[Ela of Salisbury 03] - The Lost Child

by J G Lewis

  “Five hundred pounds, you say?”

  Ela hesitated. It was an enormous sum. An outrageous sum. She’d chosen that number because she knew few mortal men could refuse it. It would be a strain on the estate for years to come, but she was a good manager and could rebuild the coffers. And if it worked— She drew in a breath to steady her nerves. “To be delivered within the week, if you are in agreement with my terms.”

  “That you be declared high sheriff of Wiltshire and castellan of Salisbury.”

  “Exactly.” She held his gaze. She resisted the urge to glance at de Burgh, which took a lot of willpower, as she could feel waves of fury rolling toward her from his direction.

  If she could get the king to agree—now, in front of these influential witnesses—the deed was done. She would be sheriff of Salisbury and could move back into the beloved ancestral castle her soul and body ached for like a missing limb.

  “Has Simon de Hal done any of those things since his installation as sheriff of Wiltshire?” cut in de Burgh.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” said Ela coolly. “I presume he was warned to be on his best behavior.”

  “No doubt he’s realized the error of his ways,” said de Burgh. “No man is born with experience for the roles he shall assume in life and must learn in situ.”

  “Happily most men are born without the desire to bully, threaten and rob their subjects,” said Ela. She’d waded up to her neck in this. Either she’d walk out of this room with her castle and the role of sheriff, or she’d probably never possess either of them again.

  “And you think Sheriff Roger le Duc of London is similarly iniquitous?”

  “I find Sheriff le Duc a delightful man, and I have no reason to believe he isn’t an excellent sheriff. But he did balk at investigating a building where I have good reason to believe that children are being held by a criminal gang that has killed two of my men, two associates of my lawyer’s office, and who have wounded two of my most able guards and my valuable and trusted man-at-arms, Sir William Talbot.” She gestured at Bill. Who didn’t move a muscle. He knew how high the stakes were at this moment.

  “You were attacked, Sir William?” asked the king of Bill.

  “And injured. But far worse, they took my countess hostage and threatened her before abandoning her alone at night outside the city.”

  The king blinked in astonishment. “How have I not heard of this?” He asked the question of de Burgh.

  Who shifted awkwardly. “The countess was warned of the danger to herself and urged to leave the city for the safety of her manor.” He tented his fingers. “And the child she sought was returned that morning, completely unharmed.”

  “Exactly as if some coin was placed on the right palms, or the appropriate warnings issued between the sheriff’s office and the villains themselves,” said Ela drily.

  “Impossible,” protested de Burgh. “I can vouch for the honesty of Roger le Duc.”

  “You vouched for the honesty of Simon de Hal,” murmured the king, surveying de Burgh through narrowed eyes. “He was your suggestion, if I recall correctly.”

  “Indeed. I believed him to be a capable and efficient dispenser of justice.”

  “You’d not seen this complaint that Countess Ela has a written copy of?”

  “I had not,” said de Burgh. But without much conviction. Ela was almost sure de Hal had slipped him a sizable bribe.

  The king stared at de Burgh for a moment. Then he looked at Ela. “I accept your offer. For a fine of five hundred pounds, payable within the month, you shall regain shrievalty of Salisbury castle and you shall be sheriff of Wiltshire for the term of one year, as is customary. After which time, the question of your continuing as sheriff will be addressed again.”

  Ela didn’t much like the conditional terms of the agreement, but if she paid the money she’d be back in the castle. Once there she knew she could impress the king, and the people of Wiltshire and of all England, with her ability to dispense swift and fair justice as sheriff.

  She stood and held out her hand. She knew that if the king shook a man’s hand, the agreement was sealed as if it were written in ink on vellum and stamped with a wax seal. As a man of honor—and a young, idealistic one at that—she knew Henry would stand by his word. “I accept.”

  Henry looked surprised for a moment, then rose from his chair and shook her hand. A wave of relief rose through Ela. If de Burgh wanted to keep her from being sheriff of Salisbury—as part of an extended revenge against her and her family—he’d have to kill her. And she did not intend to give him the opportunity.

  “I appreciate the trust you’ve placed in me.” She met his gaze. “I look forward to serving your grace as sheriff of Wiltshire.”

  “Your reputation for piety and good works has spread far beyond Wiltshire,” said the young king. “And I appreciate your drawing my attention to the reputation of the current sheriff of Wiltshire. If I’d known of these accusations he would not have been appointed to the role in your stead.”

  Ela bowed her head in acknowledgment. This was tantamount to an apology and more than she’d hoped for, or even wanted.

  Now, in the wake of her great triumph, she had to return to the pressing question of how to find the missing girl. It had been a good excuse for gaining an urgent audience with the king, but it wasn’t just an excuse. Elsie Brice—and the other children—were in urgent danger, and murderers walked the streets with their heads held high.

  “I hesitate to ask more of your grace, but there remains the question of the warehouse and the missing children.”

  Henry’s face was expressionless. “That is a matter you’ll have to address with Sheriff le Duc.”

  “Unless you wish to present yourself as sheriff of London,” quipped de Burgh, with a nasty expression.

