A Maiden Weeping

by Jeri Westerson

  Feeling helpless, he opted for merely sitting and surveying nearby. A brazier down the street glowed from its coals, and he trotted toward it. It had a view of the house and so he stood over the red embers, warming his hands.

  Just as he settled in, a man suddenly blocked his view. Jack startled back, hand on dagger … and then expelled an exasperated breath. ‘Master Buckton! What is it now?’

  ‘I saw you on the street. Are you investigating?’

  ‘Of course I am! So if you don’t mind …’

  ‘Oh. You don’t want my help, then?’

  Cursing to himself, Jack gave him a neutral demeanor. ‘I know you are anxious to put away this killer. So am I. I’m watching him now.’

  ‘Oh?’ He seemed to brighten.

  ‘Aye. So if you don’t mind I’m supposed to be in hiding.’

  ‘You want me out of the way?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, good master.’

  ‘I see.’ The eel monger searched around, no doubt trying to discern who Jack was watching before he slowly backed away. He kept looking back over his shoulder at Jack, and Jack urged him on with an urgent gesture.

  Blind me. As smart as his eels, that one. He hoped Buckton hadn’t revealed his hiding place.

  He hunkered down again and soon saw someone open the shutters from a window above. It was his man! Gernon left the window open as he returned to the softly glowing room.

  Jack folded his arms, tucking his cold hands into his armpits. He tried not to think about what the man was doing because it made him think of Isabel and what he’d like to be doing with her, and that wasn’t a very Christian thought, especially about a woman he was hoping to marry. Or was it? His master talked with him once a few years ago when Jack had had his first blush of the heart. It had been an inappropriate longing and it had ended badly but back then, Jack – as young as he had been – was only chastely devoted. Now that he was a man or nearly so, his thoughts naturally turned toward, well, manly pursuits.

  He pulled his suddenly tight collar away from his throat and adjusted his braies. He shouldn’t be thinking about it, but didn’t all young men think about such things? They all talked about it in the taverns. Young men, old men in white whiskers, and every age of man in between. And here he was, as chaste as a spring lamb. But it didn’t mean he didn’t like to hear about it.

  A scream. Jack tore away from the brazier. There was a commotion in the open window of the whore’s room. She screamed again, the man shouted, and then a door slammed. Jack threw himself to the wall and climbed, gripping the half-timbers and scaling the structure till he reached the window and grabbed onto the sill. He pulled himself up and peered inside. The woman lay on the small bed, facedown. Fearing the worst, Jack swung himself up and landed hard in the room. Gernon was gone. He approached the bed and found the woman wearing just her thin shift, rucked up over her backside. Holding his breath, he reached out, hoping he’d find a pulse.

  He barely touched her shoulder when she shot up, screaming again. Jack yelled and fell back on his bum on the floor.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she croaked.

  ‘Are you all right, demoiselle?’

  Her eyes looked around wildly and she reached for her throat. Dark bruising covered her neck. ‘Where is he? Where is that knave? If I ever get my hands on him …’

  Someone pounded on the door. ‘Kate! Kate, what’s the matter?’ a woman called through the door.

  Jack lunged for the window. A man beat a hasty retreat away from the brothel. Jack turned once to the woman, ‘As long as you are well …’

  She waved at him and staggered up, going to the door.

  Jack hung out the window, bounced once against the wall, and then pushed away, landing on the street. He took off after the running man.

  I’ve got you now, you whoreson! beat in his head as he pumped his legs hard. The man knew these streets as well as Jack, but with so few on the road on this day and at so late an hour, it was easy to hear the solid thuds of his footfalls. But as Jack turned each corner, he seemed to miss the man just as he turned the corner ahead of him. Jack was beginning to think he’d never catch up when he found himself making a wrong turn down a blind alley. It dead ended and he swore. When he turned, the silhouette of a figure stood at the entrance, limned in the dying twilight, blocking his escape.

  Jack pulled his dagger and gathered himself.

  Then the figure spoke. ‘Put down your weapon, boy.’

