She peered again into the window. Robert was lifting another glass. It was hopeless now. She might as well go home alone—or back to Leyland’s study.
She contemplated the wisdom of this—or the insanity. Curiosity had ever been one of her demons, and without Matthew’s solid masculine judgment to restrain her, she felt unable to resist its call. She knew she would have no second chance to inspect Leyland’s premises. Whispering a prayer for her safety and the old woman’s leisurely return, Joan crossed the street.
The door was unlocked, or perhaps the lock was broken, since there was a keyhole, and she went in, leaving the door slightly ajar so that she could hear footsteps on the stairs if anyone came. On the table the furnace still gave off heat, but the gurgling alembic had been removed.
She lighted a candle and looked around. She examined the books on the table. They were about medicines and astrology, secrets of the ancients, and the enigma of numbers. She suspected Leyland of being an alchemist. One book, heavily annotated, was by Paracelsus. Her heart leaped with excitement. Paracelsus—he of whom the apothecary Prideaux was a disciple.
Now she was sure she was on die right track. Eagerly she began to rummage through the drawers of a desk occupying one comer of the room. In the bottom drawer she found an old ledger. Its leather cover was battered and dirty, and inside there was a long list of names, and next to these, notations of money received, all written in a delicate script so tiny that she could hardly discern the characters. She noticed the dates next to the entries. They were from five years earlier. She flipped through the pages again, stopping on the flyleaf to notice something she had unaccountably missed before. But, of course, it was obvious. The book’s owner, whom she had assumed to be Leyland, had not been secretive about his ownership. He had had, then, no reason to be. He had inscribed his name there in the same minuscule hand as the entries, and although tiny and faint, the name was unmistakable.
Christopher Prideaux, it said. She uttered the name, and then again. No, it was not her imagination. There could be no question.
Her heart thumping with excitement at this discovery, she concealed her precious find within her cloak and was about to leave when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She quickly extinguished the candle and hid herself behind the door, fearful of shutting it. She waited; the footsteps ascended. Then there was a pause. She heard a key turning in a lock and realized it must be Nan, returning home. She held her breath, heard the door open and then shut again. She waited another few minutes, not daring to move. The coals in the little furnace gave off light, and her eye caught the vial with the amber liquid. Carefully she crossed to the table and snatched it up. It, too, was evidence, if only of Leyland’s malign nature. Then she tiptoed down the stairs, feeling like a sneak thief despite all her good intentions, and a betrayer of Nan Warren, without being sure why.
In the alehouse, Robert was slumped across the bar unconscious. Joan decided to let him find his own way home.
Nineteen
THEOPHILUS Phipps was considering whether his vigil was worth the boredom and discomfort, so damp and cold it was. He had been standing in the Bishopsgate Street for a solid hour by his reckoning and the testimony of church bells, and he longed for the warmth of his own chamber at the Inn. He would have obeyed his better judgment and hied homeward had he not witnessed the graceless exit of Stock’s wife from the apothecary’s upstairs, been intrigued to know its cause, and had his curiosity piqued to a second pitch by the sight of the same wife sneaking back in again. He was at least happy to have had a wild guess rewarded. Inquiring earlier of the garrulous Jacob Flowerdewe as to whether he had seen Matthew Stock, Phipps had been treated to the old porter’s account of how he had provided directions to the wife of the same. It had seemed incredible to Phipps that a man would use his wife to do his own work, but then, stranger things had been observed. After all, didn’t a woman rule the royal roost? Besides, he laughed to himself, a crutched, hobbling, and questionably competent Matthew Stock needed all the help he could get.
So Phipps had pursued the wife rather than the husband because he had no idea where the husband was, but the wife, he knew, had her nose to Leyland’s traces.
Then, hell-bent for somewhere and mumbling curses as she went, Leyland’s old mother had passed Phipps in the dark, too intent on her immediate business to notice him lurking there. Phipps knew that something had happened within the shop to raise the old harridan’s hackles and trigger Joan Stock’s unceremonious leave-taking and most abrupt and surreptitious return. But what?
