by J G Lewis
“Nay.” Bray didn’t elaborate.
“Plain wood door?”
“Aye. Looks like every house in London,” said Dalziel. “But the upper windows are shuttered from the outside.” He glanced at Spicewell, looking uneasy. “Have we earned our coin?”
“I believe so.” Spicewell looked at Ela. “Do you have further questions?”
“Have you seen the children yourself?” She was disappointed they hadn’t brought the girl to claim the ten pounds she’d promised.
“Nay, we didn’t want to raise suspicion by hanging around. But we have it from a reliable source that they’ve been coming and going.”
“For how long?”
Dalziel’s brows lowered over his flat gray eyes. “For years.”
Ela’s heart pounded with longing to ride there right away. “Thank you. I presume we can be in touch if we need your help again?”
Dalziel glanced nervously at Spicewell. She got the distinct impression they wanted no more to do with this matter. Spicewell excused them, and they left in a hurry.
“We must alert the sheriff,” said Ela. “He can storm the house with his men.”
Spicewell’s face didn’t move. She could feel Bill Talbot’s nervous energy from across the room.
“What then? Do you have a better idea?” Their reticence irked her. She rose to her feet and moved toward the door. “A child’s life is at stake. And not just one child. Imagine those terrified babes locked up in that windowless building in the alley.” Her blood boiled just thinking about them. Little girls and boys like her own Ellie and Nicky—innocent and trusting and utterly dependent on the adults around her. “We must ride to the White Tower at once.”
Chapter 5
Ela and Bill rode toward the great stone tower that loomed over the city. Ferries and small rowboats jostled up against great merchant ships on the heaving gray river as they rode along near its banks. They had to proceed slowly through crowds of people shopping, hawking their wares, or carrying bundles to market. And, of course, the usual hordes of beggars, vagrants and cutpurses.
One little girl approached Ela and tugged at her skirts, brown eyes wide and tangled curls hanging about her dirty face. “Spare a farthing, ma’am! My baby brother is hungry.”
Ela’s heart clenched. She knew that most of these urchins were in gangs of youths organized by hardened criminals looking to prey on the soft hearts of wealthy citizens. But now she could see the girl’s plight from the other side—she was a victim as much as the citizens she targeted with her plaintive pleas.
“If you give her a coin it’ll line the pocket of her master,” warned Bill as if he could read her mind.
Ela frowned. She slowed her horse to a halt and reached into her purse. The girl’s eyes widened. Ela pinched a silver penny between her thumb and finger. “Where do you live, little girl?”
The girl reached up to snatch the coin, but Ela held it just out reach.
“Do you live nearby?”
“My brother’s hungry!” She lunged at the coin, eyes not leaving it.
“Are you hungry?” Ela’s horse stamped impatiently, but Ela held the coin steady. “Would you like me to buy you a hot pie?”
The girl’s eyes finally left the coin and met hers, dark with suspicion.
“It’s not a trick. I shall buy you a pie.” Ela scanned the street. Vendors were all around them, filling the bellies of the sailors and hawkers and clerks that thronged the streets. She glanced at Bill. “Can you buy her a pie? And one for her brother.”
Bill jumped from his horse and handed it to the attendant.
“Can I have it?” The girl reached for the coin.
“Is a hot pie not better than coin?” Ela smiled at her, but that was a miscalculation, as the girl suddenly darted forward, under the legs of her horse and out the other side, and disappeared into the crowd.
Ela was still holding the single penny in her hand when Bill returned with two hot meat pies.
“Poor mite didn’t trust me.” She tucked the coin back in her purse. “I’m sure she was hungry.”
“Perhaps she feared a beating more than her hunger. Her master must be watching her.”
Ela scanned the faces around them. Everyone looked odd or sinister in one way or another on the streets of London. Probably even her. Strangers in a crowd of strangers, so unlike comfortable Salisbury, where she knew almost every face in the crowd.