  TWENTY

  Sunday, 18 October

  ‘Master Crispin!’

  Crispin chuckled. The lad was dangerous, no doubt about it. ‘Glad you recognized me before attacking.’ He moved to the center of the alley as Jack approached him.

  ‘Master, what are you doing here? I thought I was to meet you later.’

  ‘I had to do a bit of investigating on my own. It just so happened that I saw you earlier and decided to bide my time, see what transpired. That was quite a leap from that second story window. You should be more careful.’

  ‘I didn’t catch him anyway.’

  ‘That little matters if we know who it is.’

  ‘And that’s even worse.’ He related to Crispin all he had learned, and Crispin scowled.

  ‘The sheriffs will surely never arrest their own.’

  ‘That’s what they told me,’ said Jack wearily. ‘And if they don’t arrest him, that puts you on very unsure footing.’

  ‘It puts me squarely on the gibbet.’ Crispin stuffed his arms under his cloak. The alley stank like piss and he motioned Jack to follow. They walked together down East Cheap toward Candlewick.

  ‘Are you truly going to appear at the trial tomorrow, master? I will sail with you anywhere you wish to go.’

  ‘You don’t have confidence in my lawyer’s skills? He has yet to examine witnesses.’

  ‘Why take the chance, master? Let’s go!’

  ‘And what of you and the young lady? Love blooms, does it not, Tucker?’

  He watched Jack squirm, but he was still touched by the boy’s offer.

  ‘Women come and go,’ he said sagely. ‘But … you taught me everything. I will not abandon you.’

  ‘Even if I commanded you to?’

  Jack raised his chin. ‘Even then.’

  He smiled and slapped the lad’s back. ‘Ah, Jack. It does my heart good to hear you. But we need not abjure the realm quite yet.’

  ‘What have you got planned, master?’

  ‘A trap. And then my lawyer to call this witness and force him before the judge.’

  ‘What sort of trap?’

  ‘It’s not yet formed, Jack. I’m thinking about it.’

  ‘Well, while you’re thinking we should talk to Madlyn Noreys, for she knows something’s afoot as well. There’s a witness what puts her to see Elizabeth le Porter at her lodgings.’

  ‘Indeed. It might be worth talking to her. Perhaps she even knows this alderman as well.’

  They talked and found themselves heading toward the Shambles when Crispin stopped. ‘Good Christ. Look where I’ve led us.’

  Jack stared at the blackened ruin of their home. ‘Blind me. I forgot, too.’

  They looked at one another. ‘Are you safe at the Boar’s Tusk, Jack?’

  ‘Aye. As safe as anywhere, I suppose.’

  ‘Come back with me to Gray’s Inn and we’ll talk about strategy.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we talk with Madlyn Noreys first?’

  ‘I will have Cobmartin send her a missive. Perhaps she will meet us there tonight.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘If I word the missive just right, I might strike the correct note. In other words, I could make it sound like … extortion.’

  ‘Master Crispin!’

  ‘I said it would sound that way, not that it would be that way.’

  They hurried to Gray’s Inn, outside London’s walls, and together went up to the lawyer’s eyrie. Nigellus was surprised to see Jack but took his hand in greeting.
Crispin sat at the table – which had managed to clutter again – and made room to pen a quick note. ‘There. Nigellus, if one of the inn’s pages could take this note to the Noreys household on Lombard Street and offer to escort the lady here, we might get somewhere.’

  ‘Interesting that you should mention that particular household,’ said Nigellus. ‘For they have sued the sheriffs to arrest you for the murder of their son.’

  ‘Truly,’ said Crispin wearily, ‘this is getting old.’

  ‘What do you hope to gain by talking to Madlyn Noreys?’

  ‘She knows something. She was seen visiting Elizabeth le Porter. Either to propose she steal the relic or to beg her silence for her son’s indiscretion on the matter. Either way, she will have much to say and it can only help my cause. Well, one of them, anyway.’

  Nigellus said nothing more. He called for a page, and soon a boy in livery arrived and took the note with instructions to escort Madlyn Noreys back and only Madlyn Noreys.