Phipps wanted badly to know, and when a few minutes later he saw Nan Warren go into the house and then Joan Stock come out again, he knew he could not forsake his vigil without an answer. Was the house a brothel as well as an apothecary’s? Was Leyland’s mother the bawd? More to the point, under what circumstances did Joan Stock know Nan Warren?
Phipps had not spoken to Nan in a while. She had been a closemouthed piece before; would she open to him now? He thought it was worth the effort.
He entered the house, and when he got to the top of the landing and was confronted by the two doors, he noticed that one was ajar; a weak light shone within. He assumed Nan was inside and entered boldly, being no respecter of common trulls or their privacy.
He realized his mistake at once, for he smelled the odor of chemicals before he made out the room’s contents. He was on the threshold and about to cross to the other side of the landing when he saw Leyland’s mother coming up the stairs.
“Who in the devil are you?” growled Mistress Browne as she gasped for air from her climb. “Another thief—the accomplice of her who was here before?”
Phipps had no time to rectify the old woman’s confusion before she reached the top of the stairs and seized him by his loose sleeve with one hand and, with the other, shook a fist in his face. “Thief, burglar, whoreson dog, what have you taken?”
Surprised by the old woman’s strength and ferocity, Phipps gaped idiotically. She repeated her question. What was he doing there? she demanded to know. He started to explain, but in his confusion it all came out overly complicated, garbled, and false-seeming, and then she began to thump him on the chest with her index finger and then whack him, and growing more heated and suspicious, she spun him around and shoved him toward the edge of the stairs. He lost his balance, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking his neck in the Ml, while his assailant clattered down in hot pursuit, still screaming “Stop, thief!” By the time he was at the bottom of the stairs, Mistress Browne had fallen upon him with a vengeance, beating him about the head and shoulders, laying upon him even more vile names, and swearing to call the constable and his watch and the high sheriff too.
Then, above Mistress Browne’s fury, Phipps could hear Nan Warren’s voice from atop the stairs inquiring what the commotion was and who was being murdered and why. The old woman gave over her railing and beating and twisted her head round to answer. “This scum is confederate of her who was here before—a sniveling, lying sort come to spy out the house and doubtless intent on murdering us all in our beds. I am' giving this sot no less than he deserves. ’ ’
In his pain and confusion, Phipps heard another voice. It was Leyland’s. He looked up and saw the man himself blocking the doorway, his legs braced like a seaman’s on a ship’s rolling deck.
“Mother, what is this broil?” Leyland demanded.
“Why, I saved the constable the trouble of dragging the miscreant to the prison, where he richly deserves to lie til! he rots,” gasped the mother.
“It’s Master Phipps of the Temple,” Leyland said.
Nan came downstairs to confirm Phipp’s identity.
“So claimed the woman to be, from the Middle Temple, that is, and she said something about her husband being a patient of yours,” said the mother to her son.
“I think you have made a mistake, Mother,” Leyland said. “I can’t believe Master Phipps is a thief. ”
“Mistake! I think not!” She glared
at Phipps where he sprawled, his hands shielding his head and neck from further blows, and his hat with the high crown smashed beneath him.
“I saw the villain coming out of your study with my own eyes. A sly woman came round earlier asking questions, pretending to want medication and asking about a certain person of Norwich.”
‘‘Who was this woman?” Nan inteijected from behind, but she got no answer from Leyland’s mother, who flung a look of scorn at her and continued to address her son. ‘‘I knew she was lying, just as this craven villain is lying now. I don’t care what Temple he claims he’s from.”
‘‘I hardly think Master Phipps would steal. As for the woman you mention who was here—”
‘‘Not a thief! Well, God be blessed and the Devil cursed; if you go upstairs, you will find it even as I have said. Something will be missing. Else why would he have entered a door closed against him and come out so stealthfully? Good God in Heaven, just look at him! Guilt is writ as plain as day upon his scurvy-white face, I warrant you.”