“What shall I do with these pies?”
Ela glanced at another ragged waif, busy begging for coin from an older gentleman walking nearby.
“Here lad,” called Bill after the boy. “Would you care for a pie?” The urchin glanced up at him, pale eyes shining in his dirty face. He looked at the pie, then at Bill, then at the pie…then he turned and ran.
Bill raised his brows at Ela.
“They’re scared of us.” Ela shifted in her saddle. “I wonder why?”
“Scared of everyone, I’d imagine. Poor things.”
Bill gave one of the pies to an old blind woman begging for alms alongside a wharf and the other to a ragged young man on crutches who was dragging one foot. Even they seemed suspicious rather than grateful.
Bill announced them at the gate to the White Tower and asked for an audience with the sheriff. The guard seemed unimpressed by Ela’s rank but admitted them and pointed them toward a black-painted door on the far side of the courtyard.
They dismounted and Bill knocked on the door, which was ornamented with wide bands and studs of wrought iron. It opened slowly and a harried looking man with thick black brows said that the sheriff was abroad and asked if they’d like to leave a message.
Ela wanted to cry with frustration. The ride here had seemed so long and tortuous despite the relatively short distance. Every step in London was like thirty steps in peaceful Wiltshire. “When will le Duc return? It’s an urgent matter.”
The man shrugged. “He’s abroad on the king’s business.”
“Abroad where?” It would be just her luck for him to have sailed for Normandy this morning.
“Westminster.”
Ela wanted to retort that he was hardly abroad on the king’s business if he was waiting on the king at his palace, but there was no point in getting on the wrong side of his clerk or whoever this man was.
“We shall seek him there.”
Calling on the king himself was no small matter and required preparation, even if there was only a chance of seeing him. They returned to Alianore’s house to refresh their dress. Alianore fussed over Ela’s attire, lending her a heavy belt of wrought-gold links and pinching her cheeks to give them color.
“We might not even see the king, Mama.”
“Not see the king at Westminster? Why else would you go there? It’s the perfect excuse to get him involved in your endeavors. He’s but a boy of eighteen himself. How could his heart not be moved by the plight of innocent children?”
“But he always has that odious Hubert de Burgh at his elbow.” Ela hated the man with an unholy passion.
“Unfortunately, De Burgh will manage the affairs of the kingdom until Henry reaches his majority.”
“That can’t come soon enough for me.”
“Why do you despise de Burgh so? He’s quite charming when he’s in his cups.”
Ela’s pulse quickened, and she schooled herself to stay quiet. Her mother knew nothing of her suspicion that de Burgh had poisoned her husband. Such knowledge was a liability to anyone who heard it, and she didn’t want to put her mother in danger.
“He’s officious and arrogant, and I always get the feeling that he thinks I should be at home working my embroidery.”
“I’ve said the same thing to you myself,” said Alianore with an arched brow. “Why would you want to meddle in the affairs of the kingdom when you could be enjoying the comfort of your own hearth?”
Ela decided not to dignify her jibe with a response.
“You shall ride in my carriage. The ostler is readying it right
now.” Her mother turned to the lad standing in the doorway. “Let us know as soon as it’s ready.”
“But the distance is so short. And Bill hates to travel in a carriage.” Ela would much preferred to be nimble on her own horse. What if they needed to follow the sheriff to Westcheap in a hurry?
“Bill can ride behind it.” Alianore fluffed her veil and surveyed her with satisfaction. “Now what can you give him as a gift?”
“I don’t need a gift. It’s not a social visit.”
“A gift never goes amiss, my darling. Especially an expensive one. And the new tapestry that Jean brought back from Picardy for our bedroom gives me a headache. The colors are too bright.” She commanded a servant to roll it up and tie it well.
“What is the king going to want with your too-bright tapestry?”
“He can hang it in a too-dark room. Or give it away to one of his lackeys. It’s the gesture that counts.”