  Ela ignored de Burgh and looked straight at the king. “But I took him to the warehouse myself and he wouldn’t force entry.”

  “No doubt he has his reasons.” The king leaned back in his chair, as if he was done with the matter. “You’ll have to take those up with him.”

  She was dismissed. The king apparently did not deign to meddle in such small local matters. He preferred to mull over his intended reconquest of the Angevin lands.

  “I shall do that, your grace.” She bowed her head. “And I look forward to serving you as sheriff.”

  There were some polite mutterings as she and Bill excused themselves. Once out in the hallway, Bill congratulated her with much excitement.

  “Indeed I am pleased,” she said quietly. “But that is in the future. We have work to do that cannot wait. We must take the warehouse ourselves.”

  Chapter 20

  “What do you know of Roger Le Duc, the sheriff of London?” Ela asked Spicewell. She’d begged an urgent appointment, and he’d welcomed her into his chambers near the law courts. With its ornate furniture and colorful tapestries it was a far cry from his business quarters down by the river.

  “Le Duc has a good reputation. He’s held the office of sheriff for multiple terms, which wouldn’t happen if the guilds and the burghers weren’t happy with him in the role.”

  “Is it possible that he bought their favor?”

  “Of course.”

  Of course. She’d done just that herself this morning at Westminster.

  “Then they might be happy with the money he provided rather than his performance as sheriff.”

  “Money alone would not induce the people of London to tolerate a sheriff who allowed theft and fraud and violence to go unchecked.”

  True. And the king would not have granted her the post of sheriff if he thought her inadequate to the role. The thought cheered her.

  “So, as far as you’re aware, he’s honest and concerned with the pursuit of justice?”

  Spicewell narrowed his eyes. “I suspect you’re hoping I’ll disagree with you.”

  Ela told him how they took le Duc to the warehouse they’d followed Brother Sebastian to and how he’d refus
ed to gain entry.

  “What street was it?”

  “I’ve discovered that they call it Water Street. It’s little more than an alley. The warehouse is a large, unmarked building of three stories. The first story is of stone. It’s an imposing building for a warehouse.”

  Spicewell let out a sharp laugh. “That warehouse belongs to the king himself.”

  “What?” Ela almost fell out of her chair. “Why does the king own a warehouse?”

  “Why else? To hold his imports of wine and spices and silks and—”

  “Does the king know children are being held in his warehouse?”

  “How do you know children are being held there?”

  “It’s a strong suspicion.”

  “And you expected the good sheriff of London to break down the door of the king’s warehouse?”

  “He never told me it belonged to the king. He was most evasive.”

  Spicewell sighed. “He’d hardly be likely to implicate his majesty in a crime now, would he? The king might not know it belongs to him, either. He’s not concerned with such matters. His stewards and treasurers would be responsible for the space. It might well be rented out.”

  “Might it be rented to a religious order?”

  “Entirely possible.”

  “The man we followed there is called Brother Sebastian. He lives in the order of Blackfriars connected to St. Michael and All Angels. I visited the house behind the church, and I’m certain it’s the place where I was held. We saw Vicus Morhees come out of the courtyard there before he was killed.”

  “Vicus Morhees is dead?”

  Ela realized that a lot had happened since she last saw Spicewell. She explained it as best she could.

  “So you think that the trade in children is connected to the opium trade?”

  “It’s possible that Vicus Morhees is the only connection. He’s almost certainly the connection to Salisbury. While he was in Wiltshire attempting to seize hold of Fernlees Manor, he saw an opportunity to profit from two young lives. Morhees was a very devious man who, I suspect, would do anything for gain. After we disrupted his profitable opium trade with our criminal investigation, he may have tried to strike up with new business partners.

  Spicewell nodded. “He seems to have met his match here in London. It sounds like his masters sacrificed him to your men like a spring lamb.”

  “Perhaps because his efforts to warn me off and banish me from London were to no avail.”

  “He clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with,” said Spicewell.

  “Are you referring to me or the child thieves?”

  He chuckled. “Both.”

  “Well, he’s dead and gone and reckoning with his maker. But unfortunately Elsie Brice is still missing and I fear she’s only another one in a long chain of unfortunate souls. I can’t rest until we locate the girl and uncover the foul villains behind this cruel trade.”

  Spicewell leaned forward in his chair. “It appears that you are knocking on some very well-guarded doors. Are you prepared to raise your sword against the king himself?”

  Ela felt the blood drain from her body. “You think the king is behind this?”

  “No, I don’t. For one thing he’s too young and I’ve heard no reports that he is involved in anything even slightly underhanded. He’s pious and dutiful, and gossip even suggests that he’s still a virgin.”

  Ela blinked. The very idea of discussing the king’s bedchamber activities felt like high treason. “I’ve found him to be a thoughtful and intelligent young man, and I have high hopes for him as our king.”

  “He’s a much different man than his father, God be praised.”

  “Indeed, yes.” Ela had a sudden violent urge to cross herself. She obeyed it. Perhaps a troubled spirit walked abroad. “But you think one of the king’s close friends or associates may be involved in this foul business?”

