By his calculations, she had to be past forty, for Edwin had told him she and Gervase had been wed more than twenty years, but if she was losing the war with age, she was not yet ready to concede defeat. In her youth, she had probably been as striking as her daughter. She was still slender, almost gaunt, for now it was the result of willpower, not nature. She had Jonet's blue eyes and the same fair skin, stretched too tightly across her cheekbones. Her mouth was carefully rouged, but the corners were kissed by shadows, while her cares were etched like cobwebs across the high, white brow. She was a handsome woman, but hers was a fading, brittle beauty, as fragile as finely spun glass, to be admired safely only from a distance. She aroused Justin's protective instincts at the same time that she made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, for she seemed both vulnerable and aloof, and he did not know which signal to heed.
"Why are you not at the stable, Edwin?"
Ella was questioning, not accusing. Even after encountering her groom roaming about the town, she would not judge him until she'd heard his explanation, and Justin liked her for that. He remembered Edwin saying that Master Gervase had been fair. So, it seemed, was his widow, which was more, Justin thought, than could be said for his daughter.
"We've come from the shop, Mistress Ella. This is the man I told you about, the one who tried to save Master Gervase on the Alresford Road!"
Ella swung around to stare at Justin, then reached out and took his hands in hers. "I am glad you've come back, glad I have this opportunity to express my gratitude for what you did for my husband."
"If only I could have gotten there in time," Justin said, with such heartfelt regret that she gave him a sad smile.
"The Almighty chose to call him home, and even if we do not understand, we must accept. Now… I hope you will stay with us whilst you are in Winchester."
"Mistress Fitz Randolph, that is most kind, but -"
"I insist," she said firmly, and it was as easy as that for Justin to gain access to the Fitz Randolph home. But his triumph was short-lived. The serving maid, Edith, now joined her mistress, the sight of the bolts of black cloth in her basket robbed him any satisfaction in his success, reminding him that he'd be a household in mourning.
~~
Supper that evening was not an enjoyable meal. The Friday fish menu would have tempted only the starving, and the tension in the hall was oppressive. Justin detested salted herring and he pushed the fish around on his trencher to be polite, then filled up on a thick pottage of onions and cabbage. While both Thomas and Jonet were eating heartily, neither Gervase's widow nor his brother seemed to have an appetite. She was gazing off into space, while Guy confined himself to an occasional swallow from the wine cup at his elbow.
Reaching for a chunk of bread, Justin studied Guy covertly. He was much younger than Gervase, for he appeared to be no more than thirty-five. He had his brother's brown hair and beard; the resemblance was pronounced. Whether he also had Gervase's dark eyes, Justin could not tell, for Guy had yet to meet his gaze. Justin would not have needed to be told that he was ailing. His skin had a greyish cast, and a vein was throbbing in his temple. Nor were his hands all that steady. He had a solicitous young wife, a baby daughter in her cradle, and a far greater voice now in the running of the family business. But to Justin, he looked haunted.
Guy was not the only one on edge. As the meal progressed, Thomas was growing increasingly restless, fidgeting in his seat, glancing surreptitiously at his mother whenever she wasn't looking. But Justin thought he seemed more expectant than anxious, like a child eager to share a secret. Absently crumbling his bread, Justin regarded Thomas critically. His curly fair hair and delicate bone structure made him seem younger than his nineteen years, but his appearance was deceptive. He may have looked almost angelic, but throughout supper, he'd been displaying a prickly disposition and a waspish tongue, snapping at the serving maid, sparring with his sister, interrogating Justin with a brusqueness that bordered on rudeness. Was he always so belligerent? Justin had been prepared to sympathize fully with Gervase Fitz Randolph's bereaved children. It was disconcerting to find himself disliking them instead.
The conversation was flagging again. Becoming aware of the silence, Ella roused herself from her lassitude. "I saw Sir Hamon's steward in town today, Jonet. He said that Sir Hamon will be in Winchester next week. I think we ought to invite him to dinner whilst he is here."
Jonet did not reply, but she did not need to; she had an expressive face. In their world, women were given no voice in deciding their own destinies, and few would have sympathized with Jonet's plight. Justin did, though, for he had a foundling's instinctive sympathy for the powerless and downtrodden. He might not like Jonet, but he did not think it fair that she would have been compelled to wed the man of her father's choosing, despite the fact that she'd given her heart - and probably her maidenhead - to Miles. Watching Jonet squirming at the mere mention of Sir Hamon's name, Justin could not help identifying with her rebellious spirit. If only her clandestine love affair did not give her such an excellent motive for murder!
Oblivious to her daughter's discomfort, Ella was continuing to speak glowingly of Jonet's wellborn suitor: his piety, his honesty, his standing in the community. By now, Justin was squirming, too, burdened by his knowledge of Jonet's guilty secret. He was almost as grateful as Jonet when Guy finally intervened.
"I know you want to see Jonet wed to Sir Hamon, Ella. But I think we'd best face facts. Gervase's death changes everything."
Jonet gave her uncle a look of wholehearted devotion, Ella gave him one of reproach. "No," she insisted, "we must still find the money for her marriage portion, for that was what Gervase would have wanted."
