hand and placed it on the long, curved dagger at his belt.
Bill tugged Ela, and she finally turned and let him guide her toward the door. Blood boiling, she couldn’t resist turning in the doorway and facing the boy one more time. “Tell your master that Ela, Countess of Salisbury, came to call upon him.”
She waited a moment to gauge his reaction and was rewarded when his eyes darkened with shock. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe beg her forgiveness for the insult—but she turned and headed out the door before he could utter another word.
Once out in the street she looked at Bill, who didn’t even look back at her. He could apparently think of nothing but getting them back on their horses and on their way to Spicewell’s office. She felt grateful that at least she hadn’t crept away like a scared mouse, and had left the insolent youth with something to chew on.
As they mounted and rode away she heard a couple of piercing birdcalls, which struck her as odd. London had little birdsong, probably due to the dearth of trees or plants of any kind.
Bill’s face had an oddly grim look she hadn’t seen before, his jaw set hard as if his teeth were clenched.
“I could hardly let him invoke the devil and then turn and walk away,” said Ela, by way of explanation for her behavior.
“You just told him exactly who you are!” said Bill finally.
“That’s the point. He insulted a countess of the realm.”
Are you mad? His expression thoughts he was too polite to utter. “These people are dangerous criminals, my lady.”
“My rank protects me. My husband was the son of one king, the brother of another, and uncle to the present monarch.”
“You think these lowlifes care one whit for rank? They care for nothing but silver and would gladly slit a throat for it.”
Now that they were a couple of streets away, Ela felt her blood cool slightly. The heat of the encounter had perhaps made her a little bolder than necessary. “I’m sure they’re still trading in opium there.”
“Yes.” His polite response said a lot less than his angry gaze. “A highly profitable trade they will stop at nothing to protect.”
“Bill, you act like you expect them to charge after us and grab us from our horses.” They’d started trotting, and the exercise further relaxed her. “They’d never dare.”
Bill’s mouth tightened again. No doubt he felt he couldn’t argue with her. She was Ela, Countess of Salisbury—as she’d just bragged.
Perhaps she’d let her pride get the better of her. She’d have to pray for humility. But that could wait.
They trotted the rest of the way to Spicewell’s dockland haunt. Bill remained tight lipped as they dismounted again and muttered some instructions to the attendant to stay out of sight and to be sure to call loudly for help if needed.
“Those criminals are hardly going to follow us into my lawyer’s office. And if they do, then we can congratulate ourselves for drawing these villains out in to the light, where the king’s men can see them.” She wanted to reassure herself that her actions weren’t entirely foolish.
Bill blinked, exasperation clear in his face and slightly labored breath. “Your bravery rivals that of your husband, my lady. No doubt he’d have said the same.”
Ela felt a tiny flush of pride. “Yet I hear censure in your voice.”
“Bravery has its place on the battlefield, my lady.”
“And a lady’s place is at home in her parlor,” she retorted softly. They were approaching Spicewell’s door.
“Have I ever said that?”
“No, but I suspect you’d rather be guarding me there. I value your caution, but I do not seek the role of sheriff so I can turn a blind eye to crime because those committing it happen to be dangerous.”
“When you’re sheriff, you’ll be surrounded by the king’s garrison again and will be less vulnerable to the actions of evil men.”
She appreciated that he’d said when you are sheriff, not if. “For now I have you to protect me and I trust you with my life.”
Bill didn’t say anything, but she got the sense that he thought her trust was misplaced. She didn’t want to patronize him by arguing with something he hadn’t said. Besides, they were at Spicewell’s door and no one had tried to kill them yet.
Bill knocked and the lad admitted them. Spicewell rose from his chair and greeted Ela warmly. “My associates have sent word that they have some information that may lead to the missing children. They’ll be here soon.”
The wood-paneled interior was so dark that a candle burned even in the daytime. Ela sat in the hard wood chair at the plain table, impatient for his rather sinister cohorts to arrive.
Bill stood rigid opposite the door, refusing both the offered seat and cup of wine. Ela felt sorry that she must have offended him somehow, but he could hardly expect her to shrink from the evil she was trying hard to uproot.
“This wine is excellent,” she exclaimed. It was hard to get good wine this year. Something about the weather on the Continent had made it bitter.
“I thank you, my lady.” Spicewell beamed. “One of the benefits of importing goods is that you have your pick of them.”
“I don’t know how you find the time to run a business and practice the law, all while in retirement.”
“Ah, but I don’t have the sweet distraction of a lady wife, since mine died nigh on eight years ago.”
“And you’ve never thought to remarry?” A lawyer of great wealth and wit and intelligence could surely have his pick of pretty widows half his age.
“I’ve thought about it but not yet made the leap.” His slow, appraising smile stirred an uneasy feeling in her gut. Hopefully he wasn’t suggesting her as quarry.
Another rap on the door broke the awkward moment. Dalziel and Bray entered, and Ela fought the urge to rise from her chair out of sheer impatience.
“Good morrow, sirs.” Spicewell rose to greet them. “We eagerly await your intelligence.”
The boy poured them both cups of wine. The taller one, who she now knew to be Dalzie
l, looked at Ela.
“What did you learn?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. She couldn’t bear to hear a discussion of the weather or some other nonsense while a child suffered.
Dalziel cleared his throat. “We learned of a house where children are taken into service.”
“What do you mean, ‘service’?”
“To be servants, maids, pages and the like. Or at least that’s what they say.” He cleared his throat. “But no one seems to know where they come from. They aren’t brought there by their parents, and they often seem to turn up under cover of night.”
Ela’s pulse quickened. “Where is this place?”
“Hard by Westcheap. A three-story house with no windows on the first floor.”
“And who did you learn this from.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Acquaintances.”
“My associates bring information to me with the reassurance that no connection will be made between them and the information,” said Spicewell. “They keep the names of their sources private much as we keep their names private in our dealings with the authorities.”
“I see.” Ela looked at Bray, who stood there silently. “Do you know the names of the people who run this…establishment?”
“Nay,” said Bray quickly. “But we’ve determined that there are children passing through there and then on to other places. None of them is over twelve or so. Some are barely more than infants.”
Ela’s heart clenched, and she found herself gripping the arm of her chair. “Can you give us the exact address?” She glanced at Spicewell, hoping he wasn’t going to explain that was impossible.
“On Westcheap turn right at the Hog and Hound and walk down the street. Three houses down on the left there’s an alley, and the house is at the end of the alley.”
“No windows on the first floor. Are there other distinguishing features?”