  Spicewell tented his hands and peered at them. “If I thought it was just one of them—”

  Ela stared. “You think more than one…?” A sudden thought occurred to her. A thought that appealed to her more than she dared to admit. “Is Hubert de Burgh involved?” She could already picture him twisting on the gallows, convicted of exploiting and abusing children, and took a most unholy pleasure at the prospect.

  “De Burgh?” Spicewell exploded with laughter. “Good Lord, no. That man thinks of nothing but power—gaining it and increasing it. He’d never waste his time on activities that could endanger his hold over the king. The man has as much passion as my walking stick.”

  “Oh.” Ela tried not to let her disappointment show. “Then who? Abbot Abelard de Rouen lives in the house behind St. Michael and All Angels., but he’s away in Rome for a meeting with His Holiness the Pope.”

  “Perhaps he went to Rome with a ship full of young children to be sold into the households of cardinals.”

  Ela’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “A life of celibacy can warp a man’s desires into something sinful and cruel.”

  “Next you’ll suggest that the pope himself—” She didn’t like this train of thought and stilled her tongue.

  “I’ve been on this earth many years and seen a lot in my practice as a man of the law. At this point there is almost nothing that would surprise me.”

  Ela felt horribly depleted. “You don’t think it’s someone in his household using the cover of the religious house to conceal their nefarious behavior?” She thought of the young African boy dressed in his finery like an exotic pet. She wished she could speak with him alone. Then she remembered that she’d tried.

  “It’s possible, but you know the old saying that if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

  “We followed a monk named Brother Sebastian to the warehouse.”

  “So you have a monk entering a warehouse belonging to the king and you’re wondering why the good sheriff of London is reluctant to break the doors down and seize him?”

  Ela pondered this for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Of course the king would be unassailable in this instance. But it isn’t him. Are men under holy orders exempt from prosecution?”

  “Not entirely, but if the church closes ranks around them it will be impossible to bring them to justice.”

  “Then how can we stop them?” Her voice rose with a note of desperation.

  Spicewell leaned back in his chair and peered at her down the length of his slightly bulbous nose. “A man is only as good as his reputation. If word were to get out…”

  “That a man of God was enslaving children.” Ela frowned. “Who would believe it?”

  “You might find that people already know the truth and were just waiting for someone else to blurt it abroad.”

  Ela took a moment to ponder this. “You think the sheriff might already know?”

  Spicewell shrugged. “He might. And if he’s a wise man he’d know there was little he could do about it. So he might choose to focus his energy on cases where there is justice to be sought and won.”

  “And stand idly by while Elsie Brice—a pure and innocent girl of eleven with her whole life ahead of her—is sold to the highest bidder and deflowered for the idle pleasure of sinful men—” She choked on her own words. “Well, God is my judge and I do not intend to stand aside while young children are exploited and ruined.”

  “These people are dangerous. I lost two of my best informants to them, as you know.”

  “And I two brave young guards.” She frowned. “I won’t just look away. I can’t. Before I make any accusations I must know who is taking the children and what they are doing with them. But for now, the most important thing is to get the children back.”

  Ela did not share her plan with Spicewell. She left him thinking that she was going to ponder the matter for a few days. In truth, she’d done all the pondering she needed.

  “We shall dress in dark clothing, to go unseen in the night.” She paced across the floor of her mother’s private ups
tairs parlor. Bill Talbot and two guards stood awkwardly against the paneled walls. She looked at the guards. “We shall bring three ladders that, when lashed together, will reach the high window.”

  The kitchen boy was hard at work on the ladders right now, binding staves to long poles. One thing Ela liked about London is that you could obtain the most obscure items with ease. The ladders he made would be lighter and easier to transport than any she could buy, and could be simply ditched into the river if necessary.

  She’d tried to persuade Bill to stay home, but he’d refused. She was secretly glad. She appreciated his wisdom and moderating influence on her—at least when she had the good sense to listen to him.

  “We’ll wait until the bells have run for Matins. The streets should be near empty. We shall avoid the neighborhood of St. Michael and All Angels and head straight for the warehouse, taking care that no one—even in this household—sees us. Once there we shall lash the ladders together and raise them, and I—as the lightest—will go up them.”

  Naturally, there was a token protest at this, but Ela soon got them to agree. “I shall slip through the window and into the building, and Theo shall follow close behind me if necessary. Bill and Alun shall wait outside and watch.”

  “But surely the children, if they’re in there, will be guarded.”

  “Perhaps, but I think not. We’ve now seen Brother Sebastian go there twice in a day, bringing a basket of what must be food. I think he’s their watchman and that the children are secured with locks and chains rather than armed men. I pray they’re still there.”

  She and Bill had checked—repeatedly—the old building near Westcheap, but there were no signs of recent use. The door remained barred and cobwebs now hung in the doorway. All signs pointed to the children being held in the warehouse by the river.

  They waited until the Matins bells had stopped chiming and long enough for any night creatures heading to Mass to arrive inside the church and close the doors. Then they headed out onto the street.