Guy and Jonet exchanged glances, and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Justin observed their byplay with extreme interest; so they were allies as well as kin? This household was awash in undercurrents. Who knew what else was going on beneath the surface?
Thomas speared a piece of herring. "Do not give up hope yet, Mama. Mayhap Sir Hamon would be willing to accept a smaller marriage portion."
That did seem to cheer Ella, but Jonet looked as if she yearned to impale her brother on his own eating knife. She did not strike back at once, though. Helping herself to more bread, she nibbled daintily around the crust before saying sweetly, "I stopped by the shop to see you this afternoon, Thomas, and was so surprised to find you gone. I waited and waited, but you never did come back. Where did you go?"
"Oh, Thomas!" Ella was staring at her son in dismay. How could you shirk your responsibilities like that, with your poor father only ten days dead? I must depend upon you more than ever now. Miles cannot manage on his own, so –"
"Why not?" Jonet rushed loyally - if rashly - to her lover's defense. "Miles is very skilled at his craft. Even Papa was pleased with his work, and you know how demanding he could be!"
"I was not finding fault with Miles, Jonet. I do think he is a good worker. But he is not family, dearest. That is what meant."
"Since when do you speak so kindly of the hired help, Jonet?" Thomas asked snidely. "I never heard you lavishing praise on Berta's custard or telling Edwin what a good hand he was with the horses."
Jonet betrayed herself with a deep blush, but fortunately for her, Ella was too accustomed to their bickering to pay it any heed. Glancing from face to face, Justin decided that Guy knew about Miles and Jonet. He doubted, though, that Thomas knew, for he was too self-absorbed to ferret out other people's secrets; his gibe had been a random shot that just happened to hit its target. Jonet had reached that same conclusion; her blush was fading. For a few moments, it seemed as if the remainder of the meal would be passed in a semblance of peace.
Guy was rubbing his aching temples, all the while regarding his nephew with unconcealed disapproval. "Well, Thomas? Just where were you this afternoon?"
Thomas set his wine cup down, looking first at his mother and then his uncle. "I was going to wait, but I think it best to tell you here and now. I went to
Hyde Abbey to meet with Abbot John."
Justin thought that, as excuses went, this was a good one, a much more respectable reason for playing truant than stopping off at the closest alehouse. He did not understand, therefore, why Ella and Guy looked so upset, Jonet so pleased.
"Thomas!" Ella sounded stricken. "It was agreed that we'd talk no more of this -"
"You and Papa agreed, I did not! I have had a candid talk with Father Abbot and he has agreed to accept me as a novice in the Benedictine order, with the intent of taking holy vows once I have proved myself worthy."
"It was your father's dearest wish that you become a goldsmith!"
"What is Papa's wish when compared with God's Will?"
"You had no right to do this!"
"I am doing Almighty God's bidding, Uncle Guy! And I'll not let Mama and you thwart me as Papa did, that I swear by the Blessed Cross!"
Justin shoved his bench out. As rude as it would be to leave in the middle of the meal, it would be worse to remain, an unwilling eavesdropper to this family breach. "My horse picked up a pebble on the road… I need to make sure the hoof is not bruised…" Mumbling whatever came to mind, he backed away from the table.
His departure went unnoticed. By the time he reached the door, the hall was in utter turmoil: Guy and Thomas were trading heated accusations, Ella wiping away tears with a napkin, Guy's anxious wife wavering between her white-faced husband and the baby now wailing in her cradle, Berta and Edith drawn by the uproar. Only Jonet remained calm, elbows propped on the table, chin resting on her laced fingers, watching with alert interest and the faintest inkling of a smile.
~~
The night sky was adrift in stars, but a gusting wind sent Justin hastening toward the shelter of the stable. Within, a wick floated in the oil of a cresset lamp, sputtering fitfully. Copper and two rounceys stretched their necks over their stall doors, nickering. Edwin was sprawled on a blanket, an empty trencher beside him in the straw. "What brings you out here?" he asked in surprise.
"I'm in need of a safe haven. How would you like to show me your favorite alehouse?"
Edwin was already on his feet. "It is right up the road. And wait until you see Avis, the serving maid! But what are you fleeing from?"
"A family bloodletting. Thomas announced that he means to become a monk and they did not take it well."
"I was wondering when he'd spring that on them. I half expected him to do it at graveside as they were burying his father!"
"You knew, then, about this?"
"Me and half of Winchester!"
Out on the street, it was too cold to talk. The wind blew back the hoods of their mantles, soon set their teeth to chattering. Fortunately, Edwin had not exaggerated the alehouse's proximity, and they raced each other for that beckoning doorway. Inside, it was crowded and noisy and hazy with hearth smoke, and looked far more welcoming to Justin than the Fitz Randolphs' spacious great hall.
Much to Edwin's disappointment, Avis had gone home with a toothache. He cheered up, though, when Justin paid for their ale, and was quite willing to tell all he knew about the goldsmith's son and his zeal to become a Black Monk.