  They waited. Tucker fussed over Crispin and served him wine. He had to admit, he had missed Jack’s care of him. Of any servant, for that matter. How quickly he had become accustomed to it in the last six years when the twelve years before he had been alone and too poor for such luxuries.

  But Jack was more than a servant. Much more. Crispin rested his chin on his hand and watched under droopy lids as Jack moved about the room, trying to tidy.

  ‘Jack, why don’t you tell me about … Isabel.’

  The boy stopped dead and whipped his head around. His face was pale. The freckles adorning it stood out particularly dark on the whiteness of his cheek. ‘Oh. Well.’ He toyed with a roll of parchment. Now the pale cheek reddened with a bloom of pink. Amused, Crispin sat back, hands folded together on his stomach. ‘She’s, er … she’s willing.’

  ‘That is good news.’

  ‘Aye. But … now what, sir?’ He pulled up a stool and scraped it across the floor as he slid it against the table. ‘I mean … other men … they … they … and you! You’re always bringing some lass home and then you … but I don’t think … at any rate, she’s young and …’

  ‘Jack, is there a question somewhere in there?’

  ‘Master, it’s just that … I don’t know what I’m to do next.’

  ‘Why Jack Tucker. Are you by chance telling me that you are … inexperienced?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I try to live by the saints and do as our Lord would wish me. Being chaste.’

  Crispin felt a sudden wash of tenderness in his heart for his apprentice, as godly a thief as he had ever met. ‘Oh. Then you must think me a very sinful man.’

  ‘We-e-e-ll, sir … I …’

  ‘Never mind. And I do atone. I shrive myself often. For all the good it will do me in the end.’

  ‘Oh but, sir. You’re different from me. I mean, you’ve been out in the world, haven’t you? You’ve been to the Holy Land. You’ve sailed across oceans. You’ve been to France!’

  Crispin dropped his chin to his chest to hide his smile. ‘Men are much the same everywhere, Jack. And our needs … are the same. I have not lived as chaste a life as I should have, but I consider it just compensation for my … circumstances.’

  ‘And I understand that, sir. That’s what I meant. But as for me. Well, I can wait.’

  Crispin gauged him anew. ‘Then you do intend to marry this girl?’

  ‘Aye, sir. She … she likes me. And I favor her very much. She’s beautiful and … and … different. She likes what I do … what we do. I don’t think I will get bored with her around.’

  ‘Be careful, Jack. Neither do you want a woman who gets it in her head to stray. Too much freedom in a wife is intolerable. What will happen to your household, your children if she feels the need to roam?’

  ‘What about that widow from Bath that you fancied in Canterbury? She seemed of much the same temperament as Isabel Langton,’ he said primly.

  Crispin smiled remembering her. Alyson was headstrong and independent. He had been surprised that this was appealing to him. But then again, Philippa Walcote had been cut from the same cloth …

  ‘Ultimately, Jack, it is up to you. Better you than me.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, sir. Surely there might be a woman for you …’

  He frowned. ‘That time has passed.’

  He was saved more platitudes from his servant by the knock on the door.

  Nigellus, who had been studying his books, suddenly looked up and padded over. He opened it to a woman. Crispin and Jack stood to greet her.

  She was in her middle years, with graying hair at her temples, though the rest was covered with a linen kerchief. She wore a modest cotehardie, laced in the front with an ornamented belt. Her amber eyes took in the surroundings, saw Jack and recognized him, and finally looked up at Crispin with a frown. ‘You must be Crispin Guest.’

  ‘Madam Noreys. I greatly appreciate your coming.’

  ‘You have your nerve. After you killed my boy, to come asking me for favors …’

  ‘Madam. These are grievous circumstances. And I … I am sorry for them.’

  ‘Why should I help you?’

  And yet he noticed she had come alone as he had requested. Why would she have done that? He gestured for her to sit but she declined. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘Very well.’ Crispin took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘You see, it has come to our attention that you were seen at the home of Elizabeth le Porter, the murdered woman.’ He let it sit there, curious as to what, if anything, she might say.

