City of Fiends

CHAPTER TWELVE

St Pancras Lane

Baldwin and Sir Richard stood outside Edith’s home with Edgar standing respectfully a little way apart.

The door opened at Baldwin’s knock, and the maidservant Jane stood, warily watching Wolf as he padded past her, walking straight to the fire and dropping before it with an audible thud.

‘Sir Baldwin!’ Edith cried on seeing him. She ran the first steps over the floor, just as she had when a child, and then catching sight of Jane’s disapproving face, slowed to a sedate maidenly pace, before throwing her arms into the air, beaming, and hurtling over the last few feet. ‘It is so good to see you again!’

Baldwin smiled as she took his hands in hers, but then she was looking over his shoulder, once more the lady of the house.

‘Sir Richard, you are very welcome. I hope I see you well?’

‘Hah! My lady, how could any man not feel well at the sight of such loveliness?’ Sir Richard rumbled, walking into the room and bowing. ‘You grow more beautiful every time I see you, and I can only assume God smiled benevolently upon your father when you were conceived, for clearly He has turned his face from Simon since then, if his own appearance is any form of evidence!’

‘You flatter me, Sir Richard,’ she said. ‘But you must both be hungry. Will you not join us in a meal?’

‘No, Edith. We are fine,’ Baldwin said, ignoring the mumble of disagreement from Sir Richard. ‘Is Simon awake? I would appreciate his assistance. And perhaps your husband’s, too.’

‘Peter is in his father’s counting-house this morning, Sir Baldwin. My father could take you there, I’m sure. He knows where it is – but he’s out in the yard with my son just now.’

Baldwin and Sir Richard waited in the hall, and soon Simon was with them.

‘I hope you slept well in the Cathedral’s guest rooms?’

Baldwin grimaced. ‘It would have been better without the snoring.’

‘Snoring?’ Sir Richard demanded.

Baldwin ignored him. ‘There has been a murder, Simon – the killing of a maid who works for a man called Paffard. He’s a wealthy city merchant, and I thought your son-in-law or his father might know him.’

‘I see. Well, we can walk around there if you like.’

It was only a short way. Charles, Edith’s father-in-law, had a new house only a stone’s throw from the Guild Hall, and as soon as Baldwin and the others were shown in, Peter rose from his table to greet them.

He was a good-looking young man, still very boyish in appearance, but with a coolness towards Simon, Baldwin noticed. While Edith had been pregnant, she had been captured by men on the orders of Simon’s enemy, and Peter himself arrested and held in gaol. The memory still rankled, plainly. Still, he was polite enough to the two knights and Simon as he begged them to accept wine and cakes.

Sir Richard smacked his lips after an enormous gulp that all but drained his mazer, while Peter spoke to Baldwin.

‘Henry Paffard? Yes, I know him well. He is a member of the Freedom of the City, as is my father. I hope to be a member too, one day. But that will be some while, obviously. It tends to be for men of proven acumen.’

‘There has been a murder in his household – a young woman who was his maid.’

‘He is a very honourable man. A leading merchant in the city, and one of the most important clients of my father,’ Peter said.

‘You do not need to fear that we will embarrass you with your father’s client,’ Baldwin said with a faint smile. ‘It is already thought that the man who committed this killing was heard fleeing. The porter at the Cathedral heard him. But sometimes it is possible to glean something about a maid from the household. I was wondering whether you would be able to introduce me to him? It would be rude and thoughtless to go to a house that was mourning a dead maidservant, and begin to ask questions, but if an introduction could be made . . . ?’ He left the question hanging.

‘Oh, well, I suppose that should be no difficulty,’ Peter said. ‘So long as there wouldn’t be any trouble with my father’s business.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘I foresee no reason for an altercation. It is only an enquiry into the maid’s death.’

Rougemont Castle

Sheriff James de Cockington span on his heel when the knock came at his door, and when he saw the nervous features of the pageboy, his expression darkened instantly.

‘You have Sir Baldwin with you, eh? Bring him in immediately! I will not have my-’

‘Sir, I am very sorry, I haven’t found him. However, I-’

‘You haven’t found him? Is this a guest-house for the bored and lunatic that you come here with that news? I want Furnshill here now, and you don’t come back until you can deliver him to me, you son of a whore!’

‘Sir, I . . .’

The boy was shoved aside and a tall, lean man in blue particoloured clothing walked in. He gave a cursory bow, as one might to an equal.