Ela sighed. She’d prefer to get right down to their urgent business and not waste time on pomp and circumstance. “We’re going there to find the sheriff.”
“Forget about the sheriff. Visit your kin, the king. He shall command the sheriff to do whatever you wish.”
Ela wasn’t so sure about that but didn’t wish to argue. Finally, outfitted with gifts and raiment fit for royalty, they headed out into the cloudy afternoon just in time to catch a sudden downpour of rain.
Ela could see the wisdom of her mother’s advice of going straight to the king. He was at home, as evidenced by the flag hanging soggily above the battlements as they approached. Bill announced them to the guards at the gate and they were ushered in with appropriate fanfare.
Bill explained that they were there on urgent business, and to Ela’s delight they were led right past the halls of simpering courtiers and hangers-on, directly to the king’s private parlor.
King Henry III sat in a carved and ornamented chair, which perched on a small platform that lifted him almost to eye level with the men—de Burgh among them—who stood around him.
“Ela, my dear.” He rose from his seat and stepped down to kiss her on the cheek. Ela was impressed with the maturity and grace that belied his tender years, and heartened by the familiar greeting. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
He sat back in his chair and Ela murmured the usual pleasantries as quickly as possible, then launched into her true purpose. She explained about the girl missing from Salisbury and that she’d learned it was not a rare occurrence for children to vanish. Then she shared the information she’d received about the house near Westcheap. She did not say she’d come here to find the sheriff, and she tried to forget that she’d originally decided not to trouble the king with this matter.
The king listened intently. “Children being stolen, you say? But for what purpose? Servants are available for hire in every part of the country. And why would someone want to snare a child so young that they’d have to train it like a weanling?”
“I’m not really sure, your majesty. But I suspect the purpose might be more than simple servitude. I hesitate to pour foul words in your ear, but it’s possible that these men are using young girls for…”
She couldn’t form the words. Truth be told she didn’t even have the words in her vocabulary. “For sinful acts.”
“Sinful acts?” Henry looked confused. An unmarried boy of eighteen who’d lived the most sheltered of lives—despite the iniquity no doubt taking place daily between the courtiers under his many roofs—he might have no idea of the kinds of acts that were possible even between consenting adults.
“Do you mean that the children are taken to be sexual playthings?” asked de Burgh.
Ela swallowed. He spoke the cruel words with a casual ease that chilled her. “Yes. It’s possible, at least.” She turned back to the king. “Tender children in the clutches of…monsters.”
“Come now, don’t be so dramatic.” De Burgh’s sharp features took on a mocking humor. “The streets of London are teeming with vagrants and urchins.”
Ela’s bile rose. “The girl I seek is neither of those things. She was stolen from her parents’ cottage just outside Salisbury.”
“This isn’t Salisbury. Surely Simon de Hal should take charge of this matter.”
Ela tried hard to keep her expression neutral. She suspected de Burgh was behind the decision to install de Hal as sheriff instead of her, after she’d explicitly requested the role. “From what we’ve learned, it seems likely that the children are brought to London right away, where it’s easier to lose them in the crowd and prevent them from escaping to find their way home.” She was inventing as she spoke, but it did make sense. “I’ve heard they’re often sold overseas, so they can’t make their way home and no one can find them.”
De Burgh lifted a slim salt-and-pepper brow. “And who are your mysterious sources of this information?”
“My lawyer, Walter Spicewell, has men he hires that can slip into the shadows of London’s underworld. They’ve identified a house in an alley near Westcheap—a building with no windows on the first floor—where they say some of these children are being held.” She turned and spoke directly to the king. “I request that men be sent to liberate the children so they can be returned to their rightful homes.”
“This sounds like a task for the sheriff.” The young king looked at de Burgh as if for confirmation.
“Indeed it does,” said de Burgh. “I’ll be sure to notify him personally.” His cold smile didn’t reach his eyes. Ela had a feeling her request would die in this room.
