Magdalene giggled. “I fear you are right.” Then she put her hand over his on her arm. “And thank you for finding out what you can about St. Cyr’s death. William will be grateful if you can clear his man.”
That brought nothing but a snort from Bell, who backed free of her light grasp and walked away up the street toward The Broached Barrel. Magdalene sighed. Sometimes Bell seemed ready to accept her relationship with William and other times he acted like a strutting cock. Well, it was his battle to fight, she had made clear her conditions.
She turned about and soon saw Loveday seated at a bench farthest from where she and Bell had been standing and went to join her. As Loveday had promised, the food was plentiful and very good. Having been together all day, they had run out of casual conversation and ate in companionable silence. Still, Magdalene was a little surprised by Loveday’s hearty appetite. She thought that if she had been sworn to marry Bell and he had been accused of something as cowardly as stabbing a man in the back, she would be sorely troubled. Loveday was not. Was it because Loveday was yeoman stock rather than gentle born? Was it good or bad to be raised with notions of honor?
“Shall I step into the baker’s and find a sweet to top off the meal?” Loveday asked, breaking into Magdalene’s thoughts.
“Why not?” Magdalene agreed. “And I will walk across to The Lively Hop and get us some ale.”
Their errands being completed at almost the same lime, they met at their table, pushed aside the crusts left from the meal, and settled themselves together to eat sweet buns and drink their ale. Before they had even shared out the buns, a man past his middle years but still strong and active rushed across the road and seized Loveday by the arm.
“Come away!” he said to her. “You do not know with whom you are sharing food and drink.”
“Master Reinhart,” Loveday said, smiling at the man. “How surprised I am to see you.” Then the smile disappeared and her eyes widened in distress. “Do not say you wrote to me and told me you were coming and I did not remember? Oh, how dreadful. You will have been turned away from Noke. Oh, I am so sorry.”
“I was indeed turned away from Noke, but there is no cause for you to be sorry. I did not write in advance of my coming. It was a sudden decision. When I heard that the king was coming to Oxford and I realized that he might wish to examine and even end your wardship…” He looked at Magdalene, tightened his lips, and began to tug at Loveday. “Come away from this person. You must come with me.”
Magdalene did not know whether to laugh or to curse. It seemed that Loveday not only knew too many people in Oxford and the surrounding neighborhood but extended her acquaintance to London as well. The man so horrified by seeing her and Loveday together was Master Reinhart Hardel, a wealthy and moderately powerful wool merchant from London who was a steady client of the Old Priory Guesthouse. He had been Sabina’s client, but had happily transferred to Diot.
“Good sir,” Magdalene said, as if she had never seen him before in her life, “I promise you that whatever I am I intend no harm to this young lady.”
The man looked surprised, then satisfied. Nonetheless, he acted as if the words Magdalene had spoken had come out of unoccupied air and said to Loveday, “Come away, my dear. Even if she intends you no harm, to be seen with her is harm in itself. Come away.”
“No, indeed,” Loveday protested, pulling away. “You do not understand—”
“And that is just as well,” Magdalene interrupted, giving Loveday a warning and admonitory glance which she hoped would be understood.
Until Niall’s involvement in St. Cyr’s death was resolved, it would be a mistake to confide too much in anyone. She rose, taking two of the sweet buns and one of the ale mugs.
“I will take another table so that you and this gentleman can talk at ease,” she said. “Remember, you need to remain free to do anything you think best.”
“Oh, my God,” Master Reinhart said, as Magdalene walked away and settled at another empty table, “to what did you agree with her?”
“To nothing at all,” Loveday said.
“Thank God! I am sorry to shock you, my dear, but the woman is—” He hesitated, apparently trying to think of a way to explain clearly without shocking or frightening Loveday, failed, and continued, “The woman is a whoremistress. She is beautiful, well dressed, and gently spoken, but a whoremistress she is, and likely as not she intended to recruit you to serve in her house in Southwark.”