In a dry, fearful voice Phipps protested the charges against him. Hot tears of pain and humiliation were streaming down his face and he was glad of the darkness of the staircase to hide his shame. “I am no thief, nor a spy, nor any of the things you accuse me of,” he whined. “You know me, Master Ley land. And you too, Nan. You remember me when I came to visit you more than once at the Gull. I came here following the woman you mention. You know her, Master Leyland. It’s Stock’s wife—he whom you attended only a few days ago in the Middle Temple.”
Leyland exchanged glances with Nan. Then he looked down at Phipps again and said sternly: “If what you say is true, Master Phipps, you will not object to accompanying me upstairs to put my mother’s accusations to the proof.” Phipps struggled to his feet, plagued by a dozen aches from the old woman’s blows and his tumble down the stairs. He brushed the dirt from his cloak in an effort to regain his dignity, looking from one suspicious face to another. “I am satisfied, you’ll find it all as you left it—the study, I mean— which I entered by mistake, thinking it was Nan’s. I was there but a few seconds, saw nothing I remember. Left as soon as I realized my error. I am injured, as you see, bruised mightily. Slandered and battered, for which I might be moved to contemplate a suit at law.”
‘‘Let us not speak of suits before we determine that no forced entry or other larceny has taken place for which you may be criminally liable,” said Leyland with frigid dignity. He nudged Phipps up the stairs, and seeing no ready alternative, Phipps complied, his fear growing, for although he knew in his heart he had taken nothing, he somehow felt evidence would presently be found to the contrary, and he was terrified at the thought of arrest and imprisonment.
As they proceeded upstairs, Mistress Browne resumed her role as keeper, clutching at his arm in case, she said, he should make another effort to escape. In the study, Leyland lighted candles the better to see and began to look around on the table.
‘‘I told you to have the locksmith repair that door,” Ley-land said to his mother.
‘‘And so I did, but he has yet not come,” said the mother.
Leyland probed among the books and papers on the table, then went to the desk and began to search through the clutter there. ‘‘I kept a ledger in the bottom drawer,” he said, looking up suddenly at Nan, who had come into the room as well, and then accusingly at Phipps.
‘‘Not the one I am thinking of?” said Nan.
Leyland nodded. Nan cursed beneath her breath. “Search Phipps,” she said. “If he has it on him, get it back.”
Leyland came over and began to search Phipps roughly. Terrified, Phipps made no effort to resist. “I never took anything. I was only here a moment before realizing I had entered the wrong room. But Mistress Stock may have been here—for at least ten minutes or so. I saw her leave before you did, Mistress Browne, then return immediately thereafter.”
“She came back again, you say?” said Mistress Browne, less cantankerously than before.
“Oh yes,” Phipps said. “I swear it. I saw it all from across the street. She went in, then came out. Then you came out, Mistress Browne, and walked away in a great huriy. Then
the Stock woman went in again, then Nan here, then Stock came out.”
“A busy coming and going,” said Leyland dryly, looking at Nan. “He doesn’t have the ledger on him.”
“If something has been stolen,” Phipps offered desperately, “then Stock’s wife must have taken it. Why else would she have sneaked back in after Mistress Browne sent her packing?”
“And left without talking to me,” Nan said, looking at Leyland. “According to Phipps here, Mistress Stock left after I had returned. She must have heard me coming up the stairs. Yet no greeting.”
“A vial is missing too,” Mistress Browne interrupted suddenly. “It was right here by the alembic. I remember because I pointed it out to the woman when she came in, told her it was deadly poison to be administered to those who were too curious for their own good. I gave her a scare, I did.”
“And no doubt suggested in doing so that the vial was worth taking along with my ledger,” Nan said pointedly.
“This is not your house,” Leyland’s mother replied sharply, “but mine.”
“Be silent, the both of you,” Leyland said.