“Bill Talbot and I just rode to the Tower in search of the sheriff and were told he was here at Westminster. I hoped to discuss the problem with you and then find him myself. Is he within the palace?” If she approached le Duc with the king’s blessing he could hardly ignore her concerns.
The king looked at de Burgh again. Ela prayed that Henry would exhibit more self-confidence once he gained his majority. He was a sensible enough young man—as well he might be with the weight of the kingdom resting on his shoulders since he was a small boy.
De Burgh held up his hands in a gesture of mock helplessness. “I don’t have a map to his whereabouts. The palace and grounds are extensive.”
“Could a messenger find him?” Ela didn’t want to beat about the bush. “An eight-year-old girl is in grave danger right this moment.”
She wanted to conjure the image of her mother’s desperation and share her dread at facing young Edyth’s parents without good news. But she knew revealing her heart would just give them an excuse to dismiss her as too emotional.
“I share your concern, my lady.” De Burgh took a step forward as if to insert himself between her and the king. “We shall seek out the sheriff at once—wherever he may be—and pass on your message.”
Frustration welled inside her. Could she pace the halls and gardens of Westminster in search of Roger le Duc? For all she knew he was back at the tower by now.
“I’m sure your majesty and my lord justiciar are as appalled as I am by the news that tender babes are being abducted and sold into slavery right under our noses. That they’re being held here—imprisoned—in the greatest city in this kingdom.” She kept her voice steady and grave, while emotion rose inside her. “I consider it my duty to help return them to their parents.”
“God bless you for your generous heart,” said de Burgh. “That you care so much for the orphans and strangers of our country when your true duty is to your own tender babes, my lady.” His cold gaze belied his words. “Surely they must miss you when you are abroad in London?”
Ela felt a snappy retort hover at her lips, but she schooled herself to remain silent. Nothing good could come of angering the king’s justiciar, who still effectively ruled the country. Look what had happened to her husband after he’d raged against de Burgh? No sooner had they sealed their truce with a feast at de Burgh’s home than her husband sickened and died.
She was sure de Burgh had poisoned him. But again—w
hat good could come of accusing a man who was unassailable? De Burgh was too powerful an enemy to challenge, much as it pained her. Hopefully that would all change once the king gained his majority and de Burgh no longer held the reins of the nation in his scheming hands. Until then she’d be wise to treat him like a dangerous animal that must be handled with care.
“My children are not so young that they must cling to their mother’s skirts,” she finally replied, as graciously as she could. “Two of them married this summer with the king’s kind permission.” She smiled at Henry. “Such a joy to see them safely settled in life.”
This opening allowed Henry to ask about the weddings and steered the conversation in a direction that should remind de Burgh that the king was a member of her family as well as the head of state. She’d already given up hoping that either the king or de Burgh would send guards out for the girl. Now all she wanted to do was exit gracefully and come up with another plan to rescue Edyth.
“You must stay to dine with us.” The king rose from his chair with a smile. “Sir Thomas Fitzwilliam is here with his lady wife and their eldest son.”
No! These evening feasts were always interminable. With no further responsibilities for the day, the men would drink until they slid under the table. The prospect of sitting there making small talk while poor Edyth was possibly being loaded onto a ship sailing for Venice or even Constantinople made her want to scream. Agnes Fitzwilliam had no interests outside of gossip about her neighbors and her husband was dull as a bog. And no doubt there’d be a crowd of other royal hangers-on offering condolences for William’s death and maybe even scheming to marry her and her fortune into their family.
But this was the king.
She couldn’t say no.
“How delightful.” She tried hard to smile and likely wasn’t successful. She glanced at de Burgh. At least his displeasure at her company should warm her impatient heart.
But it didn’t. He now smiled with what looked like genuine enthusiasm.
Probably he was happy that she couldn’t now pursue the girl as she wanted. She’d thwarted his plans to marry her to his nephew, and now he intended to thwart every plan she made for the rest of her life.