Loveday burst out laughing. “No, no, Master Reinhart. I swear she has no such intention and she told me at once when we first met several days ago that she kept a whorehouse and that I must not be seen with her. She was far more shocked than I when a common friend introduced us—”
“Common, indeed, if he introduced you to Magdalene,” Reinhart remarked, his lips curling with distaste.
Loveday’s brows shot up. “I see you know her quite as well as this ‘common’ friend does.”
Reinhart looked shocked. “Loveday! A man’s doings are between him and his priest, and no business of any woman.”
“Of course,” Loveday said, lowering her lids over her eyes.
She would not quarrel with Master Reinhart. It was he, when her father and brothers died and she was so dazed with grief that she hardly knew day from night, that went to King Stephen with a petition that she be acknowledged heir to her father’s land and property and be taken into ward. Wardship cost; the king was supposed to receive all the profit a ward’s property produced. But Stephen had been very busy and her estate small compared with most he took into wardship. The king had never appointed a warden, so Loveday managed on her own, each quarter sending to the exchequer a tidy sum…but not near as much as Otmoor produced. In addition, Master Reinhart bought large quantities of sheared wool and fleeces from her and could be trusted to give her an honest price with which she could compare other offers.
“I just meant that I was warned about Mistress Magdalene’s…ah…business,” Loveday went on softly. “I was not delivered unknowing into her hands, but I had little choice. She was the only one who could and would offer me a refuge when St. Cyr came with a forged betrothal agreement.”
“I heard about the forged betrothal. I have been here two days, searching Oxford for you.”
“Two days? But that was when I left Noke.”
“Yes. I just missed you by a candlemark or so. When I arrived, your steward said he was commanded not to let any man or woman into Noke. He was most apologetic, saying that he was sure an exception would have been made in my case, but that no one knew I was coming. And then he told me that you had gone to Oxford with your brother-by-marriage, and about St. Cyr’s attempt on you and his threats.”
Loveday did not ask why Master Reinhart had not gone to Master Redding. He would not have known of her friendship with Edmee. There was hard feeling because Master Redding had married Edmee instead of Reinhart’s daughter, so Loveday never mentioned Edmee to him.
“I have never been so frightened in my life,” Loveday admitted. “Believe me, residence in a whorehouse was a cheap price to avoid being seized by St. Cyr. And Magdalene took great care that I not be recognized. I went veiled and was mostly confined to a private chamber so no one knows…well, except William of Ypres—”
“William of Ypres!” Reinhart exclaimed.
“He is Magdalene’s…ah…protector—” Loveday began but was interrupted by a young man, who came over to the table, nodded at her, and drew Reinhart away.
Loveday had smiled warmly at Tirell Hardel, Reinhart’s son. When she was a little girl, Tirell had sometimes come with his father on buying trips and they had played together. In recent years, when she had gone to London she had stayed with the Hardels and found Tirell amusing and brotherly. She knew he did not feel otherwise toward her. The way he would tell her she had a smudge on her nose or her veil was crooked or her hem, did not bespeak the admiration a man had for a woman.
Suddenly she frowned down at the bun she had not eaten. Wh
at was Tirell doing in Oxford with his father? He should be in London managing the business if Reinhart was traveling. They were not buying. It was too late in the year for buying wool. And Master Reinhart had said he had come to Oxford because he thought the king might wish to end her wardship. Usually a wardship ended when a young man came of age or a woman…married. Reinhart had made one successful petition to the king on her behalf, did he intend to petition again, to gain permission to marry her to Tirell?
‘No.’ The rejection burst into Loveday’s mind with considerable force. She did not want to marry Tirell. To think of coupling with him made her queasy. Not that he was anything like St. Cyr. He was a fine young man, handsome, well-mannered, and clean, and he would be kind to her—but it would be like futtering a brother.
Moreover she knew he did not want her as a man wants a woman; he thought of her as a sister, which would just about guarantee he would spend good money on whores instead of enjoying what he had in his own bed. Even worse, he was trained to wool and to business and would want to stick his nose into every aspect of her estate. More, he would want to manage her lands as he saw fit.