“If you will only let me go, I will pay for whatever was taken,” Phipps said.
Leyland stared at Phipps without replying, as though he was seriously considering the offer. Nan and Leyland’s mother looked on without comment. * ‘We don’t want to make Master Phipps more anxious than he already is,” Leyland said at length. “It is true he has nothing on him save what is his. The breaking and entering is another matter!”
“What! But I broke nothing—my entry was a trespass at worst. Besides, I gave evidence against the thief.”
“True, but you trespassed, by your own admission. And you have virtually confessed yourself to be Mistress Stock’s accomplice in offering to pay for what she stole. For what honest man would pay for what he never took, without protest?”
“But I most strenuously do protest!” cried Phipps. “If you will only let me go, Master Leyland, I promise that henceforth you may make what use of me you will. I am not without influence in the City. I have the ready ear of Master Hutton, and my name is common at Westminster. I could increase the number of your patients, weed out those who cannot or will not pay your fees, and put you on to any number of wealthy widows seeking husbands among professional men.”
‘‘Now you belittle me by suggesting I would accept your bribes,” said Leyland.
Phipps quaked in his boots. This was the worst night of his life, and if he survived it, he resolved to turn again to religion, forswear usury, and even give up boys, if only God would help him to escape. ‘‘What will you do with me?” he asked faintly.
Leyland took his time answering, stroking his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. ‘‘How much do you have in your purse this instant?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps three shillings, odd silver. I am not a rich man, Master Leyland.”
“On the contrary, I have heard you do well by yourself, Phipps,” said Leyland. “Would you, by the way, be interested itj doing even better?”
“How do you mean, ‘better’?”
“I am thinking of a more lucrative practice than usury.”
Phipps blanched. So Leyland knew about that too. But whatever did the man mean by “better”? Was he about to receive an offer?
“Let me see your purse.”
Phipps handed it to him and watched while Leyland poured the contents out into his palm.
“A decent estimate, Theophilus, if I may be so bold as to call you by your Christian name.”
“Please do,” Phipps said, desperate for favors no matter how small.
“This, then, in my hand, in return for what was stolen: the ledger and the vial.”
Phipps started to protest. Now that Leyland’s apparent soften
ing allowed the clerk to consider the matter, the contents of his purse was an exorbitant sum for a ledger and a vial full of some stinking ointment. But he restrained himself. He saw how the bargaining had eased the dangerous situation. Mistress Browne was watchful still but quiet, and Nan Warren regarded him less contemptuously than before. “Have it as you will, sir.”
“And so I shall, Theophilus, so I shall,” said Leyland. “Let’s say, then, that we even the score. Your money for my ledger and vial—all an adequate compensation for invading the privacy of my cell. That’s worth something, you know.” “And for assaulting me,” put in Mistress Browne. “For he did with willful and deliberate malice aforethought kick my shin—and very painful it was too.”
Phipps opened his mouth to protest this new charge, but shut it again. He realized now that the less he said, the better.
“Cheer up, Theophilus,” said Leyland in a sudden burst of good humor. “My good mother in her zeal to catch a thief has caught you in her net. Count it as an honest mistake on our parts. But now peace is made between us. The bruises on your person will keep you watchful tonight, for the which I will give you something to ease the pain and bring dreams of such sweetness that you will thank your stars you suffered this abuse. At a later time, I’ll give you some more, but in return you must do something for me.”
“What, sir?”
“Keep this evening’s little misadventure to yourself. And we for our part will do the same. This agreement kept on all sides will be earnest money for another kind of transaction that will provide you with pleasure and great profit.”
Phipps wanted to know what manner of transaction Ley-land spoke of, but Leyland wouldn’t say, nor would Nan, who smiled at Phipps encouragingly as Leyland selected a vial from the table and poured from it a generous spoonful of the contents.
“The hour is late,” Nan Warren said. “You may want to spend the night in my room after you have taken what Master Leyland has offered you.”
Knaves Templar Page 19
