[Ela of Salisbury 03] - The Lost Child

by J G Lewis

  He was just teasing her that a nugget of opium might provide better relief when she heard the commotion of horsemen outside.

  Sheriff le Duc strode back through Alianore’s doorway, flanked by his deputies. Ela hurried down the stairs, peering behind them for signs of the children, but saw nothing but more men on horseback.

  “Did you search the house?” she said, before even attempting a polite greeting.

  Alianore rushed in front of her and filled in the required pleasantries, welcoming the sheriff back into the house. Ela’s heart sank as he wasted time in introducing his deputies and accepting a cup of wine.

  At last he turned to Ela. “To answer your question, my lady. We found the house. A three-story structure in the alley behind the Hog and Hound, old and in poor repair, with a stone lower story with no windows.”

  “You entered?” Her heart quickened.

  “We knocked and no one answered.” He took a sip of wine.

  Ela leaned forward in her chair. “So you left?” She didn’t attempt to hide her incredulity.

  He looked at his deputies as if this suggestion were hilarious. “We broke down the door and went inside.” He paused to accept a fig pastry from a plate carried by Hilda.

  Ela managed to stop herself screeching at him to carry on.

  He took a bite, chewed it, swallowed, then took another gulp of wine.

  He’s playing with me. She resolved not to be drawn into his snare, even though a child’s life was at stake. Getting angry with le Duc wouldn’t help.

  He put his wine cup down. “My men entered the building and searched every room, and there wasn’t a soul to be found.”

  “Did you see evidence that children had been there?”

  “Not a whit. The place wasn’t clean, but all furniture and objects had been removed.”

  “Were there signs of recent occupancy?”

  “Yes, most certainly. There were many footprints in the floor dust and fresh scuffs on the doors as if furniture or boxes had been carried through them recently.”

  “They took the children and left,” exclaimed Ela. “Where could they have taken them?”

  Le Duc enjoyed another long swig of his wine. “We saw no evidence that children were present.”

  “No small footprints?” Ela was more inclined to believe Spicewell’s paid henchmen than this slick sheriff.

  He shrugged, which caused the silver trim on his tunic to shimmer. “Impossible to say. There was too much traffic to see individual prints.”

  She fought the urge to howl with frustration. “They must have been warned. They knew you were coming.”

  “How would they know?”

  “How did they know I was looking for them?” asked Ela aloud, as much to herself as to the others. Spicewell’s men knew. Could they be trusted? She knew that if she told the sheriff about them, he’d focus on chasing after them and not finding the children, and how would that help little Edyth?

  “Now we must address the matter of the men who abducted you, if you don’t object?” His warm smile irked her.

  “Yes. I suppose we must.” Ela seated herself in a chair. “I wish I could give you more solid information, but the only thing I know is that I was taken to a house not far from here. Not more than two or three streets away.”

  Le Duc’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at Alianore. “Did you know you have brigands for neighbors?”

  “I most certainly did not,” said Alianore, crossing herself. “This is supposedly the finest part of London.”

  “And the White Tower.” Le Duc let out a loud laugh, and his two men joined him. “Would you be able to identify the house?”

  “From the inside, absolutely. I saw a hallway with a pattern of black and white tiles and wood paneling on the floor—very fine—and a great room with frescoes on the walls and fine objects. It was not a normal household but a very grand house. A palace, even.”

  Alianore’s eyes grew wide.

  “Mama, do you know a house that fits this description?” Ela’s pulse quickened.

  “Well, no, not exactly.” She looked like she wanted to say more but didn’t. Ela wanted to prod her for more information, but the look on her mother’s face warned her to stay silent. “And you must tell the sheriff about the theft of the gold belt and the rings.”

  Chapter 9

  Ela frowned. She’d begged her mother not to mention them earlier. First of all, they were stolen by entirely different people. Second, attempting to retrieve them would be a distraction the sheriff might gladly pursue instead of the more complicated matter.

  “You were robbed?” asked le Duc.

  “By someone unconnected to my abduction. A sneak thief, after I sought help in an inn on the London road. I never felt anyone take it so there’s no one to accuse.”

  “And the rings?” asked Alianore.

  “Those I traded to lease a horse to ride here. I gave them willingly.”

  Alianore clucked her tongue. “You could have bought the inn with their true value. Is that lad who arrived with you from the same inn?”

  “Yes. He guided me home. I told him to head back to the inn with the horses.” She’d made sure he wasn’t here to take the blame for the thefts. “He bears no guilt. He wasn’t even present when the theft happened or when I bartered for the horses. I was in a difficult position—a woman alone in the night—and value is dependent on circumstance, as you know.”

  Alianore and le Duc murmured agreement and praised God—again—for her safe deliverance. “But that belt is worth a small fortune,” protested Alianore. “What’s the name of the inn?”

  “The boy said it’s called the Eight Feathers.” She’d asked him before sending him away with a silver coin for himself. “He’d have no reason to lie. I admit I don’t know which road it sits on. It’s not one I’ve taken before. But can we leave that for another time? It’s the least urgent matter. At least those people didn’t threaten my life or anyone else’s.” She turned to le Duc. “How can we determine whose house I was kept in?” Then back to her mother. “Does the black-and-white floor sound familiar?”