Oh no. She had seen what she wanted. Niall’s red hair and bright eyes, his broad shoulders and strong legs, the strength and skill at arms he had shown when he drove off St. Cyr. Oh yes, that was what she wanted. And if he had rid her permanently of St. Cyr by sticking a knife in his back? Well, it was surely a more certain way to remove the threat than petitions to the king, which might or might not be considered.
What he had done was not to save himself, there would be a good reason, not greed or cowardice. And she did not care. She wanted Niall Arvagh, who would breed his horses, breed children with her, and leave her wool trade and estate alone. He had laughed when he said she would manage the manor better than he because it meant so little to him. Yes, knife in the back of St. Cyr or not, she wanted Niall Arvagh.
She had been watching Tirell and his father with blind eyes while she thought about Master Reinhart’s intentions, but a sharp gesture from the father broke into her musing. She almost smiled when she saw how unhappy Tirell looked, plainly he liked his father’s plans no better than she did. And then Loveday did smile, quickly raising her ale cup to her mouth to hide it. Master Reinhart, who had been so intent on not knowing Magdalene, had not paid proper attention to where his son was taking him and had backed up almost into the table at which Magdalene was sitting. No doubt she had heard every word the two had said to each other.
Magdalene had indeed heard them. When Master Reinhart’s back almost touched hers, Magdalene had intended to speak aloud to warn him. However, the younger man’s first words made her lift her veil over her head to better hide her face and look down intently at the few crumbs remaining from the sweet buns she had eaten.
“I went looking for St. Cyr last night,” Tirell Hardel said. “And I found him.”
“To what purpose?” Master Reinhart asked sharply.
“Because, as I have told you before, father, I have no desire to marry Loveday.” He shuddered slightly. “It will be like bedding my sister.”
“Nonsense,” the father said. “All cats look alike in the dark. Abed she will be soft and warm like any woman.”
“That may be true, but if St. Cyr had not been a filthy and brutal animal, I would have let him have her. As it is from what I heard him say of her…” His voice faltered. “God knows what that beast would have done to her, how long she would even have survived in his keeping.” He sighed.
“Tirell, where were you last night?” Reinhart asked, his voice now tinged with anger.
“You know where I was.” Tirell’s tone was bitter. “I could not bear the thought of that…creature…torturing poor Loveday, so…so I took care of the matter we spoke of. It is done. Over.”
“I am sorry.” Reinhart put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It was the best solution I could think of.” He drew a deep breath. “Well, as you said, it is over. Go now and speak to Loveday.”
“No,” Tirell said, his voice thick. “My heart is too heavy with what I have done to bring to her now. Tomorrow or the next day I will go out to Noke and…and speak to her. Not now.”
On the words, he pulled free of his father’s hand and went out into the street heading north. Magdalene bit her lip. What in the world had Tirell Hardel done last night? Killed St. Cyr? But if he knew St. Cyr was dead and no longer a threat to Loveday, why did he still need to marry her?
Magdalene was so eager to know the answer to those questions that she would have pursued Tirell and drawn him into an alehouse, where a few jars of ale could have loosened his tongue. However, she could not move immediately without catching Master Reinhart’s attention and once that was fixed on her she would not dare go after Tirell. So she waited, and in a moment Master Reinhart shrugged and marched in a determined way back toward Loveday.
As soon as he moved, Magdalene stood up and picked up the empty ale cup. With that in hand, she started to cross the street—ostensibly to return the cup, but actually so she could slip away and follow Tirell. However, when she glanced up the street, she could not see him anywhere and a moment later Loveday called out to her.
After the briefest hesitation, Magdalene turned to walk back to the girl. Tirell was gone, possibly into the nearest alehouse to drown his sorrows but equally likely to the nearest church to confess a mortal sin. Either way he had escaped her. It would be easier for Bell to find him and question him. Meanwhile she could try to discover whether Master Reinhart had any idea what his son meant.