Sir James gritted his teeth, recognising the uniform. ‘You are most welcome, my friend. You have messages from the King?’

He motioned to the page to close the door, flapping his hands, and then changed his mind. ‘Call my steward to me, boy, and then go to find Sir Baldwin. Understand?’

‘I only have a short time,’ the messenger said coolly when they were alone. He walked stiffly, as would a man who had spent much of the last week in the saddle, opening his little satchel as he went. Withdrawing a scroll, he passed it to Sir James.

The steward had arrived, and now, taking a quick look at the Sheriff’s face, he bowed deeply and went to fetch wine.

‘Where have you come from?’ Sir James asked, his eyes on the scroll, and then, as the words sank in, ‘Christ’s ballocks!’

‘The King is at York,’ the messenger said suavely. ‘It was fortunate that I happened to be riding to Berkeley with other messages, and was made aware of the situation.’

‘Sir Edward of Caernarfon has been freed? Does my Lord de Berkeley have any idea who was responsible?’ Sir James continued, reading furiously.

‘It was the Dunheved brothers with a gang. The castellan was convinced of that. My Lord de Berkeley is on his way to join with the King to attack the rebels in Scotland, so the castellan is doing all he may. Men are riding all about the area, but no sign has been discovered as yet. The gang managed to break into the castle, ransacking the place, before taking the knight with them. Several men were killed, including a banker from the House of Bardi. The castle was in a terrible state when I reached it.’

‘Dear merciful heavens!’

‘So, the castellan asks that you ensure that all are aware of the dangers, and that the city’s bailiffs are told to keep a firm lookout for any large parties of men riding about. Also, that you inform all the officers of the law in Devonshire of this, and that they should listen for any clues as to the whereabouts of the man who was King, of the Dunheved brothers, of William Aylmer, and all the others listed in that report.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sir James replied, reading through the names carefully. Twenty-one had been hastily scrawled under the note.

‘If you would provide a clerk to copy the message, I will continue on my way.’

‘Naturally,’ Sir James agreed, and bellowed for his clerk. Soon he had sent the latter to copy the message, while the messenger was taken to the hall for food and drink.

When Sir James was alone again, he sipped wine pensively as he considered the letter with its alarming news.

He always prided himself on being with the men who were in power. It had occasionally been a delicate balancing act, but he had survived when weaker men would have allowed despair to overtake them.

But this new situation would take some thinking through . . . What were the chances of Sir Edward of Caernarfon managing to gather enough men under his banner to wrest the crown back from his son? And would he be able to force his son to submit?

Because if there was the remotest chance of that, Sir James de Cockington would want to be with him.

Paffards’ House

It was a relief to be back from the burial, Henry thought. Such a sad, horrible service, made all the worse by the body lying before them, a constant reminder of guilt, and his wife staring at him with resentment and contempt.

Returning to his hall, he sat in his great chair and gazed at the wall with unseeing eyes.

Alice’s death had been a shock, and was all the more unwelcome because of his other ventures. He knew that at any time soon, Sir Charles of Lancaster could arrive, and when he did, he would expect payment for the goods he had with him. That had been the original bargain. However, there were no funds in the house, not since his acquisition of the house up in Stepecoat Street. Still, it should be easy enough for him to persuade Sir Charles that he could sell the goods and find finance that way. He had no choice, in any case.

He was still sitting in his chair when Thomas walked in. The youngster said nothing. He merely peered at his father with his pale, fretful eyes, and then trotted out of the room again.

It was so out of character, it tore at Henry’s heart. Thomas Paffard had always been an unruly little fellow, but with a smile so engaging that it was impossible to be angry with him – not for long, anyway.

At six Thomas had already learned the basics of much of his schooling. He was quick to comprehend the figures on the sheets, and appeared to enjoy his sums so much that he had taken to carrying a wax tablet with him wherever he went. On it he would make calculations, and have his father’s clerks check his results. It was delightful.

The lad was not merely a scholar, though. He was very much a normal boy, with the energy and noise that went with that class of creature. All through the day he would run and stamp, shout and slam doors: always happy. Loud, boisterous, exuberant, and intelligent, he was the perfect son for any man.

But the noise had stopped a couple of days ago. The boy had been fond of Alice, as had they all.

No, not as they all had. Henry had known her especially well.

Henry covered his face with his hands, and wept for the loss of his lover.