  “Many houses have such a floor,” said Alianore, fiddling with her cuff. “They bring colored marble from Italy to make the patterns.”

  Ela turned to the sheriff. “Can we search some of the larger houses in this part of town?”

  Le Duc stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “How would your lady mother feel if we were to knock on her door wanting to explore her house to see if it looked like one where a crime had been committed?”

  “I’m sure she would do her best to help you in your work,” said Ela quickly, before her mother could join him in laughing.

  “I don’t think that the wealthy nobles and burghers of this district will appreciate their houses being rummaged by my men any more than your mother would want me rifling through her linen chest.”

  “True!” exclaimed Alianore. “But that could be because half of them are up to no good anyway.”

  Ela thought of how they’d discovered a profitable trade in opium disguised as a trade in cheap trinkets. She could only imagine what they might find in the house of a wealthy merchant who had ships coming and going from ports across the Continent.

  “I doubt I’d be sheriff for long if I got a reputation for harassing the city’s wealthiest and most important residents,” said le Duc. “One must always be practical, unfortunately. Unless we have a solid reason to suspect a particular house, we can’t insist upon entry.”

  “While I was shut in there, I could swear that I heard singing somewhere in the distance.” Ela struggled to remember the details.

  “A woman or a man?” asked Alianore.

  “A choir,” said Ela frowning. “At least that’s what it sounded like. High voices, so it could only be women or boys. It was a beautiful sound, now that I reflect back from a place of safety.”

  “The kind of choir you’d hear in a church?” asked le Duc.

  “Yes, or a
monastery,” said Ela.

  “Perhaps the house was next to a church?” suggested Alianore.

  “The weather is warm, and people have their windows open,” offered le Duc. “Sound can carry some distance.”

  “True.” Ela sighed. “And there’s a church on almost every street in London, it seems.”

  “God be praised,” said Alianore.

  “Indeed, but that makes it hard to know where I was. But more importantly, where can the children have been moved to?”

  Le Duc frowned down at the table. “Once again we find ourselves in a situation where every building in the city looks suspicious, but we can hardly break down the doors of each one.”

  “So what will you do?” asked Ela.

  Le Duc cleared his throat. “My men will keep watch on the house near Westcheap, and in the meantime we can send a posse to the Eight Feathers in search of your stolen belt.”

  Ela tended to Bill for most of the afternoon, with Hilda’s help. He was very weak and needed complete rest, which wasn’t easy for a man of action. She made him promise to stay in bed while she went to Compline with four of the sheriff’s men who’d remained to keep her safe.

  Alianore, sitting at her embroidery, protested loudly. “You narrowly escaped death yesterday, and now you’re heading out into the streets again?”

  “I won’t let the actions of evil men keep me from praising God, Mother.”

  “God has better things to do than watch over you every minute, my dear.”

  “That may be, but I can hardly pace back and forth across the parlor, waiting for something to happen. At least prayer might provide wisdom about what to do next.”

  Her mother, fingering a pearl rosary she kept in her sleeve, looked doubtful. “Don’t let yourself get abducted again.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Ela hesitated. “Now that the sheriff’s gone, you did recognize the black-and-white floor, didn’t you?”

  Alianore looked up from her rosary. “As I said, they’re not all that rare.”

  “Where have you seen one in London?”

  Her mother shrugged, looking awkward. “Nowhere that could have been the place you were taken.”

  “Mother—” Ela stared at her. “Where?”

  “Abbot Abelard de Rouen’s house has a black and white tile floor. I saw it when I was given a tour of his art collection by my friend Ethelburga le Hinton, who’s patron of his order. But you can’t possibly have been taken there.”

  “I’m not naive enough to think all men of God are Christlike. Sometimes their greed for money—or power—makes them depart from their true calling.”

  “That is sadly true, but Abbot Abelard de Rouen is one of the most powerful men in London and is known for being deeply pious. He’s a close associate of King Henry and his court.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I forget.” Alianore stabbed her needle through the fabric she was embroidering. “And it can’t be him. It’s impossible to imagine that he has untoward activities happening under his roof.”

  “Unless he’s unaware of them,” suggested Ela.

  Her mother’s look made it clear that she thought this impossible.

  Ela resisted the urge to growl with frustration. “I’d better leave, or I’ll be late for Compline.”

  Ela went out to mount her horse. The sheriff’s men, there to protect her, were already mounted. It was a short walk, but it had already been decided that being mounted was safer. Not that it had helped her last night.

  The ride to the church was uneventful. Inside, Ela tried to focus on the words but found herself praying fervently. She prayed for Bill’s full recovery and also for the two wounded guards. She’d heard they were out of danger, but you never knew when a wound would rot and poison the blood.

  She also beseeched God for his help and mercy in her efforts to find Edyth safe and well. It was hard not to lose a little more hope with each passing hour. She dreaded the awful possibility of returning to Salisbury without the child, and having to break the news of her failure to Edyth’s desperate parents. She felt bad that she hadn’t written to them, but short of word that Edyth had been found alive, what tidings could she send that would comfort them?