  She swayed slightly, and he feared she might faint. He stepped toward her and took her arm. ‘Perhaps you should sit.’

  ‘You are gracious … for a murderer.’

  ‘I assure you, I am no such thing.’

  She sank to the chair, releasing all her strength. ‘So I have heard such of you. And yet, my boy … my John …’

  ‘Tried to kill me. I’m sorry, but it’s true. I merely defended myself. I did not know that he would … that he would be killed.’

  She pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘He was always so willful. And Walter. Walter was always spurring him on. He has too much blood in him, does Walter. John always followed Walter about like a pup. He wanted so to be like him. Now he is … he is gone.’

  ‘Madam, why did you visit Elizabeth le Porter?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘It very much matters to me.’

  Jack pressed his hands to the table and canted toward her. ‘Have you ever heard of Richard Gernon?’

  ‘Steady there, Master Jack,’ Nigellus cautioned.

  Crispin gave his apprentice a harsh look of admonishment, but Madlyn Noreys gasped. ‘Richard Gernon. Richard Gernon? What has he to do with this? Oh Lord! Oh my precious Lord!’ She pressed the kerchief to her face and wept into it. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? Oh, I should have known.’

  Nigellus knelt down on one knee to her. ‘My very dear Madam Noreys. If you understand well the character of Richard Gernon, would you be willing to testify to that at the trial of Crispin Guest on the morrow?’

  Her face was blotchy and red and her eyes blinked rapidly from her tears. She glanced from Nigellus to Crispin. ‘Should I spare you? Be the cause of your release from the gallows?’

  ‘Madam,’ said Crispin, ‘if only to soothe your soul. For you know now that I did not kill that woman.’

  ‘What about my son?’

  ‘If another trial there must be then you will hear the truth in that one as well. If you know me, if you have heard of me, then you must have heard that Crispin Guest may be many things, but certainly no murderer.’

  ‘I don’t want to help you …’

  ‘My dear lady,’ said Nigellus in soothing tones. He handed her a full cup. ‘The law must be fed. And its meat is truth. Justice – the justice of God on earth – cannot be served unless we feed it truth. I beg of you, madam, that you tell what you know in court. For our Lord despises a
lie. And a sin of omission is still a sin.’

  ‘I hear what you say, Master Cobmartin,’ she said tearfully, ‘but how will my boy obtain his justice?’

  ‘Ah. Well. Some justice is reserved for God alone. For in the case of self-defense – and come now, you cannot deny that this is surely the case, for you admitted yourself how young Walter could spur on your John with little provocation – proof can sometimes be difficult, especially in such a dire situation. And in this case, it can be the word of one against the other. And if one is lying for a means to an end, then an innocent man goes to the gallows. What will you say when you are brought before the Almighty on that Judgment Day we must all face?’

  She wept into her kerchief, finally wiped her eyes and nose, and lifted her face. ‘I know in my heart that you were not at fault, Master Guest, but I suffer, and I wish for … someone to suffer as I have. And yet, I cannot let you die if you are innocent. I will speak at your trial. And I will ask my husband to remove the claim in the death of my son.’

  Crispin breathed with relief. ‘I thank you, madam.’

  ‘And so do I,’ said Cobmartin, ‘in the name of the king’s justice and that of the Almighty’s. Now, perhaps we should hear what you have to say.’

  ‘No.’ She rose, gathering herself again. ‘No. When I see you at the Guildhall tomorrow. I don’t wish to talk about it now.’

  Cobmartin followed her to the door. ‘But, madam …’

  She didn’t look back but stopped on the threshold. ‘I will be at your trial, Master Guest. And when all this is over, I hope to never see you again.’

  Though she never turned around, Crispin bowed to her anyway.

  On Monday morning, when the recorder and both sheriffs gathered at the guildhall with the nine jurymen, Crispin enjoyed the look of utter amazement on Loveney and Walcote’s faces when he walked in. It almost looked like disappointment. Perhaps they had hoped he would leave England, never to return.