Loveday had acknowledged her approach with a smile and a nod, and then looked up at Master Reinhart with a mixture of determination and pleading. “Please do not be angry with me, Master Reinhart,” she said. “You know I could not reach Noke before dark, and with so many men-at-arms from different meinies abroad, it would not be safe for me to travel the roads after dark, even if you accompanied me. I swear I will be safer in the Soft Nest with Mistress Magdalene. You may come with us and see how quiet and private we are. And I promise I will return to Noke tomorrow morning.”
“I would far rather you came to London with me, my dear. If one man tried to seize you, another may. You will not be truly safe until you are married, but you will be much safer in London where few know you.”
“You are very kind, Master Reinhart,” Loveday said, “but I cannot leave Noke for so long. At this time of year the flocks must be watched with care for illness, the first haying must be done, the hay dried, bound and stored. I cannot be away from my lands just now.”
Magdalene had reached them and stood quietly beside Loveday. She cast a single, incurious glance in Master Reinhart’s direction, and when Loveday had finished, said, “As you said, Loveday, the light is starting to fail. I think we would be best off returning to our lodging before it grows much darker.”
“Very well, I am ready, but I would like to make known to you Master Reinhart, a dear friend of my father’s and a very good friend to me also. It was Master Reinhart who had the good sense to petition the king for my right to Otmoor after my father and brothers died so suddenly. God knows what would have happened to me if he had not decided to help me.”
“That was indeed a wise and kind action, Master Reinhart,” Magdalene said, “and I understand that you are concerned for Loveday. I am not certain how you know what I am, but I am sorry you do not know me better. If you did, you would also know that I have a reputation for dealing honestly, and you would understand that I would never force or constrain a woman to serve me—especially not a maiden who has a good livelihood and no need to enter into the life my women lead.”
Master Reinhart had the grace to flush. Magdalene pretended not to see that sign that he was, indeed, aware that she was known for her honesty, that her women were well paid, well cared for, and free to come and go as they pleased. She would not have bothered defending herself, guessing his reaction had been more one of shock at seeing Loveday in her company than of any real distrust of her
motives, had she not wanted to show him that she would not betray how well she knew him to Loveday.
Since Reinhart was looking at Magdalene, Loveday took the chance to make a cheerful grimace behind his back. Magdalene swallowed hard to constrain an urge to laugh. It seemed that Loveday knew more about Master Reinhart than he thought she knew. Reinhart himself made a wordless noise that might have indicated acceptance.
So Magdalene continued without waiting for a more definite answer. “And as Loveday said, you are more than welcome to inspect our quarters.”
“No, no,” he said hastily, “I am sure Loveday will be safe. I hope that she will leave you and go back to Noke tomorrow, however.”
“I will see her on her way as soon as she has broken her fast, I swear to you.”
“Good. Good. I will be on my way then. Loveday, do not forget to veil yourself.”
“No, I will not,” Loveday said, pulling her veil around her face as she spoke.
Magdalene echoed her action and waited quietly as Master Reinhart took to the street in the direction of St. Martin’s Church. Loveday waved until he had mingled completely with the crowd that was snatching at last-minute bargains or hurrying off home.
“But I thought that you and Bell were going to accompany me home,” she said plaintively, as soon as Master Reinhart was lost to sight.
“Well, we are…if you want us. I just didn’t want to say that in front of Master Reinhart, who might take a new alarm.”
“Oh, dear. I hope you will forgive him…and me, too, Magdalene,” Loveday said. “He knows you. I know he does. How could he act and speak as if you were going to…to…do I don’t know what? And does he think me such an idiot that I would remain in your clutches? What bait does he imagine you set for me that could make me willing to give up my lands to go and be a whore in London?”
“Southwark,” Magdalene said, laughing as she fastened her veil more securely. “I don’t even have the bait of the great, exciting city of London to offer you.”
Bone of Contention Page 13
