The Burgundian's tale

‘No, I did not,’ was the positive answer. ‘A vicious man, who didn’t hesitate to raise his hand to both the mistress and his daughter. I reckon Mistress St Clair knew she’d made a mistake in marrying him almost before the marriage was a few months old. Certainly by the time I came to her. I’ve seen bruises on her body that would make your hair stand on end, chapman. And I fancy she often protected Alcina from his anger and took the punishment herself. She must have been very lonely indeed even to have thought of wedding him in the first place. And he took his fists to all the servants — well, to those that stayed. In the end, it was just myself and William Morgan. Fortunately, after they’d been married four years, Master Threadgold caught a bad fever and died of it. No one mourned him, believe me. Then, two years ago, the mistress married the master and became stepmother to young Jocelyn. He and his father are a nice enough pair.’ Mistress Graygoss sighed again. ‘But I was quite happy as we were.’ She suddenly seemed to recollect herself and jumped to her feet. ‘Now, what in the Virgin’s name am I doing sitting here gossiping to you?’

She emptied her half-full cup of ale into the rushes and ordered Nell to bring a bowl of water, together with a bundle of twigs and some sand with which to scour the dirty pots and pans, making it plain that our conversation was at an end. But I was quite satisfied with what I had learned. I gave Bertram a nudge and ruthlessly dragged him away from his flirtation with Betsy.

‘Will the family have finished their dinner yet?’ I asked the housekeeper. ‘If so, I’d like to speak to Mistress Threadgold.’

Nine

I was informed that the family had been served before us, and that a plate of apple fritters had been left in a chafing-dish for consumption after the mutton stew. I at once felt hard done by. I could have fancied an apple fritter, had any been on offer, a sentiment echoed by Bertram in a disgruntled whisper as we again mounted the stairs to the same parlour where, only an hour or so before, the family had breakfasted. This brief interval between meals seemed not to have blunted the appetites of either Master or Mistress St Clair or of Alcina, judging by the scarcity of food remaining on the table. (There was no sign of Jocelyn; presumably our talk had delayed him and he had not yet returned from the cordwainer’s in Watling Street.)

‘What now?’ demanded our reluctant hostess, glancing up and becoming aware of Bertram and myself hovering just inside the door. ‘Has Paulina given you your dinner? And if so, why are you still here?’

‘Mistress Graygoss has fed us and fed us handsomely,’ I said, nobly suppressing a complaint about the lack of apple fritters and averting my envious gaze from the one that was left in the chafing-dish. ‘But I need to speak to Mistress Threadgold. Then my henchman and I will be on our way.’

The henchman gave an indignant yelp at this description, but I took no notice.

Mistress St Clair looked enquiringly at her stepdaughter.

‘Oh, very well,’ Alcina conceded, glancing at my companion’s royal livery. ‘I suppose I must.’ (Bertram continued to have his uses.)

Judith St Clair rose to her feet. ‘You’d better stay here, then. Nell and Betsy can clear the table later, when you’ve finished talking. Godfrey, I’m sure you’re wanting to return to Marcus Aurelius.’ There was a hint of long-suffering in her tone.

‘Indeed, my love!’ he readily agreed, clapping me on the shoulder as he shuffled in his down-at-heel slippers towards the door. ‘“Love the trade which you have learned and be content with it,”’ he advised, obviously quoting his favourite author. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this was meant for me and had a double-edged meaning, so I made no answer, merely seating myself opposite Alcina in the chair vacated by her stepfather. I turned to bid Bertram take the stool next to mine just in time to see him wolfing down the lone fritter that I had had my eye on.

‘It was going cold,’ he mumbled defiantly, meeting my accusing gaze.

I maintained a reproachful silence and turned my attention back to Alcina. ‘Mistress Threadgold,’ I said, ‘I know that on the night of Fulk’s murder you followed him to the Broderer workshop in Needlers Lane. I also know from Lionel Broderer and his mother what transpired there. After Master Quantrell had spoken to you so unkindly and left, you ran out after him. What happened then? Did you catch him up?’