"Thomas never made a secret of his belief that God had called him to serve. He has been set upon the religious life since he was sixteen, but his father balked and would not give his consent. A baron's family can afford to spare a younger son for the Church, not a craftsman with but one son and heir. Master Gervase hoped that it was a youthful whim, one Thomas would outgrow in time. He never understood that Thomas truly believes he is one of The Chosen and it would be a mortal sin not to obey God's Holy Word."
When Edwin paused to drink, Justin did, too, needing something to dispel a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. Could love of God have led to murder? It was such an unholy thought that he wanted to reject it out of hand. It was not that easy, though. Thomas's strident voice was echoing in his ears. What is Papa's wish when compared with God's Will?
Making an effort, he banished his suspicions back into the shadows, to be scrutinized in the reassuring light of day. "You said that Gervase and Guy were often at odds. What did they fight about, Edwin - money?"
"Yes." Edwin's smile was curious. "How did you guess?"
"Guy objected to putting up a large marriage portion for Jonet. So it only makes sense that he'd have objected, too, to Gervase's openhanded spending."
"That he did, loudly and often. It availed him naught, of course. In Gervase's eyes, he was still the little brother. Where Master Gervase saw opportunity, Master Guy saw risks, and so they could not help but clash. Especially since the more successful Master Gervase became, the bigger his dreams got. Master Guy even accused him once of aping his betters and trying to live like a lord!"
"That sounds like more than a mere squabble. Did they often quarrel that hotly?"
"No… not often. Just whenever Master Gervase would do something truly extravagant - like when he bought Quicksilver and gave the cottage to Aldith and sought to buy Jonet a high-born husband. Now, those quarrels were hotter than a baker's oven!"
"Who is Aldith and why was he giving her a cottage?"
Edwin winked. "Now, why do you think?"
Justin sat up straight on the bench. "He kept a whore?"
"It depends on who you ask. I'd call her a concubine, a paramour, mayhap even a leman, for Master Gervase was right fond of her. Thomas did call her a whore, and his father backhanded him across the face for it. I saw it all, there in the stable. Blood spurting from Thomas's nose and Master Gervase sorry afterward, almost apologizing, but Thomas having none of it, just one more grievance to hold fast."
"Did Gervase's wife know?"
"You think Thomas did not make sure of that? She knew. She'd have had to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to know, for it lasted nigh on ten years. Master Gervase did not flaunt Aldith, but neither did he make a secret of her. It was not unusual for him to dispatch me on an errand for her, and whenever she was taken ill, he'd have Berta cook a special soup that Aldith fancied. She was part of his life, you see. The priest could rail against adultery in his Sunday sermons, but I'd wager Master Gervase still saw it as a venial sin, one hardly worth bothering the Almighty with!"
"It could not have been easy, though, for Mistress Ella." This had been a day of surprises, for certes. "What is she like, Gervase's concubine?"
"Remember what Scriptures say about Eve tempting Adam with that fruit? Well, if Adam had been in Eden with Aldith instead of Eve, he would not have minded being cast out of
Paradise, not as long as she went with him!"
Justin grinned. "Edwin, you sound downright smitten."
Edwin grinned back. "You'd be just as besotted if you ever laid eyes on her!"
"Can you tell me how to find her cottage?"
"Yes ... but why?"
Justin could not think of a plausible reason why he should be seeking out Gervase's mistress. The best he could offer was a half-truth. "Let's say that Aldith has aroused my curiosity."
Edwin burst out laughing. "Mistress Aldith is right good at that, at arousing a man's… curiosity, was it? I'll give you directions. Do not say, though, that you were not warned!"
Justin signaled for more ale; not only was Edwin a good source, he was good company, too. They passed an agreeable half hour in easy conversation, but then the groom pushed reluctantly away from the table, saying that he ought to get back ere he was missed. Justin lingered to finish his drink, and to think upon what he'd discovered this day.
The truth was that he was rather disheartened by his sojourn in the Fitz Randolph household. The slain goldsmith had been a decent, God-fearing soul, mayhap stubborn and stiff necked, yet a good man, withal. A husband, father, brother: his death ought to have left a great, gaping hole in his family. But it barely seemed to have made a dent. This was not how Justin had envisioned family life. To an orphan, that was the Grail of legend and myth: a castle high on a hill, a safe refuge against a hostile world. It was disillusioning to learn that
Gervase's castle had held so much dissension and so little harmony.
His cup was empty. Justin got to his feet, fumbling for a coin and then heading for the door. The cold took his breath away. Lacking a lantern, he had only starlight to guide him. The street was deserted, icy in patches, and deeply rutted. When a ghostly pale streak darted across his path, he recoiled in haste. But then he smiled. No imp of Satan, merely a stray cat. He half turned to watch the creature's skittering flight and caught a blurred movement behind him, quickly stilled.
Justin's pulse speeded up again, this time in earnest. Frowning, he surveyed the dark, silent street. Nothing seemed amiss - now. The hooded figure was gone. Had he conjured up a phantom spirit, seen someone who was never there? He'd have liked to believe that, but he knew better. As brief as his glimpse had been, it was enough. A man had been trailing after him, swiftly fading back into the shadows when he'd turned. Justin slowly loosened his sword in its scabbard, searching the blackness. But the night gave up no secrets.