  After the service, Ela couldn’t bring herself to hurry home to her mother’s house. She’d been taken right here in front of St. Michael and All Angels, and the house she’d been taken to was in the same district. She told the men she wanted to exercise her horse by riding through the local streets.

  With two men flanking her in front, and two behind, she set out along the road, peering curiously at the buildings around her. Twilight glowed bright enough to see the buildings clearly, and with candles and rushlights being lit inside, she could catch a glimpse through some of the windows as well. The large houses in this district had glass windows designed to show off their owners’ wealth and stature.

  Ela rode along, making a mental note of houses she’d walked past a hundred times but never really noticed before. One grand three-story house held her gaze. The ground floor was built of cut stone, like a castle or fortified manor, and the upper story had at least six gables, each finely decorated with an elaborate pattern of wood beams.

  She wanted to stop and stare at the house, but that would cause too much commotion among the sheriff’s men, so she rode past, planning to return and examine it more closely.

  She strained her ears, listening for the sound of singing—and heard it. But that was hardly surprising. There were indeed churches all around them and once she paid attention she could hear bells and snatches of music in every direction she turned her head, even over the clatter of hooves and the grind of cartwheels hurrying home in the last few moments of daylight.

  Several times the sight of a man in a long dark cloak made her heart trip, but each time the person turned out to be a Dominican or Franciscan brother, or a merchant in fur-trimmed finery or someone other than the tall masked man.

  The sheriff’s men rode along close beside her, eyes scanning in all directions, and the one flanking her to the right seemed to jump a little any time there was an unexpected noise, to the point where his horse was becoming skittish.

  “What are you so worried about?” asked Ela. She realized she should turn down the next street and head back to Alianore’s house before it got fully dark.

  “Protecting you, my lady.” The man was painfully young, with oily hair and a pimply chin. “The sheriff says he’ll have our jobs if anything happens to you.”

  She could almost feel the older man to her left glowering at him for revealing this to her.

  “I feel quite safe in your midst, and I appreciate the trouble you’re taking to protect me.” She’d had difficulties with the guards at Gomeldon and had to beg Sheriff de Hal for new ones from the castle garrison.

  While Bill Talbot was a brave and skilled knight, and as loyal as her own heart, he was well past fifty years old now and not as fast or strong as a brigand of three and twenty. Not that she’d ever suggest that to him. It would break his heart to think that she didn’t trust him to protect her.

  Ela rode back to Alianore’s house, frustrated to have made no progress in locating the man who stole her. In the morning she’d visit Spicewell and see if his spies could provide some further intelligence.

  Back in Alianore’s house Ela begged fatigue and headed to her bedchamber early. She didn’t want to listen to her mother scold her for foolhardy bravery or question her plans and motives while refusing to reveal Abbot de Rouen’s address.

  Hilda brought her water to wash and combed out her hair and scented her wrists and temples with soothing lavender oil.

  “Do you feel safe with the guards outside?” asked Hilda softly. Ela had often scolded Hilda for speaking out of turn, but this question obviously came from a place of genuine fear.

  “I see no reason not to trust the sheriff’s men,” she replied. “They’re trained and seem attentive. Though I understand your anxiety.”

  Hilda
had been abducted from her own bed at Gomeldon because she’d had the misfortune to witness her lover’s murder. Luckily they’d intercepted her captor and saved her in time, but the incident had left echoes in her memory, piled on top of the horror of seeing the father of her unborn child murdered in front of her.

  “I have bad dreams,” Hilda admitted. She was braiding Ela’s hair into two long plaits, and she stopped half-way down the second one. “They wake me in the dark, and sometimes it’s all I can do to stop myself screaming.” Hilda’s hand, still holding her hair, started to shake.

  Ela turned and took hold of Hilda’s trembling fingers. “You’ve suffered horrors that would wake a world-weary soldier in the night.”

  “How can I make these cruel visions stop? The girls I sleep with were sympathetic at first, but they tire of me waking them in terror.”

  Ela’s heart clenched. “I wish I could offer solid advice, but the best suggestion I have is that you pray as hard as you can. Pray at bedtime, pray on awakening. Pray in the middle of the night when you wake in terror.”

  Hilda’s lip trembled. Her beautiful eyes shone with unshed tears. “I think God has forsaken me. Why would he leave me pregnant with a dead man’s child?”

  Ela blinked. For all the terrible things that had happened to her—including the suspicious death of her husband—nothing had shaken her faith and it was a constant comfort to her. She couldn’t imagine suddenly being deprived of it. Poor Hilda must feel like the sole survivor of a shipwreck without a spar to cling to.

  “God would never forsake you. Even though you can’t see or hear him, he’s with you all the time.”

  “Was he with Drogo when the knife pierced his throat?” Hilda’s eyes were wide. Ela detected a hint of anger in her voice.

  Her own children had never asked her such probing questions. She didn’t want to brush Hilda off with platitudes when the girl was in such obvious distress. “The Lord called Drogo to his side.”